THE ISclCCtU DECEMBER, 1854. Art. 1. — Vie de Toussaint L'Ouverture. [Life of Toiissaint L’Ouvcrture.] Par Saint Ilemy. Haiti: l)es Caves. Paris: Cloquet, liiliraire-Editcur. 1850. A NOVEL by ]\Iiss ^Martiiieau, and a drama by M. Lamartine, attest, at least, the existence of a general belief in the heroic worth of this celebrated negro. We have consequently long wished to meet with an authentic and solid biography of a man who has been painted in the fairest colours of fiction. The publication of M. Saint Ilemy does not supply this want. Prolix and bombastic in style, and labouring to exalt the subject of the biograjdiy by encomiums, instead of exhibiting his merits to speak for themselves, the book has been perhaps the most wearisome reading wdiich has ever exhausted a somewhat w'ell-tried courage and jiatience. But it contains some dates whicli seem reliable, several authentic documents, and the sym])athies and ju’ejudices natural to a negro w ho is boasting about a great man of his race, if wo can succeed in giving our readers in a few pages the pith and essence of what is contained in four hundred, their patience will certainly be less tried than ours has been. Toussaint L'Ouverture, the liberator of Saint Domingo, is a historical figure, in the end of the last century, of whom little is known, and of considerable ethnological and historical importance. This biography is preceded by a portrait of L'Ouverturc, which is stated to be authentic. The liberator hiinscdf gave it, or rather the original of it, to the agent Roumd, in whose family it ha.s been piously preserved ever since, and it is now in the possession of Count lloumd de Saint Laurent, who is resident in Paris. Among N.S. — VOL. VIII. T T CA2 LIFE OF TOUSSAINT T/oUVEUTURE. the caricatures of Robert Kay, of Edinburgh, there is a print of L’Ouverture, ^vhich is doubtless a copy of a contemporary portrait. Kay s print re])resents him as the general and governor of Saint Domingo, in the act of reviewing his troops. Roth |)ortraits agree in giving him a pair of wild, bright, earnest eyes, witli cheeks and chin expressive of firmness, endurance, and enerirv. In the full-length of Kay, the whole figure is replete with ener<gy, and nothing of the negro features is retained except the black skin. In the ludf-len^h published by M. Saint Reiny, L'Ouver- ture is represented in the three plumed hat, and gold decked coat, of a French general, with a white neckcloth and shirt -ruffles ; the t‘arn(‘stness of the eyes is intensified to wildness, and the lirmness of the lower jaw^ is increased to obstinacy and stern¬ ness. An intelligent and energetic man is represented in both portraits, and in that possessed by the Roiime family, while the lineaments of these characteristics are brought out most fully, L’Ouv(*rture, neverthele.sss, is displayed in all the marks of what is deemed negro ugliness. His mouth ]>rojects; and, although in a tie, his hair is plainly woolly ; his lips are thick, and the lower one, especially, is enormous. Resignation is said to be the moral characteristic of the negro or Ethiopian race. On the faces of negro women, who, if not the fairest of the fair, are perhaps the gentlest of the gentle sex, this characteristic is often beauti- fullv seen. However, "we cannot sav we have remarked it on the faces of negro men, and most certainly there is nothing of it visible in the countenance of the chief of their race, Toussaint L'Ouver- ture ; he looks a man full of indignation against injustice, and determined to resist it to the death. Tlie little generally knowm of the most famous of the negroes can be statecl in few w'ords. Boni a slave, he raised him.self by education and j^erseverance to be the general of the negroes ot Saint Domingo in revolt, and successfullv established their inde- pendence. When victorious, the motto on his Hag was — ‘Ao Retaliation." His courage as a soldier and his skill as a general were equalled by his capacity for legislation. Forced to surrender in his last struggle for the independence of Hayti, before the overwhelming forces of Buonaparte, the First Consul, he retired to his estate under a guarantee of protection. He was, notwith¬ standing, privately seized, hurried on board a French man-ot-war, im]>risoned in an icy dungeon amidst the snows of the Alps, and tlu‘ro starved to death, if not by the express orders, certainly by the neglect and guilt of Buonaparte. His assassination roused his countrymen to arms, and Dessaline, his successor, aided by the unfavourable issue of the last general war to France, established permanently the independence and liberties of his country n>en. LIFE OF TOUjSSAINT L'OUVERTUUE. (>43 Such are the brief outlines of the facts i^^eutTally known. M. Saint Rt'inv, when ])veparing his work, ha»l access to the docu¬ ments of the French ministers of manne and war, and he ]>ub- lishes enough of solid materials to reveal the truth ivspecting the life and death of his hero. Hayti was discovered by Christopher Columbus, and the chief town, and, for several centuries, the whole island, wen^ called Saint Domingo, after the name of his father. Havti means liiuh moun- tains, a chain of which runs from the east to the south. The island contains about half a million of inhabitants, although capable of sustaining twenty millions upon its six thousand miles square of suHace. (Jvando, one of the historians of the <liscovery, relates how ( \jlumbus and his companions, liaving found a heavy block of quartz containing gold, used it as a table, upon which they eat a roasted j)ig. The culture of a few rotts, the chase, and tishing furnished the aborigines of Hayti with the supply of their wants. But the Spaniards soon compelled them to search for gold in the mine.s, and when their sufferings diminished the population, negroes were bought upon the shores of Africa, and imported to laljour and gratify the lust for gold. In one of the jv'rr/ es made iqion the African tribes, a son of the king or chief »*f the Aradas was seized, called Gaou-Guinou. He was sold to the manager of the sugar plantation of Count de Breda, M. Bayou do Liliertas, ^ ho treated his slaves well. Gaou-Guinou was ivcognis^.d by several slaves of his own tribe or nation, his predecessors in misfortum^, and chosen as their chief or king. By a union with one of his companions in slavery, he became the father of two girls and three boys. The eldest, Francois-Domini(|ue-Toussaiut L’Guverturc, was born, it is said, upon the 2(>th of May, 1743. Fraiujois was such a weakly child that he was nicknamed Jidton, or Straw-Stalk. At the age of twidve, however, no Ijoy could run more swiftly, swim across a torrent more quickly, or more adroitly manage a wild horse. His occiqiation was that of a herd-bciy, in which doubtless he acquired his characteristic habit of silence. King Gaou-Guinou would probably have cut a poor figure (if examined in his capacity of an educator) in the report of an e<lu- cational inspector. He knew, however, how to make a weakly boy strong, instead of how to make strong boys sickly. Swift running means good respiration ; firm riding, self-}K>ssession ; and swimming, courage and cleanlines.s. Gaou-Guinou knew, in short, how to educate or draw forth the muscular and respiratory organs of his boy. He was also capable of imparting a useful knowledge of ])ractical iMjtany. His son was able, from the* in¬ structions of his father in the mntfiria niOAUcti of the African nation.s, to treat most of the maladies of hot countries. T T 2 6li LIFE OF TOUSSAINT L’OUVERTURE. Gtoou-Guinou outlived his sou, Avho was himself sixty years old when he wrote, in his last appeal, from his dungeon in Fort du Joux in the Alps, to the First Consul Buonaparte, as follows : — ‘ I am not learned ; 1 am ignorant ; hut my father, who is now blind, showed me the path of virtue and probity, and I am strong in my conscience in that regard/ ‘ Gaou,' the prefix of the name of the lather, signifies ‘good/ Tlie handwriting of lyOuverture was very defective even when he had to sign important state documents. He could speak to his countrymen in their African language, and he read and spoke F rcnch tolerably well. Brought up a Roman Catholic, he had the accomplishment common among the members of his church of ri*ading Latin without understanding it. Small as were his scholastic attainments, no one knew how he obtained them. He never seems to have had any schooling nor any teacher. Some¬ how or other he picked up a little arithmetic, and these seem to have been the sum of his accpiirements. In due time the boy passed from herding cattle to labouring in the fields under the ia.sh of the whip of the commander — the slave whose business it was ti> keep the others to their work. From this painful position his iiitelligence, steadiness and knowledge of horses raised him in a few yt'ars, and he was appointed coachman to his master. Found trustworthy and sober in this situation, he had by-and- by, in addition to the horses, the care of the utensils of the sugar- house confided to him. M. Bayou, his master, wished him to marry a young and mettlesome negi*ess, but T/Cuverture preferred a woman who was a good housewife, and whom he had long known. 8he had already borne a son named Placide to a man of colour. Toussaint plaetnl his hearth under the protection of the marriage-rite at the church of llaut-du-Ca}), and adopted and legitimated his wife’s boy. 11 is prudence was rewarded by domestic happiness. ‘ Wo went to the fields hand-in-hand," said L’Ouverture to a traveller long afterwards, ‘ and we came back the same, having scarcely perceived the fatigues of the day. Heaven always blessed our toil, and we swam in abundance, having always something to give to the needy. On Sundays and fete days, my relatives, myself, and my wife went to the mass. After our return we ])artook of agreeable repast together, and we spent the rest of the day enfamillcy and closed it with a j^rayer cn commun/ M. Saint Remy finds it to be a mysterious thing that Toussaint did not buy his freedom with his savings, and make himself a free man. The perusal of RaynaPs ‘ Philosojdiic History’ had infused into his mind the ideas about the rights of man which ])ropared the French revolution. His apparent contentment in the condition of a slave is accordant with the prudence and good LIFE OF TOUSSAINT l'oUVEUTUUE. G45 sense, the culm insight, and cool reason of liis cliaracter. By buying his freedom, he would have juirchased only the painful condition of a free man of colour. This condition was such in ilayti, that the free negroes and mulaltoes were the first to take up arms when the enthusiasm of the French metropolis spread to the colonies. Fatnis- Baton, or Straw-Stalk, was well oft*, and knew it, in comparison with most of his race. The fall of the B;ustile Wius hailed everywhere as the deathblow of tyranny. Led by Vincent t)ge, the free blacks claimed eipial rights, and the C’onstituent Assembly decreed tlieir concession. Ogd arrived in liayti to demand the execution of the decree, which the colonial aristocracy refused, lie was defeated and put to death. But his execution only caused the spread of the insurrection, and a move¬ ment which began as a demand for eipial rights by the free blacks grew into a struggle for the abolition of slavery. The com¬ manders of the plantations in the north of the i.sland met in the night of the 1 kh August, 171)1, and arranged the insurrection of the slaves for the 21st, when it burst out. A slave named Bouckman, from Jamaica, wiis the chief. In one week, from the north to the eiust and west, the island presented a vast scene of assassination and devasUition. The ))rincely colonists who t'seaped rode over ashes and corpses to the C\ipe, where they establislied a new colonial assembly. Toiissaint maintained at this time an attitude which enabled him to ])rotect his nuuster and mistress. ‘ He saw with inexj)ressible joy,’ he said, ‘ his master, M. Bayou, among his slaves at a moment when it sutliced to be a white to bo massacred.' His nuister took arms as a dragoon, and when Tous.siunt feared he could no longer ])rotect Madame Bayou, his mistress, he contided her to his brother Paul, who drove her in her carriage to the Cape. When Madame Bayou was gone, the warnings of Bruno, the commander, and of Toussiunt, could not prevent the majority of the slaves of the estate from joining the insurgents. After placing his wife and two children in a place of security in the mountains, Toussaint set out himself for the camp at Oalitfet. Bouckman, a man of herculean strength and fanatical courage, had been killed, and was succeeded in the command by Jean- FraiKj'ois, and his lieutenants, Biassou and Jeannot. Jean-Fran- <;ois wius a handsome and intelligent Creole, who had run iiway b'om slavery, and lived the life of a maroon in the mountains. Biassou appears to have been a courageous but drunken and debauchetl savage. Jeannot, as cruel .as Biassou, was more active and woltish, and his hatred to the whites led him not merely to make a ma.ssiicre upon the plantation ot his master, but to take uj) the blood in his hands and drink it, siiying — ‘ ()h, my triends, the blood of the whites is good, let us drink long draughts of it ; LIFE OF TOUSSAINT l/oUVEUTURE. G4i; let us swear against them an implacable hatred — no peace witli them — I swear it/ I'niissaint joined the insurrection as a pliysician. As he could read and write, and knew the virtues of many plants, and was known fur his moderation in all things, Toussaint gained inflii- enct* and position among the insurgents, without ever sullying himself by murder or jnllage. He was a sort of (fi de-de-camp and cJtef-de-hvreaii to Biassou. The discipline of the army was just the disci|>line of the plantations applied to militaiy adairs. Cattle stealers were hanged. A sentinel caught asleep received fifty lashes during eight days, was passed under the Hag, and at the end of the eight days was beheaded. When the insurgent slaves obtained possession of Dondon, the native place of Vincent Oge, they revenged him terribl3\ The whites, with four cannons, defended themselves behind their bar- ncadt^s and in the church until nearly all the men were killed. As tiie slaves became masters of the houses, they committed the worst and wildest excesses of murder and pillage, and gave them¬ selves up to the dances of the bamboida until they succumbed from fatigue and th ink. Jeannot having made thirty whites piisoners, pretended t«» tiy them, to enjoy the cruel tortures of mockery and irony which he could inflict upon them prior to executing them. If any one enraged him he would discharge his pistols at him. He caused his coachman, who was his relative and friend, to be shot for 1>eing a few minutes behind time. His camp was planted with gibbets. In athlilion to their cruelties, the insurgent chiefs distinguished themselves l>y their vain-glorious puerilities. Jean -Fra n^*ois calleil himself generalissimo, and then king, and then viceroy. Their com]>anies had aristocratic titles — the dragoons of Coiule — the dragoons of d'Estaing ; they called themselves gevs dw Vitl — the king’s men — and around their immense white cockades was the motto — Vive le roi ; of course their flag was the white om* of the Bourbons. The traditions of Guinea made the slaves full of sym]»athy for Louis XVI., who, they |>ersuaded them¬ selves. was their }>articular frieml, and while claiming their own tMnaucl[Kition, they were afHicted by the recital of the sullerings of nyalty in Pari.s. t>f ourse, in cruelties as in vanities, the slaves were like theii* masters, and the masters like the slaves. In revolutionary strifes, the language of both parties is often that of Sliylock — ‘The villany you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard it I do not better the instruction.' The i)lanters seized, upon the evening of the insuiTection, seventeim men of colour, and hanged them without trial. The jdanters erected live gibbets, which they kept in constant use in executing the sentences of unc cour prevoialc LIFE OF TOUSSAINT L*OUVERTURE. 647 upon any one, black or yellow, who was denounced by fear or susi)icion. According to the narrative of Saint Reiny, however, the slaves, notwithstanding the detestal)le forms of their excesses, were more moderate and reasonable than their masters. Jean-Fran- <;ois caused his lieutenant, Jeannot, to be tried and put to death for his cruelties. When a commission arrived from Paris to eftect a reconciliation in the name of the Constitution and the king, the chiefs of tlie slaves only bargained for their own emancipation. Jean-Fran(;ois was for peace if three hundred of the insurgents were made free ; Toussaint reduced the number to tifty; and Jean-Franc^ois, Biassou, Manzeau, Desprez, and Toussaint, signed a letter offering to lay down their arms if liberty was conceded to the leaders only, and to induce the mass of the slaves to return to slavery upon the plantations. Two free men of colour were found courageous enough to brave the gibbets of tlie colonists, and go with the letter to Cap(' Town. They were well received by the Royal Conimis.sioners, but the Colonial Assembly made them wait ten days for an answer, and then they were called to the bar, and addressed as follows: — ‘ Emissaries of the revolted negroes, — von sliall hear the inten- tions of the Colonial Assembly. The Assembly being founded upon the law, and by the law, cannot corresj>ond with persons armed against the law' and all law’s. The Assembly can pardon the guilty when they are penitent, and return to their duty. It will willingly recognise those who liave been entrapped against their will. It ahvays knows how’ to dispense goodness and justice. Withdraw’ ! — Reiirez-vous !' When the bearers of this message returned with it to the cam}) of the insurgents, Biassou ordered aU the w’hite })risoners he had to be ])ut to death. Toussaint and Frani;uis Laiitte, his friend, interceded for them and })ro- tected them. On another occasion, when a ])roclamation of the Assembly was read to the insurgent army, a ciy W'as rais(xl by their universal indignation for tlie death of the prisoners. Toussaint seized the jiroclamation, re-read it, commented upon it, softened its harshness, and a})})ealing to tlie sentiments of jieaco, order, and kindness in the hearts of his hearers, changed the cries of vengeance into tears. Many similar acts are ascribed to him and Latitte. Much as the re})ly of the Assiunbly had enraged the negroes, they acceded to the nxpie.st of the Com¬ missioners, amj agreed to a conference. This conference took place on the -1st December, 1701. Among the delegates of the Assembly w’as M. Bullet, who had bemi the master of the cruel and atrocious Jeannot; and his conduct on this occasion seems to }U’ove that the villanies of the slave had been taught by the master. When Jean-Francois, the insurgent general, 648 LIFE OF TOUSSAINT l'OUVERTITRE. was dismounting from his horse, having arrived at the head of a numerous body of cavalr}’, M. Bullet approached him, and sud¬ denly gave him a lash wdth his riding-whip. Jean-Fran(;ois, with his cavalry, could have revenged himself by putting to death the handful of whites upon the spot, but he contented himself with retiring from the scene. He was followed by the Royal Commissioner, Saint Leger, >vho apologized for the brutal insult, and his courage and confidence inspired them with such respect, that the insurgents knelt down before him in sign of their devotion to the king and the law. Terms of peace were arranged, upon the conditions of an exchange of prisoners, fifty emancipations, and the return of the rest of the slaves to their slavery. Jean-Fran(;ois stijmlated that his wife, who was in the prison of Cape Town, should be restored to him. Next morning he sent Toussaint and Lafitto with the prisoners, but his wife was not returned to him. A circumstance had occurred wdrich profoundly affected the minds of the negroes, and showed them that even were they to fight for their masters, they w ould have no security for good treat¬ ment. A body of blacks and mulattoes w^ere enrolled by the colonists in imitation of the Royal Swiss Guards, and they rendered their masters good service, and w ere not guilty of any overt act of insubordination. But they were suspected of being more attached to the revolution than to the counter-revolution, and their deportation w\as deemed politic and necessary. They were embarked in unseaw’orthy vessels, some were wrecked, and the greater number w^ere thrown upon the coast of Jamaica, to succeed or perish as it might happen to them. Their fate made a profound impression upon Toussaint and the moderate chiefs of the insurrection. Hostilities recommenced. On the 15th January, Jean-Fran- <;ois, w hose wife h«ad not been returned to him, took Oiianamintlie; and on the night of the 2:^nd, Biassou, wdiose mother had not been emancipated, surrounded the village of Haut-du-t\\p, killed the sick in the hosjdtals of Ija Providence, surprised the battery of Beliter, and turned its cannons upon Cape Town. The colonists aw'oke to find their streets a dreadful scene of fire and carnage ; and when at daybreak, those who had been able to meet together, went to combat him, he was already off to the negro camj> at Galiftbt, carrying his old mother with him as a trophy torn from the irons of slavery. AVhen Toussaint saw' all hopes of peace vanish, he wept. His position was that of principal aide-de-camp and secretary to Biasson. His intellectual superiority and moral integiity were oftensive to the amour propre of Jean-Fran^ois. How ever^ he was slowly gaining the esteem of the army, and the two chiefs LIFE OF TOUSSAINT l'oUVERTURE. 649 were losing it by their rapacity, ostentation, and crimes. They divided the command and the conquered territory between them; they called their residences, palaces, and affected royal pomp and style ; and to the shame of human nature be it recorded, these slaves, become powerful, sold their fellows as slaves to the Spaniards of Havanah. Aloof from all the atrocities and crimes of the insurrection, Toussaint was equally a stranger to the vanities and venalities of his superiors in command. His func¬ tions were medical and civil, and his influence was exercised on the side of moderation and humanity. Toussaint’s first atiairs of a military kind were defeats. He happened to be at the camp of La Tannerie w hen it Wiis attacked by D’Assas, at the head of his regiment. Toussaint and his men defended themselves with rare intrepidity, but the severity of their losses compelled them to retire. Soon after, the French troo[)s w^ere led against tlie negroes by generals full of tlie fire of the Revolution, and Jean-Fran(;ois was driven out of the flat country into the mountains. At La Tannerie, which was con¬ sidered the l)ulwark of the insurrection, Biassou and Toussaint offered an obstinate resistance, in a position which w^as powerfully fortified, but were force<l to fly, leaving ten camps and fifteen pieces of artillery behind them. The death of Louis XVI., and the outbreak of the general war, changed remarkably the aspect of affairs. The })rinci})al colonists offered Saint Domingo to the English. The negro insurgents entered into the service of the King of Spain, and Toussiiint, as general of the royal army, and Biassou, as governor-general, issued a ]»roclamation, in w’liich tliey sw^ore to slied the last drop of their blood in defence of the Bourbons. Defection s[)rcad in the armies which had victoriously attacked the negroes, and places were given up to them from which they had been driven. Aided more by the uncertainty of aff’airs, and vacillation of opinions, than by their military merits, the negro chiefs regained most of the sw\ay they had lost in the island. Three Hags contested the pos.session of it, the English, Spanish, and French, and the whites, mulattoes, and blacks displayed four different cockades, the w'hito, the black, the red, and the tricolor. Jean-Fran(;ois, jealous of the iiiHuence Toussaint had gained in the district under him, picked a (piarrel with him and arrested him, but Biassou attacked the prison and liberated him. The restoration of slavery became as openly an avowed object of the Spaniards in the island as the restoration of the monarchy ; and when the French Convention proclaimed the principles of universal emancipation, Toussaint found himself, by the consequences of his position, in Ills race. 650 LIFE OF TOUSSAINT l/OUVERTURE. Ton ssaint, after secretly preparing Lis measures, passed over, with all liis men and influence, from the Spanish to the French service. Tlie slaves rallied to the side of the cap of liberty. We have seen this exti*aordinary man in a subordinate position, we shall now see him acting by himself, and no longer one of a grou]>, but as a separate flgure. A most decisive proof that he acted as a restraining influence upon his former associates, is found in the fact, that after he left them, their atrocities sur¬ passed all previous precedents. In Fort Dauphin they massacred seven hundied and thirty-four French in one night. The signal for this colonial St. Bartholomew was given by Vasquez, the cure of Axabon. When he went over to the side of the French Republic, Tous- saint served without any rank, although in command of consider¬ able troops and an extensive district of country. Biassou altered several posts wliich Toussaint had arranged, and Toussaint seized the occasion to replace them, and surround Biassou in his camp at Lariviere ; and the general had great difliculty in escaping from his aide-de-camp. Toussaint proclaimed equal liberty for all in eveiy ]dace under his authority, at Gonaives, Gros-Monie, Canton d'Kunery, Plaisance, Marmalade, Dondon, Acul, aud Limbe, while ]>ulliug down the Spanish, and unfurling the French flag. (Jamp Bertin, Port Margot, and all the posts of La Mon¬ tague Noire, were quickly taken by Tous.saint from Jean-Fraii(;ois. The Pont <le I’Ester, La Petite Riviere, St. Raphael, and St. Michel followed — successes which the French general Laveaux decorated by sending him a grenadier’s feather, w hich he wore ever after. 'J'oussaint, it is W’orth remarking by the w’ay, could not have rendered the services he did to the French Republic if he had not become a tirst-rate horseman in his boyhood. His life was for some time that of a centaur. The English, who had taken Port-au-Prince, and advanced across the river Artibonite, were surprised in an ambuscade at Le Haut-des-Verettes, and their chief w’as killed. Prior to returning to Gonaives, it was deemed a trait of character — notable in Toussaint — that he ordered money and brea<.l to be given to all the needy women and children, ot all colours, w hom he found at La Petite Riviere. In four days he took and erased twenty-eight camps, one of these, Bamby, situated upon a frightful ridge, and defended by three cannons, be.sides musquetry. The cordon he had to defend was ninety miles long, and Toussaint could not aflord to be absent from any point w hich was threatened. M. Saint Remy, besides giving him the credit of defeating Colonel Brisbane, says he forced a party ot English, who had disembarked at Guildive, to re-embark wdth dis¬ order. It W'as on this occasion that Colonel Brisbane was killed. Toussaint organized his troops in four regiments, making 8000 LIFE OF TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE. G51 men. An account of the divers fortunes of the rival Gaffs and conflicting cockades woidd extend this article beyond our space, and turn it aside from its object, which is to obtain a glimpse of the true character of Toussaint. Following, then, his fortunes, we find him three times unsuccessfully attacking Saint Marc, but, after retiring from it, taking Le Mirebalais, which commands the interior of the island. However, the English, whom M. Saint Et*niy describes as ‘a people whose every idea is a combination, and whose everv act is a calculation/ drove his brother out of it scKui after. Toussaint was afflicted to find that the pei-sons who had assisted the English were |)ersons who had sworn Gdelity to the rej)ublic. He rarely made a promise, but if repeated suppli¬ cations ever led him to pass his word, he kept it religiously, and would rather have been put to death, he said, than be reproached for jHajury. Jean-Francois had surpiised Colonel Moyse in Dondon, and driven him and his grenadiers out of it, when Toussaint heard the sound of the conflict, and at the head of fifty dragoons rushed to the rescue, rallied the routed troops, who were dis¬ charging stones for want of balls, drove Jean-Francois out of the village, dislodged him from the fort, and cha.sed him to PKous dt‘s Roches. The Spanish forces never afterwards attacked the French, and peace was soon afterwards established between S[)ain and France. The French Convention decreed, on hearing the nows, that the army of Saint Domingo had deserved w'ell of the country. Laveaux was made a general of division, and, with others, Rigaufl, a mulatto, and Toussaint, a negro, were named generals of briga<le. The generals appointed a deputation, con¬ sisting of a white, a black, and a mulatto, to go to Piiris and thank the Convention, and show the brotherly unity of the three colours, ‘ white, yellow, and black.’ The Spanish flag thus disposed of, the English remained. Rignud is said to have dispossessed them of Tiburon, and destroyed a corvette, called the Lady Jane Grey, and Toussaint, besides retaining this district, extended it, and fortified its frontiers. Toussaint caus(*d Dieudonnd, .suspected of favouring the Plnglish, to be arrested by his own men, and he was impri.soned and ])ut to death. General Bowyer and Admiral Parker having attacked Leogane, are tlescrilxMl in the work before us as having been driven ofl'by T)e.sniisseaux. J.aveaux, the governor of the island, having attempted to enforce the circulation of ])a})or money, the merchants at Cape Town were panic stricken, and a mob seized the governor in his bedroom, struck him with a stick, and hurried liim off to prison. Villnte, the general upon the si)ot, from personal spite, did not protect the governor-general, and even acce[)ted the dicUitorship i 652 LIFE OF TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE. of tlie iiisuirection. Tlie officer sent to him started off to Toussaint, who hastened to the succour of the outraged rtipre- sentativeof France at the head of two battalions and two hundred cavalry. But the insurgents, \vho were almost exclusively nui- lattoes, had become ashamed of their success, and the governor was relieved from restraint. He received Toussaint, nevertheless, W'ith joy, and appointed him commander-in-chief for four-and- twenty hours. At the news of the nomination of an old black slave to this high command, the mulatto farmers seized the harritre Saint Michel. Toussaint put them down, and was cele¬ brated by Laveaux as the man predicted by the Abbd Baynal as destined to redress the wrongs of the negroes. Toussaint re-entered Cape Town by the side of the governor-general, as the lieutenant-general of Saint Domingo. Deep was the indig¬ nation of the mulattoes at seeing a blackamoor raised to such dignity. The municipal body went so far as to refuse to register the appointment. The distractions of France leaving the island almost without control, the mulattoes and ancient free blacks thought they ought to bear the sway. But they were justly suspected by the Vdacks of intending to restore slavery, and by the whites, or French, of desiring to set up their own independence. Laveaux, having chosen to accept a seat in the corps Icgislatif, left the island for Paris upon the 19th of October, 1796, leaving Toussaint as coininander-in-chief. The Directory had sent him the rank of a general of division, with a sabre and a pair of pistols. The first memorable act of the new^ general of division was to dislodge the English from Mirebalais. Upon his arrival’ with a force tliey could not resist, they blew up the blockhouse, set lire to the four corners of the town, and retired, leaving him free to occupy the ruins and ashes. He is said to have repulsed them subseipiently u[)on the Plain of Cid~(lc~sac, and taken two hundred prisoners, consisting of English, German, and French emigrants. if any young man should regard with a longing eye the advancement of poor Straw-Stalk, the slave herdboy, we recom¬ mend him to look w’ell to the realities of his brilliant position, and mark the sequel. He had the English to combat him ; the mulattoes jealous of him ; and the home government suspicious of his inliuence. Sonthonax, a commissioner sent from Paris, hinted to him that the island was strong enough to proclaim its independence. Most probably seeing a trap in the proposal, Toussaint denounced it, and ordered him to embark for France, to answer for his conduct. Sonthonax refused to obey, although requested by his colleague Raymond, and Toussaint sent him word that if he did not embark, he would enter Cape Town at the head of 20,000 men. At midnight of the 2nd and 3rd of LIFE OF TOUSSAINT L’OUVEIITUUE. 653 September the cannons of Toussaint announced his arrival out¬ side the town, and at six o’clock in the morning Sonthonax passed through a silent crowd in the streets on his way to the ship without receiving a salutation from any one. ‘ Fatras Baton* was ill tlie most real sense of the title king of Saint Domingo. T1 le Directory saw this fact, and they were afraid of a man whoso sway was so vast. General Ilddouville was sent out with the high powers of a pacificator. His secret orders seem to have beeirto cajole Toussaint L’Ouverture, the chief of the blacks, to visit France, and, if necessary, to arrest Rigaud, the chief of the mulattoes. Hddouville received both with magnificence, but Toussaint kept himself upon his guard and aloof. Fabre, who commanded the scjuadron which brought Iledouville, said one day, ‘ I shall have as much pleasure, general, in taking you to France, as I have had in bringing General Hddouville here ; — there you will find the lionours and rewards due to your services, and all the pleasures of repose which you need.’ The reply was, ‘ Your ship is not big enough for a man like me.’ On another occasion, one of Ht^douville’s ofticers, after boasting of the wonders of France, invited him to make the voyage. ’Poussaint, casting liis eyes and laying his hand u})on a shrub, answered, ‘ Y(^s, 1 shall leave when you make of this a ship to carry me.’ A fete was prepared for him on board the squadron, but he declineil it, and returned to his camp at Gonaives upon pretext of military service. T1 le English arranged preliminaries of peace with Toussaint. The emigrants and their property were to be respected ; and the English were to carry away their artillery and munitions of war and all the cannons they had taken. M. Saint Remy thinks the English did not give up the ‘ Mole,’ which he calls the ‘Gibraltar of the New World,’ until they were tolerably sure that Toussaint would keep it for them. Hddouville was discontented with tlie terms accepted by Tous.saint, especially in regard to the emi¬ grants, and posted up a jdacard, which applied the laws of the Jacobins towards them ; upon seeing which. Captain Maitland tore up publicly both the treaty and the proclamation. H(5dou- ville was forced to authorize Toussaint to make another of similar tenour. Toussaint entered the JMole at the head of his army, while the white ladies of the town strewed with flowTrs the path of their protector and benefactor ; the priest at the head of his Hock, and Captain Maitland and the British officers lieaped honours upon him. He received a magnificent service of plate ; and the Government House, described as an elegant palace, was presented to him in the name of the King of England. 8ix thousand British troops were reviewed before him. He remarked that ‘ the Republic had never rendered him such honours as he ■li^WWPIP.I .'UW,' 654 LIFE OF TOUSSAINT L*OU\"EIlTURE. had received from England !’ Although no proofs exist of the ass<3rtiou, Saint Reiuy will have it that England came to an understanding with him to recognise him as King of Saint Domingo ! So much for Fratras Baton. ‘ Never despise a rough colt nor a ragged callant' (boy), said a dealer in Shetland ponies one day, ‘ for ye dinna ken what he may be.' The protection which Toussaint accorded to the emigrants, and his good understanding wdth the English and Americans, caused Hedouville to accuse him of placing the island under the protec¬ tion of England. The treaties which Toussaint made with thest* countries exist. There is no mention of independence in them. They are merely commercial treaties to secure the needful imports with which France did not and could not su))ply tht‘ Inhabitants. A suspicion that Ht^douville, the whites, and niulat- toes intended to restore slavery, caused a negro insurrection. Hedouville finding that Toussaint was in no hurry to come to succour him, departed in the night, of course leaving a ]>rocla- mation, in which he declared that the English had only made a show of retiring, having postponed the project of indej>endence. Toussaint L’Ouverture sent Colonel Vincent to Paris to meet the. accusations made against him, and his conduct was ap})roved of by the Directory. No rival tlag now ostensibly disputed the jiossession of the island with the French, and all the cockades had given way before the tricolor. Toussaint had made an opening or ouverture everywhere; yet we enter upon the bloodiest and blackest ]>age of his history. The chief of the blacks had to conquer tht‘ mulattoes or yellows. They had the blood of the whites in their veins, they had been long free, they were superior in wealth arul intelligence, and led by General Iligaud, they attacked one of the outposts of the army of the commander-in-chief. To them it seemed a foul degradation to be governed bv a negro, but ves> terday a slave. Roumc, the new agent of France, supjKuted Toussiiint with the whole authority of the Directory against the mulatto rebellion. Rigaud began to show’ the cloven foot bv refusing to give up the places mentioned to him by Rounie, the represenUitive of France. Toussaint made this war like a military O’Connell or Crom¬ well, by harangues and religious discourses as w’ell as the sw<ucl. Rigaud and the mulattoes were in every w’ay in the wrong. Toussaint was the superior in command, and supported by the authority of Roum^, wdio represented the French governnn nt ; and yet Rigaud attacked Toussaint. Nothing was alleged to justify the attack, except that Toussaint was ambitioas, which was only said because it was impolitic to say he was black. But Toussaint charged the mulattoes justly with the prejudices ot I LIFE OF TOUSSAINT LOUVERTURE. UOD colour, cT-nd with designs for the restoration of slavery. The old officers of the first negro insurrection, Biassou and others, re¬ mained in tlie Spanish part of the island, and carried on an infamous tratfic in kidnapping and selling their brethren into slavery. Toussaint demanded the authorization of the French agents to suppress this infamy, and found liis intluence paralyzed l)y the intrigues of the mulattoes ; and when an agent appeared who agreed with Toussaint, and gave him what he wanted, the mulattoes attacked him. On the 2 1st of February, 1799, Toussaint caused the alarm drums to be beaten in the morning, and denounced the conspiracy of the yellows or nudattoes in the church at Cayes. He rec;dled to mind how the blacks called ‘ Swiss' had been got rid of, and described in the strongest colours the hatred of the yellows to the blacks. An incident occurred which seemed to justify his worst accusations. Twenty-nine blacks were im[)risoned in a new dungeon, the lime of which w'as not dry, and were of course asphyxied. Toussaint said ‘ it w^as strange that in all the move¬ ments the blacks were always the victims.' Blacks, by an obvious tactic, were put forward in the movement of the yellows, and the life of Toussaint seems to have been a special object of the insur¬ gents. On one occasion, when passing through a wood, an am¬ bush opened fire upon him, and killed his physician by his side, while half the plume in his hat was shot ofr. What the truth is in regard to the manner in which Toussaint suppressed this rebellion, we have not the means of knowing. M. Saint llerny would have us believe that he became cruel, or, in other words, ceased to be himself, as shown by the tenour of his life. The struggle was the most formidable he ever had, and lie triumphed by the rapidity, skill, and severity of his blows. With regard to the complaints of the mulattoes against bim, they are open to the reply we once heard given to the late ^Ir. O'Connell, when denouncing Cromwell for his conduct to the Irish — ‘ If you did not like what you got by it, there is the more pity you began it.' The object of Toussaint was the suppression of the slave trade in the east of the island Whether it was that he had become jeakuis of the absolute sway gained by the suppression of the yellows, or that he knew the home government were not sincere enemies of the slave trade, the agent Roumd refused Toussaint the authorization he had sought long and fought hard for — to take possession of the east He alleged that it was to be given by Spain to France, in exchange for Louisiana; obviously a frivolous pretext to screen an infamous abuse. France laid no right to sell the thews and sinews of free negroes, (\jlonel ^loy.se arrested Rourad ‘^od told him that if he did not yield, the whites might sutler for it ; and Rouni^ gave way. -r I I ’ I .• ' 65G LIFE OF TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE. Triumphant in the memorable ‘war to the knives/ or guerre (hs coutcavXy Toiissaint L'Ouvertureused his victory, even by the admission of M. Saint llemy, whose sympathies are on the side of tlie mulattoes, with surprising moderation. He proclaimed a general amnesty, and called upon all the citizens to supj)ort order, union, and labour, and to respect persons and property. Tlie subjugation of the Spanish forces was not a difficult matter; and as he kept Roumd under surveillance when he had esta¬ blished his brother in the government of the Spanish colony, his power was undisputed from Cape Eugano to Cape Tiburon. A Central Assembly having been convoked, Toussaint was named governor for life ; and the following were the principal lieads of the constitution which was given to the island : — That slavery cannot exist in the colonies, all the men born in it living and dying as free Frenchmen ; that all, without distinction of colour, shall ])e admissible to public employments ; that the Catholic religion ought to be the sole professed and protected ; that divorce is prohibited ; that agriculture shall be encouraged ; that the governor shall take suitable means to increase the number of hands ; that commerce shall be free ; and that the administration shall be intrusted to the governor. Toussaint having established his constitution provisionally, wrote to the First Consul recpiesting the sanction of the govern¬ ment, but Buonaparte had not the good manners to answer any of his letters. Peace with England having left his hands free, Buona])arte sent as his reply an expedition of French republican soldiers to re-establish slavery in Saint Domingo I Some of the obsequious parasites he consulted in the Council of State urged him to decimate his opponents in the colony. ‘ What do you think of it V asked the First Consul of Bishop Grdgoire. ‘ 1 think,' he replied, ‘ that if these gentlemen W'ere instantly to grow^ black, they would change their language.' On the 20tli of May, 1801, Buonaparte re-established slavery in all the French colonies ; but a pretended exception was immediately after made in favour of Saint Domingo and Cua-laloupe. Toussaint, how^ever, w'as not deceived, and warned of the preparations made against him, he entered into a treaty with Lonl Nugent, Governor of Jamaica, to supply him wdth arms. But he did not delude himself respecting the result of the conflict. In his proclamation to his army he said : — ‘I am a soldier, and do not fear man. I fear God alone ; and if I die, it shall be like an honourable soldier who has nothing to reproach himself with.' Success Wi\s impossible against 30,000 troo])s in fifty-four vessels of w’ar, and Toussaint was only the chief of tlie blacks of the colony. Rigaud and many other mulatto officers accompanied the expedition. Supposing it to be granted LIFE OF TOUSSAINT L’oUVERTURE. G57 that ho coiilil, with the aid of the climate, liave destroyed this expHlition, he would only have been guilty of much bloodshed, for Saint Domingo, even when united, is not a match for France. Yet he has been reproached for saying, on seeing the fleet — ‘ We must })erish ; we are betrayed ; all the French have come to n^venge themselves and enslave the blacks.’ He expected to receive communications from Cleneral Leclerc, but he received none, and his subordinate, Christophe, evidently a traitor, made a show of resistance to the disembarkation of the French. Some obscurity rests upon the transactions, but two facts seem certain, that at first Toussaint advanced to open communications with a French officer, and had his horse shot under him ; and that he wrote a letter to his brother Paul, in which he ordered him to fraternize with the French. Toussaint’s two children, who had been in Paris for their education, were sent with the expedition; and Isaac L’Ouverture had a verbal mes.sage to his father from Duonaparte : — ‘ I promise him protection, glory, and honour.’ As Puona])arte was probably under the influence of his creole wife, Josephine, in his conduct, (General L(‘clerc was, undoubtedly, guided by the mulatto officers, who wished to compromise the distinguished representative and impersonation of negro emancipation. If the letters and messages sent him h.ad been delivered, if General Leclerc had treated him courte¬ ously, or answered his letters, Toussaint L’Guverture might not have been stung into a conflict which had no other use than to form a sort of protest against the re-establishment of slavery. His old mulatto o]4)onent, Rigaud, justified all that liad been suspected of him by appearing in the exj)cdition. Toussaint thus came to understand the real character of it, and .sending his children back to Leclerc, made his military protest against the restoration of the foul compound of robi)ery, violation, and murder, euphoniously called .slavery. From the wounds he received, and the dangers he courted, it is evident the old soldier wished to .seal his protest with his death. He searched for death as eagerly as Buonaparte fled from it at Waterloo. The desertion of Christoplie with 1200 men forced Toussaint to accei)t the terms offered him by Leclerc in a proclamation — the oblivion of the cpiarrel, the continuance of their rank to all the officers, an<l honour and protection to Toussaint in retirement. When ho arrived at Cape Town, he was received with a salute of artillery, Leclerc embraced liim publicly, and his guard was reviewed and is retirement, in the valley of Ennery, Tous.saint could scarce ly doubt that he was secure from outrage. Buonaparte hod written a letter to him declaring that France owed the colony to N.S. — VOL. VIII. U U 658 LIFE OF TOrSStAIXT LOUVEKTURE. Irim. He was told to re^id as one of the most dis- tinsruLshetl citizens of the* Republic. Paul L'Oiiverture, from PLusance, ami Vernet, from Gouaives, warned him of his intended arrest ; but he could not Wlieve it. General Brunet sent him a letter full of French friendship, which in\*ite*d him and his faiuilv to visit the general. Alihou^li ill. Toiussiiint luiswered in ptTson, and was .surrounded by twenty grenadiers, and declartnl a f>risoner. He gave up his sword and was garotte, that is to s;\v, bound with a rope ! Toussaint, his wife, and children, after their house was pilLaged, were embarked for France, without the necessaries of life. On the voyage, he remarked — ‘ They have only felled the trunk of the tree of the liberty of the blacks at Saint Domingo, but it will grow again, for its roots are deep ;uid many.' The Chateau de Joux in the Alps was selecteil as the prison of Tou.ssaint L’Ouverture. Buonaparte shrunk fn*m trying and executing a man who had saved a colon v, and whose only fault was to have stooil by the rights conferred upon his race by laws. A dungeon amidst [Perpetual snows was, howwer, assigned to this illustrious son of the tropics by a man who made the etl'ects of climate upon the human frame hi.s constant study. The etfects of strychnine are not more certain than those of cold. The letters which Touss;\int wrote to Buonap;irte are pathetic, but high*tonc*il. Like a man of honour, he ap|)eals to the word of the captain-general, ami, with a sort of innocent iistonish- ment, describes the rascally trick of Generals Brunet and Li clero. by which he was made a prisoner ; how* he was hurried off without other clothe.s than those he had on ; his house pillaged and burnt ; and his wife and children arrested : ‘ they have nothing even to clothe themselves in.' ‘Citizen First Consul, a mother of a family, tiftv-three years old, merits indulgence. . . . I alone am responsible.' ... In the same strain he wrote to the minister Deeres. The only reply was an order to sepiirate him from his family. Buonajiarte supposed that Toussaint had done what he would in like circumstances have done — amassed im¬ mense treasures — and his cruelties were intendeil to extort by torture the secret of where they were hidden. Tlie great negro had no such secrets, and only wrote imploring the First Consul to decide his fate. He was contident of the result of a just exami¬ nation of his conduct, because his old blind father, still alive, had shown him the way of prol)ity, and he is urgent, because ' grief bad altered his health and ‘ I have claimeil mv liberty of vou that I may be able to w’ork to gain mv living, and nourish my unliappy family. His appeals had become troublesome, and a response was made to them ; liis last faithful servant was with¬ drawn from attendance upon him, and he was deprived of the FRONUNCIATION OF C.UFliK. privilege of taking exercise iu the court of the chateau ! Con¬ sidering that Buonaparte owoil his tirst and most ditheult tnui- sition from a Piiris garret to a [K>siiiou iu the Siviety of the French metropolis to his marriage with a gjiy ricli cixole widow, there is in this iissossination a cruelty seldom matehed iu the annals of crime. * Five franc's a-dav/ siivs M. Saint Iwmv, ' were allowed for eiwh prisoner.’ Buouaj^iiirte said * thiw were* plenty.’ Captain Colomier, iu self-vindication, relateil that the governor of the castle made two visits to Neufcliatel in Switzerland ; that a c'ast-iron }x>t and a little fiU'iniWtH)us fcK>d wius ;ill that was allowed toToussaint: and that he ^Colomier) gave him a little coti’tv ; that upon the occasion of his second visit to Neufchatel, the governor did not give f'olomier the keys, dtvlaring that the prisoners ilid not need anvthing : that he remaineil awav four ilavs ; and that when he returned, Toussaiiit was no more. Prior to announcing the fact, the governor carried iu fresh provisions, although his hitggard hice and agitated manner hi trayed what had happeiunl. The attitude of the corpse beside the extinct chimney told the story of the death. The captain of the fort and the mayor of the canton refused to sav the death was owing to anvthing else than famine. Some medic;d men, howewr, were found who certitied it was owing to serous apoplexy. At Saint Helena, Buonapiu te .s;uil — ‘ 1 had no interest in killing a miserable negro 1’ Buonaparte and roussiiint — egotism and heroism ! —were similar in their deaths, in ;us far as the riK'k of Jura resembles the rock of Saint Helena ; yet there was an enormous ditference between them, for beside the poor chimney of the negro no tnwes are found of the spectral pre.sence of Remorse ! Akt. ll. — The Tronunciation of (hrek ; Accent and Qnantiti/. A Pliilological Jiupiiry. l\v .lnhii Stuart Ulaekie, l*rol’essor ol tiFcvk ill the University of Kdinhuigh. Kdinbupgli : Suther- liuid Iviiox. The book which staiuls at the liead of this article is the work of a thorough scholar, who,, alter having dived into ail the recesse.H of his subject, and completely nuustered it, luia sat down to draw a broad general sketch of the most important arguments and conclusions he has obtained. It is written, as might have been expected, with warmth and vigour; and into the clullest parts of his task the author has thrown a life aiul a human interest w hich are seldom wutnessc'd in the productions ot learned men. The U U 2 G60 PRONUNCIATIOX OF GREEK. book, we think, ^vill not be regarded as perfectly satisfactory on all the points which it discusses ; for some of them are merely glanced at : but no student can read it without ])rotit, for it gives a vast deal of information on subjects new to most, and it suggests manv interesting and not unprofitable inquiries. AVe agree with Professor Blackie in thinking that the present time is suitable for a consideration of the pronunciation of Greek. The increased facilities of locomotion bring our Hellenists more frequently into contact with foreign scholars ; and then English¬ men feel the disadvantage of speaking Greek in such a way that none but Englishmen can understand them. Several books of travel, recently published, have given utterance to feelings natu¬ rally arising in such circumstances, and have advocated a change. There lias also beinm amongst us a revival of a wider and more catholic scholarship, of which the w'orks of Grote and Mure are the first-fruits ; and from those who are animated with the spirit of this movement, the question of the proper method of pro¬ nouncing Greek will receive a fair and thorough investigation. Add to thi.s, that the publication of a Modern Greek Grammar in London, by Corpe, puts it in the power of the classical student to become acquainted with the present language of the Greeks in a few hours. The methods of pronouncing Greek are generally divided into two classes, — the Erasmian and the Reuchlinian, or Modern Greek. The Erasmian includes under it a great variety of pro¬ nunciations : the English, with its peculiar sound of a, /, and ou; the German, with its oi sound of fu ; the Scotch, and othei*s. The name is not appropriate, as none of the methods which it embraces corresponds to the theoretical notions propounded by Erasmus, and most of them are purely arbitrary. The Reuch¬ linian is widely ditferent from all the Erasmian, and is charac¬ terized ])rincipally by its iotacism ; that is, it sounds u, t, oi, i», lu, as our ce in been. It derives its name from the celebrated Reuchlin, who was one of its champions in the first days of the controversy. The European scholars, who, in the fifteenth century, on the revival of Greek literature, studied Greek under Greeks from Con¬ stantinople, adopted the pronunciation of their teachers. Ihis mode continued undisputed for some time, until a few scholars began to suspect that it was a comiption, and that it owed its origin entirely to the common ])eople. This opinion was adopted by Erasmus (in extraordinary circumstances, if Yossius is to be believed),* who, in 1 528, sent forth a dialogue, ‘ De Recta Latini * See the letter given in Professor Blackie’s book, p. 10. PRONUNCIATION OF CtREEK. 0)61 Gr»Tciqiie Sermonis Pronunciationc/ A bear and a lion carry on the conversation. In the coniinenceinent they cut up with unsjxiring and acute wit the foibles and stupidities of school- in.asters, and make some excellent and note-worthy remarks on a right system of education. They then advance to the ])ronun- ciation of Latin and Greek : notice many of the national pecu¬ liarities of enunciation which had crej)t into it, and attack the method then universally j>ractised. It was easy work for Erasmus to find fault ; but it was not so easy to construct The plan he j)ro])osed was to enunciate the vowels as they are now pro- nounceil in Germany, or the south of IScotland, and to give distinct expression to both the components of a diphthong. The arguments he adduces are feeble, and applied without critical discrimination ; but nothing else could have been expected. The subject was a new one, and consequently the Lutch scholar was able to give only a crude and imperfect view of the (piestion. His great name, however, was sufficient to attract attention, and though he himself continued to follow the lleuchlinian, and in all probability did not imagine that any other would ever be adopted, some came forward daring enough to venture on an innovation. John Choke, a bold man, and a Professor of Greek in Cambridge University, fought manfully and bravely for the liberty of speaking Greek as he thought Plato and Demosthenes used to utter it, and though the Chancellor urged him not to disgrace his chair by such a new-fangled absurdity, and by strong decrees expelled the new ])ractices from the University, John Cheke got supporters, and his cause ultimately triumphed. After teaching his new method privately for some years, he again found himself in the ITniversity, and with power to do as he liked. His innovation soon became universjd in England. He was not, however, the author of the mode now followed, for that seems to have arisen in days when Greek scholarship had sunk very low in this country. The Erasmian method was not so successful in Germany ; for there have always been some there who have preferred the lleuchlinian, and several of her most illustrious grammarians and learned men have spoken out in its behalf, and practise it in their class-rooms. How, then, stands the matter ? Which of the pronunciations current is the ancient, or most like it ? In seeking for an answer to this question, we must not forget that the j)ronunciation of Greek may have varied in ancient times. Homer may have pronounced differently from Plato, and Plato differently from Chrysostom. The Erasmians, whose productions are contained in Havercamp’s collection, neglected this Y)oint altogether. In attacking their opponents, they drew arguments from all ages of 1 662 PRONUNCIATION OF GREEK. classic lit(‘rature indifferently, as if Greek pronunciation were by its very nature unchangeable. A wiser spirit, however, has ]x^r- vaded modern iinpiiry. The works of Seyffarth and Idskov classify the testimonies according to their countries and ages, and the consecpience is, that they have anived at far more reliable results. Now, an examination of the conclusions to which these and others have come, will show that we cannot be certain as to what was the pronunciation of Greek in tlie days of the classic writers. Some passages here and there point out how single vowels were pronounced ; but it is not till we come to the times of the Ca‘sars that we can give a certain historical table of almost all the vowels and disj)uted consonants. Professor l>Iackie has recorded the result of his investigations in the following o O summary : — l.ottcr. P«)wer. Long A = a as in father. Short A — hat. li = al „ pain. i: = (jet. ii = pore. () = [fOt. Long V if V huhne. Short \ = the same shortened. Jjong 1 = vr as in r/reen. Short I = the same shortened. .\I = ni as in KI = ee „ f/reen. ()1 = rc „ preen. OV 00 ,, boom. AV ai', aj\ or ? KV =r or ? These conclusions may appear startling to those who have not investigated this matter; but we can assure them, from a close scrutiny of the evidence, that Professor l^lackie is fully borne out. Perhaps in one or two letters he has not done full justice to the iotacism of modern Cireek. 11 is authority for pronouncing as ai in pain is a passage intlie W(wk of Dionysius of Halicarnassus, * Ilfpi vto’ffiir \)v(ifiiaTiov.’ The rhetorician there gives direc¬ tions as to how it should be pronounced, and it is impossible to mistake the sound to which he refers. Put it may be cjuestionod whet ht'r Dionysius states the n>inal method of pronouncing the vow('l, or whetlier he refers only to its original power, ^lany a schoolmaster in our day tells his pupils that a is to be sounded as (d in Jiud yet he teaches them to pronounce bad like other )>oople. So Dionysius may have given the })roper power of tht' »j, without meaning to affirm that it was so pronounced by educated people in all words, or by the common people in 1 hj c PRONUNCIATION OF GREEK. 663 any; for, if he did, how can his substitutions of for the Latin f, in his transposition of Latin names into Greek, be nvonciled with the statement ? Be this as it may, it is not of great im})or- tance, as we have more certain evidence tliat was j)ronounced as i, ])ysoine people at least, in the lirst century of the Christian era. ^LTfmTiytw is touiid tor (TTfHtTtiyav on a monument ot that age ; XfUffmUj and Xpiaror were contounded, as several of the fathers inform us ; and the Syriac version of the Now Testament frequently substitutes chirek for the »/. Jf we come lower than the first century, the ])roofs are numerous and clear. We readily grant that Plato ex]>ressly afhrins that n was pronounced diti’e- rently from i (though he says, too, that long before his time it had been ])ronounced as /); and we allow’ that when Aristoj>hanes writes '(Kti instea»l of to mark a Spartan woman’s j)ronuiicia- tion, it is certainly to be infmred that the sound of i and i; w'ere not the same. Indeed, the imitation of the bleating of a sheep (/3»i, jiii), in a fragment of Cratinus, gives us certainty with regard to its enunciation in classic times; but very early a change took place. Similar remarks might be made in reference to the sound of i>, of which, how’ever, we have less informati*)!!. About the fourth or fifth century, the habit of sounding it as i became settled. We w ish w’e could ])resent to our readers the whole of the testimony on which these conclusions are based ; but this is im¬ possible, and the student will get all that he can desire in the w'orks of Seyfbirth, Liskov, and Pennington. Meanwhile we shall select a specimen of the kind of ])roof, taking the diphthong ai as tlie subject for examination. In the fourth century before the Christian era, we find in Athenian inscriptions, A^tjvifTv instead of Ac»/i»fi/rTe, Kt foi knuand the like. The/ec^^/cnc/y of this mistake shows that at was sounded as c, not by one dull-headed engraver inerelv, but by the great body of the peoph*. In the third cen- turv, the ‘ Seventy’ substitute at for isetr, as for Jkfhel tliey w’rite ; i'or flhnj aWttft. Now, this could not have been done had tlie at been sounded as a di]>hthong. A fragment of Calli¬ machus also throws light on the sound of at — Avnat'lii, nit yt ra't^^i KaXtuj, K'liXot; aWa, TTfjtr itTrelr I'ovTtf fTtKjtCjr, rtf U/Wot wdiere tytt is the echo of and conserpiently t of at. These testimonies are sufficient to elicit the classical pronunciation of m. We have not taken into consi«lerati(m Homer’s use of Trattj as a dissyllable. No certain or even ])robable infertuice can, in our opinion, be drawn from this ciicumstance. It should be mentioned, however, that IVnnington adduces a j)asHage from Plutarch, and another from iJionysius of Halicaniassus, to prove 064 PRONUNCIATION OP GREEK. that the educated, in reading Thucydides or a classic author, gave distinct utterance to the i of the diphthong, in the time of these witnesses. In the first century of the Christian era, the Syriac interpreters substitute tsere and seghol for at. Sextus Empiricus calls at, £«, and ou, oTo^fca, or elements, defining a <tto\uov to be such ‘ Ik* Tov aavv^sTov icat /lovonoiov <l)^oyy6v.* As we come nearer to the present time, proofs multiply; but we shall con¬ tent ourselves with copying an extract from the Psalm Book of King Athelstan, given by Wetstein. It may be of some use to those scholars in Oxford and elsewhere, who are fond of middle- age saints, and middle-age things : — THE CREED IX ANGLO-SAXON LETTERS. ‘ Pistheu is then patera pantocratero ce is criston ihu yon autu ton monogenton quirion iinon ton genegenta ec pneumatus agiu ee maria tis parthenu, ton epi pontio pilatu staurothenta, tafinta te trite imera anastanta ec nieron anaunta is tos uranos, eatimenon in dexia tu patros, oten erehetc crine zontas ce nicros ce is pneunia agion, agri, afisin amartion, sarcos anasta. ainin.* It would be more satisfactory to many scholars if the exact pronunciation of Homer or of Plato could be ascertained ; and almost all who have written on the subject have ventured on a theory. The one generally adopted is that of Erasmus, already noticed, for which the Erasmians fight very bravel)\ ‘ Why call two vowels diphthongs,' says Professor Cheke, ‘ if they are not to be sounded ; why not call them digraphs?' John Cheke might as well ask English grammarians why they talk of diphthongs. Names are not always accurate descriptions of things. They may have been called diphthongs, because at the time at which they were so called both vowels were sounded, or it may have been that the grammatical term was a translation from another language, in which, when the name was given, each vowel was distinctly heard. ^Many other suppositions might be formed, of which Professor Cheke s is undoubtedly the most probable, but its probability would not stand high if set down in figures ; and, even if the argument were good, it does not tell us when or how long the diphthongs were sounded, as they are sup>posed to be at the giving of the name. ‘ But,' says Professor John, ‘when the Greek letters were first used to commit to writing the spoken language, every letter must then have had a distinct forca' Not so fast, Professor Cheke, for you might know very well that when Hebrew or other foreign words are transferred to English, all the English letters have not a distinct force. If the Greek letters had been formed expressly for the Greek language, the argument would PRONUNCUTION OF GREEK. 665 have been of some value, but this was not the case. Indeed, Professor Cheke's arguments can be applied to the English letters as well as to the Greek ; and it proves simply that the letters, when first invented, had each a separate function ; but it does not inform us whether the diphthongs possessed their double sound wlien they were transferred from Plioenician to Greek ; in fact, it affords us no element of time, and leaves the question in a very unsatisfiujtory position. These are the principal arguments of the Enismians : the rest ai’e of a similar nature and ecpially decisive. There are, certainly, however, several things in the Homeric poems and other old Greek writings, which indicate that the ancient pronunciation differed from the later. Many of the contractions which occur could scarcely have arisen if the pro¬ nunciation of the time of the Ccesars had been used ; and the lines so frecpiently quoted by the Erasmians such as — Tpottj IV ivpei^ Ti I'v ot TOfTot' dtCvfrao Zeu ; do not sound well according to the Reuchlinian mode, though this argument has often been pressed too far. But all these give us nothing positive ; they bring before us our ignorance, but they do not enlighten us. We must be content, therefore, with what historical criticism can certify to us. The discussion of the pronunciation of Greek involves another matter on which almost all are theoretically right and practically wrong — we mean accentuation. It is needless at the present time to prove that the Greeks pronounced according to accent : that is, that they laid a certain stress of the voice on those syllables on which we liave now accentual marks. Plato makes express mention of them. The grammarians again and again define and discuss them. We are told that Aristophanes of Byzantium was the inventor of the accentual marks, and we have the best evidence that these were used in the first century in public inscriptions. Verses, likewise, were made according to accents ; accentual marks are occasionally to be met with in very ancient manuscripts ; and the accentuation thus indicated is tlie same as that which Chrysoloras, Lascaris, and other Greeks, taught their scholars in the fifteenth century. Not long after the taking of Constantinople by the Turks, the communications of learned men with Greece were broken off, the doctrine of accents was discussed and rules for them were made out, as if no Greek nation were in existence ; and now, when intercourse with Greeks is again becoming more common, we find them speaking according to the accents which are printed in our editions of the classics. Proof of this sort is irresistible, and he must be a bold man who can, in the face of the accumulated evidence on the point, venture to assert that our accentual marks have no mean- 66G PRONUNCIATION OF GREEK. ing, and that the Greeks regarded nothing but quantity in tlieir pronunciation. Such an assertion has been made oftener than once, but we hope that the days when learned men could utter such an absurdity are passed away for ever. The ancient Greeks undoubtedly ol>served the quantity of syllables in their pronunciation of their language, but this circum¬ stance leaves undetermined on what syllable the accent was placed. Every word has one accent, as Cicero correctly affirms, and those who have pretended to discard accents from Gi’eek, do not pronounce it according to quantity but according to the Latin accentuation. This they have done, though Quinctilian contrasts the Latin with the Greek in this very point. ‘ Sed accentus (pioque cum rigore qiiodam, turn similitudine i]>sa minus suaves habemus, quia ultima syllaba nec acuta unquam excitatur, nec tlexa circumducitur, sed in gravem, vel duas graves cadit semper. Itac^ue tanto est sermo Graicus Latino jucundior ut nostri poeta? quoties dulce carmen esse voluerant, illorum id noininibus exornent." What could be plainer ? But can the accents and quantity be both retained ? U n- doubtedly they can, and equally far is it from doubt that the ancient Greeks did observe them both. An acute accent does not lengthen a syllable, as is evident at once from the common pronunciation of the words spirit, Latin, inimical ; and if we remember that the Greeks spoke much more slowly and musically than Englishmen are accustomed to do, we shall see that there would be no difficulty to them in such words as av^pwirofs. Likely enough, some of the low rabble of Colyttus may have spoken Greek in a 'way as different from that of a 'w^ell-educated Greek as the dialect of Whitechapel differs from that of Belgravia; but from the stories told of the acuteness of the Athenian ear, we may gather that among the great mass of the people both accent and cpiantity were carefully observed ; and there is certainly more n^ason for believiim, if this were not the case, that accent was adhered to rather than (juantity. In public orations we know that both were very strictly observed. As to quantity, Dionysius of Halicarnassus actually scans part of the funeral oration of Plato, while Plutarch infonns us that Demosthenes was hissed, as we should say (t7ri roiVtj) 7roAX«ic#c because, from an etymological speculation of his own, he dared to pronounce Asklepios as a ]iroparoxyton€, contrary to custom. Verse, again, was constructed according to quantity, and there seems good reason for lielieving that w hen poetry w as read, or rather chanted, the s])oken accents were observed as far as the musical permitted. The choral songs, howevei*, w ere, in all probability, never read ; and when sung, the musical accent would completely destroy the spoken. PRONUNCIATION OF GREEK. 607 We cannot go further into this part of the subject. We have not all the light on it that .could be wislied ; and the want of a thorough musical education unfits many scholars from appre¬ ciating a portion of the facts that liave come down to us. Some good remarks on the subject will be found in Professor Bladders book. Any one, however, who wishes to go deeply into the study will do well to examine tlie Professors pamphlet on the ‘ Khv thin ical Declamation of the Ancients,' and the admirable investigation of the matter in Peimington's ‘ Essay on the Pronunciation of the Greek. Lanjiuaixe.' What pronunoiation then ought to be adopted in our schools and colleges ? From the remarks already made, it is manifest that our present mode stands on no authority, theoretical or historical. Accenting Greek according to Latin laws is op¬ posed to the express declarations of Quinctilian. In a con¬ tinuation of the passage previously adduced, the rhetorician confesses the defects of Latin in these words: — ‘Non possumus esse tarn graciles? Simus fortiores.’ Now, according to our pronunciation, both languages are fortes. Greek and Latin are alike ; they have the same stately monotonous march. Hear, on the other hand, an educated Greek read the ancient language, and you can see at once, that while the Latin moves on as with the heavy tread of an elephant, or, to use a more compli¬ mentary comparison, as with the dignified pace of a lion, the movement of Greek may be compared to that of a serpent which now suddenly darts forwjird, then poises itself for a moment, and then gently traces exquisite lines of beauty. We certainly do great injustice to Greek in om* pronunciation. Scholia’s of a certain stamp are slow to move, and we know full well that schoolmasters will make strong objections to altering their pronunciation ; but we apjieal to their candour and good sense, and we ask, why should such an eccentricity as our pro¬ nunciation of Greek, unauthorized l)y iincient practice, and having no beauty or consistency in itself, be allowed to disgrace our seats of learning ? But what other pronunciation can be adopted in its stead? The modern Greek, .say we, without hesitation. Supj)o8e a German wished to learn English, would he begin debating with himself as to whetht;r he would try to a.scertain tlie pronunciation common in the time of Elizabeth, and follow that as having the authority of the Augustan age of English literature? Would he not acting contrary to the acknowledged rights of a living language ? Or, suppose we heard him reading Shakspeare in a way in which he thought the dramatist himself jironounced the words, should we not smile at his aitclics for acheSy and other peculiarities t We need not wonder, then, if the Greeks are aato- 3^" PRONUNCIATION OF CREEK. nisliod that our men of mighty learning should enunciate their language in a manner in which it is totally unintelligihle to them. They claim to be dictators in this matter, not merely as standing on a tradition of 1400 years, or more, but as the moulders and lawgivers of their o^^m language. ‘ As much right have we,' say they, ‘to adopt an arbitrary method of speaking English, pro¬ nouncing every letter distinctly, and doing away with all its irregularities, as you scholars to mangle and torture our native tongue in the way you do.' What answer can be made to this appeal ? None, we suspect, unless that modern Greek is not the same language as the ancient. If this w ere the case, of course the present inhabitants of Greece w’ould have no more right to inter¬ fere wdth ancient Greek than the Italians wdth Latin. Jhit is this the case i No. We do not deny that changes have taken })lace in the language, and that the Neo-Hellenic contains in it several modern elements. But we fearlessly assert, that the ditferences between it and ancient Greek are not so great as to make them tw’o distinct languages. Modern Greek does not difter so much from ancient Greek as the English of Wicklif from that of the days of James I.; and we believe that those Greeks for whom the notes of scholiasts were written w ouhl tind less dithcidtv in reading a modern author than in reading Homer. In thus speaking, we are merely reiterating the statements of all, or, at least, the greatest part of those who have studied the modern language. Professor Blackie, who is one of the first British Neo- Hellenic scholars, devotes several pages to a refuta¬ tion of the notion that Greek is a dead language.* Many Germans w’ho have been in Greece have expressed the same opinion, and Cor])e, in his preface and his whole grammar, testifies to the fact. Indeed, a proof of this point is etusy. Let the classical student read the following extract, taken from a novel by Alexander JSoutsos, and say if he finds difficulty in understanding it : — KfHtToufifi'vi iiTTo T(iQ ^e7f)aCi TrffHTrarovrrec ftoroi vXok'Xi'ifxn'c tXfffTfwt'OVf^ify tiQ rac ItCfTTaneic Tor k‘()(TfAOi' k’cii tov£ Tnk'fjovr rov 7rfpimra(T^i(fV£. *11 ynXi'irr] rij£ fupiri/c I'VKTocy o (larffttoTrotj oiyKii'or, TO KfXtu'tjftu rijg ruty rafJutTwy knii Twy ^t(l)VfHt)y o ripiryoc \!/t^vfH(rf.t6£y to Tray ficig fyot]revei\ This extract, taken from a letter wTitten by a Greek to his sweetheart, and describing their moonlight w’anderings, is a lair specimen of the Greek usually addressed to the people. M e have selected it purely from the harmony of the sound and the sense which it exhibits. We might have chosen passages from * The Professor diseusses this point more fully in a leeture delivrred on his return from a visit to (rreeee : * Uu the Living Language of tlie (Greeks, and its utility to the Classical Scholar.* EdiiiburLrh; Sutherland & Knox. Ib53. / / PnOXUNCIATIOX OF OUEEK. works adilressod to tlie learned, wlueli could not he distini^fuished from ancient Greek, or we might pitch on many songs in Fauriel s collection of niodern Greek ballads, which would ht' intelligihh> to none hut those thoroughly vei-sed in the language. The mean is tlu‘ fairest, and we i\sk, does it not prove our point i Would it not he easy to select sjKK'imens of the Doric dialect which differ far more widely from Attic than this^ The use of c'itto with the accusative, ti<,* for tr, ami /tine for the genitive and accusiitive plural of tytOf are the princijKil peculiarities in these sentences, ami certainly nothing worth speaking of. The history of the language leads to a similar conclusion. When did Greek ceiise to he the language of Grei'ce { Not in the third and fourth centuries of the Ghristian era, for we have an illustrious band of Greek fathers, who preached and wrote their language with vigour and elegance. Not in the middle ages, for the works of the llyzantine historians are in Greek. They may not he written in such Greek as woidd j)lc:use some of our retined scholars, who, intiiiested only in wonls and phnises, and caring little about the matter of Greek hooks, abjure all authors who do not belong to a certain supposed chvssical age of ])urity. If such were to ciirry their views down t(^ niodern times, they wouhl he compelled to acknowledge that English was the most barbarous language on the fiwe of the earth, and that Milton and Shakspi‘are were not to he read because they happemal to use it ! With scholars of a liberal cast, however, the Greek of Anna Comnena, or of CMialcondyles, will he allowed to ht‘ Greek, and not very had, after all. Nor did the language fall into disuse after the taking of Constantinople by tlie Turks. Tlie priests continued to use the ancient language, according to the com¬ mands of their ])atriarchs ; and down to the present time, hooks have been, and are still, written by learned men in ancit'ut Greek. Tliere has thus been an uninterrupted tradition of the aticicnt language. Ihit what do we know of the modern i The twelfth century is the time generally assigned to the tirst apiH'arance of the modern as a written language; and it ditfered from the ancient in this, that it was an exact coj)y of tliat Greek which was used in common conversation. It ha<l taken up some of the forms which characterize modern languages, sucli as the uso of auxiliary verbs, while it retained several /Kolic or Doric inflexions. It had also a large infusion of Homeric and other ancient words, which were seldom found in the written language, just as many of the dialects of the English counties and the Scotch contain Shaks))earian wonls ^now oh.solete in written Emdish. Our extract from Soutsos will exhibit the truth of this statement. Modern Greek is therefore essentially is>pular; it was the language of the vuhjus. But, as in the interval *•1. If t ‘ I -4" 670 PRONUNCIATION OF GREEK. between the domination of the Turks and Venetians, and the excitement of a free spirit attendant on the French Revolution, almost all the Greeks were compelled to occupy the position of the vub/ns, modern Greek came into universal use. J>uring these centuries of Turkish domination, the language was fairly in the way of becoming a new one, through the adoption of Turkish, Italian, and otlier words and idioms. A better day, however, dawned on (Jreece. A national feeling begtin to per¬ vade her, and amidst other results of it, her language was puri¬ fied, — the foreign elements were systematically expelled, an<l the learned Korais and his followers have brought back as many of the forms of the ancient dialect as was consistent with the motlern spirit and modes of thinking. So that now there is perhaps not another language that has so few foreign words. Its richness supplies it witli terms for all our inventions, and for all our philoso])hic ideas. Railway, Steamer, Daguen’eotype, ami s\ich words are expressed in compounil words of ])ure Greek, while many of our scientific and other names, as j)hotography, phono¬ graphy, are Greek already. Professor Bhtckie informs us that in three columns of a Greek neicsj^oper, of the year RSoii, there do not certainly occur three v:ords that are not pure native Greek. The Greeks, then, we maintain, have an inalienable right to legislate on the pronunciation of their language. But even if they had not, it happens that theirs is the only one current which has a good foundation in historical inquiry. The practical conclusion, then, seems inevitable that the modern Greek pro¬ nunciation should be universally adopted. Tho only ])oint on wdiich a scholar might have some hesitation is the neglect of quantity which prevails in modern Greek, 'bhus TVTTTuvai is tipthsi. This certainly was not the case in the best times of the ancient language ; still this ])ractice is not of recent orimn. The accent does not lengthen the svllable on which it is placed, nor shorten the syllables that follow it. It is not ditticult to ]>ronounce such a word as grandfather, and equally easy is it to give both accent and quantity to «i'3’p(t)7roc. Nor is it contrary to reason to suppose that the Greek people gave both in the common talk of life, provided they had a good- musical education, and spoke more slowly than is common with us. Indeed, we have often heard Greeks linger unconsciously on syllables succeed¬ ing the accented one. But when a language is spoken (juickly, or when a nation loses the exquisite sense of time wdiich the Greeks possesseil, the penultimate syllable of a jiroparoxytone is apt to be shortened. This took place in the Greek language. Pennington finds examples of accentual verses in Dionysius of rilONUNCIAnON OF OUEEK. 671 Halicarn»assus, AVe are not pertec'tly satisfied that lie is correct in the interpretation of the passage ; the verses, too, are not very smooth, if scanned by accents ; yet we confess we have no other reason for doubting than the early age of the writer. Tlie fifth century of the Christian era gives us proof, at least, of tlie commencement of this custom, and the eight li of its having become ])revalent. rriulentius, in the fifth century, shortens the jienult of and of similar words; and in the eighth century we have the vo'snsf poliiicif or vers(‘s framed according to accent, from .lohn of Damascus. Add to this, the legislative rights of the modern language, and the consideration that the custom is more consonant witli modern habits, ami more suitable to most Knglisb oars ; and we think we have a case for following the Creeks. We should follow them even in reading the ancient orators, just as we adhere to onr present ]n*onunoia- tionof English in reading Wicklif. Toetry, on the otlier hand, is based on (jiiantity, wliicli C()nst‘(|ii(‘ntly must he attended to, as in reading Cliaucer we deem it riglit to convert monosyllabic words into dissyllaliles, when the rhythm demands it. We have been able to present only tlie general outlines of thus subject, and we now submit the matter to tlu‘ judgment of British scholars. They, we maintain, have a h»‘tter right to <lecide what ought to he onr |>rnmmoiatiun of Greek than those from whom we have derived our present mode, because the philology of this age is sounder and healthier, and the means of investigation are more abundant. It is not at all imjnohahle that wo have boon somewhat pit^judieed in the advocacy of onr own view. It is almost inn)()s.sil>lt? to avoid this. But we shall have attained our object if we excite our h*arned men to a calm, liberal, ami thorough examination of this not unimportant ]>oiiit of scholarship. Prejudices we all have ; custom throws its cliains around everv man ; and each is rcadv to defend liisown crotchet at the expense of sense and truth. But it is the duty of every one to struggle against everv obstacle that hmder.s him from a clear insight into the tnitli, no matter whether the truth he of small or groat importance. And the f|ue.stioii before ns is not without its interest and its advantages. The investigation may drag many scholars, crammed with grammatical inflections and nothing else, into the healthy literature of a people proud of their descent and of their jiresent liberties; and it may open up to ns easier methods of learning languages. It is notorious that our scholars can read and write Greek and Latin, but when a Greek bilks to them in the one language, or a Magyar or Roman- catholic prie.st in the other, they are duml>. Onr system of education is palpably wrong in ne(fleciing the ear as an instru- LORD RACOX. iiient ill acquiring languages. We imagine that if our young men wero first taught to speak motlern Greek, and were then gradually led from the modem to the ancient liteniture, they would learn more Greek, and reap a richer harvest of those advantaires which a classical education can confer. Akt. hi. — l>(tcon’'s Essays^ Apophtherpns^ IVisdom of ilie Ancients, Scir Atlantis, and Henry VII. With Introductory llissertiitioii an<l Notes by J. Dove}’, M.A. (l^ohii’s Standard Libnu’y, 1852.) 2. J>acoHS Xovuni Oryanuni, and Advancement of l^earniny. With Notes by J. Devey, M.A. (Uoha’s Seientilic Jabrary 1853.)* The two main divisions of the history of philosophy are ancient and modern. All that does not strictly belong to either of these may bo regarded as fonning transition ste2)s. ^lodern civiliza¬ tion, though it may not have excelled antiquity in the tine art.s, })oetry, rhetoric, statuary — and is indebted to it for the founda¬ tion of jnire mathematics — has far surpassed it in those branches of knowledge which are based on observation and experiment. In order rightly to estimate the scientific reformation which was mainly brought about by Bacon, let us glance at the chief characteristics of the scholastic plLilo.sophy. As early as the second century of the jiresent era, Christianity came in contact with the philosophy of the age, and especially with New Pla¬ tonism. It was not, however, till the eleventh century, that what may be called Christian philosophy sprung up, which, under its varied jdiases, is collectively .styled scholasticism. The origin of this term is to be found in the Scholar, or schools, which were founded by Charlemagne for philoso])hical studies; in which, however, scarcely any in those days had either leisure or inclination to engage, except the clergy. Hence the main characteristic of this period was constant endeavour to explain the doctrines of the church philosophically, and to work them up into the fonn of scientific systems. Anselm's declara¬ tion, ‘ credo ut intelligam,' was adopted as the guiding principle. The works of the scholastic writers exhibit an immense amount * The })rcscnt article is intciuleil to be ^\\ exposition. Wc have ciuleavoiirLcl to gatlier the ‘viutacre* of the. aeeounts given by St e wad, IMayfair, Na])ier, Campbell, Macaulay, Ballam, Morell, Cousin, Hopnus, Lewes, Craik, A'C. The editions which wc have noticed alx)ve contain valmudc illustrative notes. Their elieapuoss ])laees the works of the illustrious philosopher within the reach ol a large circle of reivders. LOUD BACON. 673 of subtlety and acuteness, industry and toil; but, on the other hand, a mass of barren definitions, and fruitless distinctions, ‘grave trifling, and solemn folly/ hence, the absence of really valuable results. The final aim of scholastic philosophy was a scientific develop¬ ment of the tenets of tlie Roman church. It assumed as its basis the truth of those tenets, and employed as its in.stniment the Aristotelian logic. The deep and extensive intluence of Aristotle's writings at this periotl is thus graphically (]t.*scri})ed by Dr. ICoppus : — ‘This logic was the engine liy which, for ages, the minds of men were bewitclied in a manner that was altogether extraordinary . Glosses, ])araphi*ascs, summaries, arguments, and dissertations on his works were composed without end ; . . . Many of the inhabitants of the west learned Arabic, in order to read a translation of them in that lan"ua"e. The Latin tongue was made another medium of their circulation, and they w'cre read in mo.st parts of the know’n world . Aristotle's works were the great text-book of knowledge, and his logic w as tiie only weapon of truth . Christians, Jews, and Mahometans united in jirofessing avssent to the great law¬ giver of human opinions, ; not Europe alone, but also Africa and Asia acknowledged his dominion ; and while his Greek originals w^ere studied at Paris, translations were read in Persia and at Samarcand. The rage for disputation, which now began to prevail in consequence of the spread of this philosophy, indiiceil the council of Liiteran, under Pope Innocent III., to proclaim a prohibition of the use of the physics and metaphysics of Aristotle; but awful as w’ere then the thunders of the Vatican, they were not mighty enough to dethrone him from that des¬ potism over men's minds, which, by long custom, had now ren¬ dered itself almost omnipotent.' At length, ‘in some of the universities of Europe, statutes were framed, which required the jirofessors to promise on oath, that in their public lectures on philosojdiy, they would follow no other guide.' The most important point of philosophical discussion during the schola.stic age, and one which exhibits itself through the wdiole period, is that between Nominalism and Realism. Realism philosophised in support of the church, and was in turn protected by ecclesiastical authority; Nominalism contended against the dominion of ecclesiastical power; Realism represents the dog¬ matical, Nominalism the critical element ; Realism fettered indi¬ vidual freedom with the bonds of external authority ; Nomi¬ nalism sought to establish the .autonomy of human reason. During the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, several great events combined in bringing about the ultimate freedom of rational speculation from suborilination to ecclesiastical autho- N.s. — VOL. VII 1. X X 674 LORD BACON. ritv. Ab the first of these, ^^ e may place the revival of learning ill the fifteenth century. During the scholastic age, the study of the ancient classical authors had declined ; even the Platonic and Aristotelian systems were known almost exclusively from translations and secondaiy sources. Italy first awoke to a juster ap])reciation of the beauties of the authpie. The arrival of Greek fugitives from Constantinojde gave a great impulse to tlie study of ancient authors in that land. Greek and Latin w orks w ere read in the original languages, and the art of printing multi¬ plied copies. Learned men assembled at the court of the Medici at Florence. Bessarion and ^larsilius Ficinus distinguished themselves as expositors of the ancient, and es))ecially of the Platonic philosophy. Classical refinement protested against the <lr\% inelegant, uncritical mode in which the sciences had hitherto been handled. ‘ The mere substitution of the Academic for the Peripatetic philoso))hy w ould indeed have done little good. But anything w as better than the old habit of unreasoning servility. It was something to have a choice of tyrants. ‘‘A sjiark of freedom,"' as Gibbon has justly remarked, was produced by this collision of adverse servitude.” The second and main cause was the Reformation. The contest against the spirit of scholasticism — the advocacy of classic culture — the struggle after national inde))endence — the etforts of society to liberate itself from the Roman hierarchy — the desire of (exploring the facts and laws of nature — above all, the grasping of individual reason after a full emancipation from external authority — in short, every element of modern times finds its centre-point in the great German reformation. Luther and many of his distinguished contemporaries diil not hesitate to express their contempt of the Peripatetic philosophy. A third cause w^as a number of disconnected attempts at iiiih'pendent thinking on the part of Peter Ramus (1515-1572) in the science of logic ; of Telesius and Campanella in physics; and of Patritius, and Giordano Bruno in metaphysics — all w hich, however, failed to produce any permanent results. A fourth cause was the rise of the natural sciences. Coper¬ nicus, Kejder, and Galileo restored to nature the honour^ of which .scholasticism had robbed her, gave a new aspect to the world of thought, and shook men's faith in the authority of the church. The investigation of natiure's law's, shamefully but vainly op|)i)sed by the hierarchy and papal orthodoxy, amie to be viewed as an essential object of philosophy. Thus, even before the time of Bacon, the justice of the tyrannic sway which scholasticism had exercised over the minds of men had been called in question, and in opposition to servile obe- * ^laoaalay. LORD BACON. 675 dieuce to external authority, a revolutionary spirit had raised its head ; nor had the fortresses of that dominion remained free from direct and repeated attack. But the fundamental reason of the injustice of that rule had not heon clearly pointed out: the revo¬ lution needed the guidance of some master-mind, who should plan and etfect an assault upon the citadel itself, and who should sketcli the outline of a future government which merited the lofty name of science. In the words of Mr. Morell, ‘ Twt) such minds arose, both of gigantic powei*s and almost inexhaustible resources. Each of them applied his whole strength to aid the work of reformation ; and their combined intluence succeeded in turning the stream of all scientific investigation into the two main directions, which it has been pursuing more or less ever since. The first of these was Lord Bacon ; the next in the order, both of time and intluence, was Descartes.' We postpone the comparison of their merits and philoso])hical methods. Francis Bacon was born at York House, in the Straml, January 22, 1561. He was the son of Sir Nicholas Bacon, who, during the first twenty years of Elizabeth’s reign was Lord-keeper of the great seal, and in legal ability and political wisdom was universally ranked secoinl only to the great Burle’gh. His mother, who was the second daughter of Sir Anthony Cooke, was well versed in the Creek, Latin, and Italian languages, and also eminent for her piety. He was delicate in health, and fond of sedentary pursuits. His activity of intellect, which early showed itself in attem]>ts to explain the anomalies of legerdemain, and the curious echo in a vault in St. James's Fields, wfis no doubt fostered by contact with the varied minds of a (Jecil, a »Iewel, a Sidney, a Raleigh, and a Drake, and won the flattering acknow¬ ledgment of Queen Elizabeth, who conferred upon him the title of her young Lord-keeper. At tiie age of thirteen he entered Trinity College, Cambridge. The university was at that time the scene of much activity. The works of the great reformers, and recent investigations in mathe- inatics, astronomy, and political philosophy, gave birth to a life of dis]nitation and contest. Bacon, however, did not avail him¬ self of those advantages of college discipline, wdiich, by extending his sphere of knowledge, would not only have benefited his mind at the time, but have saved him from fault;S which mark his subse(|uent writings. He left Cambridge with ‘a just scorn for the trifles on whicli the followers of Aristotle had wasted their powers, and no great reverence for Ari.stotle himself. As he declared to his secretJiry, Dr. Hawley, he fell into a dislike of the philoso])hy of Aristotle, ‘ Jiot for the worthlessness of the author, to whom he would ever ascribe high attributes, but for LORD BACON. 