v,~I 1. NORTH AMERICAN REFIEW. No. CLII. JULY, 1851. ART. I. The Life and Correspondence of ROBERT SOUTHEY. Edited by his Son, the REV. CHARLES CUTHBERT SOUTHEY, M~ A. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1851. Svo. pp. 579. SOUTHEYS life is a good picture of the character and for.. tunes of the man of letters in our own age. He was the best representative of the class; he typified both the strength and the weakness, the pleasures and the pains, the tastes and the powers, of a man exclusively devoted to literary pursuits. He began to publish before he came of age, and he died almost with the pen still grasped in the fingers which had wielded it for half a century. He lived by his publications, which, though they gained him an honorable name, and have secured for him a permanent place in the history of English literature, afforded him a meagre and uncertain livelihood. He was rich in nothing but books, of which he had accumu- lated a larger store probably than any man in Great Britain not favored by hereditary wealth. The booksellers made him their dependant, but could not render him their slave; he was obliged to write for his bread, but he had not the spirit, or the want of spirit, of a Grub-street hack, ready to engage in any task that opened a chance of profit. Could he have stooped to this humiliation, he might, with his versa- tility of power and vast range of acquisition, speedily have become rich. He would do enough of such jobwork as writ- VOL. LXXIII. NO. 152. 1 / 2 The Life of Sout hey. [July, ing for the Reviews and the Annual Registers to provide for the pressing wants of the moment, the immediate demands of himself and his family; but he reserved his golden hours of toil for stately poems and histories, which the world was reluctant to purchase, and still more reluctant to read, but which still have substantial merits for the discerning few, so that they will probably float far down the streai~i of time before sinking into the mud at the bottom. Twelve months after its publication, he bad received from the sale of Madoc less than four pounds sterling; and the total subsequent profits hardly amounted to twenty-five pounds. Yet he was not daunted by this meagre return, nor rendered envious by the brilliant success of his contemporaries. Scott had already received 700 for the Lay, and was soon to obtain a thou- sand guineas for Marmion. Southeys poetry might have become almost equally popular, if he had chosen to follow the public taste instead of wasting his energies in a vain attempt to guide or create it; for his acquisitions were even greater than those of his illustrious rival, and he bad at least equal command of language and imagery, of sentiment and description. But he wrote poetry to please himself, not the public; and hardly a year bad elapsed after the launching of his unlucky Welsh epic, before he had two other long narra- tive poems on the stocks, Joth fashioned after his own wilful fancy, The Curse of $ ehama and Roderic. It is super- fluous to say that he did not make his fortune by either of them. After the publication of the last, he seems at length to have convinced himself that he was too poor to publish any more epics; or perhaps the booksellers formed this con- clusion for him. But as if to show the ruling passion strong in death, he left an unfinished one in his desk, under the unpromising title of Oliver Newman, in which Philip of Mount Hope was to be a prominent character. No literary man in our day can find his account in standing out against the judgment and taste of his contemporaries. Bacon and Milton, indeed, were willing to leave their fame to mens charitable speeches, to foreign nations, and the next ages. But the world, in Bacons and Miltons times, was not competent to sit upon their claims; it has now become competent, as the number of readers has vastly increased, so that prejudice, intrigue, or caprice can no 1851.] Tile Life of & ut hey. 3 longer sway the opinions of a majority of them. We are the posterity to which they appealed; and the justice now rendered to them is an assurance of equal justice to he meted out to those of our own generation. Then, a clique or a party at court, or at most a party in the metropolis, could settle for a time the rival claims both of poets and philoso- phers; for hooks were sealed mysteries to the hulk of the people. Now, the multitude form the tribunal; ~nd as van- ous prejudices and collateral influences offset and balanc? each other, just as discords are lost in a choir of thousands of voices singing in unison, the collected verdict, the resultant of many forces, is the judgment of truth and nature. Let him who hopes for an immortality of fame bow to their deci- sion. If Southey had been a discoverer of scientific or philo- sophical truth, he might justly have withstood the reigning taste that condemned his hooks, and called it ignorance or a caprice of fashion, which the saner feelings or clearer per- ceptions of a later age would set aside. But he was a poet, whose object it was to please, whose success consisted in pleasing; he addressed a world-wide audience; and if he did not move numbers, this very fact proved that the chords of the human heart were not responsive to his poetic touch. We have no doubt that the judgment of posterity upon the relative merits of his poetical works will be found to have been correctly indicated by their comparative rapidity of sale at the time of publication. One or two editions of Thalaba and Roderic were bought up by the public with reasonable speed; Kehama passed off more slowly, and Madoc only lumbered the booksellers shelves. His ballads and eclogues, serious and comic, the hasty productions of his youth, were almost popular; some of them will outlive his epics by cen- turies, for they have already become household words. Southey misjudged his own talents and the proper direction of them, because he led the life of a literary recluse, seldom leaving his quiet home by the Lakes to mingle with the world, and to have his opinions formed by attrition with those of the multitude. His notions could not be changed by argument, but he was very impressible by the magnetism of familiar intercourse. Whatever was nearest to him touched his heart too fondly to allow free scope for the action of his intellect. 4 The Life of Sout hey. [July, At his own fireside, he was surrounded by a circle of women and children, to whom he was a most attached and indulgent parent, guide, playmate, and friend. They nursed his poet- ical vagaries by a constant tribute of affectionate praise. His love magnified the value of their judgments, while he could not conceive respect for the opinions of people whom he had never seen. Intercourse with men is almost as necessary as familiarity with books, for the formation of a sound literary taste. If Southey had lived in the metropolis, or at Edinburgh, he would not so far have mistaken his vocation in literature. He was not a great thinker, not a great poet, not a great his- torian; but he was, for his time, the greatest writer of Eng- lish prose. His style is a perfect model of purity, transpa- rency, and vigor, with just enough of ornament to make the readers path a pleasant one, and with marvellous aptness and propriety of diction. The rhythm of his sentences~ is fault- less, never lapsing into a Johnsonian stateliness and monotony of phrase, and never weakened by too frequent recurrence of studied musical cadences. The thought was sometimes languid and the reasoning feeble; but the expression never. His manner, consequently, was best adapted to narration; he was a capital story-teller, and the best of biographers. His Life of Nelson, which was a mere expansion, executed in a few weeks, of an article in the Quarterly Review, will last as long as the English language, and will perpetuate the fame of its hero more surely than his victories at the Nile and Trafalgar. The Life of Wesley is an unpromising subject, and is overlaid with theological extracts, designed only to illustrate the progress and extravagance of fanaticism; but one may skim the book, omitting all the matter which is not from Southeys own pen, and he will find it a delightful biography. There is a love tale in the second and third volumes of The Doctor, which, though it has little incident and no pretension, merely from the charm of the diction and the exquisite sentiment that pervades it, is one of the most fascinating passages in English fiction. Yet we cannot wish that he had become a writer of romance. He had not the boundless wealth of invention, which heaped the pictured pages of Scott with a gorgeous profusion of scenes, charac- ters, and incidents, such as never visited the imagination c~f 1851.] The Life of Sout hey. 5 any other poet except Shakspeare. But Southey might have enriched our literature with a series of tales, combining the peculiarities of Mackenzie and Sterne, and far excelling both in simplicity, purity of feeling, and depth of pathos. He mistook his calling when he wrote so many epics and his- tories, and even when he speculated on the condition and prospects of society. It is a great pity that the Rev. Charles Cuthbert Southey undertook to write the life and edit the correspondence of his father. The biography is coldly written, what there is of it; for the fragments of narrative hardly fill up the numerous gaps that remain when we endeavor to piece out from the letters a connected view of the mans whole life and character. And even the collection of letters is imperfect; but few and brief extracts are given from those which were printed in the life of William Taylor, though the copyright of the latter book could not have prevented the editor of these volumes from reprinting them at length, as the ownership of letters must descend to the heirs of the writer of them. There were other letters of S~uthey already in print, particularly those contained in Cottles Reminiscences of Coleridge and Sou- they, which we should have been glad to see again in their proper places in this work. Then the biographer is provok- ingly silent on those points of personal history, on whic~h the curiosity of the public has been sufficiently excited and tan- talized. Of what use was it to attempt to draw again the veil over the frailties of poor Coleridge, after Cottle and De Quincey had told so large a portion of the story? Further concealment or reserve is injustice to the memory of Southey, to whose honor it ought to be generally known, that at a time when he was as much a slave to the desk for his daily bread as was ever galley slave to his oar, Coleridges deserted wife and children found a permanent and bountiful home beneath his roof. The wayward husband and father could then squander in voluptuous self-indulgence the bounty of his other friends without feeling any check from his violated domestic ties. Southey seems to have been almost the only friend who ventured to hold to him the language of truth and soberness in reproof of his reckless career. It was strange that Southey should preserve the sunny, affectionate, and sanguine disposition that he manifested * 1 6 The Life of Sout hey. [July, throughout life, when there was so little in his first home that was likely to foster it. His early childhood was passed chiefly in the house of his mothers half-sister, Miss Tyler, who had heen beautiful and praised for her understanding, but had become an eccentric and cross-tempered old maid. She made the boys life miserable by her whims, by her capri- cious severity and indulgence, and did her best to stunt his intellect by a most injudicious choice of teachers and studies. She finally showed her affection for him, when he had nearly come of age, by literally turning him out of doors late in a stormy night, and refusing ever to see him again, because the young enthusiast had become involved in his wild scheme of Pantisocracy, and had contracted an imprudent marriage engagement. His cheerful and elastic temperament had borne the numberless outbreaks of her wayward humor in his childhood, and was not broken by this rude blow, though he had just before been compelled to leave college, and was now penniless and in love. He writes in riotous spirits to a younger brother immediately after this disaster, and continued to scribble verses, of which he had already a countless stock on hand. His Pantisocratic dream had no sooner faded away, than his brain was filled with other visions, equally baseless, of fortune and fame to be achieved by his poetry. Successive disappointments in this respect did not cause him to abandon hope; repeated calls upon his charity, when he was really too poor to support himself, did not weary his benevolence. One of his earliest successful publications was an edition of Chattertons works, undertaken solely for the benefit of the poets surviving sister. The following are extracts from letters written when his circumstances were more prosperous, though the years income was still depend- ent upon the years exertions, and was barely sufficient for his wants. Do you remember that twenty years ago a letter, directed for me at your house, was carried to a paper-hanger of my name in Bedford Street, and the man found me out, and put his card into my hand? Upon the strength of this acquaintance, I have now a letter from this poor namesake, soliciting charity, and describ- ing himself and his family as in the very depths of human misery. This is not the only proof I have had of a strange opinion that I am overflowing with riches. Poor wretched man, 1851.] The Life of Sout hey. 7 what can I do for him! However, I do not like to shut my ears and my heart to a tale of this kind. Send him, I pray you, a two-pound note in my name, to No. 10 Hercules Buildings, Lambeth; your servant had better take it, for fear he should have been sent to the work-house before this time. When I come to town, I will seek about if any thing can be done for him. p. 347. I must trespass on you further, and request that you will seal up ten pounds, and leave it with Rickman, directed for Charles Lamb, Esq., from 1k. S. It is for poor John Morgan, whom you may remember some twenty years ago. This poor fellow, whom I knew at school, and whose mother has sometimes asked me to her table when I should otherwise have gone with- out a dinner, was left with a fair fortune, from 10,000 to 15,000, and without any vice or extravagance of his own he has lost the whole of it. A stroke of the palsy has utterly disa- bled him from doing any thing to maintain himself; his wife, a good-natured, kind-hearted woman, whom I knexv in her bloom, beauty, and prosperity, has accepted a situation as mistress of a charity-school, with a miserable salary of 40 a year, and this is all they have. In this pitiable case, Lamb and I have promised him ten pounds a year each as long as he lives. I have got five pounds a year for him from an excellent fellow, whom you do not know, and who chooses on this occasion to be called A. B., and I have written to his Bristol friends, who are able to do more for him than we are, and on whom he has stronger personal claims, so that I hope we shall secure him the decencies of life. You will understand that this is an explanation to you, not an application. In a case of this kind, contributions become a mat- ter of feeling and duty among those who know the party, but strangers are not to be looked to. p. 318. Perhaps from the very fact that Southey found so few to love in his early home, his affections entwined themselves more readily about those with whom he was afterwards thrown in contact. I have a trick, he writes, of think- ing too well of those I love i better than they generally deserve, and better than my cold and containing manners ever let them know. The foibles of a friend always endear him, if they have co~dxisted with my knowledge of him. Two of his schoolfellows, Mr. Bedford and Mr. Wynn, were his active friends through life; and though they met but sel- dom after they left school, they continued for forty years a frequent interchange of letters written with the frank affec 8 The Life of Southey. [July, tionateness and playfulness of boys who had recently quitted a common home. To the latter of them Southey was in- debted for an annual allowance of 160 up to the time when the grant of a modest pension from the crown, made in consideration of the literary fame he had already acWeved, enabled him to do without this friendly aid. The net pro- ceeds of the pension were about equal to the annuity that he surrendered; and this small sum, together with the Laureate- ship, to which he succeeded in 1813, and which produced less than a hundred pounds a year, was all that he received, in addition to the fruits of his literary labor, till near the close of his life. Then, indeed, when the hand and the brain gave sad proof that they had long been overworked, the government added enough to his pension to free the evening of his days from pecuniary anxieties. Ever mindful of the prospective, as well as the immediate, wants of others, he had long devoted nearly half of his fixed income to the annual payments for a life insurance, which gave 4,000 to his family after his death. His books, also, of which he had accumulated over 14,000, many of them being rare and chri- ous works, added probably an equal sum to this patrimony of his children. What encouragement he received in early life for adopting literary pursuits as a means of livelihood, may be seen from the following extract from a letter, written eight years after the period to which it refers. When Joan of Arc was in the press, I had as many legiti- mate causes for unhappiness as any man need haveuncertainty for the future, and immediate want, in the literal and plain mean- ing of the word. I often walked the streets at dinner-time for want of a dinner, when I had not eighteen pence for the ordi- nary, nor bread and cheese at my lodgings. But do not suppose that I thought of my dinner when I was walking my head was full of what I was composing. When I lay down at night, I was planning my poem; and when I rose up in the morning, the poem was the first thought to which I was awake. The scanty profits of that poem I was then anticipating in my lodging.house bills for tea, bread and butter, and those little & cs., which amount to a formidable sum when a man has no resources; but that poem, faulty as it is, has given me a Baxters shove into my right place in the world. p. 160. And this was the experience of a youth of twenty-one. 1851.] The Life of So ut hey. 9 Only a very hopeful temperament and an inextinguishable love of letters could have bound him to a profession thus hedged round with difficulties and hardships. lie was not compelled to select it for his mode of life. His uncle wished to educate him for the church, for which he seemed fitted by entire purity of conduct and purpose, and by what was after- wards proved to be a sincerely religious turn of mind. But his views of life as yet were too airy and fanciful to suit the sacred calling; and his doctrinal opinions, though quite unset- tled, did not conform to the standard of the English church, while he was too sincere to tamper with them in order to promote his temporal interests. Even as late as 1812, he says in a letter, it would be impossible for me to subscribe to the Church Articles; upon the mysterious points I rather withhold assent than refuse it, not presuming to define in my own imperfect conceptions what has been left indefinite. The law, also, was open to him as a profession, and his uncle urged him to pursue it after he had rejected divinity. Affec- tion for this excellent relative induced him to comply far enough to keep two or three terms at one of the inns of court. But he could not bend his nature to what was origin- ally distasteful to him. He could read law, hut could not remember or digest it; so he threw Coke and Blackstone aside, and went to live in a cottage, where he could write epics by the ton, dream of literary fame, and support himself by drudging for Reviews and the newspapers. He was horn with the cacoethes scribendi; and a years residence in Por- tugal, whither his uncle invited him in the hope that a change of climate might stay the disease, only proved that it was ingrained in the constitution. No man ever labored more diligently in his calling, for the forty-five years during which he devoted to it his strength, and found in it his happiness. A list of his publications gives the titles of about ninety arti- cles, most of them long and elaborate, contributed to the Quarterly, and more than half as many published in the An- nual and the Foreign Quarterly Reviews. Then comes the catalogue of forty-five distinct publications of his own, (three of theni posthumous,) filling over one hundred volumes. For thirteen of these works, however, he performed only editorial labor. All may be arranged under the several heads of poetry, history, biography, travels, essays on the politics The Life of So Ut hey. [July, of the country, and miscellanies. Perhaps a third of the whole number were labors of love; the rest was task work. If these had all been works of the imagination, whether poems or prose fictions, so that they could have been pre- pared with little reference to hooks, their amount would not have furnished so much cause for wonder. An ordinary life- time, during which but a small portion of every day is devoted to the desk with unvarying assiduity, suffices for the creation of many volumes. Scotts poems and novels are cases in point; they were mostly written before breakfast, or in odd hours during the day, so that the members of his own house- hold seldom had cause to believe that he was givin~ much time to the pen. But many of Southeys publications were works of learning, that required extensive and careful research. They did not lead him over classical ground; he was not a scholar, in the technical English meaning of that word. He could not even be called a hard student of any one subject. But he was a devourer of books, especially of old and curious ones, whence he could glean fragments of obscure history and general illustrations of literature. He spent a larger portion of his meagre income than he could reasonably afford in pur- chasing them; his other wants were stinted to obtain money for this darling purpose; and he watched with all the glee of a schoolboy in mischief the process of unpacking a large case of these newly acquired treasures as soon as they reached his home. You would rejoice with me were you now at Keswick, at the tidings that a box of books is safely harbored in the Mersey, so that for the next fortnight I shall be more interested in the news of Fletcher * than of Bonaparte. It contains some duplicates of the lost cargo; among them, the collection of the oldest Spanish poems, in which is a metrical romance upon the Cid. I shall sometimes want you for a Gothic etymology. Talk of the happiness of getting a great prize in the lottery! What is that to the opening a box of books! The joy upon lifting up the cover must be something like what we shall feel when Peter the Porter opens the door up stairs, and says, Please to walk in, sir. That I shall never be paid for my labor according to the current value of time and labor, is tolerably certain; but if any one should offer me 10,000 to forego that labor, I should bid him The name of a Ke~wick carrier. 