670 the unfruitfulness of the way; being a philosophy, as his lordshij» used to say, only strong for disputations and contentions, but barren of the production of works for the benefit of the life of man.* In his seventeenth year he was sent to Paris, in the suite of Sir Amias Paulet, Queen Elizabeth’s ambassador. This visit had doubtless a lasting influence on his character. The state of a country which had but recently witnessed the massacre of St. Bartholomew’s day, abidingly confirmed his adherence to Protestant principles. He travelled through several French pro¬ vinces, and subsequently published the results of his acute and extensive observations in a work entitled ‘ The State of Europe.’ On receiving intelligence of the sudden death of hisfatlior, Bacon returned hastily home. His father having died intestate, he found himself bereft of pecuniary resources. Hence he was compelled to seek some lucrative occupation. After having in vain endeavoured to obtain a government post through the. ]>atronage of Ids uncle. Lord Burleigh (who wished to promote Ids ow'ii son, afterwards Sir Robert Cecil), he enrolled himself as a student at Gray’s-inn. For some years he laboured in obscurity. At length, by his profound acquaintance with the principles of law, and his admirable talents and address, he acquired such reputation, that the queen appointed him her ‘ counsel extraordinary.* (1 590.) Cecil also procured for him the reversion of the rcgistrarsldp of the Star Chamber, w hich lucrative office fell in after some years. In 1 593 Bacon took his seat in parliament for the county of Middlesex,' and soon became distingidshed as an orator and debater. * There happened in my time,* says Ben Jonson, ‘ one noble speaker who was full of gravity in his speaking. His language, where he could spare or pass by a jest, w^as nobly censorious. No man ever spoke more neatly, more pressly, more weightily, or suffered less emptiness, less idleness, in what he uttered. No member of his speech, but consisted of his own graces. His hearers could not cough or look aside from him without loss. He commanded where he spoke, and had his judges angry and pleased at his devotion. No man had their affections more in his power. The fear of every man wdio heard him was lest he should make an end.* In politics, however, he made a perilous attempt to please both court and people. On one occasion, indeed, he delivered a vehement speech against the crown, and was in danger of being sent to the Tower, and punished by the Star Chamber, but when the queen gave forcible expression to her indignation, he sought forgiveness by promising never to repeat the offence. Still failing to obtain the patronage of Burleigh, Bacon LORD DACON. 677 attached liimself to Essex, who, impelled by a generous friendship, endeavoured to procure for him, first the office of attorney- general, then that of solicitor-general ; but in both cases he was thwarted by the opposition of the Cecils. To mitigate Bacon’s disappointment, Essex gave him an estate, worth nearly X'2000, at d’wickenham. In lo|)7 he published a small volume of ‘ Essayes, Religious Meditations, Places of Perswasion and Disswasion/ These essa\’s were popular, not only in England, but also throughout the whole of Eiiroj)e. It is with deep moititication that we notice his base ingratitude to Essex. When the latter was prosecuted for a conspiracy against tlie (jueen, Bacon, on whom he had conferred so many and such substantial benefits, and in whom he had so fully confided, not only abandoned him, but even aj)peared iis counsel for tho pro¬ secution, — nay, ev^cn employed his learning and ingenuity in magnifying his crimes ; and to crown the whole, after the execu¬ tion of Essex, he wrote, at the queen s request, ‘ a declaration of tlie practices and treasons attempted and committed by Robert Earl of Essex.' ddius, ‘ this friend so loved, so trusted, bore a principal part in ruining the eaiTs fortunes, in shedding his blood, and in blackening his memory.’ After the accession of James, Bacoji rose ra])idly in fortune and favour. In 1603 he was knighted ; in 1601 he was appointed ’ king’s counsel ; in 1607 solicitor-general ; and in 1613 attornc}"- general. He distinguished himself in Parliament, and espe¬ cially, both l>y his speeches and his writings, sought to bring aliout the accomplishment of James’s favourite measure — the union of England and Scotland. Meanwhile, he did not neglect literature and philosophy. In 1605 he published his ‘Advance¬ ment of Learning,’ and in 1600 his ‘ Wisdom of .the Ancients.’ He was also gradually elaborating his ‘ Novum Organum.' It is mournful to think that the author of such works should have lent himself to tyranny. He was counsel for the prosecu¬ tion atrainst Oliver St John, who was summoned before the Star-Chamber for maintaining that the king had no right to levy benevolences ; and in the case of Peacham, who was falsely accused of treason, he not only tampered with the judges, but even joined in the attempt to extort a confession from the pri¬ soner by torturing him on the rack. Bacon’s next patron was Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, the favourite and master oi James. In 1616 ho was sworn of the privy council ; in 1617 he was appointed keeper ot the great seal, an appellation which he soon after changed for the higher title of chancellor. In 1621 he attained the zenith of his glory. He had just jniblished his‘ Novum Organum,’ and had been created 1 % 678 . LORD BACON. Baron Verulam, ainl then Viscount St Albans. It must not, however, be concealed that in his chancellorship he issued abominable patents ; and not only allowed V^illiers to interfere in his judicial decisions, but even accepted large bril)es from persons engaged in chancery-suits. Retribution was at hand. After six years’ recess, parliament again met. The Commons discussed public grievances, and attacked the unrighteous patents which had shielded Buckingham and his followers. A committee was appointed to examine the state of the courts of justice. Two charges of bribery were brought against Bacon ; the number soon rose to twenty-three. Bacon drew up a confession, which was handed to the House of Lords by the Prince of Wales. To the deputation of peers, appointed to inquire whether the confession was subscribed by himself, he replied, ‘ My lords, it is my act, my hand, my heart. I beseech your lordships to be merciful to a broken reed.’ The lords condemned him to ‘ pay a tine of 40,000, to be imprisoned in the Tower during the king’s pleasure, to be for ever inca}3able of holding any public office, place, or employment,’ and ‘ never ’ to ‘sit in parliament, nor come within the verge of the court.’ The sentence was immediately mitigated. He was sent to the Tower, but liberated in two days. The tine was released by the crown. By the year 1624 all his punishment was remitted. Government granted him a pension of .PI 200 a-year. During the last five years of his life he commenced a ‘ Digest of the Laws of England,’ a ‘ History of England under the House of Tudor,’ a ‘ Body of Natural Histoiy,’ and a ‘Philosophical Romance.’ He also published his ‘De Augmentis Scientiarum’ in 1623. ‘The great apostle of experimental philosophy,’ says Mr. Macaulay, ‘ was destined to be its martyr. It had occurred to him that snow might be used with advantage for the purpose of ])re- venting animal substances from putrefying. On a very cold ilay, early in the spring of the year 1 626, he alighted from his coach near Highgate to try the experiment. He went into a cottage, bought a fowl, and with his own hands -stuffed it with snow. While thus engaged, he felt a sudden chill, and was so much indisposed that it was impossible for him to return to Gray’s-inn. After an illness of about a week, he expired on the moniing of Euster-day, 1626. His mind appears to have retained its strength and liveliness to the end. He did not forget the fowl which had causeil his death. In the last letter that he ever wrote, with fingers which, as he said, could not steadily hold a pen, he did not omit to mention that the experiment of the snow had suc¬ ceeded excellently well.’ His will contains the strikingly prophetic passive — ‘ For my name and memory I leave it to men’s cliarit- able speeches, and to foreign nations, and the next ages.’ LORD BACON. 679 His writings may be divided into — 1. Scientific ; 2. Moral and Historical ; 3. Epistolary and Miscellaneous. His great philosophical works are, ‘ The Advancement of Learning' (pub- lishetl 1605) ; ‘ Instaiiratio Magna' and ‘ Novum Organum' (pub¬ lished 1620); and ‘ De Augineutis Scientiarum' (published 1623). Hallam remarks, ‘ I hiid upon comparison that more than two-thirds of this treatise (i.e. the ‘ De Autrmentis Soien- tiarum ) are a version, with slight interpolation or omission, from ‘ The Advancement of Learning,' the remainder being new matter. The ‘ Instaiiratio Magna' is divided into six parts : — 1. Partitiones Scientiarum, intended to furnish a general summary of knowledge alreaily gained, and indications of lacunce. This first part, Bacon tells us, is wanting in the ‘ Instauratio he has substituted for it the ‘ J)e Augmentis Scientianim.' 2. The second part was to contain the new logic, or inductive method. As far as he coinjdeted it, it is known under the name of the ‘Novum Organum,' which was to consist of nine parts ; we |x)ssess, however, only the first. 3. The third part was to form an entire natural history, under which were to be included one hundred and thirty particular histories. C)f course Bacon, in his age, could accomplish but little of so vast a work. 4. The finirth part, called Scala Intellectus, was to supply ‘ types and models, which place before our eyes the entire pro¬ cess of the mind in the discovery of tnith, selecting various and remarkable instances.' This part is wanting, except a few intro¬ ductory pages. 5. The fifth part, which Bacon calls Prodromi, sive Antici- j Hit tones PhUosophke Secunda^ was to give a sample of that new philosophy, which was to be erected on the basis of his natural history, and by means of the inductive method. The Coglfaia et Vis(fj Ctpgitatiorics de Natura Rerum, Filum Lahyrinfhi, and others, form fragments of this part. 6. The sixth and last part, philosojdtia aecunda, was to present a complete system of philosophy, attained by the induc¬ tive method. ‘ To perfect this last part,' he says, ‘ is above our powers and beyond our hopes. We may, as we trust, make no desjdcable beginnings; the destinies of the human race must complete it.' ‘ Such,' says ^Ir. Hallam, ‘ was the temple, of which Bacon saw in vision before him the stately front and deconited pediments, in all their breadth of light and harmony of proportion, while long vistas of receding columns, and glim})se8 of internal splendour, revealed a glory that it was not permitted him to comprehend. In the treatise ‘ De Augment is Scientiarum,' and in the ‘ Novum Organum,' we have less, no doubt, than Lord Bacon, under LORD RACOX. (lifteront conditions of life, might In'ive achieved ; he miglit have heen more emphatically the high-priest of Nature, if he had not been the chancellor of James L, hut no man could have tilled up the vast outline which he alone, in that stage of the world, could have so boldly sketched/ The treatise ‘ De Augmentis Scientiarum’ is divided into nine hooks. The first is designed to remove prejudices against the investi¬ gation of truth, and to indicate the causes of error. In the second book knowledge is divided into — I. Histor}’. TI. Poetiy. III. Philosophy; corresponding to memory, imagi¬ nation, reason. I. History comprises, 1. Natural Histoiy, (1) of Regular Pheno¬ mena; (2) of Monstrosities ; (8 ; of the Arts. 2. Civil, or rather Human History: (1) Civil History proper ; (2) Sacred History ; (8) Literary History. II. Poetry is divided into — 1. Narrative. 2. Dramatic. 3. Pambolic. III. Philo-o}»hy or Science. There must be a general science, comprising a bovly of axioms common to all the spechil sciences. 'Die speciid sciences have three principal objects: — 1. God. 2. Nature f3rd Rook]. Natural science is either speculative or ])ractical. Speculative natural science comprises physics, which deal with material and eflicient causes, and metajdiysics, which fleal with formal and final causes. Practical natural science in¬ cludes mechanics, by which Racoii means experimentation in general, and magic, or experimentation applied to the production of extraordinary ])lienomena. Mathematics are purely instru- moutal, and consist of pure matiiematics (geometry and algebra) and mixed mathematics. The fourth to the eighth-hooks treat of science in relation to its third object, MAX. There must be an introductory science exjdaining personality and the coinmunication lH‘tween the soul and the hodv. Tlie science of man Bacon then divides into (1) The Science of Human Nature; and (2) The Science of Givil Society. The former treats [ij of the body (meiliciiie, eosmical science, gymnastics, music, and painting) ; [2J of the soul, both its substance and its iaculties, which are either logical or moral. Logic is either inventive or traditive, and in its latter phase comj»rises grammar,^ rhetoric, criticism, and l>cdugogy. ' Hacou formed some very sagacious aiiticipalioiis about universal graiuiuar. Hirauuuar,* ho observes, ‘is of two kinds, tlie one literary, tin* other ohiloso- I'bieal. . . . The latter directs the attention, not to the analogies whiciMVords i)e.ar to word'^, but the analogies which words bear to things;’ or, ‘to language considered as the sensible portrait me or image of the inciilal process.’ LORD RACOX. 681 Etliics arc cither speculative (showing the natural history of character), or practical (treating of the culture of the aftectiona). Under the head of the science of civil society Bacon handles only two points — viz., the methods of enlarging the boundaries of the state, and the principles of universal legislation, lie says society is designed to secure sohtmen contra solitudinenif aajuvamcn ill vei/otlisy and ailiuvameii contra injurias. ‘The ninth and last book, which is short, glances only at some ilosiderata in theological science, and is chietly remarkahle as it disjdays a more liberal and catholic spirit than was often to bo met with in a period signalized by bigotry and ecclesiastical pride.* In the ‘ Novum Organum,* the most important topic is what Bacon terms tlie Idola (tV&tiXo); i. e., not idols as most writers (e. g., Playfair, Brown, Stewart, Hoppus) have suppo.sed ; but, as llallam has shown, ‘ images, illusions, fallacie.s, or, as Lord Bacon e.alls them in the ‘ Advancement of Learning,* false appearances.* These Idola are of four kinds. I. Idola Trihns (of the tribe); illusions common to tlie Avhole tribe or race of mankiml, ‘ those general })rejudices which arise from the intirmity of human nature itself.’ ‘ The understanding of man,* says Bacon, ‘ is like a mirror whoso surface is not true, and so mixing in its own imperfection with the nature of things, distorts and ])erverts them.* The sources of these Idola are — (1) *1*00 great a tendency of the mind to assume a greater uniformity in Nature than really exists. (2) A teinlcncy in the hmnau understanding to force all facts into harmony with a j)ro- pos.sessed notion or principle. (8) A liability of the mind rather to be im]K‘lloil by the imagination than guided by tlie under- stamling. (P The engernes.s of the mind to push its investiga¬ tions lieyond its proper limits, (o) The inthienc(M)f the will ami the atlections on the under.standing. ‘ The light of the under- .standing,* says Bacon, ‘ is not a dry or pure light, hut it receives a tincture from the will and the affections, and forms the sciences accordingly; for men are most willing to believe what tliey most de.sire.’ ((>) The diilness, incompetency, and errors of the senses. (7) The too great tendency of the mind to aUstraction and gene¬ ralization. II. Idola Speens (of the cave or den); ‘those prejudices which stamp upon each mind its own peculiar character, and are identi¬ fied with every individual man.* These include the particular studies which a person pursues, the (liffereiico of men’s capa- eitie.s, attachment to times (e. g., anti(piitv), and an exclusive predilection for the minute or the vfist in nature. III. Idola Fori (of the market-jdace) ; ‘ jirejudices arising froin mere words and terms in our common intercourse with mankind, 682 LORD BACON. — i. e., from the imperfection of langinige. Words deceive us when they are names of things which do not exist, or when they are confused and ill-defined. IV. Idola Theatri (of the theatre); illusions proceeding from the fabulous and visionary representations of jdiilosophical theories. ‘ We call them idols of the theatre/ says Bacon, ‘ because all the systems of philosophy that have been hitherto invented, or received, are but so many stage-plays, which have exhibited nothing but fictitious and theatrical words.’ The next topic for our consideration is Bacon’s method. He lays down the following fundamental principle as his first and leading a})horism concerning ‘ the interpretation of Nature, and man’s dominion over it — ‘ Homo, naturae minister et interpres, tantum facit et intelligit, quantum de naturae ordine, re vel mente, observaverit ; nec amplius scit, aut potest.’ (Man the servant and inter})reter of Nature can only understand and act in proportion as he observes the order of Nature ; more he can neither know nor do.) The methcKl he recommends for the interpretation of Nature is called the inductive method. In induction we assert, to use the words of Whately, ‘ that what belongs to the individual or individuals we have examined, belongs (certainly or probably, as the case may be,) to the whole class under which they come.’ The first step in the inductive process of Bacon is to collect a natural history. We must carefully and patiently gather a variety of particular facts and instances which relate to the subject of inquiry; we mu.st not rest satisfied with those facts which spontaneously present themselves, but must institute experiments for the discovery of fresh ones. Being now' in possession of a body of facts, obtained by observa¬ tion and experiment, we must classify them into tables, and, applying the method of ‘ exclusion,’ reject those which are irreh‘- vaut to the matter in hand, and gather the ‘ vintage’ of such as are really significant. These selected facts must then l)e ex¬ amined as to their relative worth. The most important pheno¬ mena are called by him ‘ prerogative instances,’ as holding a kind of prerogative dignity from being peculiarly suggestive of causa¬ tion. Fifteen of these are to guide the intellect, five to aid the senses, and seven to correct the practice. Of these twenty-seven we shall adduce only the most important. (1) IndantiiC soli- teiriic: ‘examples of the same quality existing in two bodies otherwise different, or of a quality differing in two bodies other¬ wise the same. In the first instance the bodies differ in all things but one e. g., crystals, dew-drops, wdiich exhibit colour in some situations, have nothing but the colour in common with stones, metals, &c., whose colours are pennanent. (These examples guided Newton to the discovery of the composition of light.) In LORD BACON. 683 the second instance, ‘ the bodies agree in all things but one here Bacon adduces as exain|>les the veins of black and white in marble, and the variety of colours in flowers, where the substances agree in almost everything except colour. 2. Instant lev mujrantes exhibits (jualities passing from less to greater or greater to less ; e. g., glass, when whole, is colourless ; when pulverized, white. 3. / nstantue osteiisivw are instances wdiich show some (piality in its highest degree; e. g., the barometer exhibits the weight of air, when the impediment arising from pressure in all directions is entirely removed. 4. Instant la; con formes — instances that are parallel or ana¬ logous, — are facts wdiich resemble or are analogous to each other in some particulars, while very ditierent in all the rest. Bacon mentions, as examples, optical instruments and the eye, the structure of the ear and of caverns that yield an echo. o. Instant la comitatus, atqiie hostll^^Sy are instances of (piali- ties w hich alway.s accompany each other and the reverse. Thus tlame and heat always co-exist, transparency and malleability in solids are never combined. 6. Instantla jci'ucls, crucial instances, are so called from the sign -posts at cross roacls, because they determine at once be¬ tween two or more possible conclusions. ‘ These instances,' says Bacon, ‘ are of such a kind, that, when in search of any nature (cause), the mind comes to an equilibrium, or is suspended be¬ tween tw^o or more causes, the facts decide the question by re¬ jecting all the causes but one.' Suppose that up to a certain point in our investigations, two or more causes seem to explain a given phenomenon equally well, an experiment w hich decides in favour of one of them is an experiinentum crucis. Perhaps in no part of his discussion concerning the right method of investigation, has Bacon rendered greater service to the cause of science than where he inculcates the necessity of a ffradual ascent in our generalizations. ‘There are,' he says, ‘two ways of searching after and discovering truth; the one from sense and ])articulars rises directly to the most general axioms, and resting upem these principles and their unshaken truth, finds out intermediate axioms, and this is the method in use ; but the other raises axioms f rom sense and jKuiJculars by a continued and gradual ascenty till at last it arrives at the most general axioms, which is the true way, but hitherto untried.' Facts having been collected, examined, and classified, we mu.st endeavour to discover the form of a given object, i.e., its ultimate essence ; e.g., in answer to the (piestion. What is heat ? What is its essence ? Thus Bacon eiToneously supposes tliat the huinan mind can discover what two centuries of profound investigation 084 LORD BACON. since his time have in uo one instance succeeded in revealing, and what in all probability lies entirely beyond the apprehension of human faculties. Two other subjects of investigation are the latens 2'>vocessus (latent ])roces8) and the lutcris schematismus (latent schema¬ tism.) By the latent process, Bacon seems to mean what has since been termed the Ui w of continuity, according to which quantities which change their magnitude or position, do so bv passing through all the intermediate magnitudes or positions, till the change is completed ; e.g., in the firing of a cannon, the series of events between the application of the match and the expulsion of the ball is a latent process, which can now be pretty accurately traced. The latent sclteniatism of bodies, is the internal structure and arrangement of their parts. ‘A proneness.’ remarks Dr. Hoppus, ‘to form boundless expectations as to what human power might effect, and, in the very infancy of j>ractical science to look for achievements higher than we can, even in its more advanced age, venture to hope for, is one of the most remarkable features in the elevated and daring genius of tliis great man.’ The question has often been raised and discussed — Did Bacon intend and deem it possible tliat his inductive method should be applied to metaphy.sics and moral subjects? An affirmative answer Is at once supplied by his own express declarations, that Ids method is applicable to logic, ethics, politics, and metaphysics. On the other hand, it was but to a trifling extent that he applied his principles and rules to moral and metaphysical subjects, and also the entire structure of the ‘ Novum Organum’ is more espe¬ cially suited to physical investigations. Nor, indeed, can it b(* denied that the inductive method has peculiar advantages in physical inquiries. For a full and able discussion of this point ^ve refer our readers to Hallam’s ‘ Literature of Euroj^e,’ vol. ii. p. 415, &c. Jn his disquisitions on ethical subjects Bacon displays an eminently intact ical spirit. He does not enter into lengthy dis¬ cussions about the principle and the object of moral approbation, I'ut holds it to be the main function of moral science to discover the influence which customs, habits, modes of education, mental j)ursuits, &c., exert upon human character, and thus to lay down tlie best mode of preserving and restoring moral health. On these topics, as Stewart remarks, ‘he has enlarged more ably and more usefully than any writer since Aristotle.’ Under tliis head we may mention the most popular of all his works, known under the title of ‘ Essays.’ These essays are characterised by an amazing pregnancy and originality of thought ; an admirable blending of ingenuity and fancy with a wisdom, which, as I.ORD BACON. 685 famishing sage suggestions for the guidance of life, ‘ comes homo to men s business and bosoms ;* a rare combination of solidity and brilliancy; a style which, while untainted by mere verbal con¬ ceits, is incomparably striking and brilliant, richly coloured with metaphors aiul analogies. The whole is pervaded by a sagacious and penetrating, a generous and catholic spirit. In illustration of these remarks, we shall quote the first part of his essay on ‘ Studies.' ‘Studios serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their ohief use for delight is in privateness and retiring ; for ornament i.s hi discourse; and for ability is in the judgment and disposition of business ; for expert men can execute, and perhaj)s judge, of particulars, one by one ; but the general counsels, and the plots and mai'shalling of affairs, come but from those that are learned. 'Fo spend too much time in studies is sloth ; to us(; them too much for ornament is affectation ; to make judgment wholly by their rules is the humour of a scholar. They perfect nature, and arc perfected by experience ; for natund abilities are like natural plants, they need pruning by study ; and studies themselves do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them ; for they teach not their own use ; but that is a wisdom without them and above them, won by observation. Head not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider. Some books are to bo tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested ; that is, some books are to Ixj read only in jiarts ; others to be read, but not curiously ; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence an<l attention. Some books, also, may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others : but that w'ould be only in the less im])ortant arguments an<l the meaner sort of bocjks ; else, distilled books are, like common dis¬ tilled waters, llashy things. Reading maketh a full man ; conference a ready man ; and writing an exact man ; .and, therefore, if a man writo little, he luul need have a groat memory ; if he confer little, he had need have a present wit ; and if he reiul little, he had need have much cunning to seem to know that he doth not. Histories make men wise ; poets, witty ; the mathematics, subtle ; natural philosophy, deep ; moral, grave; logic and rhetoric, able to contend.* As .a theolofiicin, Bacon possessed an intimate acqimint.anco with the Bible, .and w.as a believer in the truth of Ciiris- tianity. He also devoted a considerable portion of his time to theologic.al works, but abstained from entering into any of those speculative controversies on subtle points of divinity, which at that time engaged so much public attention throughout the wliole of Europe. We cannot refrain from quoting his noble protest against atheism : — * I had rather lielievc all tlie tables in the Legend, and the Talmud, and the Alcoran, than that this lord bacon. 586 . While the mind of inau “S.uJ it sfoS'S'raSn s Tk« X toua i« to ‘lto‘'''J‘>L“2o»« to™ tot.. historian is to bo opposite op iiig jpo limits of tlie preseut ar ic e^ ^jj^^Paiii ami Cialk. expressed T jjg the fo-st instance in our ourselves .vitpr reiuurks^ — . ^ \ 4. v^'^soniu'^’’ uii public The former ^ plication of the Italians. Praise laugm^e of tl PP ^Pe ancients and uatuiv eventsmtm im^^^ largely bestowed^ u upon Henry much a cratty a . yf his own rf B.c«. W «to.™ ■ ■ ■ he tbougbt, also, « j ^^ith passages arc, sovereign admirable ^vcat an . The History of ^^o ambitiously, ' Viim of the seems to bo . , vnd in another passag , ‘ Essays,’ absence of ‘ ^it^^^tlsertV; ^ sixth, History of Henry VH., politics ot and also of the rhetoric, e ’ ^ £or their deep compare ) .' tpo historians Biost cele ^^th Thucydides, Aristotle, or the i f^“'^">l! ’Hume, we ibad, I insij^^ht luto cn Machiavel, Havi , TaJtus, Philip de Com i^ ^Inmstbe eompared wdU m think, ojinionof the ^j'^^Yg^mus historical pieces together. t^iaiK i and altogethei lelicu imsuvpassed most amni^l,- f^L that ^t ‘ still mmam®: com- ill our literature m ip^yHy narrative, in expi ‘ in a vein of \uoi ^ V Tiuiuction had power of writing. • far the Baconian ^vas ^ We, sh^l nmv mqune ho^ philosophers and hccn m'l‘''£''JS,thor^of an article m the As^‘ \ P,ode original. T ‘ p edit.)— • , jp^provcd by the (vol. viii. pp- »J> 7 >1" tion, illustrated and mp ^eiierally of reasoning by . .iq^yum Organum, \ later great Lord e of the rapid progress of s ^Usthictly considered as the c > y,,j^ to Arisfot?e, an ‘ • leads to .f i'Kfi'rShto of to«t.8«to";^S Steely delineated by him, a That Aristotle was hk , .l .piithe 2:«.',ut, or ‘to' to to;! “Xto,. oC „ e.J “"“'"“ieS* t to employol i- " proper mateiiais LORD BACON. 687 experiments. We are, therefore, led to conclude that all the blame of continiiig the human mind for so long a time in chains by the force of syllogism, cannot be fairly imputeil to Aristotle ; nor all the merit of enlarging it, and setting it free, ascribed to Lord Verulam/ (Ib. pp. 89, 90.) After careful investigation of this point, we come to the following conclusion : — It cannot be denied that Aristotle clearly distinguisheil induction as an inference from the particular to the universal, from deduction as an inference from the universal to the particular. But he had no conception of the possibility of a valid process of arriving at a universal truth, except by an examination of all the particulars (f£ awttvTwv Tiov aTo/jnovj — enumerationfm per nimpl iceni). Bacon, on the other hand, aimed at discovering how, by a careful examination of the relative values of a limited number of par¬ ticulars, we may, with certainty, attain to a universal truth. Moreover, Aristotle gave but a very meagre analysis of induction, and did not perceive how the uniformity of the laws of nature justities us in dispensing with the necessity of examining all the particulars. Bacon, on the contrary, endeavoured to show hmv far the assumption of that uniformity may take the jdace of a com])lete investigation of individual phenomena. We shall now take up a point which we postponed in the earlier part of our article — viz., the relation of Bacon to Descartes. ‘ Descartes," says Cousin, ‘ has established in France j)recisely the same method which England has been eager to attribute exclu¬ sively to Bacon." Now, we readily admit that Descartes, as well as Bacon, adopted analysis as the main instrument in jddloso- phical investigation ; the former applied it to tliovyld, the latter to natnre. What, however, were their views concerning the relative position of induction and deduction ? Htue a funda¬ mental difference presents itself. Bacon, it is true, admits the necessity of a provisional ‘ anticipation" of nature as a gui<le in observation and experiment; and Descarb^s maintains the value of experiments in verifying the truths of deduction. But Bacon assigns to induction, Descartes to deduction, the tii*st place as to order and importance. Macaulay has asserted that the merit of Bacon’s scientific labours consists, not in his rules for the inductive process, but in his su|)plying motives for the careful |>ert‘ormance of that [>roce8R. We venture to maintain, on the contrary, that motives had already been furnished, nay, that the entire age was under the potent inrtuence of these motives, but that no one befon? Bacon discovered those rides which should direct the awakened mental energy into a well-planned channel. Again, Macaulay has atiirme<l that the only part of the inductivf* ]uocess which admits of rules, has been and is i)eiformcd perfectly well V)y all ? r 688 LORD BACON. mankind without such rules ; and that, therefore, Eacoii s rules are superHuons and useless. Here, however, this distinguished writer plainly confounds induction, as a simple, everyday infer¬ ence, with the inductive method — a lengthy and complex train of reasoning ; these two Bacon repeatedly distinguishes. And further, however little a mind that has studied Bacon's rules may act in conscious and designed accordance with them, yet it will carry with it into all its researches the benefit of that general educational influence, which patient reflection on those rules infallibly exerts. Moreover, as Dr. Whewell observes, ‘ The truly remarkable circumstance is to find this (i.e., Bacon's) recom¬ mendation of a continuous advance from observation by limited steps, through successive gradations of generality, given at a time when speculative men in general had only just begun to ])erceive that they must begin their course from experience in some way or other.' Valid objections to Bacon's philosophical merits may, we admit, be founded upon his ignorance of mathematics, and his iuade(piate estimate of their utility ; his lack of that ‘ practical wisdom which results from a long acquaintance with the actual processes of philosophical research ;' and his exaggerated opinion of the value of his ‘ new organ,' which, as he supposed, would bring all minds to nearly the same level, and supersede the advantages of natural genius. The early fame of Bacon's writings may be gathered from the fact that in 1623, the TJniversitv of Oxford addressed him as ‘a mighty Hercules,' as having advanced the pillars of science : at Cambridge, his philosophy soon made great progress; the Institution of the Royal Society filled England with his fame ; the writings of Boyle, Hooke, and Locke, exhibited the deep impress of the Baconian method ; the genius of Newton found the ground cleared, and the plan sketched for the exercise of its mighty energies ; and within half a century the writings of the reviver of true philosophy won high applause throughout France, Italy, Holland, and Germany. We conclude with a general estimate of Bacon's mental and moral character. We have already spoken to some extent of his mental abilities. We add the following supplementary remarks : His intellect was marked rather by a wide-ranging view of the nature of science in general than by a deep acquaintance with the minuiioe of any particular science. Though he was neither a mathematician, nor an astronomer, nor a chemist, nor a physi¬ ologist, yet he had a thorough insight into those essential attributes which constitute each of these a science, and the relative positions which each ought to occupy in the .special applications of the general principles of scientific inquiry LORD BACON. G89 Whilst he made no discoveries himself, he taught the 'method by which discovades ave luude. In all his investigations, lie was eminently practical, carefully shunning abstruse specula¬ tions and metaphysical subtleties. We heartily subscribe to Hallam’s judgment, — ‘ No books prior to those of Lord Bacon carrieil mankind so far on the road to truth; none have obtained so thorough a triumph over arrogant usurpation without seeking to substitute another ; and he may be comjiared to those liberators of nations who have given them laws by which they might govern themselves, and retained no homage but their gratitude.' Bacon's moral charactiT, with its dark shades and lamentable defects, has been faithfully and graphically depicted by the masterly pen of Macaulay : — ‘The moral qualities of Bacon were not of a high order. We do not say that he was a bad man. He was not inhuman or tvrannical. He bore with meekness his high civil honours, and the far higher honours gained by his intellect. He was very seldom, if ever, provoked into treating any person with malignity and insolence. No man more readily lield up the left cheek to those who had smitten the right. No man was more expert at the soft answer which turneth away wrath. He was never accused of intemperance in his j>leasure.s. His even temper, his flowing courtesy, the general re.spectal>ility of his demeanour, made a favourable impression on those who saw him in situations which do not severely try the principles. His faults were — we write it with pain — coldness of lieart and meanness of spirit. He seems to have been incapable of feeling strong affection, of facing great dangers, of making great sacrifices. H is desires were set on thin^xs below. Had his civil ends continued to be moderate . . . we should not then b(‘ com¬ pelled to regard his character with mingled contempt ami admiration — with mingled aversion and gratitude. We .shoidd not then n'gret that there should be so many proofs of the narrowness and selfishness of a heart, the benevolence of which was yet large enough to take in all races and all ages. We .should not then have to blush for the disingenuousness of the most devotecl worshipper of speculative truth — for the servility of the boldest champion of intellectual freedom.' Let the life of Bacon engrave upon the reader '.s heart the warning of sacred writ — ‘Let not the wise man glory in hi.s wisdom, neither let the mighty man glory in his might ; let not the rich man glory in his riches ; but let him that glorieth, glory in tliis, that he understandeth and knoweth me, that am the Lord, which exercise loving-kindness, judgment, and righteous¬ ness in the earth ; for in these things I delight, saith the Lord. N.S. — VOL. VII 1. Y Y 688 LORD BACON. mankind without such rules ; and that, therefore, Eacou s rules are superfluous and useless. Here, however, this distinguished writer plainly confounds induction, as a simple, everyday infer¬ ence, with the inductive method — a lengthy and complex train of reasoning ; these tw o Bacon repeatedly distinguishes. And further, however little a mind that has studied Bacon's rules may act in conscious and designed accordance with them, yet it w ill carry with it into all its researches the benefit of that general educational influence, which patient reflection on those rules infallibly exerts. Moreover, as Dr. Whew'ell observes, ‘ The truly remarkalde circumstance is to find this (i.e.. Bacon's) recom¬ mendation of a continuous advance from observation by limited steps, through successive gradations of generality, given at a time when speculative men in general had only just begun to perceive that they must begin their course from experience in some way or other.' Valid objections to Bacon's philosophical merits may, we admit, be founded upon his ignorance of mathematics, and h’s inadequate estimate of their utility ; his lack of that ‘ practical wisdom which results from a long acquaintance with the actual processes of philosophical research ;' and his exaggerated opinion of the value of his ‘ new organ,' which, as he supposed, would bring all minds to nearly the same level, and supersede the advantages of natural genius. The early fame of Bacon's writings may be gathered from the fact that in 1623, the University of Oxford addressed him as ‘a mighty Hercules,' as having advanced the pillars of science : at Cambridge, his philosophy soon made great progress; the Institution of the Royal Society filled England with his fame ; the writings of Boyle, Hooke, and Locke, exhibited the deep impress of the Baconian method ; the genius of Newton found the ground cleared, and the plan sketched for the exercise of its mighty energies ; and within half a century the witings of the reviver of true philosophy won high applause throughout France, Italy, Holland, and Germany. We conclude with a general estimate of Bacon's mental and moral character. W e have already spoken to some extent of his mental abilities. We add the follow ing supplementary remarks : His intellect was marked rather by a wdde-ranging view of the nature of science in general than by a deep acquaintance wdth the minutice of any particular science. Though he w^as neither a mathematician, nor an astronomer, nor a chemist, nor a physi¬ ologist, yet he had a thorough insight into those essential attributes which constitute each of these a science, and the relative positions wdiich each ought to occupy in the .special applications of the general principles of scientific inquiry LORD BACON. 689 Whilst he made no discoveries hiinscdf, he taught the 'method by which discoveries are vinde. In all his investigations, he was eminently practical, carefully shunning abstruse sf)ecula- tions and metaphysical subtleties. We heartily subscribe to Hallatu's judgment, — ‘ No books prior to those of Lord Bacon carrieil mankind so far on the road to truth ; none have obtained so thorough a triumph over arrogant usurpation without seeking to substitute another ; and he may be compared to those liberators of nations who have given them laws bv winch thev might govern themselves, and retained no homage but their gratitude.' Bacon's moral charaettT, with its dark shades and lamentable defects, has been faithfully and graphically depicteil by the masterly pen of Macaulay : — * The moral qualities of Bacon were not of a high order. We do not say that he was a bad man. He was not inhuman or tyrannical. He bore with meekness his high civil honours, and the far higher honours gained by his intellect. He was very seldom, if ever, provoked into treating any person with malignity and insolence. No man more readily held up the left cheek to tho.se who had smitten the right. No man was more expert at the soft answer which turneth away wrath. He was never accused of intemperance in Ids pleasures. His even temper, his flowing courtesy, the general respectability of his demeanour, made a favourable impression on those who .«^aw him in situations which do not severely try the principles. His faults were — we write it with pain — cfddness of heart and meanness of spirit. He seems to have been incapable of feeling strong aftection, of facing great dangers, of making great sacrifices. His desires were set on things ])elow. Had his civil ends continued to be moderate . . . we should not then bo com¬ pelled to regard his character with mingled contempt and admiration — with mingled aversion and gratitude. We shoiild not then regret that there should be so many proofs of the narrowness and selfishness of a heart, the benevolence of which was yet large enough to take in all races and all ages. We should not then have to blush for the disingenuousness of the most devoted worshipper of speculative truth — for the servility of the boldest champion of intellectual freedom.' Let the life of Bacon engrave upon the reader's heart the warning of sacred writ — ‘ Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom, neither let the mighty man glory in his might ; let not the rich man glory in his riches ; but let him that glorieth, glory in this, that he understandeth and knoweth me, that I am the Lord, which exercise loving-kindncs.s, judgment, and righteous¬ ness in the earth ; for in these things I delight, saith the Lord.' N.S. — VOL. VIII. Y Y Art. IV. — llippolytus and his Aye ; or^the Beginnings and Prospects of Christianity. Second Edition. Two Volumes. 8vo. ])j). 5U5, itd. By Christian Charles Josias Bunsen, D.C.L., D.Bli. 2. Analecta Ante-yiccuna. Three Volumes. Svo. pp. 111,520, l‘JG. By the Same. 3. Outlines of the Philosophy of Universal History, applied to Lan¬ guage and Pcligion. Two Volumes. Svo. pp. 521, ISS. liy the Same. London : Longman & Co. 1S51. At the time of tlie publication of the first edition of ‘ lIi])polytus and his Age,' two years since, its author held the post of Prussian ambassiulor at the court of our sovereign, a position which he has since earned the a}>plause of Europe by sacriticing rather than ])ander to the truckling Kussian policy of his royal master in the Eastern (piestion. It was amidst the pressure of arduous duties devolving u})on him in this highly responsible, and then honour¬ able capacity, that, by the ))roduction of this work, he confirmed the favourable impression })reviously made by bis ^ Egypt,' and won for himself, although a foreigner, a place in the very lirst rank of English contem})orary literature. Uur readers will not have forgotten the sensation which the book created, not only in all theological circles, but amongst educated people in general. No person, with any ])retensions to intelligence, could afford to be ignorant of a ]>henomenon which divided with ‘ Uncle Tom' the literary chit-chat of the day. The daily journals made it the text of long columns of news] ui per sermonizing for the edilication of their astonished readers. Country editors, as usual, took their cue from their brethren in the metropolis, and amiable curates were }>olitely requested to dribble out a few drops from the full fountain of their jhatristic lore, that poor benighted Earmer CJiles in his chimney-corner might read, for the fii-st time in his life, the talismanic name of llipix)lytus. Monthlies and (juarterlies, of all sorts and sizes, were uneasy until they had had their say u]>on the subject, and bad made their patrons an courani with the topic of the hour. The work, as was natural, soon found its way to the continent, and we are informed that the enthusiasm it excited amongst the author's countrymen was even greater than that with which it was received here. Its awkward dis¬ closures concerning the secret history of the Boman see during the former half of the third century, given upon the authority ot the long lost, but hap}>ily recovered, treatise of lli})polytus, himself a contemporary and eye-witness of the whole, roused the ire of the papacy, whose chief lost no time in setting the seal of his church to the immortality of the obnoxious book, by putting UIPPOLYTUS AND HIS AGE. 691 it in the ‘Index.' The cry, Ifannibal ad portas f was raised and the champions of the catholic faith from Oanl and Germany rushed to the rescue. Certainly it was a most inconvenient cocpose, and no doubt fervent and deep have been the wishes in that quarter that ^I. Yilleinain and the Greek, AlynoYdes Mynas, whom he sent* on his ill-starred literarv mission in search of ancient manuscripts, had been sunk together in the HellesjKmt before they disturbed the codtw which was so comfortably rotting on the dunghill of the monastery on Mount Athos. However, there it was, and in print, too, and it was necessary to find something to say to the Prot(‘stants, when they should Hout the advocates of papal inlallibility with this pretty piece of scandal. Here was a canonized saint, ]>ope, and martyr, St. Callistus, charged by a canonized saint, bishop, and martyr, no less a person than 8t. Hij)])olytus, with being nothing l)etter than a swindler, a convict, a heretic, an anabaj)tisf, a shameless impostor, and a greedy trafficker in souls. 11 is vaunted mar¬ tyrdom was shorn of its rays of glory, and resolved into a vulgar attempt of a desperate cul|)rit to commit suicide. Well might French nhhes scream, and German ]^rofessors at catholic univer¬ sities draw their ])ens and seize the golden o])]K)rtunity (►f writing themselves into the good graces of the C^iria. We felt naturally inquisitive to see how Rome would wriggle out of this new diffi¬ culty. Of course we did not exj^ect that she would 1h‘ at a loss for expedients, even in so desperate a case. Rut we confess we were hardly prepared for the amusing exhibition which luas been got up for our edilication. The Abbe dallabert luis hit upon tlie lucky discovery, that the obnoxious treatise must have been written by TertuHian, who, being a mere Montanist heretic, has of course no right to bo heard. Unfortunately for this theory, the author of the work exjiressly condemns Montanism as heresy, so that, if TertuHian wrote it, he must have done so as a (Catholic. The opinion is, besides, too absurd to merit refutation, and no one has ventured to endorse it, not even M. Jallabort’s friend, the Cdnon Cruice, who styles himself Siqierior of the School of High Ecclesiastical Studies at Paris. These high ecclesiastical studies must now, we imagine, be in a rather poor condition in the country of Tillemont, Hiqiin, Pagi, and Fleury, if we may judge from the trash which M. Cniice has printed upon the ‘ Philosophumena' Even he, however, though he looks wistfully towards the hypothesis of his countryman, and affects to think there is much" to be said for it, jirefers, upon the whole, to leave the question of authorship undetermined. The Suptjrior s book is (iuite refreshing for its stupidity and thoroughly French luiivete. It <loes one good to see from his shrugs, grimaces, and contortions, how extremely unpalatable Y Y 2 • mM I 692 IIIPPOLYTUS AND HIS AGE. the Hippolytan disclosures are to the ultramontane party. Of argument hifi h'oclnirc is as innocent as his own sacerdotal crown is of capillary attraction, and the region beneath of something still more important ; but of entertainment there is jdcntv. So far from softening down the crimes laid to the charge of Callistus by the writer of the anonymous treatise, he expatiates upon their enormity with virtuous indignation, and then asks us whether it is possible that a wretch guilty of such mon¬ strosities could ever have been elected to the chair of Peter, or could have been retained in it an instant after the detection of his villany? There must, therefore, be some mystitication, which, however, he does not profess to be able (modest man that he is) perfectly to clear up. Yet not to leave his bewildered readers wholly in the dark, the Superior of the School of High Ecclesiastical Studies will not withhold from them his measure of light. Accordingly he whispers in confidence the reassuring words: ‘ It’s the wrong man' This suggestion is the gem of the hook, and ought to be rewarded with a cardinars hat at least. Cruice points mysteriously to a fragment of Apollonius, a Christian writer of the second century, which Eusebius (Hist. Eccles. v. 1<S) has preserved, in which we find the counterpart of the story of Callistus as contained in the ‘ Philosophumena.’ There one Alexander, a Montanist, who gave himself out for a martyr, is accused by Ajxdlonius of having been convicted before the Proconsul of Ephesus, iEinilius Frontinus, of being a swindler. It is true that names, time, and scene are (juite difterent in the two cases. But by some Itocus-pocns which the ahhe does his b(‘st to ex])lain, he is convinced that the two swindlers, Alexander of Ephesus and Pope Callistus, the Pro- consul of that city, Frontinus, and the Prefect of Rome, Fuscianus, mentioned by the author of the ‘ Philosophumena,’ the metropolis of the world, and the metropolis of Asia Elinor, have all exchanged parts in this strange comedy of errors. No, M. Cruice ; writhe as you may, it will only afibrd us the more sport, and not extricate 3’ou and your church from the embarrassments of the cause cdthre — ‘ St. Hippolytus v. St. Callistus.’ In the words of our own Iron Duke, there is no mistake — there can be no mistake — ami there shall be no mistake. Catholic Germany, as represented by Professor Dollinger of Munich, has shown far more adroitness in meeting the emergency than catholic France. He is evidently a man of real learning, and his work contains much valuable information. He admits without reserve the authorship of Hippolytus, and ridicules the opposing pretensions which have been advanced in favour of Origen and the presbyter Cains of Rome. He denies, however, that Hippolytus was ever Bishop of Portus (the harbour of Rome, at the mouth of HIPPOLYTUS AND HIS AGE. G93 the Tiber), and contends, on the other hand, that he was an anti¬ pope to Callistus. Hence the bitterness of his accusjitions against the latter. To save the credit of Hippolytus, whom Professor Dollinger’s church has dubbed a saint and a martyr, he invents the fiction of his having been subsequently reconciled to the catholic communion shortly before his martyrdom. To wash such a blackamoor as Callistus white was, of course, a most painfully laborious operation. But the feat has been so cleverly accom¬ plished, that after coming out of the SiicerdoUil laver, the swarthy complexion of the maligned pontiti* hius completely vanished, Callistus is himself again, and answers to the signification of his name, which, as our readers need not be informed, means ‘ most fair,^ or ‘ a very pretty fellow.' Such a masterj)iece of sj)ecial pleading as Professor DiJllinger s a])ology for this peccant poi)e of the third century it has never been our good fortune to meet with. It beats Sir Fitzroy Kelly's celebrated ‘ aj)ple-t)i})' speech, in behalf of the murderer Tawell, hollow. The Alunich professor is duly noticed in the preface to this second edition of the Chevalier Bunsen's work, along with all other o})ponents. It is not our practice to do more than simply chronicle the a})pcarance of new editions. The present case might seem to justify a departure from the rule, since we have here substantially a new work, or rather three new works. But we must not, even on so tempting an occasion, widely deviate from our course. When books expand in triplicate ratio, reviewers may well tremble and ask whether the i)rogression is to be in geometrical or only in arithmetical proportion, since in the foiiner case the tenth edition of ‘ Hippolytus and his Age' will about lill the Bodlei.an Library. We have heard, to our dismay, that the Chevalier is writing away at the rate of sixteen hours out of the twenty-four in his beautiful German villa, and begin to wish that the war was over, if only for the siike of getting him safely ensconced again at Carl ton-terrace, with a few hirsute Westphalians to tease him, and an occasional despatch to fire off. Of the two volumes constituting the first of the three works, the second contains comparatively little new matter, what there is consisting almost entirely of foot-notes designed to correct, modify, or explain statements in the text. The former halt ot the first volume, which may be described as a history of the church during the first seven generations, has been entirely recast, and in such a way as cannot fail to gratify thoughtful and intelligent readers. The latter half of the same volume is little more than which formed Ante-Nicaiiia' constitutes a most valuable contribution to our patristic and ecclesiastical literature. The ‘Aphorisms' with a reprint of the five letters to Archdeacon Hare, L*d the vestibule of the first edition. The ‘ Analecta I C94 HIPrOLYTUS AND HIS AGE. which tlie second volmne of the original edition opened, are the gemi out of which the ‘ Outlines of the Philosophy of Universal History" have been developed. But of the ])rocess which lias resulted in the metamorphosis before us we cannot do better than let the Chevalier speak for himself. * I have,’ he says, ‘ reduced Ilipjadytus and his age to two historioiil pictures in two volumes. That of the hero of the work himselt’ is entirely new. I have j>laced the portrait of the Bishop of I’ortus in its ])roper frame. He is here considered as one of those Oliristian teachers, governors, and thinkers who made Christianity what it became as a social system, and as one of thought and ethics; a noble chain of which St. Peter and St. Paul are the first links, and llip- polytus and Origen the last. In this manner the age of llip])olytus had alri‘ady been treated in the third volume of the first edition. 1 had there shown that his time was the last stage of that woinhTful lifi‘ of the Christian eongregations, which regenerated the world in the midst of persecutions, and of general decay and destruction. 'I'his picture forms the second volume of the new edition. The first volume gives the jneture of llip])olytus among the series of the leading men of t1u‘ first seven generations of Christians, as the second ])resents that of his age, and generally of the ancient church, in its discipline and constitution, its worship, and social relations. 'fhis sirond volume concludes with the tiction of the ‘Apology of Hippolytus’ as the uniting ]>icture. Such a liction appeared to me the only means of ])resenting our hero in action together with his age, and of bringing him and the whole real line of ancient Christendom nearer to our own times and our own hearts.’ — Preface, p. vi. So much fortho first of these three works, ‘Hy}>])olytus and his Age." Of the new matter, we have been chietly struck with the exhibition of the Onostio systems of Valentinus, Basilides, and U arcion,and with the sudden change which has taken place in the Chevalier’s view of our old friend the ‘Shepherd of Hennas." Every tvro in church historv knows what a mysterious interest attaches to the names of the threi* great Gnostic heresiarchs of the former half of the second centiuy, and those who have gone most deejuy into the subject are be.st aware of the seemingly insurmountable ilil- ficulty of arriving at anvthing like clear and satisfactory ideas of their ivspective doctrinal systems. Their works have survived only in fragments, which, until the recoyery of the long-lost treatise of ‘ Hip])olytus," were intinitesimally small and few. But even had their writings been suffered by the zeal of their oppo¬ nents to be handed down entire, their speculations are so abstruse, ami tin' garb in which, with the exception of Harcion"s, they were carefully shrouded from the gaze of all but the esoteric disciples, pi oves so eft'ectual a disguise, that nothing short of the most patient attention and the closest thinking can hope to .succeed in dis engaging them from the fantastic and motley envelope. Ne- HIPPOLYTUS AND HIS AGE. 695 ander, Baur, and others, have done something towards translating these ancient semi-Christian systems of religious philosophy into the language of more modern schools, and would doubtless have accomplished more had the additional sources which the treatise of ‘ Hippolytus' puts us in possession of, been at their command. Professor Jacobi, of Konigsburg, endeavoured lately, with the help of tliese new fragments, to reconstruct the system of Basi- lides, (Basilidis Philosojdii Gnostici 8i‘ntentiiis ex llippolyti Libro Kara llaacue Aifncrtiov nuper rej)erto illustravit J. L. Jacobi, Berolini, 1852;) but tliegeneral opinion of the learned seems to be that his monogra})h upon the subject is somewhat of a failure. We are not sure that the Chevalier’s delineation of either Basilidianism or of Marcionism will be regarded as ([uite siitis- factory, although he seems to us to advance the problem nearer solution. After reading his expositions one begins to have a glimmeringof the import of the strange hieroglyphics. On the other hand, his analysis of \"alentinianism is a real triumph, for which, however, as he frankly owns, he is mainly indebted to the previous labours of llossell, whose admirable picture of the system he has wisely introduced entire into his own work, llos- sell’s masterly sketch of Valentinus is worthy of a pu|)il and friend of the great Neander, and with the Chevalier’s comments, should be carefully studied by every one who is resolved to <lig down to the roots of the history of Christian doctrine. The ancient church-teachers were evidently not wholly in the wrong Avhen they saw in Valentinus the foreruniKu* of Arius, and it is impossible to follow up intelligently the ramiliciitions of later controversies which shook Christendom to its foundations with¬ out some understanding of the leading Gnostic systems, whence they may most truly be said to have s|»rung. The ‘Shepherd of Hennas,’ which, in his tirst edition, the Cheva¬ lier had styled, ‘that dull novel which Niebuhr used to say he [litied the Athenian Christians for being obliged to hear r(‘ad in their ineetimrs/it is amusing to tind him now characterize as ‘oneof those books wliicli, like the ‘ Diviiia Comediii ami Ihinyan s ‘ l’iloriiu .s Pi •Ogress,’ captivate the mind by the united power of thought and fiction, both drawn from the genuine depths of the human Soul.’ He is now convinced that it is far more lively than most sermons with which he is accpi.ainted. ‘ The hook,’ ho says, ‘ certainly does not ])ossess, what a learned Knglisli divine considers as the criterion ot a treatise destined to reveal to the initiated the mysteries ol laith — namely, a great <jnantity ol (juotations from Scripture. Our hook, ealled hy the talhers ‘tin* Serip- ture,’* does not (piote Scripture, although many passages in it allude * Irciiicus is the only father who gives it this title. 696 HIPPOLYTUS AND HIS AGE. to tlie Gospel, aiicl though it is, from beginning to end, based uj)on the great truths proclaimed in the canonical Scripture (p) 1 confess 1 cannot help believing that this method fully satisfied its contemporaries, and indeed the most enlightened Christians of the following centuries. Perhaps even they thought it to lie the peculiar charm* of the book, that it was not a sermon stuffed with quotations from the Seriptures, but rather one that gave evidence of the intiuence and power of the same S}>irit which had presided at their composition (!), and that it was inspired (!) by the contemidation of the great individual centre of all Serijdure. Such a com])Osition ‘The Shepherd’ really is; and it has further the merit of brevity, which is more than can be said of all sermons.’ — Vol. i. pp. 1S3, 184. This last fling at the divines is peculiarly unfortunate. There may he room for diflerence of opinion as to the literary and theological merits of this curious production of the Homan Chris¬ tianity of the middle of the second century. Some may think with Niebuhr, and with the w riter of the sentence w hich w e have extracted from the first edition of ‘ Hippolytus and his Age,' that it is insufferably dull, and others may, with the Chevalier, in his second edition, place it by the side of Dante's immortal poem, and Bunyan's inimitable allegory^ So again, some wdth Irenants, and our author in his last ex cathedra judgment, may class it with the inspired w ritings ; and others, with a host of theologians of all Christian communions, Ilomanist and Protestant, orthodox and heterodox, may deem its doctrinal complexion to be but a shade or tw^o removed from the poorest Ebionitism. But its length is a matter easily settled. We know not what sermons the Chevalier is in the habit of reading, for as to hearing w e will say nothing, since the rumour which makes him, like Lord Eldon, a buttress rather than a ])illar of the church, cannot charitably be supposed to be tnie. But this w’e do know, that sennonsas long, and, to quote the Chevalier’s owui word, as ‘ dull’ too, as the ‘‘Shepherd,’ are such outrageous exceptions to the rule, that he must be as great an antiquary in this sort of literature as he is knowui to be in prayer-books and hymnody, if he has met with many such. This also w e know, that for one who, like our author, lionourably aspires to the dignity of a reformer, to sneer at the Christian pulpit is a capital mistake. The lollowdng is the Chevalier’s account of the genesis of the tw o works w’hich form the sequel or introduction (we can scarcely tell W’hich) to ‘Hippolytus and his Age,’ and of their connexion w’ith it — matters which he is certainly the only person comi^etent to explain : — ‘It is inq)ossil)lo to conceiil from oneself,’ he says, ‘ that pictures of Tiic italics are ours. HIPPOLYTUS AND HIS AGE. 697 bje-"OTic historical characters and ac^es cannot prove all they assert and rei)rescnt. Such compositions arc huildings erected upon a suhstruc- tion, hoth philosophical and philological, to which a few detached essays and notes cannot do justice. ‘ The present volumes, therefore, appear Hanked hy two other works. The lirst presents, in two ))arts, a key to the philosojdiical, historical, and theological views which pervade ‘ Hippolytus and his Age.* It he.ars the title, ‘Sketch of the Philosophy of Language and of Jieligion ; or, the beginning and Prospects of the liuman Pace.’ This sketch com])rises the Aj)horisms of the second volume of the lirst edition, hotter digested and worked out, so as to form an integral ])art of a philosophical glance at the ])rimordial history of our race with regard to the principle of development and of progress. ‘ The second substruction, the j)hilological, is also presented as a separate work, and forms three volumes. The remains of ante-Nicenc documents constitute three sections, none of which have hitherto been p^ven in a complete and satisfactory manner; the literary remains, the constitutional documents, and the liturgical records. Of these, the third section was critically almost a blank Wforethe publication of my ‘ llelitpiia} Liturgica\* 1 have had nothing to add to these liturgical texts, but 1 have this time printed in extenso the passages of the Syrian Jacobite liturgy which correspond with the Greek text ; whereas, in the lirst edition, 1 only indicated that they were identical. Put I have prelixed to those texts the Elementa Liturgica, pojndarly exhibited in my ‘Pook of the Church.’ These elements are the following three : — Firsts the Lord’s Prayer as liturgically used, and as recorded ill the ancient MSS. of the New Testament, and in the Fathers. Secondly^ the various baptismal formularies, commonly called the Apostles’ Creed ; to which are added the Nicenc and Constantino- politan Creeds, which, at a later period, came gradually into liturgical use. Thirdly^ the i>rimitive psalmody. I give lirst the so-called three Canticles of Mary, Zacharias, and Simeon, printed as Hebrew psalms in hemistichs, as they are composed and intended to be used; then the hymns of the ancient Greek church. To these I have added, as an a})j)endix, the Te Deiim Laudamus, the truly original and poetical reproduction and amplification of the Greek Morning Jlymn; a German composition of the fifth century ; the only Latin psalm and the only liturgical composition of the Western church which has obtained universal adoption.’ — Preface, pp. viii., ix. We wish we could add that the development supplied in the case of ‘ Hippolytus’ is uniformly healthy. Put this we cannot answer for. It is painful to find the key-note of rationalism struck in the very first page of the work, where the great miracle of the Pentecost is resolved into a thunder-storm. In this and other similar jihenomena we discern the lamentable result of our author’s early training at the feet of the Gamaliels of a school W'hich is now happily aliticpiated even in Germai>y. In our review of the first edition we warned our readers that the work was not to be judged from the English pjint of view. This 698 HIPrOLYTUS AXD HIS AGE. caution, however, did not save us from the auimadveniions of a contemporary, who has benevolently taken our orthoiloxv under his special tutelage, and who, we are glad to hear. h;\s at last made up Lis mind to grapple with the linguistic pan of * Germanism,' in order that he may no longer lie under the reproach of indiscriminate nailing at what he does not understand. It was owing to a wholesome dread of this stigma that we refrained from abusing the Chevalier's odd christology and doctrine of the Trinity, which its well-intentioned author endently thinks is as transpiirt nt as the water of life, but which to us appears ten times more obscure than the Xicene, rejecteii by him on account of its mysteriousness. But enough of this. Chevalier Bunsen is not a man to bo written down bv anv ieremiads about his orthodoxy, which either we or our censors can ]xmi. His is one of the most original, ix'werful. and cultivated minds of Kuro^v. lie is a diamond of the lirst water, though not without Haws. His heart, too, is thoroughly Christian, and Ix^ats in unison with the piety of the humblest believer : whilst in intellectual ]rowcss he is more than a match for the very Goliaths of the Philistines. To rej^dfrom us such an ally in these daysof rebuke and blasythemy, because, forsooth, he has not been taiii^ht in our Sundav-schools, and learnt our Shiblxdeths, is worse than folly — it is sin. That he has inhaled much choke-damp down there in those deep mines whence he has been diirinmr out hid treasure to lav on ChhIs altar, so that he cannot ahvays breathe freely, we dejdore as sincerely as any. But fresh air is already beginning to oiivulato in those perilous but auriferous shafts and galleries, and Cn rinan literature bids fair soon to become as splendid a Christian fact as it has long been recognistd to bo a stupendous, though vUvw wayward, development of human genius and learning. Bunsen in particular we may say, that his childish horror ol the sujKTnatural belongs to the accidents rather than to the essence of the man. It is like the wijx of the rei^n of CJeorue 111., which some old gentlemen still sport — a remnant ot an ante¬ diluvian fashion. If he is a rationalist, it is in spite ot hiinselt and of Ids truly genial, better nature. ii N . — -1A/ /•V#V/f</»\* anJ IVin^ Moiuorinls, Portraits, aiul Personal luw'lUvtions of IXwasovl iVlohritios i\i' the Xinottvnth CVntnrv ; with Si'hvtions frv'»m their VnpnhlishiHl Letters. Pv P. ti. Patmoiw vols. London : Saunders \ i^tlev. l>oL A MODKliX and motoindo ossi^yist tolls us that history sluuiKl l»o alKdishod. and that bioi^raphy should take its phuv ; and in this apparent }urado\ there is a nueleus of truth. If history were a mere alnuutaek. just a oatalooue i»f physical phenomena, the divla- ration would be al^surd, unless. iiul\*i\i. it were i\»vt'i'iHl by a prect'dent j>ostulate, that the human ia<.v can ilo |H'rhvtly well without almanacks. Put the case is far otherwise'. History, so far Iroin lK,dno a iword of material phenomena, is little elst» than a record ot the acts and thoughts of indivulual men. It is but the expansion of biography. Homer’s battles ai\' the details of individual prowess ; and in the grandest tableaux of history, indivivlual words aiul divvls constitutt' the fas<,'inating points, — the brilliant pendants and nu>re oialeanHl iKvorations in its gorgeous array, rhis, indet\l, springs out of the universitl law ot human symjvrthy. We own a kiiulred, not with tunpiro.s but with men; not with vague aiul cumbrous tratlitional systems, but with transcendental principles, which in their lonely indi¬ viduality stand like distant pyramiils keenly defuuHl in tlte minds of contemporary observers, and embraced with the s;mio minuteness and tenacity by our own. Who.st* .senlinu'nts ilo not gravitate, in |K‘1 using the record i>f the gn‘at contests for freedom, towards the immortal anoedotes of its champions, and turn with pensive privle to the divisive or living words and actions of those men of whom the world was not worthy ^ Who, in contemplating the whoh* opulence of truth and greatness, presented both in sjicred and uninspired ivclesia.stical liistory, has not had his attention riveted — as by that irrt'sisiible art by which painters compel the eye, l>y a colour ot controlling brilliancy, to a ]Kirticular relieving spot in their paintings — to the exhibitions of individual character, developed by the noble army of martyrs, the creati>rs of that history itselt { It is this principle which umh'rlies the whole theory ot di*a- matic and tictilious literature. It constitutes, indeed, the very secret of its power, and residing, as it does, mnid.st the most elemental springs of our naturi‘, it has not escaped the observa¬ tion of the deejvst investigators ot the human mind. It is just that ‘one touch of nature* that ‘makes the whole world kiu, and in dwelling u[)ou it, we are reminded ot a |M\s.s;\go iu which 700 PATMORES FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCE. it is beautifully indicated by Foster, in bis Essay on a mans writing memoirs of himself : — ‘ I suppose,' he says, ‘ a child in Switzerland, growing up to a man, would have acquired incom¬ parably more of the cast of his mind from the events, manners and actions of the next village, though its inhabitants were hut his occasional companions, than from all the mountain scenes, the cataracts, and every circumstance of beauty or sublimity in nature around him. We are all true to our species, and very soon feel its importance to us (though benevolence be not the basis of the interest) far beyond the importance of anything that we see besides. Beginning our observations with children, you may have noted how instantly they will turn their attention away from any of the aspects of nature, however rare or striking, if human objects present themselves to view in any active manner. This “ leaning to our kind" brings each individual, not only under the influence attending immediate association with a. few, but under the operation of numberless influences from all the moral diversities of which he is a spectator in the living world, a com¬ plicated, though insensible tyranny, of which every fashion, folly, and vice may exercise its part.'* The influence exerted by this universal instinct on our litera¬ ture is sufliciently obvious. Of the millions who are debarred by their position from any acquaintance with the private life of distinguished men, a large number in such an age as this are im|>atient of their social exile. They thirst for the poignant pleasures of such an acquaintance, and the demand thus occa¬ sioned affords to such as can supply it a prodigious temptation. Those whose lot is cast on the outskirts of the intellectual work!, and who need fear no similar reprisals in their own case, are under a strong temptation to turn this popular demand to their own private account. Society will never be very intensely anxious to know their sayings and doings ; but famishing multitudes will be eager for those crumbs which fall from the tables to which such men are accidentally admitted. This circumstance should in all propriety impose a law of extreme delicacy and reserve upon those whose temptations to supply such a demand are unusually strong. The success of such j3ersonal memoirs as those of Evelyn, Pepys, Boswell, and many others, oft'ei's to such men a strong inducement to violate a confidence which every honour¬ able mind should hold sacred ; and in proportion to the strength of that inducement should be their nice sense of honour and their self-restraint. He who infringes this obligation by making the drawing-room, the library, and even the chamber, to which he is admitted as public as Salisbury Plain, — who, to use well-known * Foster’s Essays, eleventh edition, p. 23. Patmore’s friends and acquaintance 701* words, ‘ invades domestic privacy, and publishes the sallies of the convivial hour,’ — commits a double wrong ; first, to the individual whose confidence he abuses, and next, to those who may be excluded from the higher society to which their talents or their virtues entitle them, by the suspicion which his prattling imper¬ tinence has engendered. This charge lies heavily against Mr. Patmore. Holding the situation of literary referee to an eminent London publisher, he was necessarily thrown into correspondence and personal inter¬ course with some of the principal authors of the day. And this circumstance has supplied him with the stock on which he trades in the volumes before us. It has been justly remarked by one critic, — ^That this work will be of great value to the living cele¬ brities of the present century as a warning to them to be cautious with whom they correspond, and whom to admit into their society. It conUiins a great deal of WTitten matter that ought never to have been printed, and scarcely less of printed matter that ought never to have been written. The letters here j>ub- lished are chiefly communications, purely confidential, and they are served up as mind portraits,” with the silliest of comments, and we grieve to add, the most unprincipled of reflections.’* To these remarks we feel bound to add, that Mr. Patmore’s w’ork labours under three cardinal disadvantages : first, that he criticizes intellectual and literary men with the slenderest amount of critical and literary ability. Secondly, that he portrays scholars with a lamentable want of scholarship ; and, thirdly, that without any impeachment of his veracity, there ap|>ears to be internal evidence that his representations cannot be accepted as true. These serious accusations will, we fear, be clearly sub¬ stantiated in the analysis of his book on wdiich w'c are about to enter. Mr. Patmore commences his notices wdth Charles Lamb, a most interesting character, certainly, to an acute observer of human nature, but one wdiich his descrijitions leave under a dense fog. We pass over his description of Lamb’s person, ‘ But see — he has removed his hat,’ and all such p.soudo-draniatic and vulgar clap-trap. He attributes to his countenance the ‘gravity of the .siige contending with the gaiety of the humourist.’ But even this physiognomical description does not prepare us for the statement that ‘ Charles Lamb’s face, like his other attri¬ butes, “ amounts to a contradiction in terms,” ’ or this still cruder statement, ‘ he hated and despised men with his mind and judg¬ ment in proportion as (aiul 'precisely because) he loved and yearned to them in his heart, and individually he' loved those * The Literary (razettc, August 12th, 1851. 702 PATMORE’S FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCE. best whom every one else hated, and for the very reasons for which others hated them.' Let these remarks be followed hnt for a moment into illustrative details. Certain men are hated because they are false, treacherous, cruel, despotic, or insolent, because they are at once shallow and arrogant, and therefoi\^ intolerable nuisances in society. Are we to suppose that Mr. Lamb loved them for these veiy reasons? If he did so, he was simply an idiot ; but if that hypothesis is too a])surd to be accepted, what are we to think of ^Ir. Patmore’s knowledixe of human nature and insight into individual character. Indeed, it is impossible to exaggemte the crude and random character of this w liter’s observations. He tells us (vol. L p. 22) that ‘ Lamb WT\s always on a par w ith his company, how^ever high or however low^ it might be ;’ and yet in the very same page he states that ‘ the first impression he made upon jx^ople w^as always unfavour¬ able, — sometimes to a violent and repulsive degree,’ and adds that ‘ to those who did not know- him, or knowing, did not or could not appreciate him. Lamb often passed for something between an imbecile, a brute, and a butfoon.’ This of Charles Jjamb ! Lilt in thoughtless fatuity Mr. Patmore sometimes exceeds himself. After depicting Lamb as an utterly impossible monster, he says (p. 23), ‘ He did not like to be thought different from his fellow-men (!), and he knew' that in the vocabulary of the ordinary world, “a man of genius” seldom means anything better, and often something worse, than an object of mingled fear, jnty, and contempt.’ Poor Charles Lamb ! Verily he w as taken from the evil to come. To his many admirers who mourn his loss it will be matter of great consolation that he has not lived to see himself befooled by the self-complacent crudities of this unfortunate author. Shakspeare talks of ‘damning with faint praise,’ but ^Ir. Patmore throughout these pages lias showm us the still lieavier doom that may lie inflicted by a blind and ignorant determination to praise at all hazards, esjiecially when the eulogy of one who is claimed as an intimate friend reflects a sort of mock glorification upon himself. Pages oD-G-S are occupied w ith a rambling, rollicking letter from Lamb to the author. It is such a letter as any man who has a few witty friends, who are also good correspondents, would jirobably receive tw enty times in a year. Indeed it is an amusing but sli])shod affair, by no means a fair specimen of Lamb’s humour, and perhaps its (piality is best accounted for in the first sentence. ‘ Dear P., I am so poorly ! I have been to a funeral, where 1 made a pun, to the consternation of the rest of the mourners, and w e had w ine.’ And then he goes on about his dog Dash, and dotting down the interpolations of his sister as to her inability to procure him shrimp sauce for soles, and an accident to his 703 PATMOKE’s FPIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCE. sister after the funeral, under whom the seat of a crazy chair gave way, at which the widow joined the rest of the company in a titter ; ‘ and then,' Lamb adds, ‘ 1 knew she was not incon¬ solable.' Of this epistle, diverting enough in its way, Patmore says : — . ‘ If 1 give this incomparable letter in iUl its disjointed integrity, with its enormous jokes in the shape of pretended domestic news about Procter, Hone, Godwin, Becky, &c. ; its inimitable tableau vivant of the ‘‘ meiTy passage with the widow at the Coininons its “ and then I knew that she was not inconsolable," which cannot be out of Shaksjmi re ; its startling dramatic interpolations “No shrimps!" and “All three, sa3^s l)i\sh its sick qualms, curable only by puns ; its deliberate incoherences; its hypothetical invitation to dinner (1 was at Paris at the time) ; if I venture to give all these in their naked inno¬ cence, it is because I do not dare to tamper, even to the amount of a single word, w’ith an epistolary gem that is w'orth the best volume of Horace Walpole s, and half the ‘ Elegant Extracts from Pope and Atterbury to boot’ A writer w ho can be guilty of sucli a ])anegyric as this, so ])re- posterously inappropriate, indiscriminating, and extravagant, is obviously destitute of all critical ability, and can command no contidence even in his biographical fidelity. Thus our credulity is sorely taxed at page 73, where we are informed that Lamb was more than indifferent about flowers. Upon this statement, which we receive with due suspicion, Patmore is seized with one of his spasms of feeble philosopliizing. ‘ In the world,’ he says, ‘ as at })reseut constituted, a man like Charles Lamb must hate some¬ thing ; and for him (Lamb) to hate a human being, or indeed any sentient being (he had ])reviously said, page If), that Lamb hated and despised men with his mind and judgment), even an adder or a toad, was impossible to his nature. Is it then speculating too curiously on his singularly-constitubid mind and lieart to suppose that he may have gone to the o])positc extreme — for he lived in extremes — and hated that which seems made only to be loved, and which all the world fancy they love, or pretend to do, because they can find nothing in them to move their hate — flow ers, fields, and the face of external nature?’ It mav be owing to our insutheient acquaintance witli the writings of the feeblest minds that have thought themselves capable of sup})lying stock for the circulating lil>raries, but w'c confess that we do not recollect meeting with a paragraph which, wdth tlie air ami pretension of ingenious thinking, betrays more absolute fatuity than this. We beg pardon of Mr. Lamb’s dog Dash, if we are wrong in our conjecture that w’e see in it the traces of his paw’. Perhaps, however, he knew his master better. I 704 Patmore’s friends and acquaintance. After this we are not a little astonished to find (page 82) that it is not the aim of this work to exalt or aggrandize the intellectual pretensions of the persons to whom it relates, but only to give tnie sketches of them as they appeared from the point of view from which the writer looked at them. Mr. Patmore’s appreciation of his own performance seems to be on a par with that of the literary men whom he delineates. Nothing can be more incorrect than his representations. All his geese jire swans, and his intention seems to have been to stilt himself up to a factitious importance by the grossest exaggeration of the merits of those who happen to have honoured him with their acquaintance. He rarely reports their conversations ; and when he does, they are so utterly meagre and worthless, that they would greatly reduce our estimate of the men, did we not recollect the medium through which they are transmitted. In the case of Lamb, for example, we meet with a few pages of con¬ versational anecdote, and are tempted to imagine that the obser¬ vations reported as Lamb’s must have been those of Mr. Patmore himself, and wrongly attributed, through a failure of memory. The very first entry affords an example of this : ‘ I took up a book on the table — Almacks — and Lamb said, “ Ay, that must be all 'iiuix to the lovers of scandal.’ It is scarcely conceivable that Lamb should have made so stupid a pun as this ; though, by the way, it is almost as difficult to imagine how any man who ever found his way into cultivated society should have thought it worth reporting, even if he had. His only notice of Mr. Lamb’s death is equally characteristic, and the pendant anecdote, a propos d€8 bottes, exhibits the author’s want of perception most gro¬ tesquely. ‘ There is something inexpressibly shocking in first hearing of a dear friend’s death through the medium of a jniblic newspaper, at a time, perhaps, when you believe him to be in perfect health, and are on the point of paying him a too long- delayed visit. Such was my case in respect to Charles Lamb. Still more painful w^as the case of a lady formerly a distin¬ guished ornament of the English stage, to wdiom Lamb was attached by the double tie of admiration and friendship. S(jvoral days after Lamb’s death, she W’as conversing of him with a mutual friend, who, taking for granted her knowledge of Lamb’s death, al>ruptly referred to some circumstance coiincct(‘d w’ith the event, which for the first time made her acquainted with it’ ^Ir. Patmore’s next victim is the late Thomas Campbell, and the lovers of his memory wdll be puzzled to know which most to regret, his exclusion from Westminster Abbey, or his admission into Mr. Patmore’s volumes. We fear they will feel that if the one is a negative, the other is a positive disgrace. Against 705 patmorf/s friknds axd acquaintance. Campbell, however, our author has brought one charge which has excited not a little indignation — namely, that he was not the author ot the ‘ Lives* of Mrs. Siddons and Sir Thomas Ijawrence, which were published with his name, but that all he had to do with tlieir ])roduction was the looking over the MS. and tlie ])roof sheets, and permitting his name to stand rubric on the title-page. On tins charge the publisher of the 'Life of Mrs. Siddons* asserts in a letter to the ' Athenaeum,* that Campbell declared to him that he did write them, having been bound by a ])romiso to Mrs. Siddons herself, who becpieathed to him her Diary for the pur[)ose. He further (piotes a letter from Campbell respecting it, which contains the words, ‘ really considering the labour I have bestowed upon this work, as well as my own conviction and that oimy friends with respect to its execution,* &c.* This evidenci*, so far as we are aware, has never been rebutted by Mr. J^itmore. His estimate of Campbell is as vague and im])erfect as that of his other subjects. He speaks of him as being fairly reco¬ gnised as the greatest of living poets, and in an unmeaning com|)arison of him with Mr. Rogei's, informs us that ‘ the passions in the Bard of ‘ Hope* still burn with a bright intensity, that would consume the altar on which they are kindled, were it a shrine less pure and holy than a poet’s heart.* If this means any¬ thing, it declares poets to be the purest and holiest of human beings. Does Mr. Patmore mean gravely to afiirm this of Thornas Campbell ? ])oes he of Pope, Byron, Moon^ Shelley, and Burns ? If not, what in the name of common sense does he mean ? In our simplicity, we can only say with Hamlet’s grave-digger, ‘ Mass ! 1 can’t tell !’ The next ‘ mind portrait’ with wdiich Mr. Patmore favours the public is that of the late Countess of Blessington. He commences with a description of her beauty ; anil setting himself up as a judge of painting, makes some ridiculous criticisms on Lawrence’s well- known portrait of the countess, accusing the painter of falling ‘ into the error of Idending incompatible expres.sions in the same * Mr. Vat more instaucos one rx])rrssion of Campholl as evidenor that he dill not even peruse the materials before him. It is in reference to some letters of a pretended Frenchman, on wliich Campbell says, ‘The editor admits them on aeeount of the ability which they seem to possess.’ On tins I’atmorc remarks in a note, ‘ Tlere the secret of non-perusal peeps out. to possess !” So that they may or they may not jmssess it, for anything he knows abinit them.* Mr. Patmore evidently cannot understand the modest suggestion of an opuiion, and we can imagine how he would have been puzzled had he ever been led astray into the writings of Tacit u.s by such words as Hrrmauos Milenas crediderim. Yet, shortly afterwards (u. V2S), we find him adojding the very same form of expression, ‘ 1 particularly seem to remember that these very words were used.* N.S. — VOL. VIII. Z Z 706 patoore's friends and acquaintance. face.' This silly remark reminds us of a characteristic joke of Sidney Smith, who, while bearing Tom Moore company in a sitting for his portrait, asked the artist if he could not manage * to throw into the face a more decided expression of hostility to the established church.' Her ladyship's charms seem fairly to liave robbed Mr. Patmore of his wits ; and the portion of his work devoted to her, and by necessary association to Count D'Orsay, is really a lamentable exhibition of feebleness and folly. Thus, at page 176, he says, ‘Not that she did not desire to please, no woman desired it more. But she never tried to do so, never felt that she was doing so; never (so to speak) cared whether she did so or not' The purchaser of these volumes may now determine whether Lady Blessington was desirous of pleasing or not. ‘ He pays his money and he has his choice.' ^Ir. Patmore's notices of her intercourse with Byron are about as discriminating as the above observation is logical. He tells us ‘ that Lady Blessington may be considered as having been the depositary of his last thoughts and feelings ; and she may cer¬ tainly be regarded as having exercised a very beneficial inlluence on the tone and colour of the last and best days of that most strange and wayward of men' (vol. i. p. 181) ; and again (p. J8.S) lie informs us, that under the infiuence of this intercourse, ‘ un¬ touched as it was bv the least taint of flirtation on either side,' both V ' the poet and the man became once more what nature intended them to be ; and that ‘ had it endured a little longer, it might have redeemed the personal character of Byron, and saved him for those high and holy things for which his noble and beautiful genius seems to have been created, but which the fatal Nemesis of his early life interdicted him from accomplishing.' Mr. Pat¬ more's views of morals and holiness constitute perhaps his only claim to originality Of Lady Blessington's monility, we will observe a modest silence ; but, if we recollect aright, the poem of Byron which was produced ‘ in his last and best days' is the one which, for its blaspheinyand obscenity, is universally excluded from every library and drawing-room in this metropolis, which Mr. Patmore declares to be ‘ not merely the most immoral, but the most openly and indecently immoral capital in Europe.' We think that many of the readers of these volumes must have been constantly reminded, as w^e have been, of one of the London morning papers, the faults of whose style are so exactly those of Mr. Patmore that we cannot divCvSt ourselves of the opinion that he has been a frequent contributor to its columns. Take, for example, the following sketch, which Mr. Patmore informs us was taken from the Ring in Hyde-park : — ‘ Observe that green chariot just making the turn of the unbroken line of equipages. Though it is now advancing towards us with at PATMORE’S FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCE. 707 least a dozeu carriages between, it is to be distinguished from tlic tlirong by the elevation of its driver and footnuui above tlie ordimuy level of the line. As it comes nearer, we can observe the particular points that give it that perfectly dUtingue apiK‘arance which it bears above all others in the throng. They consist of the white wheels, lightly picked out with green and crimson ; the high-stepping ac*tion, blood-like shaj)e, and brilliant manege of its dark bay horses ; the perfect style of its driver ; the height (six feet two) of its slim, spider- limbed, pow’dered footman, perked up at least three feet above the roof of the carriage, and occupying his eminence with that peculiar air of accidental superiority, half petit-maltre, half })lough-boy, which we take to be the ideal of footman perfection ; and, linally, the exceetlingly light, airy, and (if we may so speak) intellect uiU chariicter of the whole set-out.! — Vol. i. p. 19J1, 194. \V e axe then treated to ‘ the arms and supporters bhxzoned on the centre panels," and the face of the countess within, ‘ throu^li the doubly refracting medium of plate-ghuss and a blonde veil;' ‘ the lady, her companion, is the Countess de St. i^Iarsault, her sister, whose finely-cut features and perfectly oval face bears a strikirifi geneo'al resemblance to those of Lady h.,wiilioiit heimj at all like them.