1851] The Life of Sout hey. 11 and his money go to the devil, for twice the sum could not pur- chase me half the enjoyment. It will be a great delight to me in the next world to sake a fly and visit these old worthies, who are my only society here, and to tell them what excellent com- pany I found them here at the lakes of Cumberland two centuries after they had been dead and turned to dust. In plain truth, I exist more among the dead than the living, and think more about them, and, perhaps, feel more about them. p. 176. The following is his own humorous account of his inability to resist temptation of this sort, as it was shown during a visit to Scotland shortly after the birth of his daughter Edith. Having had neither new coat nor hat since the Edithling was born, you may suppose I was in want of both; so at Edin- burgh I was to rig myself, and, moreover, lay in new boots and pantaloons. Howbeit, on considering the really respectable appearance which my old ones made for a traveller, and consider- ing, moreover, that as learning was better than house or land, it certainly must be much better than fine clothes, I laid out all my money in books, and came home to wear out my old wardrobe in the winter. My library has had many additions since you left me, and many gentlemen in parchment remain with anonymous backs till you come and bedeck them. pp. 196, 197. His books were not purchased as mere curiosities, or to be stored away with a dim belief that they might at some future time come into use. With every volume on the shelves of his great library, which occupied the sides of nearly every room in his house, he was familiar; and most of them he had directly laid under contribution, in one way or another, for the furtherance of his literary projects. He was a very rapid reader, and enjoyed in great perfection that faculty of which most persons who have lived much among books have some share, the power of skimming a volume with great quick- ness, and alighting as it were by instinct upon every passage in it which is interesting or suited, to the purpose in hand. His acquisition of languages was not remarkable. He had a critical knowledge of Spanish and Portuguese, acquired by residence in the countries where they were spoken, and by long study of the literature of the peninsula. Latin and the other modern languages of Latin origin he read with facility; but he had only a smattering of the German and the Anglo Saxon. The wide range of allusion and quotation in many of his works, especially in The Doctor, large portions of which 12 The L?fe of So ut hey. [July, are a farrago of citations, has excited much wonder, but is explained, or rendered less marvellous, by the account here given of his habits of study. He always xead with a purpose of storing up for immediate or future possible use whatever seemed noteworthy or curious in the volume. The passages which he considered fit for preservation were noted by a pencil mark in the margin, and subsequently copied out by members of his family, and arranged by a convenient system of classification. A tenacious memory also served him as a clew through the labyrinth of materials thus accumulated. Thus, on whatever subject he began to write, he had great stores of illustrative matter at hand. The whole process, when thus largely carried out, savors too strongly of the book- makers art, and seems hardly becoming to the true scholar. He was partly driven to it by the necessity which always binds the man who writes for his bread; but his natural taste for discursive reading and for preserving the curiosities of literature prevented the employment from seeming burden- some to him. Of course, great economy and a systematic application of time were needed for the execution of literary projects so numerous and extensive. Most persons condemned to such a course of life would soon lose whatever native strength and elasticity of mind they might originally have possessed, and would become, even in their own eyes, mere literary drudges. But Southeys buoyancy of spirits and richness of fancy guarded him against this evil. To use an expressive phrase, he put so much heart into his work that it never became wearisome. He needed no other relaxation than a change of the subject of employment, with which he was always sup- plied. The whole day that was not given to visitors was divided among his various tasks, just enough being reserved for exercise and sleep to keep the bodily frame in a healthy condition. Here is a picture of the ordinary routine of a days labor. A more thoroughly domestic man, or one more simple in his mode of living, it would be difficult to picture; and the habits into which he settled himself about this time continued through life, unbroken regularity and unwearied industry being their chief characteristics. Habitually an early riser, he never encroached upon the hours of the night; and finding his highest pleasure and 1851.] The Life of So ut key. 13 his recreation in the very pursuits necessary for earning his daily bread, he was, probably, more continually employed than any other writer of his generation. My actions, he writes about this time to a friend, are as regular as those of St. Dunstans quarter- boys. Three pages of history after breakfast, (equivalent to five in small quarto printing;) then to transcribe and copy for the press, or to make my selections and biographies, or what else suits my humor, till dinner-time; from dinner to tea I read, write letters, see the newspaper, and very often indulge in a siesta for sleep agrees with me, and I have a good, substantial theory to prove that it must; for as a man who walks much requires to sit down and rest himself, so does the brain, if it be the part most worked, require its repose. Well, after tea I go to poetry, and correct, and re-write, and copy till I am tired, and then turn to any thing else till supper; and this is my life which, if it be not a very merry one, is yet as happy as heart could wish. At least, I should think so if I had not once been happier; and I do think so, except when that recollection comes upon me. And then, when I cease to be cheerful, it is only to become contem- plative to feel at times a wish that I was in that state of existence which pas~es not away; and this always ends in a new impulse to proceed, that I may leave some durable monument and some efficient good behind me. p 199. The following gives some idea of the variety of occupation with which he was constantly provided. But I have not been absolutely idle, only comparatively so. I have made ready about five sheets of the Peninsular War for the press, (the main part, indeed, was transcription,) and William Nicol will have it as soon as the chapter is finished. I have written an account of Derwent Water for Westalls Views of the Lakes. I have begun the Book of the Church, written half a dialogue between myself and Sir Thomas More, composed sev- enty lines for Oliver Newman, opened a Book of Collections for the Moral and Literary History of England, and sent tp Long- man for materials for the Life of George Fox and the Origin and Progress of Quakerism, a work which will be quite as curious as the Wesley, and about half the length. Make allowances for letter writing, (which consumes far too great a portion of my time,) and for the interruptions of the season, and this account of the month will not be so bad as to subject me to any very severe censure of my stewardship. p. 390. Though Soutbeys spirits never flagged from the constant pressure of his literary avocations and the never ending de- mands upon his time and intellect, there were times when he VOL. LXXIII.NO. 15~. 2 14 The Life of So ut hey. [July, cast a saddened and anxious glance into the future for himself and his family. The following, which is taken from a letter to a friend, written in 1818, is in a far more desponding tone than was usual with him. He had prefaced it by saying, that though some persons, whose knowledge of me is scarcely skin deep, suppose I have no nerves, because I have great self-control so far as regards the surface, if it were not for great self-management, and what may be called a strict intel- lectual regimen, I should very soon be in a deplorable state of what is called nervous disease; and this would have been the case any time during the last twenty years. His intel- lectual regimen, it is true, was good; but he was less indebted to it than to the happy frame of spirits with which he was endowed by nature, for his ordinary freedom from depression and anxiety. I want now to provide against that inability which may any day or any moment overtake me. You are not mistaken in thinking that the last three years have considerably changed me; the outside remains pretty much the same, but it is far otherwise within. If hitherto the day has been sufficient for the labor, as well as the labor for the day, I now feel that it can not always, and possibly may not long be so. Were I dead, there would be a provision for my family, which, though not such as I yet hope to make it, would yet be a respectable one. But if I were unable to work, half my ways and means would instantly be cut off, and the whole of them are needed. Such thoughts did not use to visit me. My spirits retain their strength, but they have lost their buoyancy, and that forever. I should be the better for travelling, but that is not in my power. At present, the press fetters me, and if it did not, I could not afford to be spending money when I ought to be earning it. But I shall work the harder to enable me so to do. p. 370. His friends were numerous jind active; and not unfrequently he had hopes of obtaining some situation which would relieve him from all enforced exercise of the pen, and from constant dependence on the favor of the public, which, at the best, never shone warmly on his labors. But one accident after another defeated every project of this sort. There was an intrinsic difficulty in finding a post which would answer his wants, and not conflict with his long established tastes and habits. He was chivalrously independent in his feelings and opinions; he would not purchase immunity from care by the 1851.] The Life of Sout hey. 15 smallest sacrifice of his intellectuhi or moral integrity. Mere dignity of office he did not prize; he would have been as con- tent as his friend Wordsworth was, to owe his livelihood for many years to so petty an office as that of Commissioner or Distrihutor of Stamps. But while thus employed, had he received such an intimation from head-quarters, as Wordsworth did, requiring him to employ persons to purchase soda pow- ders when sold without a stamp, and then lay an informa- tion against the vendors, he would instantly have resigned his office in disgust. The author of the Excursion probably evaded the difficulty by paying no heed to the order. It seems, wrote Southey, as if they were resolved so to reduce the emolument in the public services, and connect such services with them, that no one with the habits and feel- ings of a gentleman shall enter or continue in office. It was not easy to find employment in governments salaried corps for one thus nice in feeling and peculiar in his tastes. Early in life, when his fortunes were at the lowest ebh, he was appointed private secretary to an Irish Chancellor of the Exchequer, an office of little or no labor, which gave him 300 a year, and opened a fair prospect of something better. But he resigned it in less than a twelvemonth, either because he scrupled to receive pay without work, or because the Chancellor, thinking his secretary had nothing else to do, asked him to become tutor to his children. Subsequently, be had a hope of being appointed steward to the Derwent- water estates, which belonged to Greenwich Hospital, an office more than twice as lucrative as the one just mentioned; but after spending some time and effort in solicitation, he ascertained that the duties of the office were of a practical nature, which would task the powers and absorb most of the time of one educated to business; and he immediately with- drew his pretensions. When Fox came into power for the last time, he expressed a willingness to provide for him. There were two things in Portugal, wrote Southey, which I could hold, the consulship, or the secretaryship of lega- tion. The former was twice given away; but that, Fox said, was too good a thing for me; the latter he promised if an opportunity occurred of promoting Lord Strangford, and that never took place. Lastly, the poet hoped to be appointed Royal Historiographer for England, an office then held by 16 The Life of So ut hey. [July, poor old Dutens, with a salary of 400 a year; and there was something like an engagement by the ministry that he should have it on the decease of the present incumbent. Dutens died, and the title was given in hot haste to J. S. Clarke, librarian to the Prince Regent, and author, we b~lieve, of a ponderous Life of Nelson, which will be read when Southeys is forgotten, but not before. The fates seem to have decreed that the author of Thalaba should not become a placeman. To prevent misapprehension, it should be stated, that these applications for office, if such they may be called, were scattered over a long period of years, and that most of them were rather made by Southeys friends than by Southey himself. Foremost among these generous sympathizers with his position and his claims was Walter Scott, who never wasted an opportunity for an act of kindness to a literary brother, and to whom Southey was finally indebted for the Laureateship. Since Queen Annes time, when literary taste and patronage were fashionable at court, the English government ha& turned a very deaf ear to the claims of literature and science for encouragement from the state. Yet the examples of France and some of the powers of Germany, often wisely liberal in this respect, have not been wholly lost upon a few British statesmen. Fox, Canning, and Brougham more frequently lacked opportunity than willingness to throw a few crumbs from the official table to the poorer members of a profession to which they were themselves indebted for a portion of their honors. But the aristocratic structure of English society and politics gives a vast preponderance to the claims of family or hereditary privilege; while the personal tastes of the last half a dozen sovereigns who have occupied the British throne have not fostered the aristocracy of intellect with even a hope of royal favor. Projects havebeen started which indicate a consciousness that this state of things is not honorable to the English nation ; but as they have mostly come from the par- ties who were to be benefited by them, or from those who were suspected of wishin0 to enhance their, political honors by their literary pretensions, they have all resulted in failure. There is a curious correspondence in this work between Broughain and Southey, when the former was Lord Chancel- lor, and wished to indicate, even if he did not really feel, a 1851.] Tue Life of Sout hey. 17 disposition to patronize literary merit. He showed frankness, if not magnanimity, in asking Southeys advice upon the subject, as they had long held opposite views in politics, and neither had spared the other when occasion served. The time when this correspondence took place was not a favorable one for smoothing over old political dissensions; for the Reform Bill was in agitation, and even the throne tottered while that storm blew. Southey either felt more strongly than his lordship, or was not so able to disguise his feelings; for he answered Broughams very civil letter more gruffly than he was wont to write to any one. He tells him plainly, that the adminis- tration to which he belonged have raised the devil who is now raging through the land, and it is their business to lay him if they can. He added, what was probably true, that the government could not have leisure then to attend to such a project; for the time seems not far distant when the cares of war and expenditure will come upon it once more with their all engrossing importance.~~ But when better times shall arrive, (whoever may live to see them,) it will be worthy the consideration of any government whether the institution of an Academy, with salaries for its mem- bers (in the nature of literary or lay benefices) might not be the means of retaining in its interests, as connected with their own, a certain number of influential men of. letters, who should hold those benefices, and a much greater number of aspirants who would look to them in their turn. A yearly grant of 10,000 would endow ten such appointments of 500 each for the elder class, and twenty-five of 200 each for younger men; these lat- ter eligible of course, and preferably, but not necessarily, to be elected to the higher benefices as those fell vacant, and as they should have approved themselves. p. 498. He states briefly and strongly his reason for believing that letters would gain by more avowed and active encouragement from the state. There are literary works of national importance which can only be performed by co6perative labor, and will never be under- taken by that spirit of trade which at present preponderates in literature. The formation of an English Etymological Diction- ary is one of those works; others might be mentioned; and in this way, literature might gain much by receiving national encour- agement; but government would gain a great deal more by be- stowing it. Revolutionary governments understand this; I should 2* 18 The Life of So ut hey. [July, be glad if I could believe that our legitimate one would learn it before it is too late. I am addressing one who is a statesman as well as a man of letters, and who is well aware that the time is come in which governments can no more stand without pens to support them than without bayonets. They must soon know, if they do not already know it, that the volunteers as well as the mercenaries of both professions, who are not already enlisted in this service, will enlist themselves against it; and I am afraid they have a better hold on the soldier than upon the penman, because the former has, in the spirit of his profession and in the sense of military honor, something which not unfrequently sup- plies the want of any higher principle, and I know not that any substitute is to be found among the gentlemen of the press. But neediness, my lord, makes men dangerous members of society, quite as often as affluence makes them worthless ones. I am of opinion that many persons who become bad subjects because they are necessitous, because the world is not their friend, nor the worlds law, might be kept virtuous (or, at least, withheld from mischief) by being made happy, by early encour- agement, by holding out to them a reasonable hope of obtaining in good time, an honorable station and a competent income, as the reward of literary pursuits, when followed with ability and dili- gence, and recommended by good conduct. p. 498. The Whig Lord Chancellor, who had written most of the virulent political articles in the Edinburgh Review, probably did not think that this was encouragement enough for him to persevere in the design; as we hear of no attempt to carry it into execution. There are two beautiful letters from Sir Robert Peel to Southey, written during the short period of the formers con- trol of the government in 1835, and when the latter was beginning to sink under the effects of literary toil too intense and long continued, while the future, as his family was imperfectly provided for, seemed darkening before him. In the first, Sir Robert offers him a baronetcy, as a public tribute of honor due to a name the most eminent in literature, and which has claims to respect and honor which literature alone can never confer. In the second, marked private, antici- pating that the baronetcy would be declined, as it was, on the ground of a want of pecuniary means to sustain the dignity of advanced rank, the writer asks, Will you tell me, without reserve, whether the possession of power puts within my reach the means of doing any thing which can be service- 1851.] The Life of Soutliey. 