* Paradox would seem to constitute the family characteristic of these tw o ladies. Lady Blessington's sister bears a striking resemblance to her without being at all like her, and her ladyship herself, as we have seen, is, above all women, desirous of pleasing without caring a straw w hether she does so or not. But her ladyship’s martyr-like powers of endumnee remain to be noticed, as furnishing an exam])le of the triumph of genius and virtue over almost insuperable difficulties : — ‘ Lady Blessington was the first to introduce the beautifully simple fashion of wearing the hair in bands, but was not imitated in it till she had persevered for at least seven years ; and it was the same with the white wheels and peculiar style of picking out of her ecjuipages ; both features being universally adopted some ten or a dozen years after Lady Blessington had introduced and })ersevered in them.' But perhaps the richest example of this intense vulgarity is the following pjissage, which w'e meet with at p. 210: — ‘Few readers will expect to find a w^ork like ‘ Jerrold’s Magazine’ on the gilded tables of Gore House. But the following note will show^ that Lady Blessington's sympathies extended to all classes.' Yes, to all classes ! even to that most hund^le and abject clas® to which Mr. Douglas Jerrold belongs. That she who could ‘in her golden urn draw light’ from the full meridian blaze of Mr. Patmore’s genius should stoop to recognise the existence of Mr. Douglas Jerrold is certainly a miracle of condescension. Of this, however, her ladyship seems to have been unaware, for in the very letter introduced by this silliest ot tittle-tattlers, she says, ‘What a clever production ‘Jerrold’s Magazine’ is, and 708 patmorf/s friends and acquaintance. how admirable are his own contributions ! Such writings must effect good.' After kneeling to the countess, Mr. Patmore turns with an abso¬ lute ^ falling-down-deadness' of devotion to the Count D'Orsay. He premi.ses that ‘ the highest and noblest phase of the human character is a gentleman,' and confidently designates the count as the beau ideal of this ineffable perfection. ‘ He was the hivonrite associate, on terms of perfect intellectual equality, of a Byron, a Bulwer, and a L»andor, and at the Siime time the oracle, in dress and eveiy other species of dandyism, of a Ohestertield, a Pem¬ broke, and a Wilton' (p. 222). We must leave all questions arising out of Count D’Orsay's waistcoat and trousers to Mr. Patmore and the old clothes men of Moninouth-street ; ljut we must confess some curiosity to know what is meant here by ‘ terms of ])orfect intellectual equality.' Docs he mean that J )’Orsay equalled Bvron in poetic genius, Landor in learning and intellectual power, and Bulwer in literary accomplishment ? If he does not, he should have said terms of social equality, which, as meaning next to nothing, would have been a ph rase most tit for Mr. Patmore’s use: if he does, his statement is too ridiculous to be improved upon by satire. In attributing all that he can imagine of human excel¬ lence to this ‘admirable Crichton,’ as he calls him, riding, shooting, swimming, boxing, fencing, wrestling, tennis playing, &c., he says, among other things, he was amongst the best cricketers in a country wdiere all arc cricketers. This hasty generalization sug¬ gests a scene which Sidney Smith would have delineated to ])er- fection, and perhaps we might succeed in casting ‘ two elevens’ who would supply a tempting opportunity to the caricaturist. But rash and ridiculous assertion is not the heaviest charge that lies against Mr. Patmore. In worshipping his golden calves, he illustrates the immoral tendency of such itlolatry. Thus of Count D'Orsay, he says. ‘ III tlie next place, with tastes and personal haViits magnificent and genei*ous even to a fault, Count D’Orsay was very iar from being rich; conseipiently, at every step, he was obliged to tread upon some of the .shopkeeping prejudices of English life. Unlike most of the denizens of this nation of shojikeepers,” he very wisely looked upon a tradesman as a being born to give credit, but who never does fulfil that part ot his calling if he can helj) it, except wliere he believes that it will conduct him, if not to j)ayment, at least to jirofit. The fashionable tradesmen of London knew that to be patronized by Count D’Orsay was a fortune to them ; and yet they had the face to expect that he would pay their bills after they had run for a ‘‘reasonable” jicriod, whether it suited his convenience to do so or not ! As if, by rights, he ought to have )>aid them at all, or as if theif ought not to have paid him for showering fortune on them by his smile, if it had not been that hi* honour would have forbidden such an arrangement, even with ‘‘ a PATMORES FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCE. 709 nation of shopkecpei's Nay, I bolievo they soineliinos the iningleil injustice and stupidity of invokiny; the law to their aid, and arresting him! Shutting up within four walls the man whose going forth was the signal for all the rest of the world to think of opening their purse-strings, to compass something or other which they Ir'IicUI in that mirror of all fashionable reejuirements ! It was a little fortune to his tiger to tell the would-be dandies dwelling north of Oxford- street w here D’Orsay bought his last new’ cab-horse, or w'ho built his tdburv or his coat ; and vet it is said that his hoi*s(*-dealer, his eoaeh- maker, and his tailor have been know n to shut uj) 1‘rom sight this type and model by which all the male “ nobility and gentry” of JjoiuIoii horsed, equipaged, and attired themselves.’ — Vol. i. p. 22!). This passage siiftices of itself to justify the very low estimate, both intellectual and moral, which we are led to form of Mr. Patmore by the ]>erusal of these volumes, through whicli alone his name lias become known to us. Indeed, liad W’e seen it detached, our first impression woidd have been that it wa« the joint production of a journeyman tailor, a footman, and a black¬ leg. Nothing can he imagineil more subveasive of the first jirin- ciples of morality and common honesty, and when we cou])le it with the assertion before quoted, that C!ount I )’Orsiiy exhibited lus a ‘ gentleman' the highest jdiase of human nature, w’c cannot lielp regarding Mr. Patmore as a most curious micro.scope jdienomenon. The ethics of the matter lie in a very small comj)a.ss. AVere the p(*rsons who siqiplied the. count with his carriage.s, liorses, clothes, and jew ellery, distinctly apprized by him that the lionour of his patronage was to be their only paynumt { If they W’ere, they committed a great injustice in sending in their accounts ; if not, the count w as a swindler, and as sucli is distinctly justified by Mr. Patmore. Again, if l)’C)rsay is to be relieved on the ground of his hishionable iidluence, why may not all the gentlemen who imitated his fashions have claimed the same pri¬ vileged — inasmuch as they too bad their apes,down to the wretched apprentices w’ho hire sham jewels and a spavimal horse for a Sunday’s airing. Moreover, if the nonqiayment of his tradesmen’s debts is to be justified on the score of his having b(*en ‘ the glass of fashion and the mould of form,’ how much further might not his ludvilege have extended? Why may he not have been equally blameless in forging their checks and acceptances? Put the reader is already sick of the subject, and so are we. In noticing the count’s connexion with hady Plessington, Mr. Patmore goes, if possible, to a still further (h*greeof immorality and absurdity. After stating, with truth, that in consecpience of it the count was ‘ cut off from the advantages of the more hustidious por¬ tion of high female S(x:iety, by the indignant fiat of its heads and leaders,’ he adds, ‘ And this was in England ! where no marrietl man in high life is thought the worse of, or treated the w’orse, 7]0 patmorf/s friends and acquaintance. even by the female friends of his wife, for being suspected of having a mistress or two. In England ! — where every itn married man in high life is compelled to keep a mistress whether lie likes it or not, unless he would put his character in jeopardy.' And again, ‘ In England, where you may be as immoral as you please, ]^rovided you show no signs of being ashamed of it. (pp. 231, 232). To criticize such statements as tliese is of course impossible ; surely if ^Ir. Patmore is not a hopeless idiot, he must be insane. His next literary sketch is that of Mr. Plumer Ward, the author of ‘Tremaine' ‘De V"ere,'&c., some time member for Cocker- mouth, and from the year 1804 to 1820, a subordinate member of the government, under Mr. Pitt, the Duke of Portland, Mr. Perceval, and Lord Holland. His connexion with Mr. Ward arose out of his function as literary reviser to Mr. Colburn. Mr. Ward a])pears to have been a man singularly diffident of his own literary ability ; and hence in his coiTcspondence with his ]mb- lisher before knowing ^Ir. Patmore even by name, lie indicates a respect for the critical talents of the latter gentleman, which Mr. Patmore exhibits most amusingly in letters which would seem to be given to the public for the sole purpose of displaying this flattering but mistaken homage. Like all ^Ir. Patmore’s ac¬ quaintances, Mr. Ward makes the nearest approach to perfection. Indeed his eulogist boldly states, that ‘ he has never been sur- ])assed, at all events among prose writers, in his delineations of the female character.' We are tempted to inquire why then should so distinguished a man require the editorial services of Mr. Patmore ? — and this problem he obligingly solves : — ‘Ho wished,’ says Mr. Patmore, ‘to obtain for that work (‘ ’i're- maine’), during its passage through the press, the benetit of such sug¬ gestions in regard to mere style and composition, as might seem called for in the judgment of some professional writer, whose practice in connexion with the critical literature of the day, might be su])])Osed to have given him those facilities in handling the mere mechanism of composition, which nothing hut long ])ractiee can impart.* And again, ‘ that mere mechanical facility of hand (so to speak) which long ])rac- tiee may give to any hand, and the absence of it must withhold Irom all.’ — Voi. ii. pp. 3, 4, o. These passages give at once the key to Mr. Patmore's literary position. He who regards ‘style and composition' as mere mechanical accomplishments, which any man can obtain by an almost manual practice, is profoundly ignorant of the first prin¬ ciples of literature. This writer has evidently never gone far enough into the subject to acquaint himself with its difficulties. He talks of composition as an organ-blower would of Handel s symphonies, or as a compositor would of the writings of Burke. He evidently has no conception of the scholarship and PATMORE’S FRIEyDS AND ACQUAINTANCE. 711 the taste eni^endered by an intimacy with the higliest models, which are necessary to produce the ingenious precision and the allusive and evanescent charms of a perfect style — charms which, ev^en were it possible to tlissect them, wonld be mangled and destroyed by the process. But even were Mr. Patmore’s notion as correct as it is ignorant, he would be one of the last persi^ns competent to revise the style and composition of another, llis own is defective, and blumiering to absolute illiteracy. Of this wo will here present a few illustrations. Within a page of the last (|uo- tation he designates Mr. Ward as a man ‘ foivards whom he w'as accustomed to look vj) to* The word mutual is used at least thirty times in these volumes, and in every instance incorrectly, as ‘ a mutual friend,’ and the like. The phrase, ‘ for the time being,’ is another favourite one with !Mr. l^itmore, and is inva¬ riably adopte«l in ignorance of its meaning. At vol. i. p. 1 we have — ‘ The adv'ocate overstepped the extreme.st limits of his pro- fes.sional duty, ])y attempting to screen his client at the risk of an innocent person’s life ; and ivltlch attempt,’ «!!cc. At p. -1 we llnd the Frencli and English described as ‘ two civilized ])eople.' At vol. ii. page St, he makes Mr. Ward commit the blunder in Latin of ‘ servitur nd imum ;’ while in another place we have ‘ symposii' instead of ‘ symposia.’ At vol. iii. p. 53, he mangles Milton’s well- known line — * Fixed fate, free will, fore-knowledge absolute,* into ‘ Fate, free will, and reason al).‘«olute.* At page 1 33, he attempts to (|uote the epigram beginning ‘ I do not like thee. Doctor Fell,’ but makes it absurd by omitting the third line. At ]>agc 13(5 we have, ‘ who he, Moore, calls low ])eople.’ At page 2(50, ])oor Doctor Parr is accused of attributing to Sheridan, as a boy, ‘ great acuteness, excellent liiKlerstainliiKjy wit, and humour, but not a particle of understanding.’ And at ])age 284*, we Hinl Mr. Burke’s well-known pas.sage, ‘ Vice itself loses half its evil ])y losing all its grossness,’ transmuted into ‘ stripping vice of its coarsenes.s, and thus depriving it of half its deformity.’ Mr. Pat¬ more’s inverted commas aj)pear to have gone mad in the com¬ positor’s case, and to have rushed about seeking what they might devour. We find them embracing the words 'good advice' (page 1(53), 'made up his mind’ (page 103), and literally the word 'going,’ (200.) These are but .samples of the blunders which distigure every page of this practised adept at 'style and composition.’ In the reminiscences of Mr. Ward, by far the amplest which these volumes contain, the most interesting feature is the singular n;it- ' t ’ » 7i2 Patmore's friends and acquaintance. 7iiodesty of the literary politician, though the effect of this is constantly clamped by the exhibition of the opposite quality in the biographer. Mr. Patmore's recollections of Horace and James Smith are Hat and uninteresting, and from one of his observations, we should judge that he has no discriminating appreciation of the merits of that work by which both will be best known, ‘ The llejected Addresses.' He mentions, as the choicest of these celebrated imitations, those of Byron, Scott, ^loore, and FitzgeraM only. One of these certainly stands preeminent, namely, that of Scott ; the others are far surpassed by those of Crabbe, Southey, Johnson, Cobbett, and Laura Alatilda. AVith poor ^Ir. Hazlitt s memory Patmore makes sad havoc, and in doing so exhibits himself in a light which must call a blush to the faces of his friends. Take, for example, his descri])- ticm of one of his earliest interviews with Hazlitt, in which he accompanied him home from a lc‘Cture. The following is a ])art of liis descrijjtioii, which we give with all the vulgarity cJ his own tv])e and inverted commas — ‘In my innocence 1 actually vfeved Itiin ony arin, which he took I and so we Svalked arm- in-arm through the whole of Fleet-street, the Strand, Parliament- street,' &c. The ‘general reader’ will wonder what there was extra¬ ordinary in this, but the initiated will not believe it. To walk straight hcmie at ten o’clock at night, ‘ in a resj)ectable and gentle¬ manlike manner !' It cannot have been I Arm-in-arm, too, and with a very young gentleman in a])oint device costume ! 1 think I hear Charles Lamb exclaim, ‘Why, the angel Gabriel could not have persuaded Hazlitt to walk arm-in-arm with him for half the length of Southampton-buildings.' ‘ Perhaps not, but with a 'icriter in BlaclwootVs Muyazine it was ditlerent ; one, too, who had tacitly engaged to give a favourable account of him' (vol. iii. p. 27I). But while all this puppyism is very pitiable, his delineations of Hazlitt's character show that he had not in his mind any intelligent idea and estimate of it ; for examj)le, at page 27-, we find that ‘ the plague-spot of his personal character was an ingrained seltishness, which more or less intluenced and inoditied all the other points of his nature.' Yet, on the very next page, he writes, ‘ 1 never knew him to do a base or mean action, and I have known him do many that might fairly claim to be deemed magnanimous in the ordinary acceptation ot the term. It would i)e the basest of libels upon Hazlitt to describe him as mean-souled man ;' while, at page 289, he described him as endowed ‘ with the most social disposition of any man 1 ever met with, and an active and ever present sympathy with the claims, the wants, and the feelings of every human being whom he approached.' Patmore’s friends and acqu.untancr 713 But perhaps the most disgusting part of these volumes is Mr. Patmore’s dt^scriptiou of Hazlitt s im]>ressions at a prize¬ fight, which he had induced him to witness for the first, and probably for tiie last time. Patmore’s smug apology for his uncivilized propensity is to our taste inexpressibly nauseous. He biiys, ‘ 1 had at the period in (jut^stion the prevalent passion for prize-tighting strong upon me. (Cienlle reader, it is a long while ago, and 1 know better now ; howbeit it is the prize-tightei*s tliemselves who have cured me — not the preachers against tlieni).' But his attempt to invest this brutal practice with an air of sub¬ limity and intellectuality is ecpially disgusting and absurd, and so fairly sickens us of the book, ;is to induce us to lay it by, with a very few additional observations, in mercy to our readers and ourselves. ‘ I was tot> anxious,’ he says, ‘about the gn'at event’ (this great event being the nuitual mutilation of Xeate, a Bristol hnteher, and the ‘ (xivs-inan’) ‘ 1 had eome seventy iniK's to see, to take nmeh notiee of its elieets upon Hazlitt while it was going on. But alter it was all over we joined eonipany, and then found that he had taken the most ])r()/ijtni(l metaphysical as well as personal int(‘rest in the battle, and I never heard him talk finer or more philosojihieally than he did on tlie subject, which he treated — and justly, 1 thiidv — jus one eminently worthy of being so considmvd ;ind trejited. As a study of human nature, and the varieties of its character and constitution^ he look(‘d u]K)n the sc(*ne as the finest siyht he had ever witnessed ; and asjidisphiy of animal courage he spoke of the hjittle as nothing slu)rt of snldiine. 1 found tliJit he had paid the most intense Jittention to every part of the combat — luid wjitehed the various chances and elninges of its progress witli tlie eye and tact of jin experienced amateur.’ — Vol. iii. j). lo. To comment on sucli iml>ocile and offensive trash as this would bi^ superfluous. Tlie only fitting critic is the county magistrate, and the only criticism the trejidmill. Indcetl the entire sketch of Mr. Hazlitt is a hideous caricature. Thus in one place he repn^sonts him, in his u.sual styh‘ of blind exaggcrjition, as the most discriminating Jind accomplisljed of critics, yet in another he thus gives us his judgment on ijonl Byron’s poetical writings, the bad English being Mr. Pjitmonds own : — ‘Anybody might liave written his poetry’ (so Hjizlitt thought and said), * if they could only have worked themselves uj) to an ecpial amount of personal rage and hatred against himself jind all mankind.* This ridiculous criticism, which Hazlitt never could have uttered, Mr. Patmore sagaciously endorses, especially with reference to ‘Don Juan.’ Jn a word, we are convinced that nine-tenths of Mr. Patmore’s reminiscences are jnirely a]>ocr\’phal, a ridiculous illustration of which occurs at page vol. iii., where he repre¬ sents Mr. Leigh Hunt as (pioting from a L.atin poem, consisting of three hundred lines, every word ot which begins with the letter B! 7U Foster’s elements of jurisprudence. The same gross exaggerations and defects may be found in every page of the two remaining sketches of Laman Blanchard and Mr. Sheridan ; and Mr. Patmore’s whole performance, if it indicates any demand on the part of the public for works of so flimsy, foolish, and unjustifiable a character, shows a lamentable want of correct taste and feeling in the present generation. It may be needful to subject literary men, and such as have exercised a pow’erful influence on society, to the ordeal of criticism after their decease ; but it is intolerable that their most sacred privacy sliould be exhumed for an inquest, with a Patmore for coroner. Aiit. VL — Ulrmrnfs of JurispruJencc. By Charles James Foster, 31. A., LL.l)., Barristor-at-Law, Professor of J urisprudenee at Uni¬ versity College. Crown Svo. London : Walton & 31aberlcy. J URlSPRUDENCE, though suiTOuiided by professional associations, is not exclusively, nor indeed specially, the province of a parti¬ cular class. It is a department in the common field of human knowledge, sustaining the same relation to the pleader at the bar as geology does to the miner, or chemistry to the dyer of cottons. Apart, therefore, from any peculiar interest attaching to the subject, we may confidently speak of it as a sphere in wdiicli our mental powers may be stimulated to a high degree. But there is a peculiar interest attaching to the materials of this science, as will readily be seen from its connexion at once with morality and legislation. On the one hand it is mixed up with the desires, riglits, and interior laws of the soul, wdiile on the other it determines the form and many of the details of society ; supplying authority, and defining obedience ; presiding over the conflict of claims, and indicating the point wdiere common riglits may meet without mutual injury. Such is the study to the ele¬ ments and partial development of which Dr. Foster invites our attention. There is one practical hindrance to the extensive popularity of his work, apart from the indifference just alluded to. It arises, we appreliend, from the cautiousness of an honest and accurate mind feeling its way amidst discarded, disputed, or at least unadmitted opinions ; but from whatever cause arising, it is certain that the ordinary reader ivill often feel obliged to pro¬ nounce the writer’s meaning undiscoverable. And this difficulty is only the more disheartening because of the simplicity and chaste¬ ness observable in the mere style. We hardly dare, in the present case, impute the obscurity to confused and imperfect conceptions ; indeed we cannot do so after examining the tabular arrangement fostfr’s elements of jurisprudence. 715 of results in the ‘ Bases for a Science of Law.' For here we per¬ ceive that the author has preserved unbroken the cue of his own reasonings, and that he lias accpiired a high degree of contidence in the soundness of his first principles, as also in the practicability of d(‘ducing from those principles a consistent system of law. It may not he necessary to explain, otherwise than incidentally, the jirecisc meaning of the terms science, law, jurisprudence, but for convenience, we will give the author's account of Ids peculiar science — ‘The subject matter of jurisprudence is natuml law, or that course of human condvct u'hich is momlhj enforceable hi/jnihlic authority ; the (jualifying ‘morally' introduced for the purjiose of showing that authority of the right kind cannot bo exercised in violation of the jiaramount moral constitution of man, from which, indeed, it derives its very existence. The dis¬ covery of such a law will manifestly involve the consideration of many abstruse jihilosophical questions, unless we are able to start with some general statement of the results of ethical inqidry, such statement having axiomatic force. If, however, uncertainty attach to the.so appropriated results, they may be employed with the undei-standing that the new science is, in so far, flexible, and possibly improvable. At the same time*, when we have obtained a basis of truth (adndtted in one science) uj)on which we ])roposo to build up another science, we must ex})ect little further lielp excepting by way of analogies or illustrations ; inasmuch as, according to the able exposition of Dr. Whewell — ‘ Each science must advance by means of its appro])riate conce])tions,' and wherever this canon is not regarded, confusion }>uts a stop to progress. C>ur author, in applying the jninciples of J)r. AVlieweH's philosophy to the non-j)hy8ical sciences, remarks upon the con¬ fusion and controversy that have ensued in tlie field of jurispru¬ dence, on neglecting to keej) in view the ‘fundamental idca.s,' ‘ the appropriate conceptions' of this science, cOs distingidshed fnuii the ‘ appropriate conceptions’ of sciences that are related, inde(*d, but can never be amalgamated. He instances the variety and oppo¬ sition of opinions on the province of government in matters of trade, education, and worship. Upon which we cannot refrain from congratulating the uninitiated, that, however the case may stand with the formal science, progr(*ss is being made in the elimination from the sphere of jurispnidence of matters that are so foreign to its primary idea as to be embarrassing, and at tlie same time themselves in no wise advantaged. Interference with the natural laws of exchange is consigned to history ; and we are encouraged to believe that the superintendence of education and the prescription of worship will speedily follow. In order to determine the position of jurisprudence in relation to certain other sciences with which it is associated, and from 716 foster’s elements of jurisprudence. •which, nevertheless, it must he separated, the arrangement deemed preferable thus proceeds. Metaphysics takes precedence as the science of sciences. The second place is assigned to political economy, a somewhat startling position confessedly, but justitied by showing that before we know what men ought to do, we must know" what they wish severally and relatively. In men severally we recognise ‘ the desire of having but in the condition in which v,e live, this desire becomes a willingness to exchange. Exchangeableness (or value) is the fundamental idea of political economy ; in other words, the desire of having does not neces¬ sarily suggest any other iilea than that of Uiking, but the willing¬ ness to give and take suggests terms and ])rinciples that mutual satisfaction may be secured. A want and a supply are the simple elements with which this science is concerned. Th e moralist and the jurist may proceed in their own way, the one to condemn, and the other to forbid, but the economist looks only at the qu id quo. At the commencement of the second lecture we read, in reference to the arrangement of the sciences concerned, ‘^Ve stated their relative order as being — 1st, meta¬ physics; 2nd, ethics.’ We do not understand the substitution of ethics for political economy, after such pains to vindicate the pro¬ priety of the reverse order ; but we adhere to the first position, and introduce ethics as third in order. The idea of responsibility exists in connexion with voluntary actions, so far as they may affect others. To discover the law of this responsibility is the first task of moral jdiilosophy. Again, ‘ Men are capable of being influenced in their conduct by causes ah extra* Under what conditions may these external causes be brought to bear uj)on the voluntary actions of men w ith a view to their constraint or restraint ? ‘ The investigation of these conditions is the business of jurispnidence.’ Retuming now' more particularly to ethics, we find that we have a primary notion about those actions wdiich affect others, and which we may either do or not as we choose. It is desirable, nay, in the author’s opinion, it is imperative, that we get rid of the (piestion, ‘Why ought I to regard the effect of my actions upon others?’ Not, by the answer, ‘ Because you ouqltt ; as it this were an ultimate idea, but by furnishing ‘a fundamental law of duty considered as a])plicable to all conceivable relations between sentient and intelligent beings, and which is self- evidently to govern the conduct of such beings tow^ards each other under any circumstances; a principle which is to lulfil the four conditions of Cousin — of being immutable, absolute, universal, and necessary ;’ and such a principle and such a law are asserted to exist in tlie precept commonly called the Golden Rule. A few" of the immediately preceding steps of the argu- Foster's elements of jurisprudence. I 4 14 meiit will perhaps indicate with sufficient clearness how the author amves at the conclusion above stab'd, — thougli much mii^ht be said, and somethini^ must bo said, and he himself has said much, about this law of iluty. \\ heu 1 siiy, ‘ I must do a certain thing,' I give expression to a necessity, but it is not a physical necessity ; it must be refernvl to tlie original conception which the miiid lias of the necessary character ot actions that are capable of atiecting otliers — the conception is a moral one, and the nect^ssity recognised is a moral necessity, and the sense of tliat necessity may be termed a moral sense. The sense of duty is the of moral Tlien the (juestiou arises, How is tiiis sense to be prompted, or rather guided i And the reply is the rule aliove mentioned — or as it is stated in the a])peniled ‘ Bases.' ‘ The conception supposes — a plural if i/ of hriu(/!t^ who are infclVujrnf^ gelf-iluferminin(j, ami mufualltf aentient. The eone<*ption is — of a principle of action between such beimjs necessarily resulting from the relation involved in these attributes. ‘ The name for moral necessity is duty, 'fhe sense of duty is the sense of moral necessity, or the moral sense. ‘ That to which the moral sense attributes necessity is the doing right. ‘ Uight is — doing as you would he done by.’ — p. W2. We need hardly acknowledge the special satisfaction we have felt in seeing the boldness with which tlie scriptural jirecept ha.s been announced as the great etliical law, and the ability with which our autlior defends its asserted position ; but at the same time, we confess to many lingering doubts, — doubts which will intrude even upon beliefs which our habits, and conse(|uent pre¬ ference, have hallowed. The very extensive explanations a)»pa- rently demainled by tlie more remote moral problems, teiul to remove this ])rincii>le from the region <jf necessary s(‘lf-evident truth, and, thus far, invalidate its claims to be a fundamenUil idea. This much, however, can be .said in defence, that the principle is even more capable of application in ])ra(;tice, and as a (piickener of the con.science, than any other that luis been distinctly stated ; while in those cases where it seems to halt, tlie preponderance is always in its favour, if ample time be given for reasoning out the precise mode of its ajipliciition. Jn addition to such considerations, we must not forget the intluence of a direct divine sanction ; nor will we sutfer its divine origin to be altogether disputed. After noticing (through Putfendorffij the announcement of this law by Aristotle, Seneca, and others, the paragraph (p. 46) concludes, ‘and, indeed, this is no other than that great rule prescribed by our Saviour himself, of doing to men as we would be done by.' 718 Foster's elements of jurisprudence. Now, it may be rather captious criticism, but we arc jealous and beg to maintain that there is an important diti’erence, at least in the tone, between the heathen and the Chiistian maxims. The former wears the aspect of a witty suggestion, for the resto¬ ration of broken peace, or the maintenance of courteous relations* the latter marches with majesty, fosters the habit of active benevolence, bears the stamp of a positive morality, and, not content with marking dishonouringly, negligence and violation, it ob.serves and provides for the entire range of human well-being That we are authorized in making this distinction will appeal* from the statements in Dr. Foster’s work, that previous casuists generally have refused any further regard to the maxim than as a means of preserving the impartiality (or reproving the unfair¬ ness) of the judgment, in cases where self-love is likely to inter¬ vene. We are not surprised that the keen intellect of Hobbes could extract no more from it, so long as it presented itself to liis mind in the form of a mere occasional hmt to a hesitating mind. Do not that to others you u'ould not lutve done to yourself. Neither, on the other hand, are we surprised that Dr. 8. Clarke, deriving it from Scripture, in its positive and mandatory shape, should have adopted it reverently as the fundamental principle of morality. Many objections, subtle and teasing rather than wise, have ])een advanced against the universality and ultimacy of this principle, but after the comments of the author on several of these objections, our faith has increased, our acceptance is cor¬ dial, but at the same time candid. We feel the force and value of the primary truth, but look upon it as a screw; it takes along time and many windings to drive it home ; it luis not the wonted pliability of a final truth. Notwithstanding the timidity which we predict will occa¬ sionally characterize the attempt to apply this principle univer¬ sally, the author will unquestionably succeed in impressing the student’s mind with a general confidence in its soundness, as much by the calm manner in which he offers the key to (jues- tions insoluble on other hypotheses, as by the terse vigour of his logic whenever he has victory plainly in his sight. To any highly trained undei'standing, the following summary of attributes would probably at first suggest the desirableness of a suspicious attitude, for the purpose of minute examination ; but would also as pro¬ bably entice to a premature belief ; so rough is the voyage of the investigator, that the mere cloud-line of his horizon is often welcomed from its resemblance from afar to the shore that is still far a>vay : — ‘ We have, therefore, a primary law, which is at once universal, immutable, absolute, and necessary. It is necessary, Iwcause it cannot Foster's elements of jurisprudence. 719 but exist (or, to express it differently, because our minds cannot do otherwise than conceive of it) in relation to any action which affects am)ther ; it is immutable, as there is no supj)osable circumstance under which actions may be done, which modify its force ; it is universal, as there are no actions which it does not govern ; it is absolute, as it is unnecessary to its abstract truth that such beings as we sujjposo should have any actual existence, or such actions as we have repre¬ sented, should ever be j)erformcd.’ — p. 00. It this be a true representation of the scientific character of the great law, we ought to be able to describe it with some precision and intelligibleness, or in other words, we should be able to convey our own judgment on the matter, in such a way as to ensure identity of judgment in another intelligent being. This test, like several others, is ap]died with evident ease and success by the introduction of a piissage from CJrotius, to which the author’s idea and ])rinciple of duty in the human mind arc decidedly conformable. ‘ The law of Nature is that which is dictated by sound reason, indi¬ cating with respect to any action, from its self-approvcahlcness (con- venientia), or the contrary, to a reasonahle nature, conscious of the cH'ect of its actions upon other beings, that “ it has in itself a mond necessity or unworthiness ; and is conse(pi(*ntly commanded or for¬ bidden by (lod, the author of Nature.”- — (irotius. Duty, according to our notion of it, is that which is dictated bv sound rea,son. The rule of doing as 3'ou would be done by, does approve itself Jis a matter of sound reason, to a reasonable nature conscious of the effect of its actions upon otluTs.* Still further, if this rational theorem of Grotius l>e applied to any other of the commonly received views of the subject, they are instantly pronounced short-coming. The fourth lecture brings us at length to the proper subject of the work. Here there is a formal boundary-line traced so as to exclude all matters that do not l)elong to the circle of jurispru¬ dence. There must ever be a close connexion and fre<|uent reference between that science and ethics, inasmuch as morality must determine in a great measure when the public authority may riglitfully compel the performance of private duty. But the moment we seize on the germ notion of righteous law, we perceive that though narrow the strip, we do sUmd between two sejis— we arc morally bound to do good to our fellow-men as far as powder serves — but the law can only require that we do not, with their assent even in some cases, without their assent in others, make their condition other than it actually ia Thus the subject matter of which jurisprudence treats is seen to be ^ ike voluntary conduct of kuDuin beinys altering the Hiatus quo of others without their consent.' But this element of consent 7-20 Foster’s elements of jurisprudence. appe.ars to us to breed mystery in the theoiy, although daily observation of legal processes may avail to obviate all real dith- culty and danger; indeed Dr. Foster himself indicates certain ])riiiciples, by force of which, while the law cannot restrain a man from intoxication, for instance, it is not bound to protect him from its results. Of course, if consent were a justifying element, the law would have no o])tion ; it must mete out the exact amount of justification attaching to this as to any other feature of the case. A man may indeed consent to be murdered (as in a duel), but according to the advanced state of public morality, and inde^nl according to the fundamental principle of right action, both victor and victim have violated law ; have altered the stains qvo of each other ; and their common consent to the trial and issue can justify neither. A\'e would, therefore, treat the element of consent as it is actually regarded, in the light of a variable (quantity, which serves as a check to the careless and wholesale application of pre¬ cedents or of wide-sweeping statutes. Another modifying principle to be observed in the construction of law introduces us to an arena not so much of conflict as of exhilarating and profitable exercise. As a matter of fact laws arc for the most part remedial, but where they are prospective, for instance, constitutional laws, they must have respect to the rights of man ; and the definition of these rights in the eye of the law, as contradistinguislied from what Dr. Whewell calls ‘ moral claims,’ is a matter of immense moment and requiring great care. The law is not co-extensive with duty ; but where duties devolve, the rights necessary for their discharge must be not only defended by law against repression, but held altogether sac.eil from interference. The old division of the rights of Nature is indeed very meagre, altogether out of proportion to the vast area of which law has already taken cognizance. Tlie rights appertaining to the intfd- lectual and spiritual nature are either ignored, or clumsily reduced under the head of ‘Use of Limbs,’ or ‘ Kight of Loco¬ motion.’ Kmendation was indeed desirable here, and the means of emendation have been partly furnished, partly collected and admirably systematized by Dr. Whew’ell. Our author is espe¬ cially charnuHi with this classification of wants and rights because it fits in with his own theory most readily, and more especially as tending to remove the influence of anger and fear, the two passions which pre eminently, though in a different way, disturb tlie stains quo. ^Vhen we have reached the stage where we admit that certain actions or certain inaction are compellable, we are forthwith urged to decide the limits of the right of force, and also the executive, in which that right shall be lodged. m>.bnts o» 721 1. .1.0 — »'■ ‘'t ri i»-aiy b« t«r u.. tnuturo ol aes.rlrUon ot a ^vitl. llfTok conduct of ‘;,u. the authority t.£“js i: f t r ivr;;p: -f it- Independence, \nd to secure tl.is there i,. ™»»c'|oc»“ ■ ' tl,\.»a cBc f« a‘« - t,««a '«• f '‘a.^STea * a»t «. -sia .11 — . .„« a.. ;“*";t;kcr,“la’ rlslalul 1'? “'."''ri “rt even, .Nhicli ',kte a great tnoral . M . “".^.!Strne;;;sity,anditre<p..resto-^^ SirourMuost "X meieh 'So 1C lUll denionstratca Y - j,„v,H.TSon is tounu in property .^'‘‘‘-"//.ano lier, it t«‘ust he o umc.l ^ ‘of a tiling ,!"a l.ut only by lorce < ‘ ,,,^.rvc sovereignty— or u j^ives tlic con 80 generally ad\ocatt , ^ ^ -VOK VIU. • ••‘•u-.o FOSTEll'S ELEMENTS OF JURISPRUDENCE. amenable to the law ; so that law may be independent of any moral character, and revolutions, without exception, indefensible. But with Dr. Foster s definition of law we are able to establish the abstract right of resistance, though great difficulty is found in determining the exact measure of the right, and the proper time for its assertion. l.aw being simply an equivalent ex])rcssion for enforceable duty, if it be violated, force may be ap])lied indifterently to sovereign and subject We suppose that tb.ere could not be two opinions on this matter, if it were not for the question — in whom is the right of force now lodged ? The joint right of the whole nation has been represented and maintained by the very individual or l)ody now to be compelled ; — who shall compel ? We admit the very grave difficulty of the question in theory, but we know the answer sujiplied by history. The whole community, or the majority, resume the original right, and, roused by glaring aggressions, impatient of the distinctions of the thinker, rush to the accomplishment of a fact which the thinker may examine at his leisure, and which he will doubtless pronounce good. But even the theoretical difficulty may be j)artly obviated by attending to the caution — so serious a disturbance of society as is understood by a revolution should not be entered upon w ithout a fair ] >rosj)ect of success. The force of this caution is made apparent by destroying the distinction between law' as it is and law' as it ought to be. Daw' is as it ought to be — enforceable duty has reference to existing desires acknowledged by the majority of the community. The community may be ignorant, and their desires simjde, and their rights accordingly few^; or it may be debased, cou' fesseilly needing a great moral reformation ; but still law' has no concern with their moral responsibilities at large, only with such as are enforceable, and these are such as are recognised by tlie bulk of the people. It is undoubtedly very deplorable wickedness to enslave a man, and he who keeps a slave will be brought to heavy judgment at the bar of God ; but the duty of freeing the American negro is not as yet enforceable by public authority. The extending ex})erience of the evils of the sj'stem, or, let us hope, the advancing stanelard of public morality, may at length transfer the duty of manumission to the care of the sovereign authority ; then it will bo illegal, as w’ell as immoral, to retain a slave. But law cannot be made aa‘ountable for the moral deformity of a peo[)le ; it can only s))eak the sentiments of the society it presides over. The w ise few' must leaven the mass w ith their convictions, ])rivateiy reform the corruptions they mourn, and at length, when, from the ])revalence of their belief, success is sure, proceed to revolutionize the law'. We perceive now' the reasonableness ot the maxim, ‘Success alone can justify revolution." Our own revolution could not have taken place two years earlier, and any LORD CARLISLE’S TUJIKISH AND GREEK WATERS. 723 attempt would have been condemnable ; for, though James was in a liigh degree deserving of dethronement, the bulk of the people dijl not as yet think so. They did not recognise their own duty to de|K)se a false king. A duty it doubtless was, but until generally felt, altogether out of the pale of rights and Jaw. The right of individual resistance, in the sluipe of disobedience to a law deemed immoral, is a much more delicate case. The fact ap|)ears to be, that when any j)rece])t of law is in violation of a man^s conscience, he is morally inhibited from obedience, and shut up to the alternative penalty. To escape from the j)enalty there is only one method. By illumining the public mind, the time will come for revising the ])ul)lic law. The apostles understood this principle, and laid it down, not so much of authority as a matter of course — ‘ All that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer ])ersecution.' Suppose universal, or even very general godliness, then impiisitory and ])enal statutes would be known no more. We conclude our brief notice of the work by re«asserting its claims on the very serious attention of all who honestly desire to see the foundations of society rendered stable — that is, resting on truth and the everlasting laws of God ; of those, too, who, moved by the strength either of conviction or ])assion, are too hasty in their attempt to seize their su])posed rights, tram]>ling <lown in their hurry the indisputable rights of others, and the iiuthority of social law. Art. VI 1. — iJiary in Tnrkiah and (ireck iratrrs. By the Bight Hon. tlie Karl of Carlisle. Third Kdition. J*ost Svo. pp. bondon : Longman A Co. This is just such a volume as our ])rcvious knowhdge of Lord Carlisle had led us to anticipate. Few mend)ers of the British aristocracy possess ecpial claims on the resjx'ct and goodwill of their couiitrymeii. He makes no pretensions to originality of re.search, to profound scholarshij), or to a more recondite j)hilo- Sophy, than is possessed by the great body of roHecting men. Yet the absence of all pretension is richly coinj)onsated by many admirable (|ualities. The traces are everywhere apparent of good feeling, chussical Uiste, and extensive reading ; combined with much amiableness, great l)enignancy, and the liigdier attributes of religious culture. The time of bis lordship s visit to the East would have been a strong temi)tation to most men to merge the past in the present, to forego the large and the 3 A 2 LOUD Carlisle’s Turkish and creek waters. generous in the questionable zeal of one deeply interested in the events which were occurring. His lordship, however, has pre¬ served a happy medium, in which his scholarship and his patriotism, his classical tastes and his deep sympathies with human progress are exquisitely blended. There is no difficulty in ascertaining his views on the questions which are now upper¬ most in men’s thoughts ; but these views are never offensively obtruded, so as to mar the quiet enjoyment which his volume furnishes. He left London on the 3rd of June, 1853, and in the prospect of liis journey, tells us, ‘ I go towards the venerable and mysterious East with a fixed conviction upon my mind that it is about, very shortly, to become the theatre of completed Scripture prophecy, and of a commencing new dispensation of events.’ This conviction, he says, was formed long before the present war. Our readers will bear in mind that at this time the rupture between Russia and the Porte had not occurred. The former had given much occasion for offence, but as yet the friends of peace indulged the hope that war would be averted. Proceeding through Cologne and Dresden, Lord Carlisle reached Vieima, where, he tells us that he heard ‘ a sad account of the Austrian finances, and especially of the capriciousness with wdiich they are levied.’ The inhabitants of Vienna w'ere reported to his lordship to be very licentious ; the old class of priests to be distinguished both by immorality and ignorance ; and the distinction of classes to be ‘ more rigidly observed than in any other country.’ In the ])resent state of our relations with the Austrian empire, it is interesting to obtain any veritable information respecting its rulers ; and our readers will, therefore, be pleased with the following : — ‘ It w’as rather a hold feat of Sehwartzeiiburg to propose to one reigning ein])eror, and to his next heir and brother, that both should resign empire. Tlie Emperor Ferdinand was almost a positive idiot ; the Arehduke had only a very negative understanding, and W’as delightcnl to escape troulde : there w'ere the two w ives ; they \vere the two agents employed ; they both went to church together, prayed for grace and strength to cllect their purpose, and then j)ersuaded their husbands, 1 believe, without any ditUeulty. The present young Emperor showed great modesty and diffidence; he is an excellent son, aud very much attiu*hed to his mother, the Archduchess Sophia. What 1 collect about his character is this : 1 believe he is spotless in morals, very conscientious in the jierformance of duty, determined to do all himself, very simple, and without any turn for display; this is all on the promising side : — on the other, he as yet seems almost exclusively devoted to his army ; it is natural indeed for him to feel that he and the momarchy owe everything to them. Those who surround him are thought to be narrow and harsh, and there have been some symptoms of hardness in his own character. On the whole, hitherto the good appears to me to predominate.* — p. 18. LORD Carlisle’s Turkish and creek, waters. From \ieniia, Lord Carlisle proceeded by one of the Danube Steam Company's boats to Const antino])le, and in the course of his voyage he had opportunities of observing the Danubian Principalities. ‘ The more I see of these countries/ he says, ‘ I teel more strongly that any change which should disturb the stagnant mass would seem to give a chance of eliciting some¬ thing better than the present state of fetid, mouldy putrefaction.' The hopes of progress, however, are not suj)posed to lie in the direction of Russia, towards which a general distaste is siiid to exist. Our countrymen have recently heard much of the policy of Russia in intercepiing the passage of the Danube. It is one of the charges most frequently prefened against the Czar, that he has failed to perform the conditions of the treaty of Adrianople, by keeping the mouth of that liver in ‘navigable order.' Tlui policy of Russia in this is sufficiently obvious. The fact itself is the only point in dispute, and about this there can bo little doubt. The testimony of our author is clear and brief. He says : — ‘ We })iissed the mouth of the Pruth, the houiidary (for the present) of Russian rule ; then, the spot at which the Russians crossed the Danube during the last war; then, a distant view of Ismail. I'he moment of (juitting the Danube hy the Sulina, or central mouth of the river, was very interesting. This channel was secured to Russia hy the Treaty of Adrianople, on the condition that it should he open to the commerce of all nations, and that the Russians should keep it in navigable order. They have hnnight a <lredging-maehine there, hut it has .scarcely ever been detected at work ; and the result might he inferred from the spectacle w Inch at j)rt‘sent met our eyes, of hundreds of vessels in the river within the mouth, and scores of them in the sea without, unable to |>ass the Rar. Our ship only drew seven feet and a half of w ater, and had purposely brought no merehandi.se. We winde<l triumjdiantly through a long double tier of ve.ssels, but even we grazed the ground sensibly on pa.ssing tin* Rar: “Ron tutta la forza,” cried the ca})tain to the man at the engine, and we were .safe on the still surface of the Kuxine.’ — p. dl. Arriving at Constantinojde, l^ord Carlisle speedily sought out the British minister, I^ord Stratford, whose position ami intluence are unparalleled in the history of diplomacy. ‘ As far,' he says, ^ as I can gather from others, the rulers of the country a])pear to ])ay him a nearly implicit deference, and it lias rarely haj)p(‘ned to any one to be so much, to all human appearance, the arbiter of peace and war, and of iinich of the ajiproaching (lestiny of the human race.' The population ot Constantinople, including the villages on the Bosphorus, is about 750,000, and is divided by Lord Carlisle into 240,000 Turks, ^100,000 Greeks, 200,000 Armeni.ans, find 10,000 Jews and Franks. Lord Carlisle had brought with him letters of introduction to Dr. Sandwith, a \ ' • , i • r . f 726 LORD Carlisle’s Turkish and greek waters. Yorkshireman, and resident physician in the Turkish capital • and we must furnish our readers with the account which he gives of his interview with this worthy countryman. ‘ I had brought letters to T)r. Sandwith, who is a ])hysician here, for the present a corresj)ondent to the ‘ Times,’ above all, a Yorkshirompii lie very sensibly told me, that if even 1 did dine at any great repast given by some Turkish Pasha or minister, I should probably onlv liiul a reproduction of Euro|)ean customs, knives and forks, &c. ; so he un¬ dertook to show me a genuine Turkish house and dinner. We went to¬ day; our host was the chief physieian of the Sultan. We arrived at his house in Seutari about half an hour before sunset ; and as we could not dine during the Itainazan till after it, neither food nor pipes being allowed between the rising and setting sun, we sat in the garden with our host, who, not in good kee})ing with his art, plied us with unri})e fruits. A young Circassian girl, of about twelve, and so not of an age to prevent her a’ppearing before Franks, was sent Irom tlie Seraglio, that the state of her health might be examined. At last the cannon bred; — “ Hark ! peal’d the thunder of the evening gun ; It told ’twas sunset, an<l icc hlcss\l that sun.” — Corsair. There was quite a rush to the meal. The party amounted to nine : there was a ])riest or Imaun in a violet robe ; but the person who was the best dressed, and seemed to be made most of, was a perleetly black gentleman from the Seraglio. Our host talked some French ; the rest nothing but Turkish, in which Dr. Sandwith is very tluent. All sat down on low cushions upon their legs : this 1 could not quite etleet, but managed to stow mifie under the small low round table. U])on this was placenl a brass or copper salver, and iq)on this again the dishes of food in very quick and most copious succession : we all hel})ed our¬ selves with our right hands, exee})t that just for the soup we had wooden spoons : this is not quite so otiensive as it sounds, since they hardly take more than one or two mouthfuls in each dish IVom the paid: immediately opposite them, so the hands do not mingle in the ])latter: it si'cms to me, however, that the first advance in Turkish civilisation to which we may look forward will be the use of s})oons, and then, through succeeding epochs, to knives and forks, — The diapason ending full in plates. 1 mu.st say that 1 thought the fare itself very good, consisting in large proportion of vegetables, pastry, and condiments, but exhibiting a degree of resource and varietv not unwort hv of studv bv the unadven- turous cookery of Pritain. We drank sherbets and water. Some ot the company had become so ravenous for their ])ipes after the Ion abstinence of the day, that they could not sit out the meal. transfcrr('d ourselves to another room, wh<*re we all tucked up our legs on the divan, which, however, soon gave me the cramp ; but I was Kindly encouraged to stretch out my feet. This portion of the evening was very long, as coffee and pipes were incessantly brought in : occa- LOUD CAULISLK’s TUUKISII AND GREEK WATERS. 727 i slouiil relict was etleetod by tbe black ii^ntlcmaii comb'sccndiii" to sin", witli rather a cracked voice, to a tambourine.* — pp. Constantinople won grcatlv' on his lordship a.s lie became better acquainted with it. ‘ It grows enormously upon me,* he tells us, and he describes with inucli zest the various objects of liistorical and religious interest which it contains. Speaking ot St. Sophia, he says, ‘This is the real site of Constantinople — the point round which so much of history, so much of regred, so much of anticipation, ever centre. Within that jirt'cinct Constantine, Theodosius, Justinian, worshijiped, and Chrysostom preached, and, most atlecting reminiscence of all, the last Constan¬ tine received tlie Christian sacrament upon the night that preceded his own heroic death, the capture of the inqu'rial city, and tlic Coiicpiest of the Crescent over the CVoss.’ The history of this magnificent edifice is re^dete with tlie deojX‘st elements of trag«‘dy. It is impossible to look on its present occupation without a mournful recollection of the change which has transpired, or of anticipating its destiny witliout something like «a firm persuasion that it will be freed from its present aboinination.s, and witne.ss the ottering up of a purer incense tlian b.as ovtT yet .'vseemb'd from its altar. *rhe chant to the Virgin and the call of the ^iuezziu will yet be succeeded, we trust, by the voice of joyful and believing praise addressed unto the Majesty of Heavmi and Earth. On one occasion Lord Carlisle witnessed the procesvsion of the Sultan to the moscpie of Sultan Achmeil. The Sultan, he tells us, ‘ looks pale, old for his age (about thirty-one, I believe), and he has lately grown corpident : the impression his asjxct conveys is of a man gentle, unassuming, feeble, unstrung, doomed ; no energy of purpo.se gleamed in that pjissive glance ; no augury of victory sjit on that still brow.’ This description acconls with the account of other witnesses; yt‘t there must be elements of a firmer and more hen)ic order in Abdul Medjid. His policy towards the Hunganan exiles, and the course more recently }mr- sued towards Russia, b(*token the ]>ossession of other qualities than w'cre visible to Lord (*arlisle. There are gleams appanmtly of bright and generous feeling which break over the ordinary calmness of the Sultan s mood. It may be that much of this is attributable to his councillors; but it will lx* doing injustice to the monarch to deprive him of all jiersonal credit on this account Even on the lowest sup|X)sitiou, he has the merit — no inconsider¬ able one — of surrounding himself , w ith advisers of deep sagacity and comprehensive views. The populations included un<ler the Turkish rule are various, and amongst these, as is not unnatural, very different feelings prevail Lord Carlisle had an opportunity, at the break fast-table 728 LORD CARLISLE'S TURKISH AND GREEK WATERS. of Dr. SaiKiwitli, of learning something on this point, which wo transfer to our pages for the information of our readers : — ‘ Tlio chief ohject,’ ho says, ‘ was to meet a Wallaeliian of great intelligence and distinguished hirtli : he was of too liberal tendencies to ])lease the Russians, so they induced the Turks to forbid biiii to nmiain at home, ddiere was also our vice-consul, Mr. Skene, son of Sir Walter Scott’s friend, evidently a very intelligent and well-informed man. ’riie conversation gave me much instruction respecting the characters and feelings of the dillerent po})ulations. The Wallaeliian was excessively anti-Russian and anti-Greek ; the Greeks he considers far worse and more hateful to the other races than the Turks them¬ selves. Ife conceives that the Emperor of Russia’s feelings, and those of the now dominant ])arty in Russia, which override at this moment even his, ])oint mainly to a Ranslavonic fusion. He himself would naturally like a large Roman or Latin fusion, comprising Wallachia, Moldavia, Bessarabia, and ])ossibly more. In the meanwliile he does not give a tlattering ])ortrait of society in those })arts. The Bohe¬ mians or gijisies are actually slaves, but their condition is, on the wlude, ])referable to that of the predial inhabitants, who cannot be parted from the soil, and from whom only a certain number of days’ labour is legally due; but this is grossly infringed uj)on. On the whole, the more 1 learn, the more dilHcult 1 iind it not merely to foresee, but to shape even in wish, the future.’ — p. GO. We h ave heard much of the oppressions piractised by the Turkish government on its Christian subjects. It is needful, however, to discriminate in this matter. Unlike some Christian states, the government is greatly in advance of the peo})le. The intiuence of Lord Stratford at Constantinople has been eminently conducive to a tolerant and liberal policy. The national feeling, however, is undoubtedly opposed to this. ^luch of the old spirit of Mohammedanism lingers amongst the peojde, and cases are therefore frecpiently occurring of popular fanaticism and bigotrv breaking through the restraints which enlightened legishition has inter]>osed. Such cases are deeply to be deplored. They cannot be condemned too severely ; yet we must be careful to assign them to their true causes. We need not look far from home in order to discover parallel instances, with this signiticant ditterence, however; — in the case of Turkey the government dis¬ countenances wdiat the people do, but in the case of several so- called Christian states, rulers are the persecutors, and their priestly advisers the great incendiaries. ‘ I am bound to sav/ Lord Carlisle tells us, ‘ that with the exception of occasional outrages and collisions, w hen the passions have been aroused, and of some instances of extortion, where men in «authority are remote from observation and from check, the condition of the Christian sub¬ jects of the Porte is one of great practical freedom and ease.' Lord Carlisle expresses his admiration of ‘ the high and even LORO CARLISLF/s TURKISH AND (JRKKK WATKRS. 7'29 heroic spirit* with which the Turkish rulers and people have thrown themselves into the present struggle with Russiji. Yet he is not blind to their many faults, nor does he hesitate to record their inertness, want ot torethought, ami general debility of ]nir- ])ose. Jle frecpiently contrasts their state with that of the Greeks, and the terms of the comparison are far from flattering. In the following passage his general estimate of the people is recorded * Among the lower orders of the people, there is eonsiderahh' sim- ])licity luul loyalty ot eharaeter, and a fair disposition to he obliging and friendly. Among those who emerge from the mass, and have the opportunities of helping themselves to the good things of the world, the exee))tions from thorough-] )aeed eorrupti»>n and »*xtortion are most rare ; and in the whole eondiiet of ])uhlie husini*ss and routine of otliidal life, under mueh apparent eourtesy and undeviating good-breeding, a s] )irit ot siTvility, detraetion, and vindictiveness appears constant ly at work. 'I'he hulk of the |>eople is incredibly uninformed and ignorant : I am told that now they fully believe that the French an<l Knglish fleets have come in the j)ay of the Sultan : and when the Austrian special mission of the (^ount Leiningen arrived in the early part of this year, and led, by the way, to mueh of what has since* occurred, tlu*y were ])ersuaded that its object was to obtain the ])ermission of the Sultan for the young em])eror to wear his crown. Fpon the state of morals 1 debar myself from entering. Ferha})s tin* most fatal, if not the m(»st faulty bar to national progress, is the ineurahh* indoh‘neo which pervades every class alike, from the Pasha, j)uHing his |>erfume<l narghile in his latticed kiosk on the Ifosphorus, to the man in the ragged turban who sits cross-legged with his unadorned tchihoinpie in front of a mouldy colfee-shoj) in the meanest village. In fact, the con¬ versation of every man whom I meet, who is well-infornn'd on the state of the ])opulation, with very few exceptions, might lu^ taken down as an illustration, often very unconsciously on their juirt, of the sense* usually assigned to the prediction in the A])o(*a l.V) »s(‘, of the waters of the Kujdirates being dried uj). On the continent, in the islands, it is the (Ireek ])easant who works, and rises; tlui 'furk reclines, smoke*.s his ])i])e, and decays. The (Ireck village increases its ]>o])uhition, ami teems with children ; in the Turkish village you find roofless walls ami criimhling mosques. Statesmen who do not s(*e these matti*rs with their own (*yes, if told of the rotten state of the ()tt<jman Kmpin*, are aj) t to say, they do not at all ])crceive that: — this IVu.ssiau (leneral ins])ected their army the other day, and was highly pleased with its eliiciency; this English Captain went on hoard th(*ir fleet, and saw them work their guns, and said that it covdd not be lM*tter done in any English ship. Tlieir military hos])itals are ]u*rfect models of arrangc*- inent ami good order. 1 believe all this to Ik* true, and I can well conceive that in one or two campaigns, on a first great outburst, the Turks might be victorious over their Russian op]M)ncnts ; but, wii.*n you leave the partial sjdcndours of the eajiital and the great state cstal)lishments, what is it you find over the broad s\irface of a land J 730 LORD Carlisle’s Turkish and greek waters. which nature and climate have favoured beyond all others, once the home of all art and all civilisatiou ? Look yourself — ask those who live there — deserted villages, uncultivated plains, banditti-haunted mountains, torpid laws, a corrupt administration, a disappearing people ’ — pp. 182-181. ‘ Shiftlessiiess and increasing poverty’ are everywhere attri¬ buted to the Turks in ojiposition to ‘ the industry and energy of the (1 reeks.’ No Turkish girls are put out to service, whilst the youths are liable to be drafted off to the army. The (itft'ct of this state of things may easily be anticipated, nor are we surprised at the dissatisfaction it creates. The rayahs or Christian subjects of the Porte are not liable to serve in the army and the navy; and it is a problem of no little intricacy, on which the future destinies of the Ottoman empire are dependent, whether they may be trusted to do so. The course of events clearly points to the abrogation of the prohibitory law at present existing, but what will I )e the effect of such a measure it requires great sagacity and much acquaintance wdth the Eastern character to ascertain. From Constantinople Lord Carlisle proceeded to Greece, whose w'aters, mountains, headlands, landscapes, cities, and peojde, sug¬ gested a thousand associations of rich and varied beautv. 1 1 is lordship perfectly revelled in the recollections aw akened by the objects around him, and there is a freshness and healthy tone in his remarks, free alike from the pedantry of the sciolist and the stilted phraseology of the mere traveller. lie wjis evidently at home in what he saw. Though it does not ap]>ear that he had ever visited Greece before, his mind WMS richly stored with its imagery. Its poets, historians, and philosophers, its statesmen and heroes, had evidently been his chosen and beloved companions. From the stores of a wxll-fur- nished mind he draw's forth elucidations of the objects before him, and his genuine, earnest enthusiasm, ahvays ardent, yet never obtrusive, engages and carries away the sympathies of his readers. Arriving at the Pirmus in November of last year, he w’as; much struck with the superiority of the road to Athens, oi which he had not seen the equal since leaving England. The poit is about six miles distant from the city, whither our traveller immediately repaired, and where he soon found his old Iriend Mr. VV yse, the British ambassador, at wdiose residence he pro¬ mised to take up his abode. A brief and rapid sketch is given of the lions of Athens, and we regret to learn from his lordship’s narrative that many of the architectural remains of the city arc in a neglected and ruinous condition. Speaking of the Temple of the Winds, the Portico of Hadrian, and other remains, he says, ‘ Nothing can exceed the neglected and squalid condition of these interesting buildings. The Temple of the ^\ inds w as 1 h LORD CARLISLE’S TURKISH AND GREEK WATERS. 731 undergoing a systematic ])elting from the ingenuous boyhood of Athens. It can hardly liave been worse in Turkisli time.s, and it certainly continues to attord the l)est justification to Ijord Elgin/ His lordship visited the school of Mr. Hill, an American by birth, and chaplain to the English embassy. This gentleman, assisted by M rs. Hill, superintends a school containing about 300 girls, of whom ‘almost all seemed intelligent and liv'olv’, and thiur eager¬ ness for instruction is described as most remarkable.’ Iloyswere formerly received into the school, hut on the government ojK'ning schools for them, ^Ir. and Mrs. Hill thought thev should do best by confining their labors to the other sex. The Hills came to Athens in 1<S30, when the pf)pulation did not exceed 1000. It is now, however, about iS,000 ; and Lord Carlisle tells us, as the result of Ins observation, that ‘ there seems to be mucli in the body of the people themselves to encourage hope for the future, if they could have fair play and go<id government/ We are glacl to learn that ]\Ir. Hill informed his lordship that some; of the Greek bishops were ‘both excellent and higldv learned men.’ On one occasion the proceedings of this estimable man were inter- ru])ted by tlui ultra-Russian party, who raised a charge against him of attempting to proselyte. A commission of (Jreek bishops was appointed to investigate the charge, and the accused was ac(piitted. How far this was to his Inmor we know not, as we are ignorant of the facts of the Ciise. Every honest and earnest man must be concerned that others should embrace the opinions which he deems true and important, and out of this results the genuine proselyting spirit. The Acropolis naturally engaged Lord Carlisle’s attention. Tt was impos-sible that a visitor with such cultivated tastes should refrain from gazing on its marv’els. It has been fn*(|uently de¬ scribed, but the following brief sketch is so unaffected ami simjjle, that few readers will fail to derive ph'asure from its perusal. ‘ (\)iK*(Tniug flic general etleet of the whoh*, with which I alone pro¬ tend to deal, evervtlnng is most ini]>osing, everything most lM*:iutitul. Tlu* ap])roach through tlie live-fold d(*pth of the eolumns of the Lro- pyla'ii is august in the highest degree ; the triple divisioiiK of the Lh-eetheum are full of the most delicati^ grace ; the temple of the uii- winged Victory is exquisitely small ; hut of etmrst* all emotion and glorv are concentrated in the Parthenon. This is the huilding iii which no human being has yet been able to discover a fault, hut in which, on the contrary, every new year is dLscovering unsuspected wonders of skill and harmonies of combination. Into tliese, as f need not again intimate, I dare not enter : how the spans of the shaft and how the spaces of the intercohimniation differ in onler to produce the efft'ct of airreemcnt ; how the pnslominanee of convex lines nniki's the whole building look larger than it really is, IVom distant points of view, while the non-obsiTvance oi the same laws at the Havanan \ alhalla, 732 LORD Carlisle’s Turkish and creek waters. make it, and all other copies of the original, look smaller than they ri'ally are ; but here you have the tem])le of Pericles and his Phidias, shattered, defaced, stripj)ed, — by Cloth, by Venetian, by Turk, byeartli- (|uake, by time, by Lord Llgin, — still serene in its indestructible beauty; still giving the model and the law to every clime and every ag(i. Then from the front of this faultless ediliee comes in liord Pyron’s sunset view, which, as I am sure I could not improve upon, i leave alone ; 1 think it, perhaps, the most glorious passage of his luanv- chorded lyre. I had not yet the advantage of seeing the spot under its aj)j)ropriate and customary sky and sunshine; it was a brown mild day of English autumn.’ — pj). 195, PdG. From Athens a visit Wtos ])aid to ^Marathon, one of those few spots on which the history of ages has turned. It is difHcnlt to realize the state of the world at the period of the Persian invasion. A vast spell rested on the nations, and it reciuired superhuman courage to arouse the small states of Greece to the etfort that was needful for the maintenance of their national independence. That eftort, however, was made, and wc know the result. The history of this great invasion Inis been obscured by many fables, but after all which a rigid scrutiny has rejected, there remains enough to aw^akeu astonishment and admiration : ‘ The ground,’ says Lord Carlisle, ‘ completely explains and illus¬ trates the battle. It is now’ thought that there was not the ama’/ing dispanty of force w’hieh some accounts have claimed ; jwobably al)out 22, (MH) (Ireeks to KhOOG Persians. The main cause w’hich has made the victory such a turning iK)int in the history of the world, was the previous awe attached to the Persian power and [irowess. It was, on a larger scale, what ^laida was in the last French war. Before Ma¬ rathon, the Persians had coiupiered the Greeks in Ionia: if it had not heen ibr Marathon, there would have been ])robably no Therino])yliL*, Salamis, or Plata‘a. Persia was, in I’act, the Kussia of that day, loom¬ ing so formidably in the distance, and found so brittle in the iu.*tual shock.’ — ]). 201. The closing sentence of this extract was penned on the 28th NovembiT, 1853, when the Russians bad sustained repeated defeats on the banks of the Danube. This was so different Irom what w e had been led to anticipate, that public feeling passed from one extreme to another. After having exaggerated the resources of the Czar, it unduly depreciated them, and began to think that the apprehensions of Western Europe were unfounded, and its efforts too vast and costly. What has occurred in the Crimea has served somewhat to raise our estimate ot Rus¬ sian power. Unable to cope w’ith the allied soldiery, the Czar has evinced a magnitude of resources and a strength ot resistance which will evidently tax the allied powers to a tar greater extent than was anticipated. In this, however, there is nothing different LOUD CAULISLE’s TUUKISII AND GREEK WATERS. from what sagacious militarv observers liad led us to expect. Oii tliis point the testimony ol Major-tJeneral Mackintosh, noticed in a recent number of our journal, is very decided. There is slight ditierence o] respecting the government of O it with other feelings than those of contempt. The Bavarian puppet who occupies the throne is as imbecile as he is despotic, and the revelations recently atforded of a ilussian policy have ilestroyed the last remnants of respectful consideration. Lord Carlisle’s testimony, on the present government of Greece, is both decisive and condemnatory. Those ot mir readers who have not the opportunity ot lorming a judgment for themselves, will be gratilied to receive his lordship’s report : — f opinion in Western Europe reece. Few' Enjxlishmen roLnird ‘ 1 have hardy adverted,’ he says, ‘to the |K)lities of modern (ireeec*: during one fortnight, at least, anei«‘nt llelhus n‘|>elsall oilier intrusion, and, truth to say, tliere is hut litth* attraction in the modern eom- ]u‘titor for notice. I should also shrink iVom any direct ri‘fen*nei's to those with w’liom I have conversed i 1 mav, however, most truthfullv sum up, from all that 1 have seen, or read, or lu‘anl among piasons of ililferent nations, stations, ainl ]>rineipl(‘s, that the juvsent govt'rnment of (i reece seems to be about the most ineilieiiMit, eorrupt, ami, above all, eontemptihK‘, with whieh a nation was (wer cursed. 'Pho con¬ stitution is so worked as to he constantly and llagrantly evade<l or violated ; the liberty of election is shamefully infringi'd ; and where no overt bribery or intimidation are employi'd, — charges iVom whieh wo Fnglishmen can, I fear, by no means make out an exemption, — the absence of the voters, who regard the whole process as a mockery, is compensateil by the electoral boxes being fdled with voting-pap(*rs by the gemlarmerie,— a height ol‘ imjmdenee to whieh we have not yet soared. IkTsons the most disertMlited hy tlu*ir characters and ante¬ cedents are forced on the reluctant constituencies, and even occa¬ sionally advanced to places of high trust and dignity. 'Phe absence of Legislative eln*eks is not atom‘(l for by the vig«uir of the executive in promoting public imjirovcments. Agriculture stagnates ; manufiU’tures do not exist ; tlu‘ eommunicalitms, exeejit in the immediate neigh¬ bourhood of the eajiital, where they arc good, are deplorable; the lirovinces— and here 1 can hardly except the neighbourhood of the eaj)ital — teem w ith robbers. 'Phe navy, for whieh the aptitude of the peot)le is remarkable, consists of one vessel : the jmhlie debt is not |>aid : an otfer hy a company of respectable individuals to institute a steam navi'^-ation, for which the si‘as and shores of (ireece oiler such innu¬ merable facilities, was declined at the very jicriod of my visit, h(a*au.se it was ap})rehended that it would he unpalatable to Austria. Bitter, indeed, is the disappointment of those w ho formed bright auguries for the future career of regenerate (ireceii, and imido gfuicrous sjuTifiees in her once august and honored cause. Vet the feeling so natural to them so dillicult to avoid for us all, should still stop far short of despair.’ — pp. 207-209. 731 THE CLERICAL WILBERFORCE. Our s|)ace prevents our followinpf Lord Carlisle in liis subse¬ quent movements. His work is written in the form of a Diary, which has the advantage of securing ‘ the freshness of first im¬ pressions for whatever may be n'cordeil/ and, as his lordship observes, ‘ of producing a more intimate sense of companionship between the author and reader than can otherwise be obtained.' We have read the volume with very considerable pleasure. The farther we have proceeded, the higher has been our estimate of the sound judgment, good feeling, and cultivated taste of the writer. Were all our nobility like Lord Carlisle, it would be difficult to prevent the Order from being reg-.irded with a measure of respi ct and confidence scarcely consistent with the maintenance of popular freedom. We have rarely introduced to our readers a more pleasing aiul sensible volume than the ‘ Diary in Turkish and Greek Waters.' Akt. VIII. — The Doctrine of the Iloh/ Eucliaridl. l>y I'ohort Isaac Wilherforce, A.M., Archdeacon of tlie East - Kiding. Third Edition. pj). xxii. — T22. London: Mozleys. Oxford and London: .1. 11. I'arker. iSol. 2. An Jnquiri/ into the Principles of Church-Autliorify ; or, Pcasons for liecalling my Subscription to the Itoyal Supremacy. 15y the Rev. K. 1. Wilberforce, M.A. Second Edition. j>p. xx. — 2Sl. London: Longman, Ilrown, Oreen, A' Longmans. 1851. 3. The Bishop of Oxford's Triennial Tlsiiuiiun (the ‘Times,’ Nov. 11, 185T). We have placed the titles of these two books, and a reference to the report of an episcopal visitation, at the head of this article, not so much to discuss the arguments contained in any of them, as to call the attention of our readers to the astounding fact, that these are the views entertained in such high ecclesiastical places in this countrv, and that bv the sons of one whose name has so long been honoured among us as the champion of evangelical truth. It was matter of natural congratulation, not only in the Church of England, but among not a few' evangelical dissenters, that three sons of that accomplished orator, states¬ man, philanthropist, and Christian author, devoted themselves to the service of the Church. It is now some time since the eldest son, bearing his fathers name, withdrew’ from public life, his wife becoming a member of the Roman church. His brother Henry proved the honesty of his convictions by avowing THE CL?:RICAL WILBEllFORCE. 735 publicly that he had lxH?n driven to choose between rationalism and tlie churcli in which he rec*ogniseil tlie four grand attri¬ butes of truth, — unity, — univ^ersality, — and aj>ostoli(*ity, under the Kupreinacy of tlie }>ope. He resigned the benefice of Far- leigh, near Maidstone, worth <^^1(HK) a year, and has become cons])icuous by his active and devoted laliours on behalf of the new Roman university in Ireland. Robert Isaac Wilberforce was distinguished at Oriel College, Oxforxl, by taking a double lirst class, where lie gniduated at the age of twenty-two, and he was afterwards associated with Dr. Newman as a college tutor, b or many years he was one ot the select preachers of the university ; and more than tive-and-twonty years ago he was a public examiner. He has long been the vicar of l^urton Agnes, and «archdeacon of the Fast-Riding, Wirkshire. He is the author of numerous publications — ‘The Five Fmpires* — ‘Tlie History of Frastianism' — ‘The Doctrine of the Incarnation' — ‘The Doc¬ trine of Holy Baptism' — ‘Sermons on the New Birth of Man's Nature’ — ‘fliurch Courts and Church Discipline' — and three charges to the clergy of the Fast-Riding on the ‘ Practical Fifect of the Gorham Ciuse' — the ‘ Evangelical and Tractarian Move¬ ments’ — and the ‘Appeal to Convocation’ — the last in 1S.)± After the decision of the ‘Gorham Case,' he united with the late Dr. !Mill and Archdeacon Manning in addressing a circular to the o o entire body of the Anglican clergy on that subj(?ct — the Royal Supremacy in things spiritual. For four years lie has been jier- plexed with difficulties relating to this matter, but, at length, he reached the conviction, that the declaration to which lie had subscribed was unlawful, and he resolved to abaiulon his ])o.sition in the tdiurch. As there wits a rumour that he would be prosecuted in the Archbishop’s Court for the doctrine taught in his work on ‘The Fucharist,’ he thought it better to await the issue of such an investigation before he resigned ; but aftiT waiting some weeks without receiving any intimation that it would take pl.vce, he sent his work on ‘Church-Authority’ to the pres.s, and on the day when he received the first proof, he addressed to the l^ord Archbishop of York a letter (dated Aug. oO, 1 So t) .stating his rea.sons for delay, and avowing his objection to tlie royal suprij- niacy. ‘ With the grounds of my objection,’ he says, ‘ 1 need not trouble your grace, though 1 shall shortly state them to the public through the j)re.s.s. To your grace, however, 1 desire to state, that 1 recal my subscription to the lirst Article in the .SGth Canon, as believing it to be contrary to the law of God. It remains, of course, tiiat I should offer to divest myself of the trusts and preferments of which this .subscrij»tion was a condition, and ]mt myself, so far as it is possihltj, into f/(e CAmilitlon o/ a mere hnj member of the ChureJu 1 therefore tender my lesig- 736 THE CLERICAL WILBERFORCE. imtioii to your grace/ The archbishop accepted, as far as by law he might, the archdeacoi/s resignation of the preferments he held in his grace’s diocese, requiring that a formal resignation should be made, either before himself in person, or before a public notary. We presume, though it is not stated by Mr. R. 1. Wilberforce, that legal effect was given to his resignation in one of the modes required. It has been publicly announced, that the late archdeacon left London about the b(‘ginning of Jsx>vember, along with Dr. Grant, of Soutlnvark, and some other Roman-catholic clergy, for Paris, where he was received into the Roman-catholic church. In the recent Charge of the Bishop of Oxford, the archdeacon’s younger brother, we expected some notice would be taken of these changes, especially as he is believed to have said, publicly, not many weeks ago, that the views propounded in his brother’s work on ‘ The Eucharist’ were the only views which, at the ])resont time, w ere likely to save the Church of England. Though his lord- ship has not published his Charge, we may, conditionally, assunie the accuracy of the ‘Times’ report, where we find these words, — ‘ The teaching of the Church of England as to this (jreat mi/,slvnj (the Eucharist), in strict agreement with the Holy 8cii})ture and primilivc antiquilp, is, 1 ai)prehcnd, sinqdy this, — lirst, that there is a peculiar' and aupernatural presence of Christ with Jlis people in that holi/ sacrament ; that in it lie does, in and hi/ the due re¬ ception of the consecrated atoms, convey to the faithful receiver a real partaJeiny of His hody and of Jlis blood, wdierehy the souls of His laithful peojde are nonrishe(l and refreshed, but that He has not r(‘vealed to us the inode or the condition of that presence, which, being divine and siq)ernatural, is not to be thought of or made the subject of argument, as if it either were governed by the law', or entailed the eonse- (juences of a material ])rescnce. To the many (questions, therefore, which may be raised touching the conditions or mode of this jnvsence, our Church gives no answer, hut protests against their discussion, as being curious and dangerous, lus being likely to lead, and as having led, those who entertained them into many and fearful errors, and as there¬ fore to be discouraged as attempts to be wise above what is written. Further, as the sum of the error into wdiich many have been led by such discussions, she pronounces her emphatie censure. Thus, in asserting that to such as lightly, worthih', and with faith par¬ take of that sacrament, the bread which we break is a partaking ot the quickened aj)prehension of the devout worshipper ; w hile, on the other, with even greater explicitness, she condemns the papal solution of the mystery, whether under the form of the gross material trans¬ formation of the bread and w ine into llesh and blood — w Inch is the belief of the common sort among her — or whether its grossness be THE CLERICAL WILRERFORCE. 737 (liscTuised by that subtle fancy which pleases more educated minds. We may, I think, without dillieulty, ijjather what may he our teaehiiiflf as to this ^reat mystery. We should first, above all thiiiij^, insist upon the reality and truth of that supernatural presence which our Lord is j^raeiously ])lease(l to vouchsafe in that saerann*nt to the worthy receiver. Next, we should diseourat^e to the utmost of our ])ower all s])eeulation as to the moile of that presence the realitv of which we inculcate, luirther, while we should distinctly condemn those specific forms of erroneous teachins' coni'crniufj^ the mode of that presence, which our Church has actually censuri‘(l, we must watch ajj^ainst that doufmati/inu^ spirit which woidd lead us to anathematize all with whose sentiments our own do not exactly harmonize, remi‘mh(*rini^ the mode¬ ration which has restrained our (.Mmrch from censiirin^jf that doctrine of consuhstantiation which she does not teach. And, lastly, we should lal)our to lead our people from curious ipiestions as to that which is emuirnllif a Uijistcrji to hr rrrrirnl siinpli/ In/ faith, to a humble and iimpiestioniniif belief’ in that working; of the power of Cod which ^ives imui to partake af thrir Jjont^ wwA to (‘arnest loni^iiii^s for tin* i^reat spiritual l)K*ssini>^s which, if they come arii;ht, will Ih‘ vouchsafed to tiicm by this partakiin/ of Chriat.' — ‘Times,’ Nov. 1 I, iSoL We need scarcely say, that the expressions which we have j)rinted in ifdlics are so inarkeil in our t*xtract niendy for tlie pur|)ose of referring to them as we proceed. \Ve have read the treat ise on‘ The Holy Kiicharist* with grave, ])atient, and — we hope — candiil attention, much impresse«l with the seriousness, the learning, the consistency, and the manifestly devout tone in which it is written, and much impres.sed, also, with the large extent, to say the leiust, in which it harmonizes with the fornialaries of the Anglican Church, with the teaching of her clergy, and with tluj unfeigned Ixdief of her nuunhers. Now, wa^ must begin hy saying, that it is as easy for us to understand the New Testament as it is to understand the writings of Cyril or of Andu'ose. It is the most popnlarly written hook in the w'orld. What do we tiiid, then, on the subject of this volume in the New' Testament ? We do not find a syllable al)0ut any mcramcnfj — any clrvlod priesthood,- any ^dements,' — any 'hohj mifsfer/f in the Lord’s Suj)per, — any expression bearing on ‘ consecration’ of the ‘elements,’ — anything about the ‘real presence,’ or ‘oblation,’ or ‘sacrifice,’ or ‘Holy Eucharist;’ and yet Mr. Wilherforce stiys, ‘ Hut that Christ’s presence in the Holy Eucharist is a real ])resence ; that the blessings of the new life ani truly hestow(‘d in it, through the New Adam ; that consecration is a real act, whereby the inward part or thing signified is joined to the outward and visible sign ; and that the Eucharistic oblation is a real sacrifice these points it will be attempted to prove by the testimony ot Scripture (Uid of the ancient fathers* N.S. — VOL. VIII. 3 B 73S THE CLERICAL WILRERFORCE. Neither ^Ir. Wilberferce nor any other writer can prove to the nndei'standing of a plain Englishman that such is the jdaiii teaching of the New Testament. We know that the Scripture was intended to teach, not to ])rove that other teaching is true. Jt has been said long ago, and repeated by the Archbishop of Dublin, that it is one thing to be on the side of Scripture, another thing to show that we have Scripture on ov r side With us it is a suflicient rcixson for rejecting all the teaching of the world on this subject, that it is brought to the Scripture, not sim])ly found in it. It is utterly vain to array the names of Justin, Ignatius, Aunbrose, and Augustin. It offends our reli¬ gious sentiment to have these men and their explanations jdaced together with inspired writers, as in the phrase we have (juoted — ‘ the testimony of Scripture and of the ancient fathers.’ Jemis vjc Inioir, and Paid ivc lniou\ hut v'ho are thet^e ? The source of infinite obscurities, errors, inconsistencies, and absurdities, is found in this initial confounding of divinely inspired teachers with men who were not divinely inspired. It is not our intention to enter into the arguments for the ins])ira- tion which gives divine authority to the Hol}^ Scriptures, hut rather to show that the doctrines taught by ]\Ir. Wilberforce are vitiated from the very commencement by the dishonour which he casts on the testimony of Scripture by includincf in that ta^- timonij that of the ‘ ancient fathers.’ Inde])endeiitly of this fundamental false assumption, we must avow our dissatisfaction with the rejjresentation which is given so confidently and so broadly of the distinctness, and the accord¬ ance, of these ‘ ancient fathers respecting the doctrine of the Holy Eucharist.’ There was a well known party in the churcli of England — the non-jurors — who formed an extreme section, and of that section a small })ortion only, including such writers as Brett, iliekes, and Johnson, made vague extracts from older divines, now ap])lied by tractists to purposes in which the examination of the works quoted shows to be of a kind which would have been repudiated by the original writers. In the same manner it is the practice of the Roman school in the church of England to follow one another in their citations from ‘ the ancient fathers,’ and in the quiet self-complacency with which they ])er- petuate blunders which in any other branch of literature would be contemptuously dismissed with a sigh, or laughed at with scorn. All who have studied the productions of this school in the ‘ Tracts for the Times,’ and other works, need not bo told that they are singularly wanting in simplicity, straiglitforwardness, and downriglit honesty in this matter, as well as in others. They are not to be relied on for accuracy in their citations from the fathers, and in the interpretation of their meaning. THE CLERICAL WILBERFORCE. Tt is well known to all who are convorsant with the early Christian writers, that Athanasius, Gregory Nvssen, Cyril of Alexandria, Cyprian, and tleroine, use the phras(‘ ‘ eviui^elical traditions when the contt‘xt clearly shows that they mean the Gospel as we have it in the New Testament ; and yet these English writers, following in the track of Romanists, dt'lusively represent the lathers here relened to as maintaining the autho¬ rity of those traditions ol the Church which are 7/0^ written in the Scriptures. Need we l)e surprised, then, that they are suspecttal — not suspected only, hut conclded — of dealing in like manner with the same ancient fathers on the subject of ‘the Eucharist.* Noneot the ancient creeils or liturgies have the slightest grounds of pretension that they were sanctioned by the apostles. 'Jdie universal consent of the Church is a men.‘ ecclesiastical ligment. It imagines — what is not, and coidd not be true — that tlu* Chris¬ tians scattered over the Roman empire, wln^ had but little inter- coui’se with each other, are Iniotm to have (Hfrced on certain creeds. All we have wherefrom to judge is the testimony of a few writers — not to being a fact — but to the view which tiny held themselv€\s. The C^itholic CUiurch iu!ver iussend»led, never interchanged opinions, was never represent(‘d. And Jis to the ancient writers, out of tiie myriads of books without number {fnvfda Kill j^ijiXla) nioiitiom'd in the ‘Synopsis of Scripture* attributed to Athanasius, all we now have are Barnabas, Hernias, the epistles of Clemens, Polycarp, and Ig¬ natius, and works replying to heathen adversaries and heretics, which have no bearing on inoilern (piestions — such as thost^ of Justin Martyr, Ireiueus, Clemens Alexandrinus, 'J'ertullian, Cyprian, Origen, Jjactantius, together with tin* small tracts of Athenagoras, *rheophilus of Antio(*h, Hypl>olitus, Gregory of Neoca‘sarea, Minucius Felix, and Arnobius. We can scarcely be (‘Xjiected to accept these as exhibiting the consmit of all the Christian churches in th(' world during the first thret* hun¬ dred years. Neither are we willing to acce]>t these few writers as fair expounders of ortlunlox truth. *rhe Roman (Jiurch had the will and the power both to condemn and to de^stroy all su<*h brioks as did not support her own opinions. Did not the fifth General Council (as it is called) anathematize the liooks of three bi.shops who had died long before in the communion of the Catholic Church i J>id not the Nicenc (kmncil sanction the use of images? How many forgeries hav(; been detecttnl in the names "of the fathers of the first six centuries? H j 1 la i\ works, noxious to the ruling ecclesiastical powers, have been strangled from their birth i A curious examjile of the trick my of churchmen is recorded by Archbishop W ake, which, as it bears on the subject of Mr. Wilbertorces book (‘ *J he Holy Eucharist), 3 B 2 V t I * ‘ i,.- (f * ' * » ... T • • 1 . 740 THE CLERICAL WILBERFORCE. especially on his confident assertions regarding the consent of the Church to his doctrine, we will give it from Dr. Wake's ‘ Defence of the Exposition of the Doctrine of the Church of Englaixl against de Meaux.' An ‘ Epistle of Chrysostom to Ca'sarius' was quoted by Peter Martyr in his dispute with Gardiner. Peter Martyr said he had copied the extract from a Florentine MS., and he })laced it in the library of Archbishop Cranmer. The extract is as follows — ‘Antequam sanctiticetur panis, panem nominamus, divina autem sanctificante gratia, mediante sacerdote, liberatus est quidem appellatione panis, tlignus autem habitus est Dominici corporis ap])ellatione etiam naiura panis in ipso permansit which Dr. M^ake translates — ‘ Before the bread is consecrated, we call it bread ; but when the grace of (iod, by the priest, has consecrated it, it is no longer called bread, but is esteemed worthy to be called the Lord’s body, ((Itliovffh the nature of bread still remains in it/ Gardiner ascrilH‘d it to another John of Constantinople, who lived near the beginning of the sixth century : though this would not hel}) his argument, inasmuch as the passage would then show that tran- substantiation was not the doctrine of the Church in the sixth century. As the co])y made by Peter ^lartvr was lost in the dis¬ persion of Cranmer's library. Cardinal Perron accused Peter Martyr of lying, in his own treatise of the Eucharist, using many arguments to prove, as Bellarniine also did, that there never was such an epistle as the one ])retended. A hundred and thirty-two years after, ^l. Bigot brought to Paris a copy of the ‘ E])istle' from Florence, ])rinted it with his edition of ‘ Palladius,' and strengthened it with such attestations as show it beyond all doubt to be genuine. Before the publication, however, the printed leaves of this part were cut out by the Doctors of the Sorbonne. d’hese very leaves came into the hands of Dr. Wake, who ])ub- lislu‘d them in the aj)])endix to his ‘ Defence.' The ‘ Epistle’ is declared by the Benedictine editors of Chrysostom to be entirely s])urious. Cave, Du Pin, Cooke, Dailld, and James, have proved that many hundreds of works, of which many have been re¬ peatedly quoted by Homan controvertists against Prote.stants, are either ‘shameless forgeries, or at least of verv doubtful authority, and very uncertain authorship.' While Augustin knew that the Canonical Scripture was pre¬ served from corruption by the variety of languages in which it is found, and by constant ]niblic reading in the churches, he bitterly complains, in his Epistle to Vincentius, of inter])olations in the writings of C^qnian. Similar complaints are made by Isidoriis Hispalensis, by Anastatius Sinaita, find many others ; and we need scarcely mention the residts of criticism with referenct^ to many copies of ‘ ancient fathers.' Of Cyril, who is so ])rime a THE CLERICAL WILBERFOUCE. 741 favourite ^vith ^Ir. A\ ilbertoroe, we have many ])roofs that his works were corrupted alter his death. The siune is true of Ambrose, lertullian, CEcumenius, C'yprian, Augustin, and Ciregory the Great; and tliere is not an edition of tlie ‘Councils* in Nviiich there are not ‘ spurious canons and decretal epistles of ancient j)opes put in, and genuine canons left out or corrupted* (Bishop Barlow*s ‘Directions for Choice of Hooks,* »k’c. p. .S2). J his practice has been even defended, on the j)rinci]>le that though the sayings ot the fatlua's, (Os they are fathers, ni‘ed no purging, yet that being considered as sons, their words may be corrc'cteil and censured by the Church ! Even supposing that the uncorrupted writings of the fathers are in our ])ossession, on lu)w many ])oints of fundamental importance in the doctrines of Christianity can they be ]>roved to hold tlie same judgment i It is not<nious that the ortlio(h»xy ot deceased tatliers was denied by tlieir succi'ssors. When* did Dr. Clarke and Mr. Whi.ston tind their lieterodoxy ? Do not Papias, Irenaais, Justin Martyr, Tertullian, Lactantius, and others, profess to have received from apostolic tradition tho.se terrene views of tlie millennium which later fathers n‘pudiatod with ridi¬ cule. And has it not been proved that the authority of apos¬ tolical traditions was often alleged for o}>inions and practict^s which could not be thus sustained ? Not only on matters of doctrine, l)ut on statements of fact, these siime fathers, and Coun¬ cils even, have been convicted by learned men of contradicting one another. Yet such is the kind of authority on whi(!h Mr. Wilberforce leans for his doctrine of the Eucharist ! We shall not wa.ste many words on the .supposed neces.sity ot eonsecvdtioii In/ a prieM to the validity of the Lord’s Su|>per. This supj)osed neces.sity is ba.sed on two otlua* supj>ositions, both contrary to Scripture, — that the Eucharist is a s((cr//ic(', and that Christian ministers are ttncrljici inj ]»rie.sts. Tertullian and .lustin Martyr may both be adduced as teaching that all ( Jiristians an* priests, and that the Eucharist is a .siu*ritic(^ in no other sense than that in which, according to the Scriptures, prayers, jaaises, pecuniary contribution.s, and gifts ot bread and wine tor the use of the Church, an* .s<acritices. It were not dillicult to trace the gradual admixture of human superstitions with the service ot which an apostle stiy.s, ‘ Eat this bread, and drink this cup,* and thus ‘show ye forth the Lord’s death till he come.* We object to these <(s superstitious things adde<l to the divine ajipointment ; but that objection is immea¬ surably strengthened by considering the purposes to which the*y are rendered subservient. ^ Mr. Wilberforce (]uotes with ajijaobation from Augustins ‘ Eiiarration on the *1 hirty-third Psalm the words, Chii.st wa.8 THE CLERICAL WILBERFORCE. I carried in his o^vn hands when, commending his own body, he said, * this is my body,' for he bore that body in his own hands; and he adds, in his own words : — ‘ That which our Lord began to do by his own words wlien he was upon earth, he still contimtea to do through the ministrg of hifi servants^ now that he has asi*ended into lieaven. • The commission given to his apostles was to re])resent himself. This commission they delivered to their successors, the bishops throughout the world. From them have all ]>riests received like authority. So that the action which they severally ])erform is not their own action, but the perpetuation of that ])riesth()od of ]\lelchizedek which their Great Head was pleased to undertake.’ — p. ol. Now, it is very remarkable, that what is here so coolly affirmed, is about as different as anything can be from what we lind in the New Testament, ^latthew, ^lark, Luke, and Paul tell us what Jesus (lid when he gave the ‘ bread’ and ‘ the cup’ to his disciples, but they do not use the same words in reporting what he said, yet tlie/ speak of the eating and drinking as to be done in ‘remembrance’ of Christ. All that is said by Mr. Wilberforce about consecration, succession of the ministry, and efficacy of the Eucharist, is udded from other sources, and the only purpose it can serve is to draw away the reader from the only testimonies which exist, namely, those of three evangelists, and one apostla We have carefully examined all the arguments employed by Mr. Wilberforce to sustain the application of our Lord’s discourse in the sixth chapter of John’s Gospel to ‘ the Eucharist’ He has not noticed some objections to his interpretation, which we deem fatal. First — On the supposition that he referred prophetically to that institution, the language of his disciples was perfectly natural, and his language to them in reply as unlike him as we could possibly conceive. Secondly — Would he have said ‘Ye have no life in you,’ to men who could not, at that time, use the only means by which, according to the theory of Mr. Wilberforce, that life was. to be attiuned ? Thirdly — Though it is perfectly obvious that our Lord referred to the sam^ r/raiul facts, truths, and inward experiences which are symbolized in the Lord’s Supper, it by no means follows that he refers to the symbols in so speaking, of which no mention is made. Lastly — If our Lord d/id refer to the symbols, it is most unaccountable that John has given no intimation of his doing so. We say John, — because he does not record the institution of the supper, and also, and chiefly, because we observe that it is the habit of this Evangelist to interpose such explanations in a manner THE CLERICAL WILBERFORCE. 743 quite peculiar to this Gospel. For oxainples In the si-xty-fourth veise ot the ^iiie chapter he says-(‘ For Jesus knew from the 'vho shouhl Fi.of at 1 . - III nil I u laem ne that (.a me to Jesus hy iiiirht, heiiig one of them); in chap. .xii. G— ( inis he said, not that he cared for the iioor,’ i'tc.) • !(> _ f'Tliis he s;inl signifying what Jeath he shouhl ,lio’); i,„ iiew who shouhl betray him, therefore he said,’ &c.) • 28 _ ( i\o\v, no man at the table knew for what intent he .siia’ke this unto him, tor some of them thought,’ &c.) We have selected but a tew from the numerous examples of this kind of interposed explanation; an.l we are sati.sHed that he who patiently considers tins matter, m connexion with the i.revious objections; will know how to estimate the fallacy of Mr. Wilberforce in .sayim.’-* And wius It not riither to be expected that St. John would have added a caution that fhts ciLstom was not referred to, if our Lord s words liad no reference to a practice wliicli from the first occu¬ pied so large a part in the thoughts and attention of Christians f W e are strengthened m our objections to this application from the tact that it is so much used hy the advoaites of transub- miniiahony as tlie words of our Lord to iS'icodeinus— where no mention is made ot baptism — are applied to tliat rite by tlio advocates of baptismal regeneration. Jgnaiius and Iremeus, lertullian and Cyprian, Cyril and Hilary, Origen and Biusil, Chry¬ sostom and Augustin, might easily express themselves jis they did without any idea of Mr. W ilberforce's theory ; but whether they did so or not, we know enough of the tendencies to magnify the priestly office and the sacraments, which had so early a beginning and so destructive a progress, to attach but slight importance to such prejudiced interjireters of Scripture. We cannot express the degree in which our sense of religion is shockeil by such miserable jargon as that with which an archdeacon of the Church of England disgusts us when he says of Cyril’s words, _ ‘ For those, it may be said, wore hut tlie statonuaits of individuals, and luay huve lailod to rojirosont tlu* judginont of the wlu»le church! Hut St. Cyril’s intorpn'tation of tliis chapter was introduced into the letter which, as jiresident of a synod at Alexandria, ho addn'ssed to Nestorius, and which was road with approbation at tlie (’ouncil of Kpliesus. So that in referring our Lord’s words to the Holy Luchtii 1st, we are not only borne out by the private testimony of ancient writers, but have tlie liighest sanctioii that can be given to any interpretation of Scripture, in the approval of one of those general councils, which express the mind of the spirit and the authonty of tlia church.’ — p. I7f). •’ trqb-’' ‘ 1 . ■ "1 •» .i 5 '1 ' . . •. . .• THE CLERICAL WILBERFORCE. 7^^ We can scarcely believe that the writer of this most offensively superstitious passage did not know the indecent haste and party spirit of the party attached to Cyril in that council. How thick must he the veil of piirty, how immoral its bias, when any man of common sense and decency can speak of such an assembly as ex|)ressing ‘ the mind of the Spirit.' So long as college tutors, public examiners in universities, Jind archdeacons in the Church of England, allow themselves to be so misled l)y non-juring clergymen .and Roman-c.atholic authorities as to reverence such assemblies of men in former times, the le.ast we c.an do is to join in the complaint of Jeremy Taylor in his ‘Liberty of Prophesy¬ ing' — ‘ That which 1 complain of is, tlnat we look upon wise men that lived long ago with such veneration .and mistake, th.at we reverence them — not for having been wise men — but that they lived lo)i(j since/ We are more .amused than puzzled, and more puzzled than cither instructed or convinced, bv .Mr. Wilberforce's elaborate distinctions between si/mholical aud virtual presence, and real })resence and corporal presence, and sacramental presence and supernatural })rescnce. All we need to sa}^ in answer to this verbiage, is, that the presence of the body of Christ is a visible liodihj presence, .and th.at this is the only real j)resence of th.at body — neither supernatur.al nor sacr.amental. To say that this ])resence is in bread and wine is to say that which no consecration can render otherwise th.an palpably false. To ascribe such power to a human priest, and to s.ay that this priest's action is the action of our Lord, is an assumption which is not merely ungrounded in Scripture, not merely as op])osed to the teaching of Scripture .as it is to common sense, but the imaginary investing of a sinful mortal with a power which degrades an intelligent and responsible agent into the p.assive instrument of an audacious sacerdotal system. Only believe that .any man, by repe.ating certain words, can work a miiacle th.at makes no appeal to the senses — as all real miracles do — hut which is infinitely above .all the recorded miracles of Jesus, as it is infinitely above .all the rational conceptions of the human intellect, and you put it in that man's power to save or to destroy your soul for ever. Since it is a fact that so tremendous an absurdity has taken the place of enlightened faith in the popular mind of Christendom, it behoves us to denounce, in the strongest language of moral indignation, every attempt to blind men's eyes to its enormity by the dust of .anti(pnty, or by the artfull3"-woven veils of perverted logic. The man who wrote this book was i n his soul a slave, and knew no better emplo^nnent than that of making slaves of other men. Professing to advocate the doctrines of the Church of England, and adhering to its forms, and professing, but THE CLEIUCAL WILBERFORCE. 74.5 a few weeks before his secession, to have the desire of being in ‘ the condition of a mere lay member of her communion,' — and this only after the threat of legal proceedings against him as one of her ministers — he must all the time have been in his heart the serf of that terrible master who claims a right to rule the destinies of all mankind. We have no wish to judge harshly of men s motives : such is not, indeed, our })rovince ; but we cannot allow ourselves to be blinded to the facts that a ‘complaint’ had been laid before the archbishop against Mr. Wilberforce's work on ‘ The Holy Eucharist,' and that there was a nimour of a prose¬ cution before his resignation was tendered, and that when it was tendered, no reference was made to that book, or to the iiicom- patibility of its principles with his position in the Church, but to his dissatisfaction with a law which deprives the men who hold such principles of the power of enforcing them on their fellow- subjects. It was for the jnirpose of exhibiting the ground of this dissatistaction with the law of the land that Mr. Wilberforco published his work on the principles of Church authority. We fear that dissenters are in danger of imagining that Mr. Wilber- force s principles of Church authority desene to be resj)ected by them, especially because they seem to approach their own. We assure them that there could not be a greater mistake. To j)rovo this, it is only requisite to remind them that the (piestion here is not between individual freedom and submission to external supre¬ macy, l)ut between the supremacy of the pope and the supremacy of the State, in all matters belonging to an established national church. If there must be an ultimate decision by authority, ought that decision to terminate within the legitimate authorities of the land, or ought it to come from a foreign ])otentate? Granting that the State is bound to endow the Church — is the State competent to decide for itself what the Church is, and what are its doctrines and usages; or must the State endow a Church, whatever judgment the State may have formed of the etfect of that Church on its own siifety and well-being ? Is the State to confer peculiar honours and emoluments on a man, and to have no authority over him in the matter for which these distinctions are conferred { The dissenter says — there ought to be 110 such established national church, no such endowment, and, therefore, no such authority in the State ; because he so thinks he in a dissenter. But with the avowed lioman Catholic, and the non- avowed Roman Catholic in the Anglican Establishment, the duty of the State in the matter of endowment is maintained, while the right of the State to determine whether the clergy fulfil the conditions on which the endowment is given, is denied. If a bishop condemns a clergyman to the loss of his worldly status 746 THE CLElllCAL WILBERFORCE. a minister of the Established Church, the State claims the right to determine whether he does it in accordance with the laws which are made for the protection of all its subjects. Now, this authority of the Stiite is denied by dissenters, because they deny the right of the State to put men in the position which renders such authority necessary ; but dissenters, as such, do not deny that tlie sovereign of the realm has supreme authority in the Clmrch as hy luw established. By long struggles — in suftering as well as in argument — they have achieved their own freedom, and it is part of that freedom to state their objections boldly, and to diffuse as widely as they can their own peculiar principles. But no dissenter is prepared, with !Mr. Wilberforce, to transfer the royal supremacy of England to the Pope of Rome. The whole drift of Mr. Wilberforce's book is to establish the uni¬ versal supremacy of the pope. The method in which he does tliis does not materially differ from that which is common to the advocates of the same principle. But there is in his book this peculiarity — that he em])ioys throughout the aryunicntiun ad ho'iuinein as an English churchman addressing his fellow-churchmen. We will not conceal our conviction that — in some respects, and to a certain extent — there is nuich force in this argument for the pur])Ose he has in view, though it is of no avail whatever, in that object which is immeasurably higher than the one at which he aims — the development of divine truth. In his fii*st chapter, he states his views of THE NATURE OF THE Church, which he calls an organic body, — appealing, on behalf of his views, to ‘the Scriptural definition," to ‘ prophecy," and to ‘ the analogy of doctrine, Christ incarnate in history." The second chapter is entitled ‘THE Church hath Authority in Matters of Faith," for which position, after sundry explanations, he seeks support in the conduct of the apostles, the testi¬ mony of ancient church writers, and the acts of the church. The third chapter, on THE Nature of Church Authority, includes the following positions : — That the Church, as a teacher, must herself expkiin the principles of her teachings — the principles of Church authority, not merely that the earliest ages were nearest the fountain-he^, but that the body of Christ is inhabited by His spirit ; therefore, separation from the church’s body [the Body’s body] supposed by early Christians to separate from the spirit of love and life ; — Church authority refers to matters of faith only, but to all matters of faith ; — Church authority, the order of grace — private judgment, the order of nature ; — the Church’s authority [over the Church] must continue as long as its existence [in heaven, therefore, of course], because derived from the indwelling of Christ’s spirit — so understood by Uie early church writers [all the writers, or only those whom the Church TUE CLERICAL WILBERFORCE. retains ?J especially St Augustin, in his controversy with the Donatists; these statements not inconsistent witli respect for Holy Scripture, which it is the office of the Cliurch to interpret [ro the Church !] and not supersede (Scripture the rule, Cliurch the judge), not inconsistent with reason, which allows that men are not always good judges in their own case ; — the like authority ^t professed by the Jewish church, because not inhabited by the Holy Ghost, or teaching a dogmatic system of doctrine. In Chapter lourth, the writer aims at proving that the collective EPisc(n>ATE is the medium of ctiurc h authority, by stating that Christ s mystical body is an organized society, dejiending on supernatural means and on the inheritance in the last Adam, as human society on natural means and the first Adam's inheritance, Its object being to comimuiicate grace [to itself?] and witness to truth, and that its law of organization is that ^thc same persons* are ‘ unUvldualh/ the dispensers of ffrace, and collectively the Witness to truth.* Chapter Fifth maintains that A hieilvrchy IS NECESSARY TO THE ACTION OF COLLECTIVE KPISCOPATR The authority of the church officers depends on their unanimity [on M hat does their unanimity rest ?|. Idle apostles were sure to Jict together because they were inspired ; but the unanimity of their successors is not inspiration, though that idono secures the unanimity of ajiostles, but by a system of metropolitans which dates fiom [not apostles, mark] but from apostolic times, mid 'was 111 lull action during the second century. Harmony wjis secureil among metropolitans by a system of patriarchs. The hierarchy was not created by positive laws, but by the growth of the chuich s organization. In Chapter the Sixth, we are taught that THE FORM OF THE HlERARcaiY WAS PRESCRIIIED RY THE PRIMAC\ OF St. Peter. As the Christian kingdom was predicted to be but one, unanimity was needed among the patriarchs, and, (iccordiny to ^t. Cypruiii^ a provision was made for this purpose in the primacy bestowed by Christ upon 8t Peter, and inherited by the chief patriarch. Ill the Seventh Chapter it is alleged that A primacy is ASSIGN TO St. Peter in the Gospei^. The proofs are, as usual, his priority in the four lists of the ajxistles — the expres¬ sions which mark his sujieriaiity — his new name, whereby he was especially associated with our Lord — his appointment to be the Rock of the Church and key-bearer — his charge to stren<»lhen his brethren — and his threefold commission to feed Christs Hock. Chapter Eighth affirms that Piter's primacy ls reco¬ gnized in the Acts and the Epistles. Chapter Ninth attemjits to show that THE Bishop of Rome is 8t. Peter's Successor. Chapter Tenth is a lalioured argument to prove tliat THE Bishop of Rome possessed a primacy in Ante- ti.p. 1 1 7^8 THE CLERICAL WILBERFORCE. Nk’ENE times. The Eleventh Chapter is entitled ‘ The Supremacy of the Bishop of Rome, the Church's Inter¬ pretation OF St. Peter's Primacy.* The Twelfth Chapter is headed — ‘How FAR the Popular Principle of Subscrip¬ tion TO the Enolish Formularif-s is compatible with the Rule of Church Authority.* In discussing this question, the author maintains that subscription to the English formularies is commonly made on the principle of private judgment, which is incomjmtible with the recofjnitioii of Church authority; hut private judgment assumes the inspiration of Scripture, which cannot he proved xvithout the anthovity of the Churchy and would not warrant men in general in subscribing propositions so numerous and intimate as those of the EuixHsh formularies, especially since those who subscribe them understand them in a different sense. Subscription, therefore, to the English Formu¬ laries was originally imposed, and is still rendered by high churchmen, on the })rinciple, that the Church*s judgment should guide her members ; but the Gorham case showed that the Church of England has transferred the decision respecting doctrines to the civil power ; and that the most opposite statements respecting matters of faith are taught under her sanction ; so that those who desire guidance are driven to depend on self-chosen teachers, who profess to interpret the public formularies on the principles of anti(]uity. ‘ The Thirteenth Chapter is on — ‘ How far the Original Principle of Subscription to the Anglican For¬ mularies IS compatible with the Rule of Church Autho¬ rity.' A new bod}’, equivalent to the collective Church, was supposed to be formed of the English bishops by the Crown, the CVown thus arrogating to itself the functions of St. Peter's primacy, on the lawfulness of which arrogation depend all the subsequent changes in the English Church. The Fourteenth Chapter examines the ARGUMENTS WHICH ARE ALLEGED IN DEFENCE OF THE ANGLICAN SYSTEM OF ClIURCII AUTHORITY. In this examination it is maintained that the ancient British Church was never independent of Rome, and that the Greek Church atibrds no justification to members of the Church of Eng¬ land. The last Chapter exposes the results of the Anglican SYSTEM OF Church Authority. Since the separation of Eng¬ land there have ])een three dynasties — the Tudors were despotic ; the Stuarts ruled through their clergy, the Anglo-catholic system being dominant till it fell through its want of experience ; the Hanoverian depended on Parliament, and private judgment was admitted to be supreme. Yet the clergy are still bound to the ancient oaths, wliich imply the existence of an authority iii matters of faith, but in practice every one interprets the Church s words for himself, even as respects the two great sacraments. The like confusion prevailed among the Donatists, who separated THE CLERICAL WILBERFORCE. 749 from the one catliolic body. The desire for unity is so impaired, that separation from the State would hardly supply a remedy. Nations do not retrace their steps. The waves of time do not roll backward. We cannot understand the intecjrity of Archdeacon Wilber- force, who, on the day when he received the first proof of this entirely popish book, ottered to put himself into the condition of a mere lay member of the Church. But waving this personal matter, we must express our surprise that all this had not long before been examined at Oxford, and compared with some of the innumerable volumes in its well-stored libraries, in which all these arguments in defence of the papal su])remacv have been utterly exploded. Had he not read both in Catholic and Pro¬ testant writers, that the highest dt'gree of faith in the inspiration of the Scriptures comes from that personal illumination by the spirit of God, by which men's minds are enlightened and renewed to salvation ? Does he not know that the grounds on which most readers of the Scriptures believe them to be inspired are found in their sublime contents — their holy, humbling, and authoritative teaching — their wonderful system of ])rophecy — their substantial agreement, though written by se])arate men at long intervals of time — and the power which tlieir truths have displayed in the thoughts, characters, and institutions of the whole civilized world ? Can he possilily be ignorant of the fact that — while the testimonies of the fathers are gladly received by all Christians — as those of Jews, heretics, and unbelievers are received — in proof of the public reading of the New Testament in the early ages, our belief that these writings are of God results from the examination of the writings themselves, and from -our knowledge of their history ? Besides, it must be known to all who have studied these matters that we have not the bare state¬ ment of the Church, that the Scriptures are inspired, but all the evidence on which that statement wjis ever made by any indi¬ vidual or any assembly. The object of all this vague and misguiding reference to the Church as giving authority to the Scriptures is sufficiently trans])arent. Perhaps a few words from Archbishop Jjaud, — no ])articular favourite of ours, — may have some weight with readers who would receive our resxsonings with distrust. In tliat famous archbishops ‘Reply to Fisher,' he says: — ‘God’s sjiirit alom works faith and belief of the Scriptures, and their divine authority as well as other articles. Tlie credit of Scripture to be divine resolves, finally, into that faith whicli we liave touching God himself, and in the same order. For, as that, so this hath three main grounds, to whicli all other are reducible. The first is, the tradition of the Church ; and this leads to a reverend(t) persuasion of it. The second is the light of nature .... The 750 THE CLERICAL WILBERFORCE. third is, the light of the text itself ^ in conversing whereicith vjc meet with the spirit of God, inwardly inclini)ig our hearts, and sealing the full assurance of the suficiency of all three unto vs. And then, and not before, we are certain thixt the Scripture is the word of God, both by divine and by infallible proof/ We would recommend to those who are likely to be misled by Tractists, or by Romanists, to read this pithy ‘ Reply' for a vigorous refutation of many of the errors to which these gentlemen are endeavouring to draw us. We must, however, take leave of the ci-devavft archdeacon, and pay some attention to the report in the ‘ Times," from which we have made an extract. Here is an authoritative judgment on the teaching of the Church of England, which, as we understand the words, means the real presence of the body and blood of Christ in the sacrament — ‘ a peculiar and supernatural presence of Christ with His people in that Holy Sacrament; that in it He does, in and by the reception of the consecrated atoms, convey to the faithful receiver a REAL p(r^a/t/7?r/ q/* if /s body, .and His Blood.' The Zuinglian explanation of the Euchari.st is spoken of as the Zuinglian infidelity ! — it denies that the body of Christ is really there ; and the Romanist transformation (a word which does not mean the same thing as transuhstantiation, where the form is still that of bread and wine) of the bread and wine into flesh and blood, is spoken of as the papal solution of the mystery, which the Church condemns. We find the simple facts to stand thus. The Articles and Homilies on one side, and the Liturgv of the Anglican Church on the other, represent the views of d ifferent parties; and the teaching of the Church exhibits a similar differ¬ ence, according to the leanings of the teacher towards the Roman or the 8witz elements, which it was the policy of both the eccle¬ siastical and the civil ridel's of the State to blend in the Church of England. Hence it is, that in the Catechism the child is taught to say, that the ‘ inward part or thing signified by the bread and wine i.s — the body and blood of Christ, which are verily and indeed taken and received by the faithful in the Lord's Supjier." [In the Catechism used by the Protestant Epis¬ copal Church in the United States of America the answer is — not * verily and indeed,' but ^spiritually taken and received."] In the ‘ Order for the Administration of the Lord's Supper, or Holy Communion," the priest prays, ‘ Grant us, gracious Lord, so to eat the fesh of thy dear Son, Jesus Christ, and drink His blood, that our sinful bodies may be made clean by His body, and our souls washed througli His most gracious blood, and that we may ever more dwell in Him, and He in us." If these words are used figunitively — as our Lord is believed by us to use them, we presume the words of the Cateciiism, and of the Communioa THE CLEUICAL WILIJERFORCE. 751 Service, are intended to be explained in the 28th Article ‘of onr Lord’s Slipper.’ While the Article teaches that the hrcml which we u leak, aiul the cup of blessiiic;’, are to them wlio receive tlieiu with faith a ‘ partaking of the body and the blood of Clirist,' and while It condemns transubstantiation as ‘repugnant to the iilaiii words of Scripture,' it adds— ‘The body of C’hrist is given, taken, and eaten, in the Supper, onli/afterahcavenh/and spintual onanner. And the mean whereby the body of Christ is received and eaten in the Supper is— fait/!/ \\ e can scarcely understand, on any other jiriaciple than that the Article was designed to explain the language of the Cate¬ chism, and the ‘order for administration,' how these apiiarent contradictions should be allowed to exist. In the Homily, a Sermon concerning the Sacrament, which is a noble s])ecimeii of English preaching, condemns ‘inummish massing,’ and ‘dumb massing,' and uses language (piite in harmony with this view. ISow, It must be acknowledged that, in the estimate of a large portion of Anglican divines, tlie doctrine of a reed presence is taught — a presence not corpovad^ yet the presence of a hody^ but in a spiritual sense. Dr. Halley has shown the objectionable¬ ness of all this in a few words ‘ \Ve have already seen that the presence of a body must be a bodily presence. If it ha present really, it is present locally. Jf it be not present locally, it is locally alxsent, and therefore really and truly absent. Jf locally absent, the body of Christ cannot be “verily and indeed taken and received by the faithful in the Lord’s Su])pT." The defenders of this doctrine may say, the manner of Christ’s j)rt*sence is mys¬ terious and inexplicable. We reply, their doctrine is not to be classed among mysteries. In a.sserting the real presence of a body which is locally absent, th(.*y leave the region of mvstery for that of logical inconsistency. ( ’onsubstantiation is mysterious ; transubstiintiation is metaphysically iiiipo.ssible ; but the real j)re- sence of a body, corporeally, and therefore locally, absent, is _ positive contradiction' (Halley on Sacraments, vol. ii. p. 287). On this question, then, we can only re|)eat, that, while the Church of England condemns transubstantiation, it certainly does teach the doctrine of the real j)resence, to wliich the simple objection is, that it cannot be true because it contradicts itself. That Christ is spiritvally present with believers is true ; but that His body is really present is not true. We accept the bishop’s definition of the teaching of the English C'hurch • Init we reject that teaching. And we reject it all the more for the easy transition which has been made by so many of her clergy, including the (late) archdeacon of the East-Riding, from the physically to tlie metaphysiadly impossible. Neither the one nor the other can be the meaning of the Word of God. SJrttf jfJntirrs. 1. 3. 1. CONTENTS. i. I’lictiral Works of .John OUlham. — ii. Poetical Works of KJnuind Waller, i. Nordurfari. — ii. Lord Cheaterlield : his Life, Character, &c. Last of the Old Hquires. Shenstiitie’s Ptadical Works. (fovernini; Classes of Great Britain. 6. Experiences of a Fag. 7. Autocracy in Poland and Russia. 8. Discourses on the late Rev. R. Wardlaw. 9. New Testament Commentary. 10. Painting in Water Colours. 11. Israel in EgV'pt. 1 12. Miscellaneous. 1. Poviical Jf'or/iS of John Ohiham. Edited by Robert Bell. Feap. 8vo. ])]). 207. London : Jolin AV. Parker Son. 2. Voctival U^ork's of Kihmind IVallcr. Edited by Robert Bell. Feap. Svo. j)p. 250. Jjondon : .lolin W. Parker & Son. AV"e are "lad to re])ort the steady process of ]Mr. Jkdl’s ‘Annotated Edition of the British Poets.’ It suj)plies what lias lon^ been need(‘d, in a style of editoi'sbip highly creditable to ^Ir. lEdl. Extensive researcdi, a diseriininatin" judtfinent, and a keen relish for poetical truth and beauty, distinguish his labors. Occasional errors may, no doubt, be detected, but we should readily make excuse for a greater number, in consideration of the value of the lalxirs rendei'cd, and of the vast extent of the Held cultivated. Few names connected with the ])oetry of our country are so little known as that of .lohn Oldham. About a century has elapsed since the last edition of Ids poems was published, and to the present genera¬ tion, with very few exceptions, they are absolutely unknown. His subjects were tem])orary, though the spirit he infused into their treat- nunt gives them permanent value. ‘His satires throw a Hood of light on the ])olities, morals, and manners of the Restoration, and are everywhere marked by the broad hand of vigorous and original genius.’ He was the son of a non-conformist minister, and, though yielding, unha})pily, to the lieentiousness of his age, he maintained an honorable sujieriority to the meanness and servility of his class. His poems will never be popular, but all who are interested in the history of our litera¬ ture will be glad to possess the neat and portable edition which Mr. Bell has sup])lied. 'Fhe second volume before us is occupied with the poems of Edmund Waller, whose genius is I’ar more creditable than his ])olitieal career. It is no slight excellence that ‘ his verse is never stained with a vicious sentiment or a licentious image.’ Porrectness is the prcMlominant cha¬ racteristic of his poetry. His versilication is smooth, and its sweetness is purchased by some inversions and obscurity. His language, how¬ ever, is always pure and well chosen. ‘ Pope estimated it so highly L '\4 BRIEF NOTICES. 753 that in ]>lannin" a dictionary tliat should he an authority Tor style, ho selected \\ aller as one of the best examples of jmetical diction.* ^1 houjjfh better known than Oldham, aller has not enough of strong feelini' to be permanently popular. In his own day he was extensively read, and the jK)sition he holds in the history of onr poetical literature entitles him to respectful attention. 1. 2sordu)'f(iri ; or, Rauihletf in Iceland. Jly l*liny ]\Iiles. l*ai*ts 1. II. London : Longman k (*o. 2. Lord Cltcsfer/icld : Ins Life, Character, and Opinions; and George Sehcgn : his Life and Times, lly A. 1 1 ay ward, Ksq., Q.(\ London : Longman A Co. Tin: former of these works is the production of an American. The ]>refacc is dated W ashington City, .1 une 1 st, 1 S5 1 . We are not informed whether it has jn-evionslv appeared on the other side of the Atlantic. We conclude not. The }>resent is apparently the original edition. Whether this be so or not, however, we have read the work with con¬ siderable ])leasurc, and can give it a very cordial recommendation. Little has hitherto lH‘cn known of Iceland. 'Fhe country has few attractions for our tourists, and it has few productions to give interest to the narrative of a visitor, 'i'he object of this work, as statetl by the author, is ‘ to present a readable and truthiul narrative, and to en*ate some interest in the people, the literature, and the productions of the lonely i^^lc of the north.’ Iceland ‘presents a greater array of remark¬ able natural jihenomena than can be 1‘ound throughout the whole extent of Europe and America.’ Its length is about 2S() miles, and its average width 150. It is nearly as large as the State of New York, containing about 10,000 sejuare miles. Mr. Miles gives a highly favor¬ able view of its inhabitants. Though laboring \mder great physical disadvantages, they arc said to he ‘ more contented, moral, and reli¬ gious,’ to ‘])ossess gr(‘ater attachment to country, arc less given to. crime and altercation, ami show greater hospitality to strangers, than any other people the sun shines upon.’ ‘ Nordurl’ari’ may he strongly recommended to all who are desirous of enlarging their knowh‘dge of the human family, by acquainting themselves witli the condition, cha¬ racter, and habits of a j>eople who are supposed to want many of the prime elements of human happiness. It is written in a sprightly, off¬ hand style, with a diu^h of Americanism, which improves rather than otherwise the llavor of the dish. The second of these ])ublieations, constituting the seventieth numlnT of the ‘ Traveller’s Library,’ is reprinted ‘ with a few alterations and corrections,’ from the ‘ Edinburgh Review.’ It cannot fail to interest an intelligent reader, though we should have Irmmi glad if a severer tone of criticism had been exercised on the moral attributes of the career of Chesterlicld and Selwyn. Full justice may Ik; done to their better (jualities, without any relaxation of a code whose maintenance is essential to the healthfulness and wellare of society. N. S. — VOL. VIII. • n f. .... « I ' 754 BRIEF NOTICES. The Last of the Old Squires. A Sketch. By Cediic Oklacre, Esq., of Sax-Normanbury. Sometime of Christ Church, Oxon. London: LoiiL'man & Co. This volume must not he confounded with the ordinary novel. It has sonu* features in common with it, hut there are points of ditference too obvious to he overlooked. Though a liction in form, there is a g(K)d deal of reality, we are told, in its suhstance. ‘ It contains,’ savs the author, ‘ the reminiscences of years gone hy, — of several high-bred country scpiires, — and of one excellent country gentleman in particular.’ There is very much in the volume which has pleased us. It is written in an amiable temper, and is pervaded hy a sympathy with whatever is human, which cannot he too highly admired. To this latter ijuality one i‘xce])tion must he admitted. We refer to the ‘ hedge-})reachers,’ described in Chapter IX., in a style worthy of the lowest prejudice and the most hitter spleen. If this chapter he intended to describe merely the feeling extensivel}" prevalent amongst the squirearchy, at no ver}' remote day, we have nothing to object. In this view it is jwohahly a coiTcct ])ortraiture, hut in such case, other features of the ‘ Last of the Old Squires’ should have l)een somewhat shaded, so as to have preserved the harmony of the whole. In all other respects, the hero of the volume is a pt'rfeet model ; — too much so, we fear, for this inquT- fect state. It is this iact which gives force to the caricature to which we have referred, and the discrej)ancy sensibly mars the consistency of the whole. The state of society described throughout the volume has some ]>oints of deep interest, to which we always revert with ])leasure. It is matter of regret th:\t it shoidd he dying out, and we receive with thankfulness any well executed attempt to retain its features in our knowk^lge. On this account we tender our thanks to the author of this volume, the modern-anti<iue ty})ography of which will he pleas¬ ing to many readers. Thid Poetical JVorks of William Shemtone. With Life, Critical Dis¬ sertation, and Ex])lanatorv Notes. By the Kev. Oeorge Gillillan. 8vo. pp. 2S4. Edinburgh : James Nichol. SiiKNsTO'E does not rank high amongst our hards, llis productions are little known, and with the exception of the ‘ Schoolmistress’ and the ‘ Pastoral Ballad,’ have little claim to the honors of song. He was born on the 18th November, 1713, and died on the 11th of February, 17(»3. His ])ersonal character ‘was rather passively amiable than actively virtuous.’ His habits were those of an indolent man of culti- vaU‘d ta.ste ; and the limited independence which he inherited deprived him of the ordinary motives to exertion. His poetry is for the most ])ai*t feeble and commoiqJaee, and his prose compositions evince the ({uerulousivess of a man who was dissatistied with his own pursuits, and ileemeil himself worthy of a better fate than befel him. Mr. (rillillan’s brief sketch of his life and poetry does full justice to his merits without claiming for him higher praise than those merits deserve. ‘ Although possessed,’ he says, ‘ of great accomplishments, much true talent, and a distinct although narrow vein of poetic genius, he has done little. / BRIEF NOTICES. 755 H is life was uneasy, uncertain, and in a ^reat dt'j^ree useless. Ho never understood, and therefore never did his work as a man. He first found and then forgot and abandoned the sole path as a poet, which his genius was (pialilled ])rolitahly to pursue.’ Mr. (riltillan’s edition of his poems is beautifully and correctly printed in the same style ;is its j)rcdecessors. With this volume the publisher has issued a cancel for pai^es iSd and iS t of the second volume of Ihitler’s works, in the former of which some errors have occurred through ‘ one of those untoward accidents which occasionally take place in defiance of all the care which can be exercised in securing the accuracy of a work while passing through the jircss.’ The course ailopted by Mr. Nichol in this matter is highly honorable, and must serve to assure his subscribers that no pains will be spared to secure the accuracy of the text of this edition. The Govern in f/ Classes of Great Jiritain : Political Portraits. By Edward M. Whitty. Ecap. Svo. pp. 218. London : Trilbiier & Co. Tins small volume contains nineteen sketches, which appeared, origi¬ nally, in the ‘Leader’ newsj)aper. Each sketch ‘is the attempted j)ortrait of an individual representing a class within the governing class.’ ’fhe papers are clever and racy, with a good th'al of point : but they are at the same time caustic and crotchetty. d’hey an* written in a dashing otf-hand style, better suited to the columns of a newspaper than to a more ))ermanent record. The impression of the moment is the end obviously sought, and to this, other juir])oses of far higher worth are sacrificed. Some of the sketches are, we think, greatly wanting in discrimination and candor, whilst others savor of a low moral tone, which we should be .sorry to attribute to the author. On the whole, we do not think that such sketches are adapted to advance sound political knowledge, or to promote a kind and intelligent under- .standing amongst the several classes of the community. School E.rperienccs of a Fag at a Public and a Private School. By George Melly. Post Svo. pp. dll. London : Smith, Elder, & Co. This volume luis evidently grown out of the abuses of monitorial ])()wcr recently made public, it is written with considerable skill, in a vivacious style, and with warm attachments. We sympathize with many of its sentiments, and specially admire the warm buoyant spirit which jxjrvades it. It is, however, a one-sided view of the question it ])rofesse8 to dis¬ cuss, in which all the writer’s sympathies are evidently with the public school, while his anti|)athies are violently arrayed against such as arc termed private. Under a fictitious form, he professes to give the expe¬ rience of a lad at both these establishments, hut no such school as that of Weston, ])resided over by Mr. Wentworth, ever came under our notice, whilst the worst features of Jlarbg are concealed or glosse<l over in a manner which betokens a j)rcdetermi nation to approve. The book supplies some plea.sant reading, but contributes nothing to the solution of a question on w’hich the ])ublic judgment is now exercised. 3 c 2 • i- 756 BRIEF NOTICES. Autocracy in Poland and Russia ; or, a Description of Russian Misrule in Poland^ and an Account of the Surveillance of Russian Spies at Home and Abroad, including the Experience of an Exile. By Julian Allen. New York : John Wiley. 1851?. The author of this volume is a Pole, who in ISil was a student at the College of Grodno in Poland, where he joiiu?d a secret societ}*, which, in 18 B>, was to co-operate with the rising at Cracow. The scheme was detected, .and the young conspirator had to llee, in order to avoid ])rison, or involuntary military servitude in the Caucasus. He succeeded in crossing the German frontiers, and reaching a ship hound for Engl.and, whence he emigrated to the United States of America. ‘ His feelings,’ he s.ays, ‘ his hopes and prospects, are identified with the interests of his adopted country, hut his heart still yearns towards the loved ones of another land.’ The j)resent volume is an ertiision of these feelings. The author wishes to ‘ call the attention of the j)uhlic to the condition of Russian political slavery, and to awaken the sym})athies of enlightened ])hilanthropy.’ He gives an interesting account of the peasants in Poland, of their cabins, their outfit, their manner of living, their fairs, holida3's, marriage and funeral certMnonies ; of the condition of the Jews, of the soldiers and Polish landed proprietors, and winds up with a com})ilation of Polish and Russian history, in which biographical sketches and anecdotes are to make up for depth and originalitv\ Discourses and Services on occasion of the Death of the late Rev. Ralph IVardlaiv, D.D. London, Edinburgh, llublin : A. Fullerton Co. 1S51. It is due to the parties concerned in this publication to s.a\' that we received and noticed it several months ago. We fear that the notice ]>erished in a fire at our printers’. The Address at the Funeral b\' Professor Thomson is a calm expression of dignified sorrow natural to the occasion. Dr. John Brown’s Discourse on the Aged Minister’s Resolutions in the Prospect of Death, based on 2 Peter i. 12-21, is such an exposition iis would be expected from so great a master, with a brief reference, chastely expressed, to the decease of the honoured pastor, whom he had known and loved for many years. What we in England call ‘ The Funeral Sermon,’ b)' Dr. Alexander, on * Elisha’s Cry after Elijah,’ contains a finely-wrought picture of his departed friend’s out¬ ward life, and a discriminating anal>'sis of his intellectual powers and tastes, his Christian character, and his eminent qualifications as a preacher, pastor, professor, and writer — forbcjiring to speak of his ‘ private and domestic relations, deeming that a sphere too sacred at this sciisoii of recent sorrow to be invaded in the presence of a public iissembly, with however reverent a stej),’ but simply stating that ‘ in all the private relations of life Dr. Wardlaw acquitted himself so .as to draw around him the strongest ties of relative affection ; that he grew old amid an ever-deepening tide of domestic love and reverence ; and that he carrieil with him to the grave as liu*ge a share of veneration BRIEF NOTICES. 757 and estooin from those wlio knew liim Iwst as can he expected to hill to the lot ot man in tliis imperfect state.’ The llev. Xorinun I^IcLeod s sermon on the Xatnrc of Future Happiness is an intercstinif description ot that happiness as satisfyiinj^ the sensitive, intellectual, moral, social, and iU'tivc nature. Dr. Macfarlane’s * Trihute to Dr. \N ardlaw is the peroration of the sermon preached hv him in the atter- noon ot tlie day alter Dr. Wardlaw’s decease, in the vacated pulpit — a wann-ln arted and eloquent recapitulation of his attractions ;is a Chris¬ tian in his various em])loyments iis an advocate, expoiuuler, critic, philosopher, polemic, ininishu*, philanthropist, citizen, and author. It is altogether a beautiful and instructive volume, worthy of the excellent ministers l)y whom it has heiMi composed, and in all respects appropriate to the occasion. Many of our rt‘;ulers are already accpiainteil with it, an<l, we doubt not, will justity the recommendation which we sincerely tender to those who have not yet possessed themselves of it. The Xew Testament Commentan/ and Praifrr Jiool\ Containini;f an Fxposition of the Xew Testament, with Devotional and IVsM'tical IJcilections and Prayers, for tlicuse of Families, after the ]dan of the Rev. .Job Orton, S.’F.P. Fdited hy the Rev. .loseph Fletcher of Christchurch. To he conq)leted in twenty monthly parts. (Parts 11. — IV.) London: Tallent Allen. Fdinhur’^h : Menzu's. Mu. Fi.ktciif.u has completed here his Commentary on thetJospels of Matthew and Mark. We are ‘;lad to testify that he h;us fully realized the exi»eetations awakened hy his proposals, and has sustaiiuMl the tone, both intellectual and spiritual, with which he commenced. We shall "ladly welcome the remainiiii' portions, under the lively impression that the editor is enu:ai(ed in a work well fitted for the Fnj^lish mind in these times, and one for which we doubt not many will j^lvc thanks to (lod on his behalf for years to come. The Theonj and Prarfice of landscape Paintinr^ in M ater Colours, Tllustr:ite<l hy a series of twenty-four desij^ns, croloured <lia;^rams, and numerous woodcuts, duly. l*art II. ]>p. 2d. Hy (I corj^e Barnard. London: William S. Orr Sc Co. The desij'ii of this work is to present students with a clear and concise sketch of the theory and practice of landscape* painting, ami it set‘ms well carried out. This we mi^ht expect from the jwofessional position of the author at Kuijhy School, as wt‘ll as from his ]»rcviou.s exj)ericnce in art-litcraturc. We have not yet received the tirst ])art, hut in the one before us we find a complete explanation of ti'chnical terms occurring in the work, a description of the rpialities of tho various colours, with hints on the choice of a p:i})cr, concludin*? with a swtioii on conq>osition, in which some ot the li*adin}^ |K>ints ot this most important subject are jmliciously chosen for the student’s attention. The illustrations are printed from the chromatic ]>roccss by Messrs. Leighton Brothers, and are beautiful examples ot the value ot that invention, the colouring being perfectly clear and harmonious. . . . tJ • I < “V *' i; i , •» • 'C. • ! ’ I I . .