19 able or acceptable to you, and whether you will allow me to find some compensation for the many heavy sacrifices which office imposes upon me in the opportunity of marking my gratitude as a public man for the eminent services you have rendered, not only to literature, but to the higher interests of virtue and religion? Nothing could be more kindly or delicately offered. Southey gave in answer a frank and exact statement of his circumstances, and on the ground only of a failure of his health, and recent severe affliction in his family, (his wife had become insane,) from which causes he could no longer feel sure of his own power to continue his literary exertions, he asked for a moderate increase of his pension. The request was granted as soon as made; and the poet was thus enabled to look forward with fortitude to the sad calam- ity which soon befell him, the lapse of his overtasked faculties into imbecility. In one of his letters, Southey alludes with some humor to the general misconception as to the extent of his means and influence, so that his patronage was sought as something which would insure a young authors fortune in the world. Because he had obtained high literary reputation, while he was intimate with many persons of rank and fame, and held political opinions which, in the main, were those of the govern- ment, and which he often strenuously defended with the pen and with an air of authority, it was almost universally taken for granted that his fortune and influence were commensurate with his claims. With a knowledge of the mere external circumstances of his position, no one would have supposed that he was still a needy dependent on the booksellers and popular favor. The benevolence of his character favored the mistake. He had befriended Chatterton s sister, Henry Kirke White, Herbert Knowles, Jones the footman poet, and many others, as warmly and efficiently as if his rank and wealth amply seconded his desire to do good. The world did not know that he really needed the aid which was so frequently asked of him, and the applications for which became at last so numerous and pressing, that, in a half humorous peroration to his account of John Jones and other uneducated poets, he was obliged to declare his inability to entertain any more of them. He was, perhaps, too ready a patron of unfledged and 20 The Life of So ut hey. [July, needy authors; the native kindliness of his heart overruled the critical severity of his judgment. Yet he could give judicious and restraining advice when the hopes of youthful or untried mediocrity were too far excited. He would draw a dark picture of the results of literary perseverance, and still proffer his guiding hand, and perhaps more substantial aid, if the applicant could not he thus taught prudence. Once he received as a hequest the literary papers of a suicide, who had destroyed himself under the misery occasioned by unbe- lief in religion, thou0h the insane desire for posthumous noto- riety had led him to take steps for securing the publication of his remains under the editorial care of a renowned poet. Before the fatal act, he had written anonymous letters to Southey, in which his awful purpose was darkly intimated, and had received from him earnest religious advice, expressed in the most judicious and eloquent terms. Another of these anonymous applications came from a lady, in whose letter was something which moved Southeys kind heart even to painful emotion, and he answered her with much feeling. We have room only for a portion of his beautiful reply. You tell me that the whole of your happiness is dependent upon literary pursuits and recreations. It is well that you have these resources; but, were we near each other, and were I to like you half as well upon a nearer acquaintance as it appears to me at this distance that I should do, I think that, when I had won your confidence, I should venture to tell you that something bet. ter than literature is necessar~ for happiness. To confess the truth, one of the causes which have prevented me from writing to you earlier has been the wish and half inten- tion of touching upon this theme, checked by that sort of hesita. tion which sometimes (and that too often) prevents us from doing what we ought for fear of singularity. That you are a woman of talents I know; and I think you would not have given me the preference over more fashionable poets, if there had not been something in the general character of my writings which ac- corded with your feelings, and which you did not find in theirs. But you have lived in high life; you move in circles of gayety and fashion; and though y~u sympathize with me when I express myself in verse, it is more than probable that the direct mention of religion may startle you, as something unwarranted as well as unexpected. I am no Methodist, no sectarian, no bigot, no formalist. My natural spirits are buoyant beyond those of any person, man, 1851.] The Life of So ut hey. 21 woman, or child, whom I ever saw or heard of. They have had enough to try them and to sink them, and it is by religion alone that I shall be enabled to pass the remainder of my days in cheerfulness and in hope. Without hope there can be no happi- ness, and without religion, no hope but such as deceives us. Your heart seems to want an object, and this would satisfy it; and if it has been wounded, this, and this only, is the cure. Are you displeased with this freedom? Or do you receive it as a proof that I am disposed to become something more than a mere literary acquaintance, and that you have made me feel an interest concerning you which an ordinary person could not have excited? p. 374. In no respect has Southey been so much misjudged, or so hardly dealt by, as in relation to his political opinions, and the change which took place in them just after he had arrived at manhood. He has been held up to odium as a renegade and a bigot, an opponent of all social and political reforms, a harsh and bitter Tory in all his views of church and state. If it be not so much the opinions which a man holds, as the manner in which he holds them, which entitles him to praise or censure, this representation is certainly the opposite of the truth~ Persons may differ in their views of the soundness of his judgment, and the largeness of his information. But no man surpassed him in independence of opinion and benevo- lence of motive; no one avowed his political and religious creed with greater frankness or more fulness of belief. True, he felt deeply, and expressed. himself warmly, on such topics; for he had the welfare of his countrymen and the higher interests of ~pciety much at heart. He was dogmatic also, as every earnest and frank person needs must be, if he do not keep perpetual watch over his tongue and his pen. He resembled Dr. Arnold in the keenness of his reprehension of what seemed to him heterodox or mischievous in the opi- nions or conduct of other men. This trait, as he explained it to a friend who had complained of its appearance in some of his compositions, proceeded from that confidence which a man feels whose opinions are established upon his religious belief, and who looks to the moral consequences in every thing, and will no more admit of any measures which oppose that belief, or lead to consequences injurious to it, than a mathematician will listen to any thing that contradicts an axiom, or a logician to a train of reasoning which starts from 22 The Life of So Ut hey. [July, a false postulate. Thus, when Lord Byron had begun to publish his Don Juan, and was coiiperating with Leigh Hunt and Shelley in the publication of The Liberal, which openly assailed the government and religion of England, Southey went out of his way to attack him with a vehemence of phrase which savored of ferocity, and affixed to him and his compeers the designation, which they have not yet lost, of the Satanic school. Byron replied with quite as much bitterness and more wit; and when Southey rejoined, in a letter to the Morning Courier, with more keenness than ever, Byron sent him a challenge, which his friend, Douglas Kin- naird, however, was prudent enough to keep in his pocket. If Southeys warmth was sometimes betrayed on a less fitting occasion than this, it was the fault of his temperament. With him, emotion often forestalled judgmeijt. If this fervor had appeared only on occasions of personal irritation, or had ever shown itself in personal intercourse, as it did in his writings, he might have been called an ill-tempered man. But it all evaporated on paper; and it was even more appa- rent when his benevolence or his sympathies were appealed to, than when he conceived his own rights to be invaded. Still, his judgment was defective, for though he saw clearly what came within the range of his vision, he did not look far enough. His friend, Henry Taylor, told him frankly, that he was too apt to state a strong reason as a conclusive one that he did not weigh objections that he was not inquisitive as to the defects of what, on the whole, he saw cause to approve that he was very far.from what is called, in official phrase, a safe man. Taylor was right; Southey was not a safe man, and we like him the better for it. He often jumped before he had calculated the breadth of the ditch. It was not wonderful, then, that while he always had the same ends in view, while he was constantly looking to the improvement of society, to its social, moral, and religious advancement, he should adopt at different times different plans for accomplishing these ends. He was not consistent as a politician, but he was consistent as a philanthropist. His opinions on practical subjects were often unsound, be- cause he was a recluse man of letters, of an imaginative and enthusiastic temperament, prone to form abstract conclusions with an insufficient basis of facts. He began his career of an- 1851.1 The Life of Sout hey. 23 thorship when he was a mere boy, and was thus led to publish some of the immature fancies which many entertain in their early years, but which they subsequently correct by the light of experience; and as these have not been put on record, they are soon forgotten. A change came over his mind, and he was held answerable for it as for a vacillation of purpose, when not his purpose, but his selection of means, had been altered, and when many others were in the same category with himself, though they escaped censure because the seve- ral stages of their mental growth had not been chronicled. Before he attained his majority, he was a republican and a Pantisocratist, eager to establish a new society on some impracticable plan in the wilds of America, which should be free from poverty, oppression, inequality, and the many other evils with which men were afflicted in the Old World. It was no discredit to the mere boy to entertain such views; it was no discredit to the man that he soon abandoned them, and sought to remedy social and political evils by other means. He became a student, a man of wide and multifari- ous learning, and thus naturally fell in love with the storied and venerable Past, rich with the wisdom of centuries. Institutions gray with years became hallowed in his eyes, and he looked forward with a shudder to any convulsion which might destroy, though he eagerly adopted any project intended to amend, them. His biographer sums up the vari- ous schemes of social improvement that he proposed and defended, and they are surely numerous enough to vindicate him from the charge of a blind conservatism. Among the various measures and changes he advocated may be named the following, many of which were topics he handled at greater or less length in the Quarterly Review, while his opinions upon the others may be found scattered throughout his letters: National education to be assisted by government grants. The diffusion of cheap literature of a wholesome and harmless kind. The necessity of an extensive and well.organized system of colonization, and especially of encouraging female emigration. The importance of a wholesome training for the immense num. ber of children in London and other large towns, who, without it, are abandoned to vice and misery. The establishment of Protestant sisters of charity, and of a better order of hospital nurses. The establishment of savings banks in all the small towns throughout the country. The abolishment of flogging in 24 The Life of iSout hey. [July, the army and navy, except in cases flagrantly atrocious. Altera- tions in the poor laws. Alterations in the game laws * Altera- tions in the criminal laws, as inflicting the punishment of death in far too many cases. Alterations in the factory system, for the benefit of the operative, and especially as related to the employ- rnent of children. The desirableness of undertaking national works, reproductive ones if possible, in times of peculiar dis- tress.t The necessity of doing away with interments in crowded cities. The system of giving allotments of ground to laborers; the employment of paupers in cultivating waste lands. The commutation of tithes; and, lastly, the necessity for more clergy- men, more colleges, more courts of law. p. 380. We copy also from one of his letters a brief indication of his views respecting what may justly be termed the great plague-spot in the social condition of England. The evil which I wish to see remedied is the aggregation of landed property, which gives to such a man as the com- mand of whole counties, and enables such men as to sing we are seven, like Wordsworths little girl, into the ear of a minister, and demand for himself situations which he is unfit for. This is a worse evil than that which our mortmain statutes were enacted to remedy, for it is gradually rooting out the yeomanry of the country, and dwindling the gentry into complete political insignificance. It is not parliamentary reform which can touch this evil; some further limitation of entail, or a proper scheme of income taxation, mtght. p. 273. His own view of the alteration in his opinions is a fair and reasonable one. Writing in 1814, he says, I was a repub- lican, and I should be so still, if I thought we were advanced enough in civilization for such a form of society. He was a radical at a time when those who were deemed republi- cans were exposed to personal danger from the populace; and when a spirit of anti-Jacobinism prevailed which I can- not characterize better than by saying that it was as blind and as intolerant as the Jacobinism of the present day. He was a Jacobin when the bright promise of the opening scenes of the first French Revolution had filled the minds of all impulsive and enthusiastic persons with glowing visions of a * The changes he advocated in the game taws have tong since taken place, but, alas! without the good effects anticipated from them. ~ Such as of later years has occurred in Ireland and Scotland. 1851.] The Life of So ut hey. 25 new era, another reign of Saturn, in the history of mankind; and he became a Conservative, even a violent Tory, when the Saturnalia of Jacobinism that ensued were sternly re- pressed by the iron despotism of Napoleon. Time, you say, moderates opinions as it mellows wine. My views and hopes are certainly altered, though the heart and soul of my wishes continue the same. It is the world that has changed, not I. I took the same way in the afternoon that I did in the morning, but sunset and sunrise make a different scene. If I regret any thing in my own life, it is that I could not take orders, for of all ways of life that would have best accorded with my nature; but I could not get in at the door. p. 204. Southey was known as a frequent contributor to the Quar- terly Review, and was therefore generally held responsible for the bitterness, injustice, and bigotry with which that noted periodical, while it was under Giffords management, was justly charged. The accusation was baseless. He had no voice in the management of the Review, he complained bit- terly of the editorial liberties that were taken with his own articles, and he disapproved many things in the literary and political characte~r of the work. The tone which Gifford adopted, or allowed his other contributors to adopt, towards America, was peculiarly offensive to him. The character of our first President inspired him with reverence; and he thought to pay a high compliment to the memory of the English Hampden, in one of his articles, by saying that he might have left behind him a name scarcely inferior to Washingtons; to his great disgust, old Gifford struck out this phrase, and substituted for it a memorable name. When the infamous review of Inchiquins Letters appeared in the Quarterly, the authorship of it was generally attributed to Southey; and a pamphlet in reply to the article was written under this supposition in New York, and a copy of it for- warded to him, in order that he might see himself roundly abused. He only laughed at the blunder, and filed the pamphlet away among his curiosities of literature. Still, the power of his pen in teaching conservative princi- ples was generally acknowledged, and the most tempting offer in a pecuniary point of view that was ever made to him was when Mr. Walter, the proprietor of the Times newspaper, asked him to remove to London for the purpose of writing vOL. LXXI1I.NO. lt~2. 3 26 The Life of Sout hey. [July, the leading articles in that journal, with a salary of 2,000 a year and a share in the profits. Had he- accepted it, he might have realized an independence in a few years. But he declined the offer without a moments hesitation, on the ground that no emolument would tempt him to give up a country life and the literary pursuits to which he had been so long addicted. Indeed, I should consider that portion of my time which is given up to temporary politics as grievously misspent, if the interests at stake were less important. The same feelings caused him to decline a more honorable though probably less lucrative, situation that was tendered to him by the government; they wished him to come up to London for the purpose of conducting a new periodical, which was to be an organ of the views of the administration. Nothing could induce him to leave his beloved Keswick, or to abandon altogether the hopes he had so long cherished, of leaving permanent works behind him which should carry down his name and fame to future generations. In both these cases, also, his jealous independence of character took the alarm, lest he should be betrayed into a situation where he might be considered bound to advocate opinions and measures which he did not heartily approve. No man of letters ever had a greater horror of selling his pen for pecuniary gain. It has been intimated that we think less highly of Southey as an author than as a man. Yet his narrative poems will long hold their place in English literature, though they will be seldom read; and the merits of his prose style will carry down a portion of his works, as family classics, to a much later period. It would be interesting to get at the secret, if we could, of that inimitable prose, in which the thought or image appears as the landscape does in a perfectly pure and bright atmosphere, with every outline sharply drawn, and without one hue or stain but that which belongs to it by nature. In reading other authors, we seem to look out through wavy and blurred glass, sometimes thickly crusted with dirt, or stained with gaudy hues that cast a false splendor over the scene. Southeys account of the formation of his style agrees entirely with this estimate of its merits. Better advice than this cannot be given to young writers. The rules for composition appear to me very simple; inas- much as any style is peculiar, the peculiarity is a fault, and the 1851.] The Life of So ut key. 27 proof of this is the easiness with which it is imitated, or, in other words, caught. You forgive it in the original for its originality, and because originality is usually connected with power. Sallust and Tacitus are examples among the Latins, Sir T. Brown, Gib- bon, and Johnson among our own authors; but look at the imita- tions of Gibbon and Johnson! My advice to a young writer is, that he should weigh well what he says, and not be anxious con- cerning how he says it; that his first object should he to express his meaning as perspicuously, his second as briefly as he can, and in this every thing is included. p. 439, 440. As for composition, it has no difficulties for one who will read, learn, mark, and inwardly digest the materials upon which he is to work. I do not mean to say that it is easy to write well; hut of this I am sure, that most men would write much better if they did not take half the pains they do. For my- self, I consider it no compliment when any one praises the simpli- city of my prose writings; they are written, indeed, without any other immediate object than that of expressing what is to be said in the readiest and most perspicuous manner. But in the trans- script, (if I make one,) and always in the proof-sheet, every sen- tence is then weighed upon the ear, euphony becomes a second object, and ambiguities are removed. But of what is called style, not a thought enters my head at any time. Look to the matter, and the manner takes care of itself. p. 490. Southey applied the same precepts to the formation of style in poetry; in this, we think, he was mistaken, and the mistake was the cause of the chief faults in his own poems, which are flatness and insipidity. In prose, if we may use technical terms, as the object is truth, the thought or subject is to be viewed objectively, or as it actually is, without any quality imparted to it from the mind of the spectator. But in poetry, pleasure is the chief end, and the matter is to be looked at subjectively, or as shaped and tinted by those emo- tions which the poet wishes to excite ; otherwise, rhyme and metre would be mere impertinenqes. The Lake Poets, as they were invidiously termed, when they aimed most at sim- plicity, produced only baby-talk. Both Southey and Words- worth were wrong in theory, and right only by accident, or when most inconsistent with themselves. The former was a great master of rotund and majestic verse, when he chose to exert his powers. Take the following, for instance, which is from one of his earliest poems, and which he himself adduces as an example of fulness of phrase required by the subject. 28 The Life of Soutitey. [July, It was a goodly sight To see the embattled pomp, as with the step Of stateliness the barbed steeds came on; To see the pennons rolling their long waves Before the gale; and banners broad and bright Tossing their blazonry; and high-plumed chiefs, Vidames, and seneschals, and castellans, Gay with their bucklers gorgeous heraldry, And silken surcoats on the buoyant wind Billowing. p. 101. There are not many sketches, in these letters, of Southeys contemporaries, though we believe, from various indications, that he was very frank in stating his opinions about his inti- mate friends and public characters generally, that he was a shrewd judge of men, and very happy in his portraitiires of them. From the many omissions that are indicated, we sus- pect that the editor has used superfluous care in striking out what might have been the most interesting portions of the book. The following, which is taken from a letter written in 1804, shows that Southey understood Coleridge perfectly at a very early period. You are in a great measure right about Coleridge; he is worse in body than you seem to believe; but the main cause lies in his own management of himself, or, rather, want of management. His mind is in a perfect St. Vituss dance eternal activity with. out action. At times he feels mortified that he should have done so little; but this feeling never produces any exertion. I will begin to-morrow, he says, and thus he has been all his life-long letting to-day slip. He has had no heavy calamities in life, and so contrives to be miserable about trifles. Poor fellow! there is no one thing which gives me so much pain as the witnessing such a waste of unequalled power. I knew one man resembling him, save that with equal genius he was actually a vicious man. A few individuals only remember him with a sort of horror and affection, which just serves t6 make them melancholy when- ever they think of him or mention his name. This will not be the case with Coleridge ; the disjccta mend3ra will be found, if he does not die early; but having so much to do, so many errors to weed out of the world which he is capable of eradi- cating, if he does die without doing his work, it would half break my heart, for no human being has had more talents allotted. p. 177. Here, also, is an amusing sketch of Wilberforce, for the 1851.] The Life of So ut hey. 29 earnestness of whose evangelical sentiments, it should be understood, the writer had little sympathy. Wilberforce, also, has been here with all his household, and such a household ! The principle of the family seems to be that, provided the servants have faith, good works are not to be expected from them, and the utter disorder which prevails in consequence is truly farcical. The old coachman would figure upon the stage. Upon making some complaint about the horses, he told his master and mistress that, since they had been in this country, they had been so lake-and-river-and-mountain-and-valley- mad, that they had thought of nothing which they ought to think of. I have seen nothing in such pell-mell, topsy-turvy, and cha- otic confusion as Wilberforces apartments since I used to see a certain breakfast-table in Skeleton Corner.* His wife sits in the midst of it like Patience on a monument, and he frisks about as if every vein in his body were filled with quicksilver; but, withal, there is such a constant hilarity in every look and motion, such a sweetness in all his tones, such a benignity in all his thoughts, words, and actions, that all sense of his grotes9ue appearance is presently overcome, and you can feel nothing but love and admi- ration for a creature of so happy and blessed a nature. p. 367. The following is chiefly interesting as it shows how per- sonal intimacy, or even a casual acquaintance, tended to soften the severe judgments which Southey was wont to pass on any delinquency in the conduct or writings of those whom he knew at first only by report. His affections instantly clung about those with whom he was thrown in contact, if there was nothing flag~itious in their actions at the moment. If Shelley had not happened to come into his immediate neighborhood, the indignant bard of Keswick, looking only at his conduct and publications while in college, would have fitted up a niche for him in the lower regions hard by that into which he thrust the Satanic school. But this is a very good-natured account. Here is a man at Keswick, who acts upon me as my own ghost would do. He is just what I was in 1794. His name is Shelley, son to the member for Shoreham; with ~C6OOO a year entailed upon him, and as much more in his fathers power to cut off. Beginning with romances of ghosts and murder, and with poetry at Eton, he passed, at Oxford, into metaphysics; printed * A part of Christ Church, so called, where Mr. Wynns rooms were situated. 3* 30 The Lift of & ut hey. [July, half a dozen pages, which he entitled The Necessity of Atheism; sent one anonymously to Coplestone, in expectation, I suppose, of converting him; was expelled in consequence; married a girl of seventeen, after being turned out of doors by his father; and here they both are, in lodgings, living upon 200 a year, which her father allows them. He is come to the fittest physician in the world. At present he has got to the Pantheistic stage of philosophy, and, in the cours~ of a week, I expect he will be a Berkeleyan, for I have put him upon a course of Berkeley. It has surprised him a good deal to meet, for the first time in his life, with a man who perfectly understands him, and does him full justice. I tell him that all the difference between us is that he is nineteen and I am thirty-seven, and I dare say it will not be long before I shall succeed in convincing him that he may be a true philosopher, and do a great deal of good with 6000 a year, the thought of which troubles him a great deal more at present than ever the want of a sixpence (for I have known such a want) did me. . . . God help us! the world wants mend- ing, though he did not set about it exactly in the right way. p. 280. It remains only to add Son theys own picture of his family and home, as they appeared to him on his retutn from his Pilgrimage to Waterloo, whither he had been accompanied by an invalid dau~,hter. The verses have been often copied before; but we cannot withstand the temptation to insert them here, though ~vith some omissions. 0 joyful hour, when to our longing home The long-expected wheels at length draw nigh! When the first sound went forth, They come, they come! And hopes impatience quickend every eye Never had man whom heaven would heap with bliss More glad return, more happy hour than this. Aloft on yonder bench, with arms dispread, My boy stood, shouting there his fathers name, Waving his hat around his happy head; And there, a younger group, his sisters came: Smiling they stood with looks of pleased surprise, While tears of joy were seen in elder eyes. Soon all and each came crowding round to share The cordial greeting, the beloved sight; What welcomings of hand and lip were there! And when those overfiowings of delight Subsided to a sense of quiet bliss, Life bath no purer, deeper happiness. 1851.] The Life of So ut hey. 31 The young companion of our weary way Found. here the end desired of all her ills; S~e who in sickness pining many a day Hungerd and thirsted for her native hills, Forgetful now of sufferings past and pain, Rejoiced to see her own dear home again. Recoverd now, the homesick mountaineer Sat by the playmate of her infancy, The twin-like comrade renderd doubly dear For that long absence: full of life was she, With voluble discourse and eager mien Telling of all the wonders she had seen. Here silently between her parents stood My dark-eyed Bertha, timid as a dove; And gently oft from time to time she wood Pressure of hand, or word, or look of love. With impulse shy of bashful tenderness, Soliciting again the wishd caress. The younger twain in wonder lost were they, My gentle Kate and my sweet Isabel: Long of our promised corning, day by day It had been their delight to hear and tell; And now, when that long-promised hour was come, Surprise and wakening memory held them dumb. Soon they grew blithe as they were wont to be; Her old endearments each began to seek: And Isabel drew near to climb my knee, And pat with fondling hand her fathers cheek, With voice, and touch, and look reviving thus The feelings which had slept in long disuse. But there stood one whose heart could entertain And comprehend the fulness of the joy; The father, teacher, playmate, was again Come to his only and his studious boy, And he beheld again that mothers eye, Which with such ceaseless care had watchd his infancy. Bring forth the treasures now a proud display For rich as Eastern merchants we return! Behold the black Beguine, the sister gray, The friars whose heads with sober motion turn, The ark well filled with all its numerous hives, Noah, and Shem, and Ham, and Japhet, and their wives. 32 Tke Lift of ~o Ut hey. [July, Scoff ye who will! but let me, gracious Heaven, Preserve this boyish heart till lifes last day.! For so that inward light by Nature given Shall still direct, and cheer me on my way, And, brightening as the shades of life descend, Shine forth with heavenly radiance at the end. p. 323. To complete the picture, we must give also Southeys poetical account of himself, and his tastes and pursuits, though these verses, too, have been frequently in print. Never did limner present a more faithful outline. My days among the dead are past; Around mel behold, Whereer these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old: My never-failing friends are they, With whom I converse day by day. With them I take delight in weal, And seek relief in woe And while I understand and feel How much to them I owe, My cheeks have often been bedewed With tears of thoughtful gratitude. My thoughts are with the dead, with them I live in long past years; Their virtues love, their faults condemn, Partake their hopes and fears; And from their lessons seek and find Instruction with an humble mind. My hopes are with the dead! Anon My place with them will be, And I with them shall travel on Through all futurity; Yet leaving here a name I trust, That will not perish in the dust. p. 407. The view which we have thus attempted to piece together, from Southeys memoirs and correspondence, of the condition, whether in Enbiand or in this country, of a man of genius ex- clusively devoted to literary pursuits, and entirely dependent on them for a livelihood, is a sorrowful and an instructive one. It should operate as a warning to those, especially among the young, who feel the stirrings of literary ambition, and are 1851.] The L%fe of Soutkey. 33 therefore disposed to make literature their sole occupation. Be their abilities what they may, or their conduct and pur- poses as high and pure as they may, and fexv more favorable examples of either could be adduced than what we have here presented, they will be sure to rue their choice. Public taste or public gratitude affords no sure ground of dependence to him who does not write for the sole purpose of pleasing the public, of flattering its caprices, ministering to its prejudices, or amusing its indolence. He who runs counter to the opinions of the multitude, as every one who desires to improve and instruct his fellow men occasionally must do, cannot expect their approbation or sympathy, and therefore must not place himself in a situation like that of a writer for his bread, in which he must look to them alone for his support. Fit audience, though few, indeed, a man of ability and lofty aims may always hope to find; and their applause may cheer him on his way, and bind him with a more resolute purpose to his desk. But as society is now constituted, this is precisely the sort of audience which, though it may flatter his vanity, will never minister to his necessities. And from the unapproving or indignant crowd, he must look for neglect, or vehement censure and detraction. In Southeys case, indeed, the gov- ernment stepped in at the last moment to rescue his declining old age from penury, and to offer something more than the meaningless laurel for his brow; and the public voice, weary at last of persecuting him, admitted that both the honor and the assistance were deserved. But the honor was not needed, and he was too high-minded to accept it; and the assistance came too late for any other purpose than that of smoothing his way to the tomb. 34 The Anglo-Saxon Race. [July, ART. II. 1. A Grammar of the Anglo-Saxon Language. By Louis F. KLIPSTEIN. New York: G. P. Putnam. 2. Analecta Anglo-Saxonica: Selections in Prose and Verse from the Anglo-Saxon Literature; with an Intro- ductory Ethnological Essay, and Notes Critical and Explanatory. By Louis F. KLIPsTEIN. New York: G. P. Putnam. 2 vols. l2mo. THE titles of these volumes are significant signs of the times. They form an introduction to a language which, but a few years since, was as little thought of, in this country, as that of the Esquimaux; and in England, was an object of interest to none but a small hand of hardy antiquarians. Even the history of those who spoke it was, fifty years ago, known to the general reader only in faint and barren outlines. Sharon Turner, about the commencement of the present century, in his History of the Anglo-Saxons, offered to the public, for the first time, an account at once popular and minute of this remarkable people. He had the satisfaction of finding that his favorite subject needed only to be pre- sented in order to receive a cordial welcome; and he lived to see his work pass through six editions. The interest he awakened has continued steadily to increase; and now, as many persons are to be found studying the Anglo-Saxon lan- guage, as formerly possessed any familiar acquaintance with the history of those by whom it was spoken. In 1837, the publication of The Pictorial History of England contributed much towards popularizing a know- ledge of the political and social state of the people under the Anglo-Saxon dynasty; and more recently, Bohn, an enter- prising London publisher, has given to the reading world, in a cheap yet handsome form, a series of ancient English Histories and Chronicles, most of them till now to be found only in editions too rare and costly to he met with in the pri- vate libraries of any but the wealthy. These latter works, written by men who lived in or near the times of which they speak, seem to transport us to the half savage life of England as it was in those old days; and though full of superstitious tales, and often of doubtful authority in matters of fact, they

34 The Anglo-Saxon Race. [July, ART. II. 1. A Grammar of the Anglo-Saxon Language. By Louis F. KLIPSTEIN. New York: G. P. Putnam. 2. Analecta Anglo-Saxonica: Selections in Prose and Verse from the Anglo-Saxon Literature; with an Intro- ductory Ethnological Essay, and Notes Critical and Explanatory. By Louis F. KLIPsTEIN. New York: G. P. Putnam. 2 vols. l2mo. THE titles of these volumes are significant signs of the times. They form an introduction to a language which, but a few years since, was as little thought of, in this country, as that of the Esquimaux; and in England, was an object of interest to none but a small hand of hardy antiquarians. Even the history of those who spoke it was, fifty years ago, known to the general reader only in faint and barren outlines. Sharon Turner, about the commencement of the present century, in his History of the Anglo-Saxons, offered to the public, for the first time, an account at once popular and minute of this remarkable people. He had the satisfaction of finding that his favorite subject needed only to be pre- sented in order to receive a cordial welcome; and he lived to see his work pass through six editions. The interest he awakened has continued steadily to increase; and now, as many persons are to be found studying the Anglo-Saxon lan- guage, as formerly possessed any familiar acquaintance with the history of those by whom it was spoken. In 1837, the publication of The Pictorial History of England contributed much towards popularizing a know- ledge of the political and social state of the people under the Anglo-Saxon dynasty; and more recently, Bohn, an enter- prising London publisher, has given to the reading world, in a cheap yet handsome form, a series of ancient English Histories and Chronicles, most of them till now to be found only in editions too rare and costly to he met with in the pri- vate libraries of any but the wealthy. These latter works, written by men who lived in or near the times of which they speak, seem to transport us to the half savage life of England as it was in those old days; and though full of superstitious tales, and often of doubtful authority in matters of fact, they 1851.] The Anglo-Saxon Race. 35 are of great value and interest as exhibiting pictures of the mind of the age in which they wrote ; a kind of informa- tion quite as valuable as the chronicles of battles and sieges. All these, and various other kindred works, have combined to give us a tolerably familiar acquaintance with the modes of thought, the domestic and the social life, of our venerable progenitors; and even the Britons whom they conquered, and in great measure displaced, stand before us, under the shadow of their old Druidical groves, with a mien somewhat less mysterious than before. Apart from the romantic charm attached to the history of those olden times, the great cause of the interest now awak- ened in this department of history, is the surprising resem- blance found to exist between these our progenitors and our- selves. We not only know, but feel, that they were our fathers. The English Whig, as he urges on the progress of reform, and rejoices in finding that the Commons are every day becoming more and more the real head of the State, exults in the idea that the old Anglo-Saxon love of liberty and equal rights, though long bowed in subjection, is once more holding its head aloft, and taking possession of its birth- right. The American, however democratic he may be, how- ever slow to admit the claim of any thing hereditary, is yet proud to assert that he too is the free-born child of the same stock; for, a thousand years of progressive civilization, trans- portation to a new continent, revolution, change of govern- mental form, have not sufficed to change the nature of the Anglo-Saxon. When he wants that which a foreign neigh- bor possesses, he is still the same brave, hardy, determined, piratic being as when xve first hear of him in history; and when, havin~, conquered a new country, he plants himself and establishes a home, we find him possessed of a similar love of liberty protected by law, a similar respect for woman, and a similar reverence for religion, as when he dwelt a pagan in the forests of Germany, in the days of the Roman Empire; or when, a few centuries later, he had established his power over the island of the Britons, and bowed before the cross of Christ. So striking is this resemblance that, of late years, we have come to call ourselves Anglo-Saxons in common parlance, and to find an excuse for our aggressions upon our neighbors in the inherent disposition handed down 36 The Anglo-Saxon Race. [July, to us from the farthest antiquity we can penetrate, and which, by its long continued success, we venture to affirm, plainly indicates that the destiny of the Anglo-Saxons is to conquer the whole earth. Sidonius, bishop of Clermont, writing in the fifth century, exclaims: We have not a more cruel and more dangerous enemy than the Saxons. They overcome all who have the courage to oppose them. They surprise all who are so imprudent as not to be prepared for their attack. When they pursue, they infallibly overtake; and when they are pursued, their escape is certain. They despise danger; they are inured to shipwreck; they are eager to purchase booty with the peril of their lives. Tempests, which to others are dreadful, to them are subjects of joy. The storm is their pro- tection when they are pressed by the enemy, and a cover for their operations when they meditate an attack. Perhaps, if a Mexican bishop were to write a character of the descendants of these same Saxons, it might run much after the same fashion. God grant that, some centuries hence, as the philo- sophic historian ponders upon our adventures, he may be able to write of us as Montesquieu wrote of the Teutones in the last century, looking back through the light that the progress of events had cast upon their career. The great preroga- tive of Scandinavia, and what ought to recommend its inha- bitants beyond every people upon earth, is, that they afforded the great resource to the liberty of Europe, that is, to almost all the liberty that is among men. The Goth Jornandes calls the north of Europe the forge of mankind. I should rather call it, the forge of those instruments which broke the fetters manufactured in the south. It was there those valiant nations were bred, who left their native climes to destroy tyrants and slaves, and to teach men that nature having made them equal, no reason could be assigned for their becoming dependent, but their mutual happiness. Permanence of characteristics is by no means a peculiarity of the race to which we belong. The resemblance of mo- dern nations to their remote progenitors is a subject that has been investigated with much care by various naturalists and philologists; and the results at which they have arrived show that, in this particular, we do but follow a general rule of all created things. The Almighty endows every thing that he 1851.] The Anglo-Saxon Race. 37~ creates with peculiar characteristics, which the lapse of ages modifies, but seldom, if ever, radically changes. Plants and animals transported to strange climes soon die, unless they can, by slight and superficial changes, accommodate them- selves to their new homes; and it is not often that these changes are so great that a casual observer would find any diffi- culty in recognizing either plant or animal, had he known it in its original locality. Man wanders at will from zone to~zone, and his complexion varies a few shades in hue as he becomes acclimated under warmer or colder skies; but the form of his features and the configuration of his person remain ever dis- tinct and recognizable. No nation is more cosmopolitan than the Jew, and having experienced no mixture of race, change of climate is all that has caused him to vary from his first estate. We find him, therefore, fairer or darker according to the climate in which he dwells; but his form and features ever proclaim the Israel- ite. That he has ever been what he now is we have good reason to believe. Leonardi da Vinci, one of the nicest of observers, has represented him, in his celebrated picture of the Last Supper, such as he was three hundred years since; while in Egyptian paintings, we find him such as he was three thousand years ago; and ever the same unmistakable form and feature meet our eye. Repeated conquest and admixture of races are not suffi- cient to eradicate the national characteristics of a settled peo- ple. In the Roman States, and nowhere else, we ~ti1l find the form and features, represented in busts and statues, of the classic Romans. In the dominions of Florence, the very peculiar lineaments made familiar to us by the busts of Dante are continually met with, which perhaps are those of the ancient Etruscans. In the heart of Hungary dwell a tribe of people whose features answer precisely to the Mongolian cha- racteristics given to the Huns by the Roman writers at the time of the invasion of the Empire by that race. In France, two distinct races are found predominant in different parts of the kingdom, the one bearing the traits of the ancient Ganlish, and the other of the Kimmerian race. The peculiarities of language, especially its accentuation, are no less permanent than those of form and fl0ure. All these external traits being the outbirths and exponents of the mind within, their VOL. LXXIII. NO. 152. 4 38 The Anglo-Saxon Race. [July, permanence goes to prove that every nation has its own fixed mental characteristics, which lapse of time and change of cir- cumstance can never root out, though they may soften and greatly modify them. The question can hardly fail to arise in the mind of a citi- zen of the United States, Why it is that English colonies differ so essentially from those of other nations? At the time of the first discovery of the New World, Spain stood pre~mi- nent among the nations of Europe, and her colonies were formed by the best and bravest in the land. Why is it that those colonies have sunk into their present position, subject by turns to a cruel military despotism or a still more cruel anarchy, and falling ever lower and lower in the scale of nations? We believe that it is because they are incapable of holding any rational idea of liberty, and have no power to appreciate the great truth, that wisp and just laws are the only safeguard of political freedom. We do not claim for the Anglo-Saxon that he has always been, or is even now, fully governed by this great central truth; we know it is not so; but we do firmly believe that the possession of the germ of this truth has been the secret of the success of this nation and of its prodigious growth and development; and that this too is the cause why, under Provi- dence, it has been permitted to conquer and possess so wide and fair a portion of the earth. The institutions of the Anglo-Saxons were always charac- terized by popular freedom. When by civil contentions they were losing sight of this blessing, William and his 60,000 Normans were suffered to conquer the whole nation, and esta- blish a thoroughly aristocratic form of government. The loss of liberty made them feel its value; and the number of foreign- ers who came thus to rule over them not being sufficient to leaven the mass of the people, the old element of liberty was never crushed. It soon began to struggle upward, slowly and painfully, it is true, hut yet steadfastly, till the firmly established power of the House of Commons has at last put it decidedly in the ascendant in England. In the mean time, some scions, impatient of the tardy movements of the Old World, tore themselves from the parent stem two hun- dred years ago, and founded on the inhospitable shores of New England a series of colonies almost as purely Anglo- 1851.] The Anglo-Saxon Race. 39 Saxon as those which first sought a home in the island of the Britons. The counties in England whence they chiefly came were those which had been least influenced by the Danes or the Normans. The Normans came to England as lords and servants; their descendants held similar positions, and be- longed to the highest and lowest ranks of society. Our fathers came principally from the middle classes; from the gentry, the merchants, the tradesmen, and the yeomanry of England. The names found in a few pages of a Boston Directory, or in the columns of advertisements in a news- paper, if compared with the same number of English names taken equally at random, will show the far greater proportion of Anglo-Saxon names with us. Moreover, the cause that brought our fathers here, the resolute determination to be free at any cost, and anywhere, rather than purchase the blessings of home by suhmission, was a feeling which warmed the An.- gb-Saxon blood as it could no other; and only where it found that blood, could it do all its work. At this moment, New England is more Anglo-Saxon than Old England. Its lan- guage is more Saxon than that of any other portion of the United States; its provincialisms, such as wilt, crock, slump, hub, gumption, and the like, are genuine old Saxon words. The New Englander, in his love of migrating, in his deter~. mination to establish and abide by a squatters claim, wher~ ever he finds it convenient, in his apparent lawlessness till he has got possession of what he wants, and then in his earnest- ness in putting all things under the law, and building at once the school-house, the court-house, and the church, making religion founded on intelligence, and liberty protected by law, the two pillars of the state, shows himself the genuine de- scendant of the old Anglo-Saxon stock. We do not mean to say that the New Englander is the only Saxon of the United States; hut we believe that England has never planted any colonies in this country or elsewhere so purely Saxon as those of New England. Bancroft estimates that at least one third of the population of the whole United States is formed of the descendants of the New England Puritans; and it is impossible to traverse our country in any direction without being convinced, that wherever progressive energy stamps its seal in any department of human pursuit, it has been done in nine cases out of ten by the hand of a native-born New Englander. 40 The Anglo-Saxon Race. [July, Wherever England plants a colony, the Saxon element shows itself in the sturdiness with which, awed by no dan- ger, dismayed by no difficulty, it conquers and civilizes wher- ever it comes. Other nations mingle with uncivilized races, adopt many of their habits and modes of thought, and dete- riorate until they harmonize with thdse among whom they dwell. The English colonies, on the contrary, plant their foot at once on savage life, and will have no part nor lot in it. The qualities which lead them to this course, it is true, savor of harshness, sometimes of cruelty, and may not at first sight seem as pleasing as the easy amiability of the Frenchman, or the indolent repose of the Spaniard; but through them the world has gained far more civilization and true happiness than it has ever lost. There is a certain sturdiness of character that is a most useful jwotection to a nation, as well as to an individual, when possessed of traits worthy of preservation. Nations that have attained to any eminent degree of civil- ization seem to be divided into two classes, one of which remains fixed in some particular country, and after making considerable progress in scientific discovery and in art, con- tinues for ages, so far as we can learn, without making any noticeable advance; while the other class, actuated alternately by a nomadic and an inhabitative impulse, are now wandering to found new nations, and then throwing all the powers of their progressive life into discoveries in science and art, which result in practical inventions that give to each generation powers and comforts unknown to those who preceded them. The former class allows its reflective and imaginative powers to sleep, or to act only in abstractions, rarely bringing them out into practical life; while the latter value these powers chiefly because through them a way is opened to useful prac- tical results. The Chinese nation, which may be considered the type of the former class, were the first inventors of the mariners compass, of gunpowder, and of the printing press. The little use they have known how to make of them is one of the standing wonders of the European world. These inven- tions were placed in the hands of Europeans, and how differ- ent the result! What were before little more than scientific playthings become now engines of enormous power. With 1851.] The Anglo-Saxon Race. 41 the compass, new worlds are discovered; by gunpowder they are conquered from their barbarian inhabitants; and soon the printing press spreads intelligence and Christianity wherever the white man comes. Those nations that have wandered widest, and are most mixed, seem to be those possessed of the most forcible and progressive character; but this is true only when the mixture has been of families so nearly akin that the descendants do not form a mongrel race, such as results from the mixture of black and white. It is a pretty well established fact, that while the amalgamation of widely differing races, like the negro or Indian with the Caucasian, produces a short-lived progeny, not possessed of the best qualities of either race, the direct contrary is the result from the union of kindred races. Greece, formed from the union of various tribes wandering from the east, created a civilization that produced, in all forms of literature and art, works which are still the models of the whole civilized earth. Rome, founded by tribes of robbers, and drawing into its vortex races so numerous that it has been styled the common shore of the world, became a power of gigantic growth. England, conquered and recon- quered by succeeding waves of the great Teutonic flood, that rolled from the east across the north of Europe, grows in the lapse of centuries to be the admiration and terror of the world; her mariners, free and fearless as sea-birds wherever ocean rolls, her armies victorious above those of every older nation, her arts and literature spreading civilization far and wide. The United States, beginning with the English stock, and grafting upon it scions from every other European nation, grows every day stronger with a power of progress no human mind can measure. Taking to ourselves the Yankees privilege of boasting, we claim that we possess in a greater degree than any people ever did before, all the elements of a mighty nation. We are progressive and yet conservative, wandering and yet inhabitative, ready to win from the forest or the savage all the earth we can ever hope to use, and then equally ready to bring it under the dominion of civilization, law, and reli- gion. We are intensely attached to our own customs and institutions, and yet ever ready to adopt improvements from 4* 42 The Anglo-Saxon Race. [July, whatever source they may come. Our love of freedom, if not always wise, is always indomitable; but just as strong is our conviction that freedom can be insured only by the dominion of laws; a conviction which is often assailed, and sometimes apparently suppressed, yet always has conquered, and we trust always will conquer, in the battle with lawlessness. We are the most mixed race that ever existed; and yet the admix- ture of other races has never been such as to weaken or im- poverish the original Saxon stock ; on the contrary, it has infused into it new life and energy. We believe that the Teutonic race excels all others in the possession of these traits of character; and that the Saxons are preiminent or typical for possessing them in a higher degree than any other members of that race. Possessing all these elements of progress, we shall go on from strength to strength until we fall by our own sins. Small nations may be devoured by large ones, without, so far as we can see, any fault of their own; but great and powerful nations fall only by their own sins. The only ene- mies they have to fear are the vices they cherish within their own bosoms. Rome was never so strong, so far as unbounded wealth and all the seeming elements of power could make her, as at the moment of her fall. The British cohorts that fought under the Roman banners were known by the title of Invincibles from one end of Europe to the other; yet they were unable at home to resist the Angles and Saxous to any purpose,, and were conquered almost to annihilation. A few centuries later, the Angles and Saxons, after uniting into one nation, and becoming populous and wealthy, were conquered and subdued by an army so small that we find it difficult to believe the story as we read. All these nations fell from precisely the same causes. Strength and success brought them wealth, and wealth brought in her train licentiousness, forgetfulness of principle, and degradation of character, until strength became palsied, and former successes only prepared the way for the more shameful downfall. As we look abroad among our own peo- ple, and see how the wealth of the nation at large grows like an exotic weed, and how luxury in our large cities keeps ready pace with wealth, we cannot but tremble for the ultimate success of the great experiment in self-government we are 1851.1 The Anglo-Saxon Race. 43 trying. For the honor of Freedom, we yet trust that her sons, so ready and able to defend her cause in adversity, may not succumb before the enticements and corruptions of prosperity. Without dwelling longer on the Anglo-Saxon as he now is, or as he may hereafter become, our present purpose is to give an outline of what he was previous .to the Norman Conquest. Three mighty waves of human beings have rolled in suc- cessive ages from the heart of Asia, and swept over the con- tinent of Europe; the first two traversing it to its farthest western bounds, while the third, or Slavonic, wave, as yet limited within its eastern half, perhaps bides its time for over- whelming the remainder of the continent with its hordes, and building up a new civilization, as its predecessors have done before. The first inundation consisted of the Kelts and Kimmerians, who were probably of similar, or the same origin, hut who, traversing Europe by different routes, were modified by differ- ent circumstances, until, when they met at length upon its western shores, and took possession of the British islands, it seemed doubtful whether they had ever belonged to the same race. They probably would not have continued their pro- gress so far, had it not been that the second, or Scythian, irruption was pressing closely upon their rear. This last, contenting itself for several centuries with the possession of the north of Europe, suffered its precursors to remain long unmolested, until they built up a powerful nation upon the island of Britain, which the Romans found it no light task to conquer. Meantime, the Scythians became renowned through- out Europe under the various names of Teuton, Goth, and German. Among the many tribes into which they were sub- divided the Saxons occupied an eminent position, and had done so before leaving Asia; so much so that the Persians called all the Scythians by the name of Sac~e; and Pliny, who mentions this fact, states that they were among the most dis- tinguished people of Scythia. He spells their name Sacas- sani, which form was probably a corruption of Sakai-suna, or Sons of the Sakai, and was afterwards abbreviated into Sak.~ sun or Saxon. It is supposed that this name is derived from the same root as the Anglo-Saxon word seax, a sword. In the Persian Schah-nameh, or Book of Kings, the same people are styled & akalib, or & aklib, which would mean 44 The Anglo..& xxon Race. [July, Sword-lips; probably an Oriental figurative expression for Sword-edges. They are said to have come from northern India; and the similarity of their name and location gives a coloring of plausibility to the suggestion of Mr. Klipstein, that the Sikhs, who have of late so bravely resisted the British arms in the Punjaub, may. be the remnant of the parent stock of the Saxon race. It is certainly an interesting fact, that the Saxon race, after migrating westward during a period of, probably, little less than three thousand years, constantly gaining in civilization and power, should now, from the over- plus of its children, found a new empire in the same region whence it first set forth; carrying to the worn-out govern- ments of the east the arts and culture of the most powerful of modern nations. Little is known of the details of the progress of the Scy- thians across the continent. They had gained a firm footing there in the days of Herodotus, and in Cresars time they had reached and even passed the Rhine. They were known to the Romans under the name of Germans, a name probably derived from the old German ger, ~ spear, and mann, a man. Among themselves, they seem to have abandoned the Scythian name on leaving Asia, and to have adopted in its stead that of Teuton, from Teut, Tuisto, Tuisco or Thiusco, who is said to have been one of the founders of the race, and who was worshipped after his death as a god. Their own modern name of Deutsch is derived from this name, after having passed through the various modifications of Dutsch, Dietsch, and Teutsch; while most foreign nations still continue to call them by their Roman appellation. It has been supposed that Teuton was the sacred, and German the civil, name of the race. It may be supposed that German was the name they bore in Asia; for Herodotus speaks of the Germanii as a Per- sian people. The Roman authors, who speak of the Germans, describe them as characterized by great bravery and even fierceness, but of great purity of manners. Salvian recounts their con- quest of Carthage at a time when voluptuous licentiousness had reached a fearful height in that wealthy capital, and says it was anticipated that these rude warriors, under Genseric, would speedily become corrupted and adopt the vices of those whom they had conquered; but, to the astonishment of the 1851.] The Anglo-Saxon B ace. empire, they became moral reformers, the effeminacy and vice that surrounded them exciting only disgust and abhorrence. Their natiVe fierceness was turned so sternly against all licen- tiousness, that a great moral change took place in all the pro- vinces they conquered. Salvian calls our Saxon ancestors feri sed casti; and Tacitus, who does not mention the Saxons by name, speaking of the estimation in which females were held by the Germans generally, says: They think that their women possess inherently something holy and foreseeing. They do not scorn their counsels; nor are they heedless of their responses. In the time of the illustrious Vespasian, Veleda was for a long time esteemed among them as a divin- ity. In former ages, they venerated the wisdom of Aurinia and many other women, but without offering them flattery, or yet treating them as goddesses. This respect of the stronger for the weaker sex, in that day entirely peculiar to the German race, implied and produced a purity of manners wholly unknown to any other nation of antiquity. It is usual to refer the superior position of women in modern times over what it was in ancient days entirely to the influence of the Christian religion; but if we look at the countries of Christian Europe, we find that~ wherever the German influence obtained most perfect sway, and was least corrupted by the Roman influence, there woman is most respected. Wherever man enjoys most freedom, there woman is also most free; for no true freeman wishes his wife to be a slave. A form of government can exist for any length of time only where it represents the affections of a nation; and where the affections of the collective man or nation are repre- sented by an arbitrary form of government, there the indivi- dual is the arbitrary ruler of his own household. England is the freest country of Europe, and there woman occupies a higher position than in any part ofthe continent. In France, though the nation is descended in part from the Franks and Normans, who were branches, no less than the Saxons, from the old German stock, the Keltic character belonging to the previous possessors of the soil, the influence of Roman civili- zation at one period, and that of the institutions of chivalry at another, have modified the feelings of the stronger towards the weaker sex; and though they bow lower in their chival- rous gallantry to woman when she is young and fair and 46 The Anglo-Saxon Race. [July, high-born than the Englishman does, yet the traveller sees the poor peasant woman performing the severest duties of husbandry, often drawing the plough, and sometimes literally fastened into the same yoke with a brute. In the United States, where greater political freedom is possessed than in England, we find woman protected and supported by a respect more universal and genuine than that of the Frenchman, and more tender and courteous than that of the Englishman. We do not mean to say that Christianity has bad nothing to do with this amelioration of the fate of woman, but we think its influence has been less direct than is commonly supposed. The effect of Christianity on society has been to soften and to purify; and in this way it has benefited woman just so far as, and no farther than, it has elevated and purified man. The manly love of freedom and justice natural to the Ger- man caused him, while he was yet a Pagan in the Hyrcinian forests, to yield to woman all that was her due, or all that he knew how to give in that stage of his progress. When in the island of Britain he became a Christian, and so possessed a higher and truer freedom, he made woman still the sharer of all that he had attained. The first mention made of the Saxons in Europe is by Ptolemy. He places them about the mouth of the Elbe, and upon the Saxonum Insulce, three small islands off the coast of Jutland, namely, North Strandt, Busen, and Heilig-island, or the Holy Island, the seat of the worship of the idol Foseti. This is supposed by some to be the island described by Tacitus as containing the sacred grove devoted to the god- dess Hertha, or Earth, while others place it upon the island of Rugen in the Baltic. Before their invasion of England, the Saxons had extended their bounds from the Weser to the Delta of the Rhine, and occupied the countries now known as Westphalia, Friesland, Holland, and probably a part of Belgium. The Jutes and Angles occupied the Cimbric Chersonesus, or peninsula of Jutland, now Denmark. The Danes, a tribe of the Teutones living in Scandinavia, passed over into these regions, and made a settlement on the north- eastern coast of the peninsula, driving out the Jutes, who, unable to expel the invaders, at length determined to seek an asylum elsewhere. Accordingly, A. D. 449, two brothers, Hengist and Horsa, set forth with three ciols, manned by 1851.] Tile Anglo-Saxon Race. 47 Jutish warriors, and arrived at the Isle of Thanet. At this moment, the Britannic chiefs, with Vortigern at their head, were assembled in council, devising means to resist the con- tinual incursions of the Scoti from Ireland, and the Picts from the northern part of their own island. The time was propi- tious for the Jutes; they at once offered their services, and proved so useful that they were allowed to call over others of their countrymen to their aid; and the Isle of Thanet was assigned them as a permanent residence. Seventeen more cools soon appeared, filled with warriors, and bringing the blue-eyed Rowena, the daughter of Hengist, whose beauty so captivated the heart of Vortigern that he made her his wife. Blinded by love, and delighted with the success the Jutish strangers had given to his arms, the unwary Vortigern suffered their numbers to increase until they demanded an extent of territ~ory which, too late, opened his eyes to the danger which threatened him. He resisted, hut in vain; and after many bloody battles, a decisive victory was gained by Hengist at Crayford, A. D. 457, which firmly established his power in Kent. Subsequent battles gave him possession of the Isle of Wight and part of Hampshire; and at his death, all this region passed into the hands of his son, Aesca. The success of the Jutes excited their neighbors to simi- lar enterprises; and in A. D. 477, Ella, a Saxon chieftain, arrived in Britain with a small band of followers, who, being continually joined by fresh adventurers from the continent,. after a hardly contested struggle of fourteen years, succeeded in establishing the kingdom of the South-Saxons, now Sussex. In A. D. 493, a still more powerful expedition, headed by Cerdic, aided by Porta, from whom Portsmouth derives its name, he having effected his landing at that point, commenced a long struggle with the Britons, and at the end of twenty- six years established the kingdom of the West Saxons or Wessex. This kingdom was won from Arthur, whose ex- ploits during the contest served as a text for some of the wildest legends of valor ever imagined by the fertile brains of the old romance writers. Under the successors of Cerdic, this became the most extensive and formidable of the newly constructed sovereignties. The third Saxon kingdom, of the East Saxons, or Essex, was commenced A. D. 527, and embraced the present shire of Middlesex and the southern 48 The Anglo-Saxom Race. [July, part of Hertford, and contained the future metropolis of the whole dominion. Between the years 527 and 586, the Angles, another German tribe, founded four kingdoms north of the Saxons and Jutes, and eventually Britain took from them its present name. The conquest of the British was very thorough. All of them who were not slain, or made slaves, were driven into the mountains of Wales and Cornwall, or across the Channel to Armorica, where their descendants are still found. Their language left but slight traces on that of their conquerors; excepting that the mountains and rivers of England were generally suffered to retain their British names. One Jutish, three Saxon, and four Anglian kingdoms were thus founded, constituting what is now commonly called the Anglo-Saxon Octarcl~y. Among the eight ~overeigns, one was honored with the title of Bretwalda, or Ruler of the Britons. How the choice was made of one to hear this title is not now known; hut the rivalry among these fierce chiefs, in order to attain it, occasioned innumerable wars and deluged the island with blood, until the West Saxons became at length the predominating power, and consolidated the whole into one monarchy. It is the object of this article to illustrate national charac- ter, and we shall not therefore dwell upon the details of historic facts any farther than is necessary for this purpose. We will return to the early history of the Saxons, in order to show the general character of their idolatry, and then briefly consider certain striking points of their history after they became converted to Christianity. We would thus illustrate the great characterizing differences between the Keltic or Kimmerian races, and the Scythian or German; believing that these differences were, in kind, the same in the early dawn of their history as they are at the present day. However small the historic probability of the earliest fla- ditions of a nation, they are still interesting and instructive as representations of the tastes and feelings which character- ized the infancy of the state. We begin, therefore, our sketch of the religious institutions of the Teutones with Odin, or Woden, at once the founder of their race, the progenitor of the kings of all their tribes, and their supreme divinity. 1851.] The Anglo-Saxon Race. 49 The name takes its derivation from the Norse odi, and from the Saxon wod, words signifying raging, or mad. Odin is the Scandinavian, and Woden the German, name of the hero god, and both denote one possessed of fury. The legend of the historical Odin is taken from the Yung- linga Saga, which forms the first book of Snorris Heims- kringla or Chronicles of the Kings of Norway, and is on this xvise. Mithridates, when conquered by Pompey, fled to the forests of Scythia, on the banks of the Tanais or Don, and roused the barbarous tribes to aid him in driving back the Roman general. Ill armed, worse disciplined, and without unanimity of action, these barbarous hordes were soon com- pelled to yield before the superior skill of Pompey and the Roman legions. Odin was one of the Scythian chieftains, and being obliged to seek safety in flight from his enraged conquerors, he went forth at the head of a hardy band of followers, resolved to seek in other climes a home unknown to Roman ambition. His true name is said to have been Siggi; but he assumed that of Odin, who was the supreme god of the Scythians, either in order to increase the respect of his followers, or because he was chief priest, and presided over the worship paid to that deity. It was~ usual with many nations to give their pontiffs the name of the god they wor- shipped. Odin was chief of the iEsir, whose principal city was As- gard, conjectured by some to be the modern Azof. The worship there paid to their supreme deity was celebrated through all the adjacent countries. At the head of an army composed of the bravest of his own and of the neighboring tribes, Odin traversed the north of Europe, subduing all the nations he encountered, and bestowing them upon one or another of his numerous family of sons; through whom all the Teutonic chieftains in later times traced their descent from the great hero. Having subdued all the countries along the southern shore of the Baltic, he passed to the beautiful island of Fiinen, where he remained a long time, and built the city of Odensee, which still preserves in its name the memory of its founder. Afterwards he crossed to Sweden, where his name had previously become so celebrated that, on his arrival, Gylfi, the sovereign of the country, worshipped VOL. LXXIII. NO. 152. 5 50 The Anglo-Saxon Race. [July, him as a divinity; and soon the supreme power passed into the hands of the new corner, and Gylfi was forgotten. Tra- vellers are still shown the traces of the capital city which he founded, named Sigtuna, on the borders of the great Miiiar Lake, between the cities of Upsala and Stockholm. Here he established a supreme tribunal of twelve pontiffs, or judges, who were to preside over the administration of jus- tice, and over the new religious worship which Odin brought with him to the north. Giving the re0al title to his son Yngvi, he undertook the conquest of Norway, and was soon able to present this kingdom to his son Saming. After this, perceiving that his end drew near, he retired to Sweden, and calling around him his favorite friends and companions, gave himself nine wounds in the form of a circle with his lance, and others with his sword, and died affirming that he was about to return to Asgard, (Gods-ward, or the abode of the gods,) to take his seat among the gods at an eternal banquet, where he would receive with distinguished honor all those who were intrepid in battle, and who died bravely, sword in hand. His body was conveyed to Sigtuna, and burned with great pomp and magnificence. The Icelandic chronicles describe Odin as endowed with every perfection. He was so persuasive in his eloquence that no one could resist the power of his words. He first taught the art of poesy to the Teutones, and enlivened his discourses and harangues with extempore verse. So melodi- ously did he sing, that the plains and mountains trembled with delight at his strains; while ghosts roused from the infernal caverns gathered round him, spell-bound by the sweetness of his songs. In all the arts of magic his skill and power were unbounded. In peace, his wisdom, justice, and clemency made all men subject to his will; while in war, his strength and fury spread consternation and dismay wherever he ap- peared. We know with little certainty and precision what were the doctrines taught by Woden; for each succeeding century fastened new forms and myths upon the primitive faith, till the time of the conversion of the Teutones to Christianity; when its mythology had become so complicated, and its rites so overloaded with forms and ceremonies, that it was difficult to ascertain what they had originally been. 1851.] The Anglo-Saxon Race. 51 Of the Teutonic, as of the Grecian, mythology we derive the greater part of our knowledge from the poets. Those Latin and Greek historians and geographers who have written upon the subject knew little saving the outward forms of their worship; for most of these nations concealed their doc- trines from strangers. Tacitus tells us, that the Teutones believed in a supreme God, master of the universe, to whom all things were submis- sive and obedient. The ancient Icelandic mythology calls him, the author of every thing that existeth; the eternal, the ancient, the living and awful being, the searcher into con- cealed thin s,the being that never changeth. This deity possessed an infinite power, a boundless knowledge, an incorruptible justice. It was forbidden to represent him under any corporeal form, or to worship him within the walls of a building. From this hem0 were sprung a variety of inferior deities and genii, some one of whom presided over each department of the universe. The morality of their faith consisted in offering sacrifices and prayers to the divinity, in doing no wrong to others, and in being brave and intrepid in battle. A future state of cruel tortures was prepared for those who disregarded these three precepts, while joys without number awaited every religious, just, and valiant man. In process of time, the worship paid to the supreme deity, or All-father, was so transferred to the inferior deities that they were esteemed preiirninent, each in his respective station; and Woden or Odin was looked upon almost exclusively as the god of war. Thus he is called, the terrible and severe god; the father of slaughter; he who giveth victory, and reviveth courage in the conflict; who nameth those that are to be slain. The doctrines regarding a future state are very peculiar, seeming, as it were, to contain a creed within a creed. The brave warrior at his death ascended immediately to Valhalla, ( the hall or temple of the ch6sen,) where all his days were spent in furious conflicts with men, or in hunting fero- cious wild beasts; but at the approach of night all conflict ceased, every wound was instantly healed, and the contend- ing heroes sat down to a friendly banquet, and passed the night in feasting on the flesh of the boar Scrimner, which 52 The Anglo-Saxon Race. [July, renewed itself as often as it was devoured; and in drinking huge draughts of mead from the skulls of their enemies. The wicked man, that is, the coward and the slothful, was doomed to the miseries of Nifiheirn, ( the home of shadows, from Nift, a cloud.) There Hela (from whom our word Hell) exercised a fearful dominion. Her palace was Anguish, her table Famine, her waiters Expectation and Delay, the threshold of her door was Precipice, and her bed was Lean- ness, while her frightful countenance struck dismay to the heart of every beholder. This order of things, however, is to endure only till the end of time. Then the powers of hell are to be unloosed, and a frightful struggle is to go on in earth and heaven, till all shall perish, and Valhalla itself be consumed with fire. From out this second chaos is to arise a heaven more beauti- ful than Valhalla, a hell more fearful than Nifiheim, and all things shall be ruled by a God more mighty and more noble than Odin. Before this supreme divinity, all men are to be brought to final judgment; and then, bravery no longer being the standard of excellence, the just and the pure are to be received into the holy Gimle, (whence the modern German Himmel, heaven,) while the false and the cruel are to be cast into the unutterable torments of Nastrande, ( the strand or shore of corpses,) and so all shall remain through eternity, under the reign of Him who is eternal. Various explanations have been given of this double creed; but to us it seems probable, that the final judgment was the doctrine taught by Odin, who was undouhtedly a man much in advance of the age in which he lived; for this doctrine seems to be within and above the other, and is in harmony with the faith Odin is ~aid to have inculcated. After the death and deification of Odin, his war-loving followers gave him sway over a part of the future life, and imagined a heaven in accordance with their own ideas of happiness, hut still could not quite put away the eternity of justice which their hero-god had described to them. To give an account of the involved mythology of the Teutones with any fulness would require an article by itself. All we aim at is to show some of its distinctive points, in con- trast with the Druidical faith professed by the Keltic races which preceded them. 1851.] The Anglo-Saxon Race. 53 The Druids were an order of priesthood who, alone of all the nation, were informed of the doctrines of their faith. These doctrines were never committed to writing, through fear that others heside the priests might acquire a knowledge of them; and the places where they were taught to those who were to he initiated, were dark caves, or groves apart from the common haunts of men, the better to secure the entire secrecy of their schools. In direct contrast with this, the faith of the Teuton was common to the whole nation, and all participated in the rites of worship. They had their priests and priestesses t6 per- form their sacred rites; hut their whole faith and worship were free to all, as the air they breathed. True to their ancient peculiarities, the modern descendants of the Teutones and of the Kelts show precisely the same wide contrast in all things pertaining to religious faith. When the light of the Reformation dawned upon Europe, the Teuton sprang once more into wakeful life, and rejoiced to resume his freedom. The Kelt, true also to his old modes of thought, shut fast his eyes, and abjured the freedom that would call upon him to think for himself. At the present time, we find the Irish, who are the purest Kelts now living, devoted heart and soul to a faith of which they know no more than their ancestors knew or the doctrines of the Druids. The French nation, who are next to the Irish as a Keltic race, were leavened by the Franks with enough Teutonic feeling to produce a struggle among them between Catholicism and Protestantism; but the Kelt finally prevailed, and the terrible curse of excommunication compelled those who longed for freedom of thought to fly, or feign submission. In every purely Teutonic nation, Protestantism found a home, and soon became with them the predominant natioual idea, and so has ever continued. In the providence of God, progress is an eternal principle, and we always find that, when a great nation is swept away, its conquerors bring about improvements in civilization, or prepare the way for subsequent advances, from age to age. A very important difference between the Keltic and Teutonic races is to be found in the ideas they entertained in regard to a future life. The Kelt believed, that as soon as his present body became dead, his soul passed into another human body, 5* 54 The Anglo-Saxon Race. [July~ and so on forever. It is supposed by some writers, that the Druid priests held a more spiritual view of the future life but the doctrine as stated above was undoubtedly that of the common people. On the other hand, the Teuton believed in a spiritual futurity, where the soul should find reward or punishment according as its life had been good or evil during its material existence, and should never more resume this earthly body. In regard to marriage, at least among the Britons, the horrible custom prevailed of men and women living together in communities; while the Teuton abhorred all connection between the sexes saving in the holy wedlock of one man and one woman. We can hardly imagine two subjects that would produce a greater difference on the habits of thought and action than those of marriage and a future life. The one involves all the domestic virtues, and on the other depend all our hopes and fears for an eternity to come. Had the Teutones made no other advance upon the Kelts than the holding truer doc- trines on these two points, it xvere enough to show that they belonged to a superior race. When the Saxons descended upon Britain, it is true, they were pagans, while those they conquered were nominal Christians; but if we may believe the appalling account given by Gildas, one of their own writers living at the time, no nation, Christian or pagan, was ever sunk in a more detestable and revolting slough of every sort of vice, while the Saxons were comparatively a virtuous people. Of course, they scorned the religious faith of the vicious race they conquered, and drivin~, Christianity from the land, to the relief rather than the disturbance of those who had nominally professed it, but who were very willing to go back to their ancient rites, they established the religion of Woden in its stead. Every one knows the pretty story of the beauty of some Anglican slaves, exposed for sale in the Roman market, exciting the interest of Gregory, and inspiring the wish that their nation might be taught the Christian faith; and how, as soon as he became Pope, he despatched Augustine with a band of forty monks to attempt its conversion. Arrived as far as Aix in Provence, these monks heard such startling tales of the ferocity of the Anglo-Saxons, that they paused in terror, and sent back a messenger to Gregory praying that 1851.] The Anglo-Saxon Race. 55 they might be allowed to abandon the enterprise. The good Pope was not to be moved from his purpose, and abjured the faint-hearted monks by every Christian motive to persevere in the u?idertaking. Providing themselves with interpreters in France, they went on their fearful way, and were rewarded by a most unexpected success. The first king whom they approached was Ethelbert, King of Kent and Bretwalda of the Octarchy. His queen was a French Catholic princess, and by a stipulation made at the time of her marriage, she had been allowed to retain her faith and to have several priests among her attendants. Her influence was, of course, given in favor of the new comers, and they were permitted, without molestation, to preach among the people of Kent. They received very slight opposition from the Saxon priests, and ere long the king himself consented to be baptized. Soon after, ten thousand of his people imitated the royal example; and from this time the progress of Christianity was steady and rapid. In less than ninety years from the arrival of Augustine, it was adopted by every king and people of the Octarchy, and paganism finally driven out of the island. The Roman Catholic religion became dominant throughout Europe. Kelt and Teuton bowed reverently to receive the blessing of the Pope, or fled trembling from his anathema. When, however, Luthers voice rang through the continent, it soon became apparent that the two races looked upon their faith with very different feelings. The source whence these feelings rose is to be found in the original traits of the two races as they exhibit themselves in their pagan doctrines. If at this day we look at the map of Europe, we find very generally, if not universally, that where the race is Keltish, there the religion is Catholic ; where it is Teutonic, there it is Protestant. If we look at its history, we find that where the Teutonic blood was most pure, there the progress of Pro- testantism was easiest and most rapid; where it was most mingled with the Keltic, there this progress was most difficult; and where in this mixture the Keltic element prevailed, as in France, there popery ultimately conquered ; hut by the modifications to which it submitted, it rendered its tribute of acknowledgment to the liberalizing influence of the Teutonic character. 56 The Anglo-Saxon Race. [July, To this we venture to add, that the same results of the same influences may be expected in this country. There are those who have great fear of the growth of popery among us; there are others who think it can obtain no foothold, ~ut will pass wholly away and disappear. We agree with neither; but we expect that the spread and the strength of popery in these United States will be measured, in general, by the existence and influence among us of the Keltic blood. We believe that it may live long, but can never prevail over the Teutonic elements of character, which, so far as we can anticipate, must in our country always remain predominant. Whewell, in his Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences, remarks that natural groups are best described, not by any definition that marks their boundaries but bya type which marks their centre. The type of any natural group is an example which possesses, in a marked degree, all the leading characters of the class. We believe that, in describing the Teutonic group of nations, we have done no injustice to them in considering the Saxons as the type of the class; and in order to give a true idea of the Saxons after their conquest of Britain and adoption of Christianity, we think it better to examine in detail the lives and characters of a few eminent typical individuals, than to dwell upon the mere external his- tory of their times. For this purpose, we select three persons, who, we think, were more than any others honored while liv- ing, and venerated when dead; and whose characteristics may therefore fairly be esteemed as truly representing the tastes and affections of the great mass of the nation. The first of these is St. Cuthbert, the Bishop and ancho- rite, the exclusively religious man, who represents the nation in the first enthusiasm of its conversion to Christianity, and before it had become aware of the value of intellectual cul- ture. The second is the Venerable Bede, the monk and the scholar, the most devout, and the most learned man of his age; and who represents the nation at a more advanced period of its progress. The third is King Alfred, at once theologian, scholar, warrior, and statesman; a man so admira- bly endowed by the Almighty, and so faithful in the use of his rich endowments, that he can hardly be said to belong to one nation or age; but should rather be esteemed a typical man of the human race through all time. Sir Henry Spelman 1851.] The Anglo-Saxw~ Race. 57 calls him the wonder and astonishment of all ages, and adds, If we reflect on his piety and religion, it would seem that he had always lived in a cloister; if on his warlike exploits, that he had never been out of camps; if on his learning or writings, that he had spent his whole life in a col- lege; if on his wholesome laws and wise administration, that these had been his whole study and employment. St. Cuthbert flourished in the latter half of the seventh century, and began life as a shepherd-boy in the mountains of Northumberland. While he was still a youth, Oswald, the King of Northumberland, embraced Christianity, and in order to convert his people, sent to Jona for the holy monk Aidan to instruct them in the new faith, giving him the choice of his whole realm for a place to erect a monastery. Aidan selected the wild and desolate island of Lindisfarne, attracted perhaps by its resemblance to the place he had left; and by his superior cultivation and refinement, no less than by his piety, acquired great influence and wrought great changes among the half-savage nobles of the surrounding region. His fame reached the ears of the boy-shepherd, who, as he tended his flock on the banks of the Leder, saw in a vision the holy man ascending to heaven. His mind was so wrought upon by the sight, that he forthwith resolved to devote himself to a life of similar holiness, and became a brother in the monastery of Melrose on the banks of the Tweed, where he led a life of great sanctity for fourteen years, under the pious Abbot Eata. In the mean time, an effort had been made by the Pope to establish his power over the newly christianized country, which excited such indigna- tion among the monks of Lindisfarne that they left it in dis- gust, and returned to Jona, and Eata was sent from Melrose to he made Abbot of Lindisfarne. Thither he was followed by Cuthbert, who was his devoted, friend; and in the solitude of this storm-beaten island, he found a home after his own heart, and stren,thened his spirit by prayer and meditation. The duties of piety, however, did not occupy him to the exclusion of those of charity. Fromn time to tinme, he issued from his island home, as he had formerly done from Melrose, and made pilgrimages through the mountains of his native kingdom to bear the glad tidings of peace to the rude peas- antry. 58 The Anglo-Saxon Race. [July, Bede describes him as so skilful an orator, so fond was he of enforcing his subject, and such a brightness appeared in his angelic face, that no man present presumed to conceal from him the most hidden secrets of his heart, but all openly confessed what they had done; because they thought the same guilt could not be concealed from him, and wiped off the guilt of what they had so confessed, with worthy fruits of penance, as he com- manded. He was wont chiefly to resort to those places, and preach in such villages, as being seated high up amid craggy, uncouth mountains, were frightful to others to behold, and whose poverty and barbarity rendered them inaccessible to other teach- ers; which nevertheless he, having entirely devoted himself to that pious labor, did so industriously apply himself to polish with his doctrine, that when he departed out of his monastery, he would often stay a week, sometimes two or three, and sometimes a whole month, before he returned home, continuing among the mountains to allure that rustic people by his preaching and exam- ple to heavenly employment. After many years passed in this way, he determined to spend the remainder of his life as an anchorite, and retreated to the little island of Fame, a few miles farther out to sea than the one he quitted, formed of a barren basaltic rock about twelve acres in extent. This place was supposed to be infested by demons, but they all fled away at his coming; and Bede tells us that, at the power of his sanctity, a never- failing spring gushed out from the dry rock, and corn grew abundantly on the barren soil to satisfy his hunger. He built himself a little hut of turf and rocks, with a wall raised round it, that he might see nothing but the heavens, and so never be distracted by external objects from his devotions. Here he spent nine years, but not entirely in solitude; for the fame of his piety spread far and wide, and he was visited by great numbers for spiritual counsel and instruction ; so that it became necessary to erect a large building upon the island for the accommodation of pilgrims, for in that stormy sea it was often impossible for many days to return to the main land after having effected a landing upon the island. At length, at a great synod assembled before King Egfrid at Twyford, Cuthbert was unanimously chosen Bishop of the church of Lindisfarne; but he utterly refused to accept the office, till the king and nobles, bishop and priest, passed over into his island, and falling on their knees before him, with many tears 1851.] The Anglo-& zxon Race. 59 conjured him, in the name of our Lord, to quit his retreat, and take the office to which he had been elected. When he commenced his new duties, Bede tell us that, Following the example of the apostles, he became an orna- ment to the episcopal dignity, by his virtuous actions; for he both protected the people committed to his charge, by constant prayer, and excited them, by most wholesome admonitions, to heavenly practices; and, which is the greatest help in teachers, he first showed in his behavior what he taught was to be per- formed by others; for he was much inflamed with the fire of Divine charity, modest in the virtue of patience, most diligently intent on devout prayers, and affable to all that came to him for comfort. He thought it equivalent to praying, to afford the infirm brethren the help of his exhortations, well knowing that he who said, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God, said likewise, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. After spending two years in his bishopric, he was warned by a Divine oracle, that the day of his death, or rather of his life, was drawing near, and once more retreated to his solitary island cell, where, two months after, he breathed his last. His body was carried back to Lindisfarne, and buried in the church. Eleven years after, the brethren, as a mark of peculiar honor, decided, on the anniversary of his burial, to take his bones and put them in a new coffin, to be placed above the pavement. Great was their wonder on opening the old coffin to find the body of the old man fresh and plia.- ble as when he was placed there, and looking as if he were in a gentle sleep. This was esteemed the most infallible sign that could be given of the sanctity of the Saint; and reserving his garments as holy relics, they clad the body in fresh robes, and laid it with great solemnity in its new coffin, placed above the pavement of the church. Thither the sick resorted in the belief that a sanctity emanated from the remains, of a power sufficient to cure their diseases; and tradition asserts, that they went away whole. It is by no means impossible that the childlike faith that led them there had power to work such seeming miracles; for the records of modern medical science frequently bear testimony to cures wrought by some- thing which is called imagination, (though what this imagin- ation is does not distinctly appear,) quite as remarkable as most of those attributed to the relics of Saints. 60 The Anglo-Saxon Race. [July, In after generations, monkish legends adorned the memory of St. Cuthbert with a tale which we should do injustice to that age hy omitting to relate. When the Danes began to ravage the coast, the sacred hones were not found sufficiently powerful to keep them at bay; and the monks of Lindis- fame, or holy Isle, abandoned their monastery, and with seven stout men hearing the ponderous coffin of stone that enclosed the revered remains, they fled away, intending to carry them across England, and then to pass over into Ireland, where they hoped to find a secure retreat for themselves and for their sacred treasure. When they were on the land, the coffin suffered itself to be borne quietly along; but whenever they came to water that was to be passed, it seemed at once instinct with life, and, floating away like a sea-bird, took the lead of the whole company. Though so good a swimmer in fresh water, it seemed to take no pleasure in salt; for the monks could no sooner embark it upon the Irish Sea than such a tempest would arise as drove them back to shore again until, convinced they were thwarting the will of the Saint in attempting to hear him away from his native country, they took refuge in Chester-le-Street, where the body quietly remained one hundred and thirteen years. Then the ravages of the Danes compelled it to flee once more, and it took refuge for a little while at Ripon. After the departure of the Danes, an attempt was made to carry it back again to Chester; but it proved unmanageable when its bearers reached the summit of Wardon-Law, and lay upon the ground so firmly fixed that human strength was inadequate to move it farther. This striking position, commanding a noble view of the beautiful vale of the Wear, would seem to indicate a great change of taste in the Saint since the time when he was so fondly attached to the desolate Isle of Fame; and it was this, perhaps, which caused the monks to remain doubtful of what was next to be done; for they could hardly have imagined the venerable anchorite would wish to choose as a final resting place a spot so entirely opposed to the one where he had originally ordered his body to be laid. Presently, however, one of the monks was informed in a vision that it was the last wish of their precious burden, that it might be laid at rest in Dunhelme. Where Dunhelme might be was the next question; but while they stood doubting, they saw two pea- 1851.] The Anglo-Saxon Race. 61 sant women meet near by them, and one inquired of the other if she had seen her cow. I just passed it at Dunhelme, was the reply. The woman set off at once in pursuit of her strayed beast, and the monks, lifting the now unresisting coffin, followed her steps, and straightway she found her cow, and they found the site of what afterwards became the stately city of Durham ; a place which, for heauty of situation, has scarcely its equal in the whole kingdom. A minster was raised as a new shrine for the Saint by St. Alduve, on the same spot where now stands the massive and magnificent cathedral of Durham. The miraculous power of Cuthhert has lon0 since ceased to exercise itself for the benefit of the pilgrim; but in those days, so magical was the name, that the Danes soon learned to how before his shrine with a devo- tion quite equal to that of the Saxons. Canute made a pilgrimage hither, and dismounting with his whole train at Triradon, five miles from the city, with hare feet, and dressed in the simple garb of a pilgrim, walked humbly to the shrine. Here, too, howed William the Conqueror; and soon after the Norman conquest, here was raised the cathedral that now marks the spot. The traveller of the present day is shown, in a lofty niche upon the exterior of the walls, a statue of the cow that did such signal service hy running axvay to Dunhelme. The ruthless hand of Puritan zeal long since destroyed the splendid shrine of St. Cuthbert, which once ornamented the interior of the church. A simple slab in the pavement is all that marks the spot upon which it stood, and under which the remains are still supposed to rest. For many centuries, Saxons, Danes, and Normans delighted to bring as offerings to this church all that wealth could offer, till it became the richest see in England, and its bishops were frequently styled the golden Prebends of Durham. In 1833, from the superabundance of the patrimony of St. Cuthbert a free college was founded, which attracts a nu- merous band of youthful pilgrims in search of intellectual gifts, in lieu of the spiritual ones that have gone out of fashion. In this same cathedral lie the remains of Bede, the ardent admirer and biographer of Cuthbert, and the morning star of English literature. The spot is marked by a simple but VOL. LXXIII.NO. 152. 6 62 The Anglo-Saxon Race. [July, conspicuous tomb, with a long inscription, concluding with the well-known monkish rhyme Hac sunt in fossa Bed~e venerabilis essaY Of Bedes parentage nothing is known. The precise date of his birth is uncertain, but it probably occurred in 673. Of his birthplace, we only know that it was not far from Jarrow, perhaps at the village of Monkton, where is a spring still known as Bedes well, into which even now women slip their sick children, first dropping in a crooked pin, believing that the power of healing resides in its waters. Bede was one of those happy persons who come into the world just at the right time. Had he lived a little earlier, material might have been so far wanting to him that his fine intellectual powers might have expended themselves in writing monkish legends, copying missals, or studying the mass-hook; for his love of home would probably have pre- vented his going upon the Continent in search of mental food that could not be obtained in England. Happily for him, the celebrated Benedict Biscop brought to his door all that be wanted just as he was old enough to make use of it. Biscop was a noble Thane, high in honor with King Oswy; but at the age of twenty-five, as was not uncommon in those days both with kings and nobles, he abandoned all the plea- sures of court and camp, and, in the words of Roger of Wen- dover, despising for Christs sake all the perishing things of this world, he went to Rome, to be instructed in the discipline of the church, that so he might enter on the spiritual warfare, and be able thereby to profit both himself and others, and be found a useful servant in culture of the Lords vineyard. After several years spent at Rome and elsewhere in diligent study and discipline, he returned to England, bringing with him many relics of saints, and,, what was better, many books and works of art till then unknown in England. He attached himself to Egfrid, King of Northumberland, who immediately gave him the land of sixty families to build a monastery dedi- cated to St. Peter, at the mouth of the river Wear, in the year 674. Soon after, a similar grant of land enabled him to erect a second monastery, at Jarrow on the Tyne, five miles from the first, which he dedicated to St. Paul. After this, he made four journeys to Rome, each time bringing home fresh 1851.] The Anglo-Saxon Race. 63 treasures spiritual and intellectual. The monastery at Wear- mouth was adorned with fine paintings; and Bede, in describ- ing the beauty of the church, says, There might the humble disciple, whose ignorance of letters excluded learning at one inlet, feel religious impressions excited, and his faith confirmed, by surveying, turn where he would, either the gracious coun- tenance of his Saviour, the awful mystery of the Incarnation, or the terrific scene of the Last Judgment. Building in stone was but poorly understood by the Saxons, and Benedict brought masons from France to construct his monasteries. He also introduced glass windows, and provided his countrymen with the means of learning the art of making glass. The library which he founded he provided with all the books then known; and thus, for the first time, it became possible to gain an education without leaving England. Bede was placed by his friends at the monastery of St. Paul at Jarrow, before it was entirely completed, and when he was in his seventh year; and here, and at the twin house of St. Peter, at Wearmouth, he passed the remainder of his life, fulfilling his duties as a monk with the most scrupulous care, and devoting every leisure hour those duties left him to study and composition. At that time, it was not customary to admit young men to deacons orders before the twenty-fifth year of their age; but Bedes progress in learning and holi- ness was so rapid that he was admitted at the age of nine- teen; and at thirty xvas ordained priest. His devotion to study was such that he declined being made abbot, because, as he expressed it, The office demands thoughtfulness, and thoughtfulness brings with it distraction of mind, which impedes the pursuit of learning. In those days, the duties of the monks were no sinecure. Bede, descrihin6 the great Biscop, says that, like the rest of his brethren, he delighted to exercise himself in winnow- ing the corn, in threshing it, in giving milk to the lambs and calves, in the bakehouse, in the garden, in the kitchen, and in the other employments of the monastery ; and it is pro- bable that all these duties were performed by Bede likewise, while a considerable portion of the day was consumed in the daily monastic service, and in chanting in the church. Bis- cop had been much charmed by the chanting at Rome, and obtained the consent of Pope Agatho to carry home with him John, the arch-chanter at St. Peters. The music of 64 The Anglo-Saxon Race. [July, this man was so superior to any thing before heard in Eng- land, that crowds of people from all the neighboring counties were attracted to Wearmouth to listen to his melody, and by him Bede was instructed in the art of chanting. He de- scribes himself as always taking pleasure in the intervals between the hours of regular discipline and the duties of singing, in learning, or teaching, or writing something. In these intervals he studied Greek, Latin, and Hebrew, and every branch of literature and science then known. He wrote commentaries on the Scriptures, treatises on history, astrology, orthography, rhetoric, and poetry, a Life of St. Cifthbert, two books of the Art of Poetry, a book of Llymns, and another of Epigrams. His great work was the Ecclesias- tical History of England, the materials for which he collected with great care from all the monasteries where records had been kept, sending in every direction throughout the kingdom, where any materials could be obtained; for he would never be induced to leave the neighborhood of his own monasteries, even in pursuit of learning. This work is the most valuable record of Saxon history now extant. It was written in Latin, but has been translated again and again into the ver- nacular tongue, first by King Alfred, and afterward, in suc- cessive centuries, by various distinguished scholars, as in the progress of the language its phraseology became antiquated. He was also skilful in the manual arts of writing and illu- minating. At Durham, there is a copy of Cassiodorus on the Psaltery written by Bedes own hand; also, a folio copy of the Vul~,ate New Testament, containin0 a superb illumina- tion of the full folio size, representing David playing on the lyre, surrounded by an ornamental border of the Saxon period, and supposed likewise to be Bedes own work. Other manuscripts of his are preserved at Lambeth Palace, and in the Bodleian Library. It is said that any one who reads the works of Bede reads all the knowledge possessed by mankind in his day, together with a vast amount of ori- ginal thought which was the means of giving human know- ledge a new impulse, so that his age marks one of those periods occasionally recurring in history, when the progress of knowledge, usually slow, becomes rapid to an almost incredi- ble degree. Bede became so celebrated throughout the Christian world that Pope Sergius wrote a letter to his Abbot Ceolfrid, request- 1851.] The Anglo-Saxon Race. 65 ing him to send Bede without delay to Rome, that he might assist in settling certain important questions relating to the Church. With all his love for his darling Jarrow, Bede would hardly have dared to refuse a request coming from such a quarter; but fortunately for his peace, the pope died shortly after sending the letter, and he was suffered to remain with his hooks in his own quiet cell. The uneventful life of this great and good man terminated at the age of fifty-nine; and though accompanied with much physical distress, his death was as beautiful and as peaceful as his life. He died as he had lived, lahoring for the ad- vancement of the hest knowledge. He was engaged in translating the Gospel of St. John, and when he became too weak to write, he dictated to a boy who wrote for him. When he felt that death was near at hand, he called his friends about him, and took leave of them with many expres- sions of joy that he was about to depart and be with Christ. The hoy said to him, Dear master, there is yet one sentence not written. He answered write quickly, and dictated the final phrase. Soon after, the boy said, The sentence is now written. He replied ; It is well ; you have said the truth; and sinking upon the pavement of his ljttle cell, before the shrine where he was wont to pray, he cWtnted, Glory he to the Father, and to the Son, and to the H~1y. Ghost ; and with the last word his spirit passed away to the realms where the gropings of earthly reason are exchanged for the clear vision of heavenly wisdom. Thus lived and died one of the brightest lights of the so- called Dark Ages; and when we contrast the peaceful home where he dwelt, surrounded by all the intellectual adornments that wealth could hestow, with the turmoil of incessant war that rei~,ned without, can we feel surprised that so many nobles gave up castles and lands, so many kings laid aside their crowns, and retired within cloistered walls to rest them from the weariness of strife? We are not half grateful enough to these men, without whom all previous knowledge would have been lost, and man must have been constrained to start again from the foot of the ladder, and mount with slow steps to the height where the Greeks and Romans had trod before; and whence, thanks to the monks of the Dark Ages, on the revival of learning, man was able, where they 6* 66 Tke Anglo-Saxon Race. [July, left oW to commence his upward course. When we think of the monks as lazy and useless cumherers of the ground, the memories of Bede, Roger Bacon, Benedict Biscop, and others like them, if less than they, should rise in our minds, and hid us forbear. Bede was first buried at Jarrow; hut about the year 1022, Elfrid, the sacrist, carried the remains away to Dur- ham, where they were deposited near, if not in, the tomb of St. Cuthhert. Afterward, the magnificent Bishop Pudsey had them enclosed in a splendid shrine of silver and gold, worthy of his name, and placed on a tahle of blue marble, supported on five low pillars of marble, resting on another slab beneath. The whole was protected by a cover of wain- scot, curiously gilt, which was elevated on great occasions by means of a pulley, running on twelve perpendicular iron rods, three in each corner of the stone. Thus they remained till the Reformation, when the shrine was destroyed, and the bones buried beneath the spot where it stood. It is asserted that the monk who stole the remains from Jarrow carried only a part of them to Durham, and almost every monastery in England boasted the possession of some of them. Even now, in several churches on the Continent, the curious in such mat- ters may still he edified by a si~,ht of one or more of his ribs. Not long before the Reformation, a French Bishop, return- ing home from a journey in Scotland, visited the shrines of St. Cuthbert and of Bede. On the first he deposited a bau- bee, the smallest Scotch coin then current, saying, If thou art a saint, pray for me. Then turning reverently to the other, he placed a French crown upon it, saying, Pray for me, for thou art a saint. Even then it would seem that the superior excellence of Bede was appreciated, while the asce- ticism of Cuthbert had lost much of the honor that had for- merly been bestowed upon it. Passing from the honored shrines of Cuthbert and Bede, we traverse nearly the whole length of England to reach the royal city of Winchester, where Alfred held his court. For him whom the English nation still honor as the chief founder of their greatness we naturally suppose a worthy monument must have been erected. Though in our age we feel no sur- prise that the shrines of saints are no longer goals for the pilgrim, we cannot but suppose that the tomb of Alfred must 1851.] The Anglo-Saxon Race. 67 be visited with reverence so long as the English language continues to be spoken. The body of Alfred was deposited immediately after his death in the Newen Mynstre, a celebrated monastery which he had himself erected in the city of Winchester. The position of this institution, afterwards known as Hyde Abbey, proving inconvenient and unhealthy, a new and mag- nificent church and monastery were erected without the north wall of the city, on the spot called Hyde Meadow. Hither the monks removed in 1110, and hither the body of Alfred was borne in solemn state, while holy chantings resounded upon the air. At the dissolution of the abbeys, this was pulled down, and the materials sold, while the tombs of Alfred, of his Queen Alswitha, those of many of their de- scendants and of other illustrious persons, were abandoned to the mercy of the destroyer. Afterward, the site of this abbey was taken by the city of Winchester for building a bridewell. In excavating for the foundations, stone coffins, rings, and vessels for the service of the church were discovered, together with fragments of architectural sculpture; but no consciousness of desecration seems to have delayed the hand of the architect. While superb monuments adorn cathedrals, or rise proudly under the open sky, in every part of the king~ dom, to commemorate the virtues and achievements of kings, lords, and commons, the body of him who was perhaps the wisest, greatest, and best king that ever sat on any throne has been suffered to return to the dust beneath the founda- tions of a gaol! But perhaps it is most fitting that the only monument for such a king should be reverence, and that has ever been yielded him by every English heart. An appro- priate inscription for such a monument is found in the senti- inent he left in his will as a legacy to his people. It is just that the English should forever remain as free as their own thoughts. Towards the realization of this sentiment Eng- land slowly but steadily tends. We see there little of the morbid and spasmodic effort that marks the progress of other European nations; but as we contrast the present with the past, we find that no other nation has advanced so far and so wisely in its pursuit of liberty, and that no nation has, in modern times, so seldom imbued its hands with the blood of civil warfare. Alfred was born at Wantage, in Berkshire, in the year The Anglo-Saxon Race. 68 [July, 849, a little more than a century after the death of Bede. The promise which the efforts of Bede had given of an awakening of the nation into a literary existence had not heen realized. The morning star, as he has been styled, had disappeared, but the light of the cominb sun was veiled in dark clouds. The ferocious Danes had traversed the island in almost every direction, and despair seemed to hrood over the whole nation, when Alfred appeared to hring light out of the darkness. lie was the youngest of four sons, but was the favorite of his father Ethelwulf, who, in those days of irregular succession, designed him for the heir of his regal power. At the age of four, he was sent, accompanied by a great train of nobles, to Rome, where, at the request of his father, he was anointed king by the Pope. Two years later, Ethelwulf made a pilgrimage to Rome carrying Alfred with him, and a year was passed there, and at the French Court. The superior elegance and cultivation of these courts compared with that of Wessex must have made an impression upon the mind of Alfred, even at that early age. We, however, know nothin~ of the workings of his mind till he was twelve years old, when the beauty of an illuminated volume of Saxon poems which his step-mother promised to that one among her sons who would first learn to read it, induced him to seek a teacher, and he was soon able to claim the offered reward. lie had before this been an eager listener to the songs of the bards, which were often repeated at his fathers court; he now studied them himselg and even composed new ones. The ravages of the Danes permitted little time for study. Warfare was the necessary occupation of all who were capable of bearing arms. Ethelwulf died in 857, and his throne was filled successively by each of his sons. At the age of twenty-two, Alfred found himself the only survivor; a king, hut with little more than the semblanc,e of a kingdom. Some misconduct of his own seems to have alienated the affections of his subjects; and, unable to cope with the forces of the Danes, he hid himself alike from friends and foes in the midst of a morass surrounded by forests, in a spot still called the Isle of Athelnay, (Isle of the Nobles.) The mind of Alfred was one of those which seem to be roused by doing wrong, to a clearer and truer sense of the beauty of doing right. In this wretched retreat he studied the faults of his past life and learned how to amend them. 1851.] The Anglo-Saxon Race. 69 Revealing his existence and place of retreat to a band of fol- lowers, he induced them to aid him in attacks upon small parties of the Danes, and his -success in these engagements soon swelled his forces to an army. Disguised as a harper, he visited the Danish camp and learned the best mode of attacking it. A series of victories finally established him firmly upon his throne, and at the age of twenty-nine, he found himself king of Wessex and comparatively in peace. It is quite certain that he held a preponderating influence over all England; but whether as the sovereign of the other states under the name of Bretwalda, or by any other title, or by any distinctly acknowledged superiority, is not positively known. Between this time and his death, a period of twen- ty-two years, he accomplished an amount of labor that would seem absolutely incredible, were it not vouched for by an amount of authority that compels our belief. To Guthran, the leader of the Danes, Alfred had yielded a large territory north of the Thames, where he established himself with his followers, and ever after remained a fast friend to the king. Other tribes of Danes, however, con- tinued to infest the coast, demanding constant watchfulness to prevent their attacks from becoming serious calamities. One of these bands, headed by the celebrated Hastings, suc- ceeded in obtaining a footing on the island, and it was three years before Alfred was able to overcome him and drive him from the kingdom. It was not till be had fought fifty-six pitched battles that he was able to sit down in peace. One of his first efforts after his accession to the throne was the founding of a navy; and this object he kept steadily in pro- gress throughout his reign, believing it to be the only sure defence against the hordes of Danish pirates. He built castles in upwards of fifty places along the coasts and large rivers, as defences at the points where the Danes were most likely to land upon the island. He revised, with the assist- ance of his parliament, the laws of the Anglo-Saxons, and established so thorough a system of police that it was asserted one might hang golden bracelets and jewels on the public highways and cross-roads, and no man would dare to touch them, through fear of the law. He was inexorable towards unjust or corrupt officers of the law, and it is asserted that in a single year he ordered the execution of forty-four judges 70 The Anglo-& xxou Race. [July, and magistrates of this character. He endeavored to increase the comforts of his people, by teaching them to build better houses, and by instructing them in the useful arts. He esta- blished schools, and called upon his bishops to translate books from the Latin into the Saxon tongue, in order that the wis- dom of the world might be accessible to all who would learn to read. In time of peace, Alfred divided his days into three equal parts. Eight hours he gave to sleep, to his meals, and to exercise; eight were occupied by the affairs of government; and eight were given to study and devotion. He made himself master of the Latin tongue, and spent much time in translat- ing valuable works from it into his native language. The selection he made of works to translate shows great good sense and judgment. One of these was Boethiuss Conso- lations of Philosophy. This work, composed in prison, by one of the wisest men of the fifth century, consists of con- versations supposed to be held between the prisoner and Philosophy, who visits him in order to console him for his misfortunes. The work is characterized by deep religious faith and feeling, and by great justness of thought on all affairs relating to life, and on the insufficiency of temporal gifts for the attainment of true happiness. Alfred does not confine himself to the text in this translation, but expands and ampli- fies the subjects treated, showing great richness and purity of thought in his additions and illustrations. He seems to have possessed a great love for geography, and he sent persons to various parts of the earth in order to obtain information in relation to distant countries. He translated the geography of Orosius, making many alterations and additions, which he was enabled to do by the information he gained from several voyagers whom he entertained at his court. Bedes Eccle- siastical History was anotherwork which he rendered into the vernacular language. Various works of devotion and poems, translated and original, were among his compositions. In short, his genius seems to have turned itself into all de- partments of thought and of life with a power and a versatility which we seek for in vain in any other hero whose fame has been transmitted to us by history. The wonder we feel in contemplating such a life is heightened by the fact that, throughout the whole of it, he was tortured by a malady, the 185L] Freunds Latin Lexicon. 71 cause of which was unknown, and which the medical know- ledge of that day was unable in the least degree to mitigate or cure. It was then, as it has been since, a custom to affix to the names of kings some epithet descriptive of their character or their fortunes. That which was given to Alfred does not recall to us the statesman, the warrior, the poet, or the philo- sopher; hut the quality most of all essential to greatness such as his to all true greatness: he was called Alfred, the Truthteller. But we must forbear; for we have already extended this article far beyond our original purpose; and we will close it with the words with which the dying king sought to prepare his son and his successor to enter upon his great duties. Thou, my dear son, set thee now beside me, and I will deli- ver thee true instructions. My son, I feel that my hour is com- ing. My countenance is wan. My days are almost done. We must now part. I shall go to another world, and thou shalt be left alone in all my wealth. I pray thee (for thou art my dear child) strive to be a father, and a lord to thy people. Be thou the childrens father, and the widows friend. Comfort thou the poor, and shelter the weak; and, with all thy might, right that which is wrong. And, son, govern thyself by law; then shall the Lord love thee, and God above all things shall be thy reward. Call thou upon him to advise thee in all thy need, and so shall he help thee the hetter to compass that which thou wouldest. ART. 111.A Co ious and Critical Latin-English Lexicon, founded on the Larger Latin,German Lexicon of DR. WILLIAM FREUND; with Additions and Corrections from the Lexicons of Gesner, Facciolati, ~Scheller, Georges, etc. By E. A. ANDREWS, LL. D. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1851. Svo. pp. 1663. IT is with great pleasure that we announce the appearance of this work. We should have preferred to make the an- nouncement earlier; but, although we have, for more than

185L] Freunds Latin Lexicon. 71 cause of which was unknown, and which the medical know- ledge of that day was unable in the least degree to mitigate or cure. It was then, as it has been since, a custom to affix to the names of kings some epithet descriptive of their character or their fortunes. That which was given to Alfred does not recall to us the statesman, the warrior, the poet, or the philo- sopher; hut the quality most of all essential to greatness such as his to all true greatness: he was called Alfred, the Truthteller. But we must forbear; for we have already extended this article far beyond our original purpose; and we will close it with the words with which the dying king sought to prepare his son and his successor to enter upon his great duties. Thou, my dear son, set thee now beside me, and I will deli- ver thee true instructions. My son, I feel that my hour is com- ing. My countenance is wan. My days are almost done. We must now part. I shall go to another world, and thou shalt be left alone in all my wealth. I pray thee (for thou art my dear child) strive to be a father, and a lord to thy people. Be thou the childrens father, and the widows friend. Comfort thou the poor, and shelter the weak; and, with all thy might, right that which is wrong. And, son, govern thyself by law; then shall the Lord love thee, and God above all things shall be thy reward. Call thou upon him to advise thee in all thy need, and so shall he help thee the hetter to compass that which thou wouldest. ART. 111.A Co ious and Critical Latin-English Lexicon, founded on the Larger Latin,German Lexicon of DR. WILLIAM FREUND; with Additions and Corrections from the Lexicons of Gesner, Facciolati, ~Scheller, Georges, etc. By E. A. ANDREWS, LL. D. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1851. Svo. pp. 1663. IT is with great pleasure that we announce the appearance of this work. We should have preferred to make the an- nouncement earlier; but, although we have, for more than 72 Freunds Latin Lexicon. [July, sixteen years, been acquainted with the character and merits of the original work of Freund, we wished to make ourselves in some small measure acquainted with the translation also before expressing an opinion. If of any literary product, the homely proverh that the proof of the pudding is in the eat- ing, holds true of a dictionary; using it is the only means of becoming thoroughly acquainted with its merits or defects. Dr. Andrews has, indeed, closely adhered to the leading principles of the original, and the principal alteration consists in condensing the quotations; still, it requires time to judg& of the correctness of the translation, as well as of the pro- priety of the alterations made. When Freund published, in 1834, the first volume of his dictionary, and, in his preface, laid down the principles on which he had proceeded in its construction, considerable interest was excited among the classical scholars of Germany, and some surprise was expressed at the comprehensiveness of his plan. The doubts entertained and expressed by compe- tent judges related less to his principles and plan, than to the possibility or probability of carrying them into successful exe- cution. The opinion in which the best judges are now pretty well agreed is, that however clearly Freund has conceived the ideal of a dictionary, his work itself is not so far in advance of what his predecessors have accomplished as to silence the demand for a new dictionary. The truth of the matter is, that the construction of a complete dictionary, satisfying the claims which, in the present condition of classical learning, may justly be made on such a work, exceeds the power and means of an individual scholar; it requires the coiiperation of several. Those who write for such a work will, in the first place, have to discuss and agree upon the principles on which it is intended to proceed, and this not only generally, but down to the minutest points. The next step will be to dis- tribute the whole field of Latin literature among the several laborers, each reading with the most critical care each author of his share, and extracting therefrom the words, their mean- ings, their uses, the places in which they occur, constantly regarding the principleswhich have been agreed upon, which in the end are to give to this huge and various mass of mate- rials a homogeneous character, and make it one work. As we have said, the collection of the material must be the result 1851.] Freu nds Latin Lexicon. .73 of a thorough,critical reading of the authors themselves, not merely a consultation of their indices verborum. The third step of the proceeding is the arranging and digesting of this mass of materials. A moments reflection will convince us that, even if the first and third duty may be performed by one person, the second exceeds the power of any one man, and Freund, in his preface, frankly acknowledges as much. The necessity of a proceeding of this kind is so fully recog- nized in Germany, that, at one of the annual meetings of philologists, if our memory serves us right, it was at that held at Dresden, an attempt was made to mature a plan. But every thing which requires the co6peration of many is difficult of execution, and the scheme was abandoned. One of the reasons, and probably one of the most influential, which renders scholars disinclined to enter upon a work requiring patient labor and unwearying perseverance, is the small chance of gaining a fame corresponding to their toil. While we thus endeavor to show that Freund has not, and indeed, could not, satisfy all the claims which are now made upon a Latin dictionary, we are far from undervaluing or denying his merits. Whatever may he his shortcomings, his work is still the best; and Dr. Andrews, after resolvin gto furnish American classical scholars with a better dictionary than had hitherto existed, could not have made a better selection. No lexicographer has stated with more completeness and precision than Freund has done in his preface, and we advise our readers most earnestly to peruse the whole of it, what a dictionary should accomplish. Keeping the ideal, there sketched by Freund, before our minds, while we take a brief retrospect of what had previously been done in the field of classical lexicography, and more particularly in Latin lexi.. cography, we shall in some measure be able to judge of the merits of Freund both by themselves, and in their relation to those of his predecessors. Freund declares it to be the object of Latin lexicography to set forth the nature of every single word of the Latin language during all the periods of its exist- ence, or, in one word, the history of every single word of the Latin language as long as it was the national language of the Roman people; that is, from the earliest times to the fall of the West-Roman empire; including even those words which, VOL. LXXIII. NO. 152. 7 74 Freunds Latin Lexicon. [July, though of foreign origin, have, by donning a Latin garb, become incorporated into the language, and obtained full citi- zenship. Thus, each article of the dictionary is a historical monograph of that word which is therein described. This history has to unfold the form or outer nature, and the meaning or inner nature, of the word. With regard to the form, Freund marks with precision the boundary between grammar and dictionary, clearly indicating how far the gram- matical element of a dictionary extends. Inasmuch as the greater portion of Latin words are derived from radical words, it is, secondly, the duty of the history of a word to indicate the root. This is the etymological element. These two elements, the grammatical and etymological, constitute the external history of the word. The internal history of a word consists in the exhibition of its meaning, and this constitutes, thirdly, the exegetical element of lexicography. Since many words resemble one another in their meaning, it is, fourthly, the duty of lexicography to compare and distinguish these meanings, which is the element of synonymy. Only a few words, forms of words, and meanings were in use at all periods of the existence of the Latin language. The history of a word must, therefore, flfthly, state to which time a word, or a form or meaning of a word belongs; and this is the special historical or chronological element. The history of a word must, in the next place, sixthly, indicate in what style it was used, whether in poetry or prose, whether in higher or lower prose, whether as a technical term relating to religion, economy, rhetoric, philosophy, etc. This is the rhetorical element. It is, finally, seventhly, the province of the history of a word to state whether it was used frequently or seldom; and this is the statistical element. Each article in a diction- ary is, therefore, a monograph of the particular word accord- ing to its inner and outer nature with reference to the seven elements above enumerated and explained. Without attempting to give a more particular account of the application of this theory of the seven elements to the construction of the dictionary, a subject on which we refer our readers to the preface itself, we must, for a moment, look at the manner in which the exegetical element, un- questionably the most important in a dictionary, has been treated. 1851.] Freunds Latin Lexicon. 75 The first principle laid down by Freund is this, to con- sider among several meanings of a word that which is etymo- logically pointed out as its original meaning. Since the meaning indicated by etymology as the original one is natur- ally to be looked for in the earliest specimens of the language, Freund was led to consider these with special care. We will illustrate this point by a single example. The verb amittere has, in the age of Cicero and afterwards, almost exclusively the meaning to lose; while the etymologically original meaning, to send away, is found in numberless instances in the earlier writers, especially Plautus and Terence. We would remark in this place that Freund, while mentioning among the earliest spe- cimens of the language the fragments of the columna rostrata, seems to entertain no doubt of its genuineness; at least, he says nothing on the subject, nor on the degree of authority attaching to it in the condition in which it has come down to us. The second principle is, to place in the order of mean- ings the proper one as the original before the tropical, as that which is derived; and again to subdivide the notion or conception of the tropical meaning. The latter point is very well illustrated by the various meanings of the word arena. In selecting or forming an appropriate expression for each meaning, Freund did not consider it indispensable to do this by one word, thinking, very properly, that in many cases precision can be attained more effectually by a circum- locution. The next and very important point is, the arrangement of the passages quoted from writers in support of the definitions; and Freunds rule has been to arrange them, with the excep- tion of the locus classicus, chronologically; in the case of prose words or meanings, to place the proof-passages from poets after those from prose writers; in the case of poetic expressions to observe the opposite arrangement; and to avoid, or place last, passages from authors decidedly not genuine. The last point upon which we shall touch, in speaking of the exegetical element, relates to the mode of using the Latin authors themselves. We quote the words of Freund himself on this important subject: The Latin authors themselves are naturally the surest and riches t mine for the lexicon. But as it would have been utterly 76 Freunds Latin Lexicon. [July, impossible to examine for lexicographical purposes, all the Latin authors, [and yet, until this is done, the material for a complete lexicon cannot be said to be collected,] from Livius Andronicus down to Jerome and Augustin, in unbroken series with equal thoroughness and, so to speak, at one heat, the author has made it his first object to examine the first or ante-classical period,* and hopes with the help of Providence gradually to advance further. For the Latinity of this period he had prepared six separate special lexicons, whose contents were,1. Earliest Latinity dowh to Plau- tus, 2. Latinity of Plautus to the exclusion of works falsely attri- buted to him; 3. Latinity of Terence; 4. Latinity of Lucretius; 5. Poetic fragments from the age of Plautus to that of Cicero; 6. Latinity of the prose writers before Cicero. From these special- lexicons the passages of the greatest importance, and of which the reading was most to be relied upon, have been transferred to the pages of the present work. . . - But though the greater share of attention was bestowed on the Latinity