• / D 758 BRIEF NOTICES. In this numl)er we have a strikiii" instance of how trifling a circum¬ stance may tend to form an artist’s style. Rembrandt is specially noted for his treatment of shadow, and by a large and well-graduated miuss of shade, frequently caused a small amount of light to he extremely etteetive. It is said that during his early youth he lived in a windmill, the only light iwlinitted to the interior of which came through a small up])er window ; and thus being left to study the eflect of this concentrated light, he ever after treated out-door as well as in-door subjects in the same manner. Israel in ; or, The Books of Genesis and Exodns, illustrated hy Existing Monuments, l^ost 8vo. pp. xxxi. — ^137. London : Seeleys. 1851. This work, which is ]nihlished anonymously, we imagine to he from the ])en of Dr. Xolan, author of ‘ 'Fhe Egyptian Chronology Analysed, its Theory Developed and IVactically Applied.’ The author states that for more than thirty years it has been the object of his life to a})})ly Chanq)ollion’s discovery of the mode of reading the Egyptian hiero¬ glyphic inscrijdions to the illustration of facts stated in the Lihle. Tlie introduction explains the mode of reading the hieroglyphics in a very intelligible manner ; and then seven cha])ters are devoted to the elucidation of dosi'ph in Egypt — The Famine — Egypt during the Sojourn — The King that knew not Jose})h — Closes in ^lidian — The Plagues of Egy})t — and The Exodus. The collateral evidence of the ancient Egyptian monuments is skilfully applied to the Biblical nar- rati\es of these events, and, we think, with most satisfactory results. The writer is evidently well read in the literature of his subject, both ancient and modern ; and we believe that he is justified in saying, ‘ These contemporary monuments have corrected the mistakes and mis¬ apprehensions of twenty-live hundred years. They have restored to significance and perfect harmony with the context words which, in the days of IHolcmy, Epiphanes, and the S(‘ptuagint, were mere cahalisins.’ The wood engravings are sulliciently numerous to enable the reader to make his own conqjarisons. We arc far from thinking that the ‘ reality of the Bible history’ — which is, of course, indispensable to the a\ithority of its religious teaching — needs any confirmation from these extrinsic sources ; and we arc, at the same time, equally far from the opinion of those who deer}’ all such attempts at fully establishing the truth of the Hebrew histories ; hut we look on the present work with considerable favour, and recommend it a.s sure to enrich a patient reader with many coincidences which are not of a kind to have been struck out by the mere fancy of an enthusiastic hiblicist. Latincp Gravimaticte Budimenta, Extracted from the Complete Latin Grammar, with Additional Elucidations for the Use of Young Beginners. By .John William Donaldson, D.D., Head Master of Burv School. j)p. 7S. London : 5. W. Parker & Son. The name of the eminent author is a sufticient guarantee lor I REVIEW OF THE MOXTH. 759 the usefulness of this abriil^einent. As notliini^ is said of the laws of prosody, while the cpiantity of the verbs and some i>f the nouns is j^iven, it seems to us that it would save some #//deaniinijf after¬ wards, it, in a hook tor ‘ youn^ beginners,’ tliis praetiee were uniform. — The YoHUtf Scholar a Companion to the I^itin Accidence. lh‘iu^ a copious collection of very easy exercises, on an improved plan, 'i'o which are added an Introduction on Metliod, Questions on the Acci¬ dence, and a \ ocahulary of Roots. Designed for the assistance of Masters of the Junior Classes, (rovcrnes.st‘s, and Ibipil Tt‘achers. l>y a Master in a Grammar School, pp. 112. London: lloulston Stoueman. Well adapted to the object. — The Sea If Wd Collector s Ontde. Containing Plain Instructions for tellectiuLi: and Preservin;^, and a list of all the known speeics and lo<^*alitics in Great Hritain. Hy J. Cocks, ^1.])., Devonport. pp. 120. London: Van Voorst Tliis little handbook will, we are |>ersuaded, be very acceptable to incipient alu^oloij^ists, and an easy introduction to the lart^er works of l)r. Harvey. We sliould have ^floated over sueli :i work in our early attempts at this fa-seinatiujuf pui*suit. Dr. (\)eks ri'ceived a silver medal from the Ivoyal Cornwall Polytechnic Institution, for three volumes imperial folio containing s|H*cimens of marine al^a*. — On the J*lain Sif/n[/ication of Scripture. Showing the Orii^in and Intent of Pro|»hecy; the l*unish- inent and Overthrow of the .lewish Nations for their Llohitrous Pnie- tices ; their l*anlon, ami Suhs(*»pient Restoration, iis set*n by .L)hn in Revehition, cha})ter vii. d, 1. pp. b‘J. A rambling expression of va^xue opinions, bearing, more or less, on the restoration of the Jews to their own land. — On the Lenson.'i in Prorerha. Pive Lirturcs. Reinj^ the substance of Lectures delivered to Voun'j^ Mtm’s Societies, at Ports¬ mouth, and elsewhere. Ry Richaitl (Micnevix Tnmch, R.D., V’iear of Itclienstoke, Hants, pp. 12S. London: .1. W. ParktT A Son. The varied learninu^ and cultivated taste of Mr. d'nMieh are hcTc grace¬ fully employed on a curious thtune. on which it would have Inm «*asy for him to enlari^e with ^reat advantji^t' to the n*;uler. — The Shady Side; oi\ Life in a Country Pa raomiye. Ry a Pastor’s Wife. Second Kdition. j)p. d(»2. London : Sampson Jjow, Son, A Co. 'rids is an American p\d)lication, which we havi* ivad with pain. We should laj sorrv to believe that it is true ; but as the writer says it /a*, then we must hope that her cx})osurc of American Christians will do j^ood. It is a melancholy talc ! ilrninu nf tljt Jlloutli. i « AUTIIEMIC INTELLIGENCE HAS AT LENGTH HEEN RECEIVED OF THE FATE OF Sill .loilN FraNKLIN AND HIS COMPANIONS. h or several years piist the Rritish public have been di*eply concerned on this point, and numerous expeditions have proceeded to the Arctic S<*as -■if REVIEW OF THE MONTH. ill the lio^ie of clearing up the iny?ter3\ For some time we have almost despaired of rescuing our countrymen ; and our worst fears are now confirmed. On the 22nd Octtdier, Dr. Rae, of the Hudson’s Ray Company’s Service, landed at Deal, and immediately proceeded to the Admiralty to lay before Sir dames Graham the melancholy evidence he had obtained. While en^a^ed in completing his survey of the western coast of Roothia, he obtained information from the Esquimaux, that in the sjiring of 1850 a jiarty of white men, amounting to about forty, were seen travellini^ southward over the ice, drasr^in^ a boat with them. The men were evidently exhausted and short of provisions, and at a later jieriod in the same season, the bodies of about thirty men were discovered on the continent and five on an adjacent island. This is siqiposed to have been in the neighbourhood of Rack’s Fish River. ‘ From the mutilated state,’ says Dr. Rjie, ‘ of many of the corpses and the contents of the kettles, it is evident that our wretched countrymen had been driven to the last resource — cannibalism — as a means of jirolonging existence.’ Dr. Rae’s Report has given rise to much discussion, but its main features are unquestionably entitled to contidence. Painful as the truth is, we are glad that it has been ascertained. The fate of the ‘ Erebus’ and ‘ TeiTor’ must now be con¬ sidered as certain, and as siibseijuent information respecting Ca])tain Collinson of the ‘ Enterprise’ hius lieen received, we trust there will be an end to Arctic expeditions, save in the case to which we shall presently refer. The lives of our brave seamen — to say nothing of the expense involved — are too valuable to be risked on such 1‘ruitless missions. The character of the Arctic region precludes the expecta¬ tion of commercial advantage, and there is, therefore, clearly, no end to bo gained commensurate with the risk which such expeditions involve. The countrymen of Sir John Franklin will cherish his memory as that of a brave. and fearless seaman, whose tragical fate may operate as a warning to others. Whatever nautical skill could accomplish was etlected in his case, but causes over wliich he had no control, have fatally terminated a career of which his countrymen will be proud. For a time serious ajqirehensions were entertained resjiect- ing Cajitain Collinson, and it was at once determined to set forth two overland expeditions, — the one in boats to proceed down the Mackenzie River in search of him, and the other in canoes down Rack’s Fish River, to make further iinjuiry into the fate of Sir John Franklin’s crews. The ascertained safety of Captain Collinson removes, of course, all necessitv for the former ; but the latter is due to the brave men » • whose untimely fate we deplore. The Hudson’s Ray Conqiany was to be intrusted with both thesi? expeditions, and the latter, we trust, will be prosecuted with the promptitude and energy for which the occasion calls. Most of our rf.aders .vrk puorahly aci^uainted with Christ’s Hospital, an etlucational institute founded by King Edward \T., in 1552. The total number educated in 1853 was, in London — Ixiys, 050; and at Hertford — 150 boys, and 70 girls. The institution is jiopularly known as the Rlue-coat School, and its pupils are distinguished by an antique style of dre.ss, suitable, it may be, to the time when the school was founded, but ludicrously dissimilar from our present fashion. ! RFTN’IEW OF THE MOXTH. Dr. Jacol), a clerc^yman of the Clniroh of Knp^lanil, was ret'cntly apimiiitiHl iipjHT grammar injistcr, aiul soon luvaino sonsiblo of the ]>re- valence ot vtM*y serious ilefeets ]>oth in the (vlueational training, and in the moral eondition ol the school. These were souj^ht to he coirt'ctetl, hut, as it commonly ha]>]>ens, many obstacles wen* eneo\mten*d, until at leiii^th ho])e itselt he^an to despair. Hatlled in his etforts to accom¬ plish hy private means the reforms he sought. Dr. Jacoh hrony^ht the state ot the institution before the governors, in a .sermon j)reaelu‘d on the 27th ot Sejdemher last, d'he tone of the sermon appears to have been thoroui^hly res]H‘etful towards the <xovernors, hut some severe retlections were passed on the administration of the school. When it is rememhered that the income cxeeeds 000 yearly, it does certaiidy a])pear extraordinary that its residts shoidd he so inade- (juate. To use the words of Mr. M‘(Jeaehy at the me»*tin^ of the 2lst, it has ‘ neitluT the merits of the old j^rammar schools, in which a "ood eliissieal education is imparted, nor the advantages of modern educational institutions.’ To this stTinon very serious exception was taken by the committee of almoners. — virtually a self-el(*eted Ixxly, who constitute the executive of the hosj>ital. d'hey reported to the p)vernors, expressint^ their want of eonli(h‘nee in Dr. .laeoh, on aeiMHint of the i^ross indisen‘tion, as they alh*i]^(*d, of which he had Ix'cn ^lilty, and recommended his removal from the head mastt*rship. This oceurretl on the dlst Oceoher, and an adjourned s]H‘eial nu'etiiu' of the governors was held on the 21st, to determine whether such report should he rt'ceived or not. An amendment was immediately moved, to the etiect that the thanks of the governors he presented to Dr. .laeoh, for his sermon jweaehed before them on St. Matthew’s Day. A prrttracted and somewhat animated discussion then took place. The Kev. Dr. M‘Xeile proposed a miHlium course, in the hop(‘ of seeiirin;j^ a p(*aeeful termina¬ tion of the contest. ‘The jwopost'd amemlment,’ said Dr. M‘Xeile, ‘dealt to the committee an unmiti^ate(l slaj) in the face; and he, while desiriiii^ that they shoidd feel the jxisition in which they had placed themselves, wished to mitigate the blow.’ A majority of the nundinjif appeared to he in favor of the suj^i'cstion, hut the committee of almoners refused to aeipiiesce, and on a <livision the vote of thanks to J)r. .laeoh was carried by 10(» to 7 1. W'l* rejoice in this triumph, not merelv as sustaining an honest man in the ]mhlic cx])ression of his convictions, hut also as affording the promise of reforms which shall render this important institution as useful as it is wealthy. X^o in.sti- tution of the kind can In'etlieiently comlucted by a eommittcM*. The intelli;X^mce, practical wisdom, .and sound schol.arship of an exjxTienced master are reepdred, and when these are combined with religious <piali- tu‘s, it is wise and will he lH*neticial to afford to such mjister am|)le scope. Better hazard some of the evils of absolutism than commit such an institution to the obvious incompetcncy of a committee of almoners. Dr. Jacoh is entitled to the resptrt .and th.anksof his couii- trvmen for the ])uhlic stainl he has made against the arbitrary ])ro- emlings of a s<*lf-eleeted lx)dy, and the governors have ])roved them.^elveH worthy of their position, hy sustaining him in the fearless enunciation of what he deems essential to the moral and intelk*ctu.'d welfare of the school. j • » ; 1 REVIEW OF THE MONTH. An Anti-Slavery Conference is to re held in London on THE 29th .and 30tu instants, and we regret that it is not in our power to furnish any report of tliis meeting. The reason is obvious, but we are so deej)ly interested in its contemplated object, that we cannot refrain from adverting to it. The last anti-slaverv conven- tion, which was held in 1843, referred it to the committee of the ‘British and Foreign Anti-slaverv Societv’ to convene anotlicr whenever they deemed it advisable. Acting on this authority, the committee have taken such means as appeared to them best to ascer¬ tain tlie views of their friends, and as the result, they have issued a circular inviting the attendance, on the days above specified, of all those who are interested in the abolition cause. The Conference will be constituted on the following principle, which we have long been accus¬ tomed to regard in the light of an axiom : — ‘ That for a man to hold his fellow man as property “ is a sin and a crime before God,” and there¬ fore is not to Ik? defended or extenuated; and that the system of slavery, being unchristian in character, is to be uncompromisingly ojiposed, under what form soever it exist, and its immediate extinction sought by the employment of every moral and pacific means.’ Amongst the ])rincipal subjects to be submitted to the Conference, wc learn that the I'ollowing will be prominent : — The present i)osi- tion of the anti-slavery question in Great Britain, and the duty of British abolitionists ; the results of emancipation in the British West India colonies, and in the French West India possessions ; the pro¬ gress of the cause in Holland, and in other countries ; the slave-trade and slavery of Cuba ; the Brazils ; American slaveiy ; India as a sugar and a cotton-growing country ; the development of free labour ; the fugitive slaves in Canada; and the imj)ortance of elevating the free colore<l people. We shall In' glad to report next month the attendance and general character of the Conference. At present we content our¬ selves with the expression of a Iiojk', that its arrangements may be as judicious, and its attendance as large, as its object is praiseworthy. The j)resent occupation of the ])ublic mind with another subject is unfavorable, vet we cannot doubt that much will be done in re-awakening donnant zeal, and in giving a fresh impulse to one ot the noblest enterjirizes in which human philanthropy can engage. \V hat has already been achieved is the earnest of 1‘uture success, and we trust the time is not distant when even the United States, wedded as their Government at present is to this diabolical system, will slnike off the incubus that presses so heavily upon them. The integrity of tlieir political conMeration enforces what religious obligation impera¬ tively demands. The Spanish Cortes has assemrled; and the sj^ech delivered by the Queen, though evidently intended as a concession, will win little confidence. We have no faith in the pleasure professed, and lot)k for¬ ward to the future with some serious misgivings. Her Majesty avows her fidelity to her j)ledge of the 25th July, and her ho^xi that past misfortunes will be ‘ an example and a lesson’ for the new political life which is oj>ening on the country. ‘ Perhaps,’ she says, — and these words iire the most significant part of her speech — ‘ we have all been REVIEW OF THE I^rOXTH. (Iccoived. For the future let all use ever}' effort to succeed. Such is my full and perfect coiitidence that your patriotism and your endea¬ vours will be as ^reat and as fniitlul as tlie need of our iH'lovtHl Spain demands. 1 he leadiiiiT politicimis ol S[)ain have h)r some yt‘ars past earneil sucli an unenviable rejmtation that we have no faith in their patriotism. As a class they art* thorouj^hly eorre.pt, and we fear there is little ])ros|K*ct for the country while their aseendaney eontimies. Wo trend)le at the alternative, but we much feju' that until new blood and nobler principles are infused into the effete aristocracy of Spain there is no hope of the permanent establi.shment of constitutionalism. It is much to be deplored that a country wliose natural rcsouret's an* so j^reat, and whose historical associations an* of the hijj^hi*st order, should be distracted by the ]>ersonal broils and selfish intert*sts of a class whoso feebleness and vice contrast most ])ainfully with the m(*morii*s of an illustrious a^e. W(* make an exception in tlie ca.s(* of Marshal Ksparti'ro. His personal intc^ity is beyond (juestion, but his ant-ece- dent.s do not str(‘ni>d^hen confidence in tlu* vi^or and promptitude of his mcivsurcs. On the -1st, he announced to the Oortes that he had accejitcd the ofiice of President of tlu* (\)uncil, with the full deti*rmi- nation of layin*^ it down as smm as that body assembled, and that his ministry was therefore about to resiijfn in order that the <iueen mi^ht be at full liberty to choose her advisers. ‘ He also,’ says the tele¬ graphic despatch, ‘took the opportunity to declare that he had no other desire or aspiration than to live as a simple citizen in olH*dienco to the law.’ ^J’his announcement was receiveil with loud cheers. We shall be glad to find that the sagacity of the Marshal was cipial to his disinterestedness. We have, however, our fears ; but tlu* thread of Spanish politics is so entangl(*d, and the ])rincipal actors an* so little trustworthy, that we wait the course of events. Political ])roplu‘ey is in all ca.st‘s hazardous, but nev(‘r so much so as in the case of Spain. lx OUII L.VST XIMBER WK VXXOUXrEI) THi: COM Ml- XC’EM ENT OF THE BOMUARDMEXT OF Sehastopoe. This occurn*d on the 17th October, and hopes were entertained of the speedy cajdurc of this stronghold of Kussian ])ower. ddiese hopes have been disappointed, 'flu* strength of the fortilieations has hitherto withstood the artillery of the allied forces ; and as the numbi*r of the latter does not admit of the (KJcupa- tion of the northeni side of the city. Prince Menschikoff is able to communicate frtu?ly with the garrison, r(*inforcing it as occasion reijuires, and sup]>lying it, if ncc(‘ssary, with ammunition and food. The slaughter has been terrible. N<*ver was such au array of destruc¬ tive forces brought to bear on a city In fon*. Whatever military skill and personal prowess can do is arrayed against the fort, whose doomed citizens and soldiery are paying a terrible jicnalty for the ambition of their ruler. In the mean time the defence is maintained with the utmost resolution, ]^^o sooner does the artillerv’’ of the allies silence any of the in his despatch of Nov. 2iul, ‘it is impossible to imagine a mon* oosu- nate defence.’ The English and French lines are gradually approacli- 764 REVIEW OF THE MONTH. in^ the city, and the setting in of winter, with other eauses, will pro¬ bably induce the commanders to antici])ate the slower prop^ress of a siege by a general assault. We tremble in the anticipation of the slaughter which such a movement will involve. Of its issue we do not doubt. What has already occurred phices l)eyond question the incal¬ culable su])eriority of the French and English soldiery, but the lives of thousands of brave troops is a terrible j)rice to pay for the occupation of a j)lacc which, but for our dilatoriness, might i)robably have birn secured at much less cost. Indeed it is obvious to remark that our measures from the first have been too late. In sending out troops to Turkey, they were halted at Malta on the 2nd March, as if to encourage the Russians to cross the Danube on the 2drd ; and when at last the rising indignation of the country compelled the ministry to order them forward, they were detained at (Jalli|K)li, the farthe.st })oint from the seat of war. Now, at length, that the Crimea is invaded with an appearance of determination and energy, the force employed is far too small for the end we seek. The victory of Alma, and the subsequent report of the fall of Sebastopol, led us to underrate the forces of llussia. . We have subse¬ quently recovered from this delusion, but there is danger of the ])ublic mind becoming impatient and despondent. The Emperor of Kussia evidently feels the urgency of the crisis, and is throwing large masses of troops into the Crimea. The Kussian army has thus been swelled to a great numerical superiority ; and as the means of communication with the city on its northern side are perfectly open, a course of con¬ certed action l>etween the garrison and the ivlieving army has been arranged. The allied forces, consequently, whilst besieging the city, are themselves, to a great extent, besieged by Prince Mensehikoif. Their position and fortifications give them, it is true, great advantiige ; and the ])ossession of Balaklava affords much facility in procuring ammunition and other sup])lies. In the meantime, however, their numbers are greatly thinned by sickness, and their strength is worn down bv constant toil. Encouraged bv this state of things, the Kussian general sought to fultil his threat of conq)eirmg them to raise tlie siege and to re-embark with dishonor and loss. His word has been ph‘dged to drive them from the Crimea, and he has done what the means at his command enabled him to do, to execute it. With what residt, the battles of Balaklava and Inkermanu show. The former occurred on the 25th October, and was followed uj) on the following day ; and the latter on the 5th of last month. On both occasions the brunt of the attack was borne by the British, and was re]>ulsed with immense loss on the part of the Russians. The heights of Alma l>ore witness to the indomitable couragt* of our infantry, and nothing can excml — nothing has ever surpassed — the bravery of our cavalry at Balaklava. Lord Raglan tells us — and his despatches are distinguished by simplicity and the absence of exaggeration — that the charge of the heavy brigade against far superior numbers ‘ was one of the most successful 1 ever witnesstnl, was never for a moment doubtful, and is in the highest degi*ee creditable to Brigadier-General Scimlett and the officers and men engaged in it.’ REVIEW OF THE MONTH. TOo Tho pliiui^hter of the li^ht cavalrv on this incinorahle (K'casion, throiiprh a misapprehension not yet cleared up, is well known, ami uni¬ versally deplored. Their heroism, thoui;h not their success, was equal to their com|>eers’. A more brilliant ehai’^e was never exeeutcil, and we are p^lad that it has found a littin^ historian in one of the c*orre- sjamdents of the ‘ Times.’ The resi)onsihility, rest where it may, is terrible. At ])n.‘st*nt we are without the means of ri^diteous judi^nient, but we trust that a searehiin^ impiiry will be instituted. One tiling sur¬ prises us in the battle ol Balaklava. The advanceof the ilussian reinforce¬ ments was known. The ])resenee of a large body of these troops in the immediate neighbourhood was notorious, and yet no udequatif provision seems to have been made for the eontingt*ncy which arose. We feed that it is a hazardous thing for civilians to eritiei.se the op(*rations of war, and would, therefore, s|>eak with eon.siderable hesitation. Had the measures which succeeded the assault of ldj)randi preceded it, no such iittiu*k would have been made, or if it Inul, the issue must have been still more fatal to the Uussian army, 'rhere is one sentence in Lord Ibiglan’s despatch of Xovember drd, which carries with it, to our aj>})rehension, a much lai'ger signitieanee than the wonls themselves imj)ort. It is the langiwge of a l)rave man, aware of the dangers of his position, making the most of the means at his eommand, conscious that they are imuletjuate to the oceiUsu)n,yet too self-respect¬ ful and high-minded to utter the language of complaint. After detailing the measures adopted for the defence of Balaklava, his lord- ship says, addressing the ^linister of War — ‘ 1 iciil not conceal from your (iracc^ that I should be more satUfed if J could have occupied the 2yosiiion in considerablif greater strength.'' After the defeat of (ieneral Liprandi, the Russians contented them¬ selves for some days with a vigilant observance of the allied forces, 'fhe double di.scomliture they had experienced, chilled, it is probable, the ardor of their troo[>s, and time wiis re(]uircd to prepare them for the vet more threatening attempt of tho 5th. Large Russian reinforcements having at length arrived, with two ol' tho royal dukc‘s, immense forces, undt*r the command of (Ieneral Dannenberg, recently arrived from Moldavia, attacked tho right of tho Knglisli ]>osition on the morning of the 5th. This position, it must be lx>rno in mind, was tho weakest point in our lines ; — indeed, it is dilfieult to understand tchg it had not been greatly strengthened. Tho French hastened to the a.ssistancc of their allies, and ‘ (Ieneral Canrobert,’ says Lord Raglan, writing on tho Gth, ‘ immediately came to the K])ot, ami gave me the support of his assistance, and of his excellent counsel.’ The battle lasted for several hours, and the overwhelming su|)eriority of the Russians — (>0,(X)0 to 11, (XX) — entailed a heavy iH'iialty on tho victorious army. The numlKT of tho Russians greatly exceeded thoK<; which occupied tho heights of Alina, and the loss of l>oth parties was fearful, (ieneral Cam ol>ert deseril>es tho engagement as ‘ most obsti¬ nate and bloody.’ The English batteries were taken and retaken several times ; but at length tho enemy was repulsed with frightful carnage. The Russian loss is stated by Lord Raglan, in his despabdi of tho 8th, to have been 5(XX) dead, bt*side8 10,(XX) wounde<l and 766 S|i"i iiriiiv. Up f„^.. ^"''"nwiiii has p-,r.,7v, f over pi no further' atllnf, 'P'- «e «'>^“ the Jh,.,- loam that IJ.ey a . „ “ •’f reinlb^en r^l ‘"'‘ prilm-J to file fvlloe""* ellorts^*^ Lt^e 'l'' to fl.e .instantly l-ollnn^^i hv Vf ’n lx- ''hd ”( « ‘ T ^''onps are Ueomm • r i- t'>«t tl.evC ’"‘"H'diate atWitinnf Jo Tj!"' ';'''"“'‘ity\rill t t he arrival of tj.ese Z' t to PZ<^»^nltvd i,y a„ ^'*7^ sneh a ehan«t> i„ t'|''“'’T"!"'tS "e han> reaso ann,-. enable Lord Ita.Hf^ ‘ position of th T ’'‘^^''•^ve, will .lected assault wUh <sreiteT B""''' “ttensive aL^t “ and to sen,, meurt" °PeratioSi‘;‘* ^ ‘U-Jiaiiient meets for ‘S‘^nst iiessarabia, esi>ateh ot business on the 12th December. In .r,dv las 1>0STSC1{I1‘T. arc Lilly justifying 1 LITERARY INTELUGENCE. 767 the terms 111 wliicli ttie emiiioiit (jiuililiciitioiis of tlio future eilitor wore cliiii tietei izecl. llie renders ol tlie ^ Jiieleetie* will 1k' deeply ii^cvod to learn the cause to which they owe the disappointment of these expec¬ tations. Ihis shall he stated in the followiiiii^ extract from a letter addressed by Dr. Harris to Dr. IViee:— ‘1 am grieved to decline the post which 1 had hojx'd to till ; hut 1 have rejuson to believe, what I ought to have suspected, that in thinking of the Kditoi-ship I wjvs overrating both my leisure and my health ; and on returning from a short tour in a state ol considerable languor, the representations of my medical adviser corroborate my own conviction, that 1 am acting wisely in desisting from the undertaking.’ The state of Dr. Harris’s health has, of course, necessitated other arrangements for the future conduct ol the Ileview. The nature ol these will Ihj learned from an Address to the ‘Subscribers to the Eclectic,’ which will be found in our advertising columns, and to which the attention of the rcatler is invited. I'itfrarii 9iitrlligrnrr. Just Published. The Suhjccl-inaltcr of a Course of Ten Lcclun's ou some of the Arts con¬ nected witli Organic Clicniistrv. Deliven'd before tlie Mendiers of the Uojal Institution in tlie Spring of IS51;?. Hy William Thoma.H Braude. Arranged, by permission, from the Lecturer’s Notes, lent for the occjision. Jly .1. Scollern, M.B. Divine Bevelation; its Evidences, External, Internal, and Collateral; together with its Canonical Authoritvand I Menary Inspiration. By Daniel Dewar, D.D., LL.D. Second Edition, enlarged. The Violet’s Close; or, Annie Dale. A Companion to the iiedeemed Uosc; or, Willie’s Best. Bv Eliza Bumsey. Sennons on the i'irst Epistle of J’eter. JW II. E. Kohlbriigge, D.D. Translated from the (lennan. The Census of Creat Jlritain in IS.H. f’oinprising an Account of the Numbers and Distribution of the IVople, their Agi*s, (kinjugal Condition, Oceupathnis, and Ihrthnlace, iVre. And an Analytical Index. The Pilot of the Galilean Lake. By Thomas Lowe. Hints on Study. By the Bev. Thom;us Light body. Gethsemane. Lectures delivered in the Lock Cha|M*l in Lent, 1S5L By th c Rev. Capel Molymuix, B.A. The British Commonwealth; or, a (.’ommentary on the Institutions and Prin¬ ciples of British Govenimeiit. Bv Homersham (’ox, .VI. A. Life, Beligious Opinions, and Experience of Madame de la MotheCjuyon; tof»>ether with some .\ccount of the Personal History and Beligious Oinnioiw of EtMielon, .Vrchbisho]) of Candiray. By Thomas C. Upham. Edited and revised bv a Clergyman of the Chureh of England. The Author. A" Poem in Eour Book.s. The Christian Diadem. A Scries of Essays, Doctrinal and Devotional. First Series. m , Sacred Studies; or, ^Vids to the Development of Truth. A Second and 76S LITERARY INTELLIGENCE. Edition of Discourses on important Subjects. By the Rev. Robert Eerjjuson, LL.D., F.S.A. Contributions towards a llistorv of Biblical Translations in India. (Reprinted fnmi the ‘Calcutta Christian Observer.’) The Flower of the Family. A Tale. The riiilosophy of the Infinite. With sneeial reference to the Theories of Sir William Hamilton and M. Cousin. By ilenrv Calderwood. Theolof^y and Theologians. An Essay. By Charles Wills, M.A. An Account of the Brinted Text of the Greek New Testament. With Remarks on its Revision uimn Critical Principles; together with a Collation of the Critical Texts of Griesbaeh, Scholz, Lachmann, and Tischendorf, with that in common use. By Samuel Pridcaux Tregclles, LL.D. Scenes of the Bible; or, Scripture Sketches. By Rev. Win. Clarkson. Evenings with the Prophets. A Scries of Memoirs and Meditations. By Rev. A. Morton Brown, LL.D. ‘ The Coming Man ;’ or, the True Deliverer. By Rev. George Henry Davis. Philosophy at the Foot of the Cross. By James Augustus St. John. The Outlines of Theology; or, the General I’rineiples of Revealed Religion Briefly Stated. Designed for the Use of Families and Students in Divinitv. By H(‘v. James Clark. Vol. 1. 'riie Manse of Sunny Side; or. Trials of a Ministers Family. The ('odex Mont fort ianus. A Collation of the celebrated MSS. in the IJbrary of Trinity College, Dublin. By Orlando T. Dobbin, LL.D., ike. ' Our Friends in Heaven; or, the Mutual Recognition of the Redeemed in Glory demonstrated. By Rev. J. M. Killen, M.A. TVutirs Contlicts and Truth’s Triumphs; or, the Seven-headed Serpent Slain. A Series of Essavs, with an Allegorical Introduction on some Chief Errors of the Day. By Stcplien Jenner, ^l.A. Institutes of Metaphysic. The Theory of Knowing and Being, l^y James F. Ferrier, A.B. Historic Notes on the Books of the Old and New Testament. By Samuel Sharpe. Mornings with Jesus. A Series of Devotional Readings for the Closet and the Family. By the late Rev. William Jay of Bath. Turkey, its History and Progress. From the Journals and Corresi)ondence of Sir .lames Porter, Fifteen Years Ambassador at Constantinople, continued to the Present Time. AVith a Memoir of Sir James Porter. By his Grandson, Sir George Larpent, Ihu t, Ac. 2 Vols. The Public Pearl; or. Education the People’s Right, and a Nation’s Glory. In 'Pwo Popular Lectures on State Interference, and in Three Letters to liord John Russell. Dedicated, by permission, to Lady John Russell. By Celat us. Robespierre, a Tragedy. By Henry Bliss, one of Her !Majestv’s Consuls. Tales of the Desert and the Bush. From the German of I'redcrick Gers- tiieker. School Series. Edited by the Rev. G. R. Gleig, M.A., viz.; My Second Book, to Teach me Reading and Spelling. By Av alter McLeod, F.R.G.S. — Light and Heat, for the use of Bcirinners. fey Thomas Tate, F.R.A.S. — Magnetism, Wdtaie Eleetricitv, and Electro-Dvnamics, for the use of Beginners. By Thomas Tate, F R.A.S. ‘ Peace where there is no Peace;’ or, the Dies Non at Sydenham. AAYth a Glance at the Sundav Life of the Homeless in London. Plato, as Read in 'English. By an Englishman. Being an Address to some Friends. ( INDEX VOL. VIII. NEW SERIES. Aecidetif.^ in Coal 102; oausos, of, 1011; safety lamps, 100; ventila¬ tion of mines, 2DI. Alexander, AV. L., Christ and, Chris- tianifi/^ 102. Alison, Sir A., History of Europe from the Fall of Napoleon in 1815 to the Aceession of Jjonis Napoleon in 1852, 58; Spain under Ferdinand, 00; his perfidy^ 02 ; the Holy Alliance, 05 ; Alexander of Russia, 08 ; Nicholas, 71; his diplomacy, 72; Turkish War, 75. Allen, tl., Antoeraey in Poland and Passiay 75(). Allans, Dr., 7'he Bible Handbook^ 242. Archer, J. W., Vestiges of Old J/ondon^ 285 ; fame of, 285 ; earliest mention, 287; the Norman Snrression, 288; relies, 200; the Toirer^ 205; the Fleet ditch^ 205 ; old London shops, 207. Austin, Mrs, Germany ^ from 1700 to 1811,875. Baeons Essays^ and Nornm Organon^ 072; scholastic philosophy, 072; early life of Raeou, 075 ; public life, 070"; his disgrace, 077; writings, 070 ; on Studies^ 085 ; iisa historian, OSO ; his mental and inond cha¬ racter, ()88. Baines, E., Edneation, 482. Baldery\'l\ \ character of work, 424; course of life, 420; marria^re, 427 ; death of child, 428 ; sulfering, 420 ; Kxtraets^ 452. Barnard, Ci., The Theory and Praetiee of Idtndseape Painting in H'ater Colours y 757. N.s. — VOL. vni. B Hibliral Literature^ The Library of 028. ■ ‘ Riij^, J. S., Night and the Souf 100 ; present seh u)lof poetry, I/O; Night and the Bouf 172; other pieces, r * /i). Black ic, J. S., The Pronunciation of Greek\ 050 ; methods of pnmoune- inij, 000 ; neeoit nation, 0(i5 ; mo¬ dern ( I reek, 00)7 ; history of the lanijmu^, OtiO. Bunpmer, L. F., Voltaire and his Times. Julian^ 107. Bunsen, C. C. d., llippolytus and his Age. Analecta Ante Nicrena^ Out¬ lines of the Philosophy of Vnirersal History^ 000; effect of fiip)>olytus, 000 ; writings of the (Jiiosties, (iO 1 ; Shepherd of Hernias^ 005 ; pn‘sene(! of rationalism, f)07. Biirder, iF., ICatts and thers, 5f)7. Butler^ S.f The Poetical ff'orks of 500. Candlish, Dr., Examination of 4/r. Maurice^ s 'Thetdogical Lisxays^ 77; contents, 77 ; on Atonement Dr. Smith’s Christian Theology ^ 81 ; duty of prayer^ 82; Count (hisparin’s M'ork, 85 ; Popery^ 80 ; the He- formers^ 80. Carlisle, Ki^d)t Hon. the flnrl of, l)iary in Turkish and Greek IVaters^ 725; Emjmror of Austria, 721; passage, of the Danube, 725 ; Con¬ stantinople life, 72f>; Turkish cha¬ racter, 720 ; state of (irceee, 75t) ; piditics of modern Greece, 755. (hustro, Sehor De, History of Heligious Intolerance in Spain, 211. ('hat mers. Dr., S>drct ff orks of 028. D 770 INDEX. Christian Income and Expenditure^ 50G. Chronicles of Merry England ^ loi. Claude^ the Colporteur^ 10 1. C\>oks, Dr., The Sea H eed Collectors (I Hide y 759. Cotrper^ The Poetical Works of lOG, 2 10. Croslaiui, Mrs., Lydia, 111. If Arhlay, Madame, Diary and Ddfers of 505. Darling, J., Ci/cloptedia Bibliographiea, 108. Davis, N., Erenings in my Tent, 11; African cainj), 15 ; legal procedure, IG; capahilities of the Megro, 19; jigcncy to examine the interior of Africa, 21 ; habits of the desert, 21; Bedouin tribes^ 27. Davy, J., The West Indies before and since SI a re Emancipation, 17 ; colo¬ nial rule, IS ; improrernent in Barba- does, 50 ; West Indian ]>oj)ulations, 51 ; education, o\', reforms needed, 5G. Deans, W., History of the Ottoman Empire^ 1171. Decimal Coinage ; Report, GOO ; early means of barter, GOO; ancient coins, GttO; present money, GOl; reasons for change, G05 ; advantages of (h'cimal coinage, GOS ; proposed plans, (ilO; obstacles, G17. Delamarre, On the Food of Nations and (i rain Stores ; ! /tans upon Corn ; and the Destruction of bisects, 151; breail-riots, 151 ; corn trade of France, 157 ; destruction by insects, 15S ; their habits and species, 159. De Quincey, T., Selections (I rare and day, from Works Published and In published, 3S5 ; author’s genius, IlS5 ; the present works, .1S7 ; his childhood^ iiS9 ; Apprinich to l/judon, ^ 39 1 ; his manhood, 39G. Donaldson, Dr., La t hue Grannnaticre Rudimenta, 758. Dove, 1*. E., The Elements of Political Science, IGG ; study of social science, ‘H)G ; science of politics, -ItiS ; natural theory, 170 ; duty of Christian, 173 ; a majority, 174; property, 177. Dramatists, Songs from the, 502. Drydeu, J., Poetical Works of lOG. Durrieu, X., The Present State of Mo¬ rocco, 237. Edmonston's MilUus Paradise I/)st, , b28. Educational Literature, 31 G; goveni- ment school-books, 317 ; worth of, 319, free trade books, 321; coin- |)arison, 32 G. Education, National, 182 ; secular scheme, 483 ; objections, 484 ; (jo- vernment measure, 487 ; grants, 488 ; jiresent state of question, 492 ; I testimony of census, 493. Elfendi, H. K. A., The Thistle and the Cedar of l/'banon,^Ti\. Erasmus, The Life and Works of 341 ; early life, 342 ; becomes a monk, 315; love of letters, 34G; contro- i versy with Luther, 350; residence at Basel, 353 ; his works, 3G0 ; in¬ decision, 3G2. Erskine, W., A History of India under the first two Sorereigns of the House of Taimur, Baber and Humayun, 528 ; origin of the Tartars, 530; their warlike character, 532 ; their conquests, 535. Eleteher, J., Commentary and Prayer Book, 113, 757. Foster, C. J., Elements of Jurisprudence, 711; its department, 714; ethics 71 G ; heathen and Christian maxims, 718; rights of nature, 720; on re¬ volution, 721. Gasparin, A. de. The Schools of Doubt and the School of Faith, 77. Gautier, T., Constantinople of To-day, 271. Gcddart, Mrs., The Elder Brother, 50t). Gerowski, Count A. de, Russia and its People, 504. GerstdekeFs 'Travels, 241.^ Gloag, P. J., A 'Treatise on the Assur¬ ance of Salvation, 507. Golovin, J., The Nations of Russia and 'Turkey, 223. Gurney, J. J., The Memoirs of 299; ancestry, 299 ; early life, 301 ; joins the Friends, 304 ; literary vigour, 305 ; friendships, 308 ; travels, 31 1 ; agitations, 312; character, 315. Hamilton, SirW., The Collected Jf orks of Du gal d Stewart, 501. I Hamilton, W. T., 'The Pentateuch and 1 its Assailants, 514; obligations to INDEX. t i 1 the Bible, 511; forms of scepticism, 5 17 ; atfarh oti the BiblCy 54S ; the period of creation, 55 i. llaimu’s Memoirs of Chalmers, 505. 1 lav ward, A., Ijord Chesterfield, and (ieorge Bettrjfn, 753. Headley, V. (J., The Life of I/ynis Kos~ snth, (iorernor of llungarg, 303 ; political refugees, 303 ; early life of Kossuth, 307 ; course in Hungary, 308 ; as a statesman, 30‘J ; s]X)eehes on the present war, 371. ! llennigsen, F., Iterefations of Russia, | 223 ; Russian national dissensions, I 223; German einii^rants, 228; the Bole, 230 ; the Cossaek, 231; tlie Finn, 235 ; otlier races, 230. 1 llcttner, H., Athens and the Pelopon- \ nese, 530. Hill, S. S., Trarels on the Shores of the Baltic, 207 ; notice of Finland, 208 ; Jlelsingfors, 200 , Cronstadt, 211; lions (f St. Fetersburgh, 213; Mos- j coic, 211. j Holt, 1)., Jan ns, and other Poems, 100. | Horroeks, J. D., Zeno, 100. | Imperial Gazetteer^ The, 230. loka'i, M., Unngarian Sketches in Peace and H ar, 530; style of work, 530 ; Hungarian Squire, 5 12 ; liesnlts of IFar, 5 12 ; Imnatics in Unngarg, 5 13. Irviiu', F., Fitr the Oracles of God. For Judgment to Come, 1 ; no me¬ moir of Irvim^, 1 ; a Sabbath in the Caledonian Chapel, 3; Irvinj^’s ])reachin‘', 5 ; ireuius, 0; creed, 11. Israel in Fggpti 758. Jack and the Tanner of Wgmondham, 101. Jav, \V., Final Discourses at Arggle Chapel, Bath, 503. Jag, It'., The Antobiographg of 5/0; 4 earlg life, bli -, conrersion, 571 ; habits, 577 ; i)reaehinjr, 570 ; Her. \ JohnSewton, 582; Her. John Rgland, 581; Mr. Wilberforce, 580 ; powers i as a preacher, 50 1 . • Jerdan, IF., The Antobiographg of, CdS. , I Kinj', 1)., Presbgterian Form of Church Gorernment, 5nr>. I Kinj^sley, C,, Alexandria and her Schools, 170 ; the Ftolemaic Fra, j 178; the Idgts of Theocritus, 180 ; Neo-Platonism, 1S2 ; The Cross and the Crescent, iSl; Mohammed, 187 ; Sermons on National Sul)jeets, 020. Kirkus, \\ ., Christ \anitg. Theoretical and Practical, 503. Krause, \V . H., A Brief Memoir of the late Miss Rosa F. C. S icholson, 500. I j Vm, The, f.27. Laini?, S., }sotes of a Trareller on the Social and Political State of Siritzer- land, Italg, and other imrts of Furtqie, during the V resent Ventnrg, 371. Landor, W . S., The Isist Fruit off an Old Tree, 023. Lardiier, l)r.. The }[ii.teum of Science and Art, 30; merits of style, 31 ; are the planets inhabited}' 33; on latitmh's and loni'itudes, 35 ; shoot¬ ing stars, 3<) ; lunar intluences, It). Lejisk, W., The Closet Book, 500. Lilg Gordon, 500. liiterarv Intelliirtmcc, 127, 250, 381, 5 12, *010, ?(>?. V Ourerture, Toussaint, Life of Oil ; early history of, 0 12 ; slave insur- reetion in St. l)omin;xu, 015 ; Tous¬ saint as I'cneral, 010 ; sneees.ses, 052; cruel treatment by Napoleon Buonaparte, 050. MacCabe, W. B., The Catholic I/istorg of England, 021. .Mackintosh, Maj.-(ien., A Militarg Tour in European Turkeg, Ac., 271. Maekinttmh, Sir J., The Miscellaneous Works of 2 10. Mahon, Lord, Historg of England, 15t) ; time of American war, 151 ; cjLse of .Major .\ndre, 153 ; ministerial changes, 157; Me. Pitt on reform, •l(i2 ; state of unirersities, 101. .Mather, J., The Coal Mines, 102. .M‘(adloch, .1. K., Russia and Turkeg, 237. .Melly, (r.. School Experiences of a Fag at a Public and a Prirate School, 755. .Michelson, K. H., The Ottoman Empire and its Resources, 271. .Miles, M ., Sordurfari ; or, Rambles in Iceland, 753. MoiukI, Saint Paul, 5O0. .Morbiil.a, 100. Mormonism, 028. INDEX. 772 Morrll, J. R., Rmsia and England^ 110. Mosaic Record in Harmony with the (rfolt^ical, 0:^9. Murchison, Sir R. I., Stinria^ 502 ; present work, 593 ; Silurijiu rocks, 594 ; fossils and zoophytes, 59() ; author’s deductions, 599. O’Rricn, P., Journal of a Residence in the Danuhian Principalities^ 271. Oldacrc, C., The luist of the Old Squires, 754. Oldham, John, Poetical Works of, 752. Opie, A., Memorials of the IJfe o/) 210 ; Mrs. Opie Jis a fiction writer, 210 ; early associations, 217 ; ylimpse of Bonaparte, 219 ; joins t lie Society of Friends, 221. Patmore, P. G., My Friends and Ac¬ quaintance, 099 ; history .and bio¬ graphy, 099 ; ])resent work, 701 ; otVcnsivc portraits of literary clia- racters, 701 ; bad character of w ork, 713. Pulsky, F., Tlic Tricolor on the Atlas, 020. Review of the Month: Roman Catholic Endow incut, 113; the Rallot, 115; Church-rates, 110; Re-marriage at Frome, 1 19; Oxford University Rill, 120, 2 13; Education, 122, 247, 031; Ministerial changes, 122; the War, 123, 253, 3S0, 511, 037, 703; Irish Regium l)onum, 245; Chiu'ch Build¬ ing Act, 218; Maynootli, 248, 377; Census Returns, 250; Bribery Bill, 252; Spanish Revolution, 254, 382, 702; Slavery, 255, 702; Sunday Question, 375; Doings of Parlia¬ ment, 377, 0)34; Encyclical Letter, 507; Mazzini, 508; Thanksgiving- day,’ 509 ; Religions Liberty, 509 ; Cholera, 029; Evangelical Alliiuice, 032; Congregational Union, 035; Denmark, 030; Sir John Franklin’s fate, 759; Christ’s Hospital, 700. Rogers, 11., Fjssays, Selected from Con- tri hut ions to the ‘ Edinburgh Rerieic,' 129; on Thomas Fuller, 131 ; Andrew Marvel, 134; Luther, 135; Leibnitz, 138; Pascal, 140; Platoand Socrates, 140; British Pulpit, 150. Russian Peasantry, Condition of, 91; effect of censorship, 92; serfdom, 92; nobility, 98; origin of serfdom, 100; _ silence of authors, 101. Schaff, P., History of the Apostolic Church. The Life and Latuturs of St.Augustitie, 399; German theology, 400; present work, 402; defects, 403; small nnmber of church his¬ torians, 407 ; position of the Church, 409. Schamyl, 237. Scott, P., A Poefs Children ', 169. Scripture, Plain Significance of, 759. Shady Side, The, 759. Shenstone, William, The Poetical Works of 754. Shrines of the Holy Lund, 505. Smith, J. P., First Lines of Christian Theology, 77. Smith, S, Works of, 109. Songs of the Present, 169. Spencer, Capt., Turkey, Russia, the Black Sea, and Circassia, 271 ; Servia, 272; SUistria, 273; mouths of the Danube, 275; social and spiritual position, 276; Circassia, 279; Selatstopol, 283. Spencer, H., Orer Legislation , 505. Stewart, D., The Collected Works of, 108, 501, 627. St. lre}ueus. The Works of 257 ; as bishop in Gaul, 258; his ‘Five Books against the Gnostic Heresy,’ 262; other writings, 266 ; the present edition, 267; opinions of, 270. Stokes, II. S., The kale of Lanherne, 506. Stowe, Mrs., Sunny Memories of Foreign hinds, 327 ; present work, 328; her reception, 329; Scott, 332; Shake¬ speare, 333; literary celebrities, 335; Kossuth, 3 to. Sunday at Home, 505. Talfourd, T. N., Vacation Rambles, 112. Taylor, G. 11., Palestine, 112. Theologia Germanica, 238. Thornton, E., A Gazetteer of Indian Empire, 625. Trench, R. C., On the Lessons in Pro¬ verbs, 759. Van de Velde, C. W. M., Narrative of a Journey through Syria and Palest iim in the Years 1851 and 1852, 411; INDEX. 773 difficulties, 415; route, 41 f); Jeru¬ salem, 418, 42*2; l)e;ul Sea, 420. Vehse, E., Memoirs of the Court of Prussia^ 110. Viiiet, A., Hisforif of French Literature in the Fiphteeuth Ceutu/y^ 553; style of work, 553; French authors, 555; hv|V)crisy of French society, 557 ; Saint-Pierre's description of tropical clouds^ 5G4; ehanpe to frankness, 5G5; French chanictcristics, 5G8. Waddinp^on, G., The Condition and Prospects of the (I reek or Oriental Churchy 513; intercourse of Greeks and Latins, 515; policy of Mahonu'd Tl., 51G; of Seylim I., 517; exposi¬ tion of the Kussiau Creed in H)42, 520; extent of Greek church, 521 ; doctrines of, 523. Waller^ Kdm.^ Poetical Works of 752. Wardlaw, Dr., Discourses and Services on occasion of the Death of the late^ 75G. Wc.sterton, C., Popish Practices at St, Paul's^ Knightshridge^ G2S. 4V he well, W., I ret u res on the History of Moral Philosttphy in England^ 435 ; systems of morality, 435 ; author’s scheme, 437; its oriu^in, 430 ; supreme latr^ 442 ; church of ri'fonn, 443; moralists, 445. AVhitty, E. M , The (ivrerning Classes of Great Britain^ 755. AVillMTforce, K. J., The Doctrine of the Holy Eucharist. Jn Im/uiry into the Principles of Church Authority^ 734; Author’s family, 734 ; Bishop of Oxford on ‘ The Eucharist 73G ; Author’s opinions, 737; ohjeetions to, 742; Church authority, 745; nature of the Church, 74G; want of integrity, 740. Wyatty Pitetical Works of Sir T.^ 502. Young Scholar's Companion to the Ixittn Accidence f 750. LONDON: SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS,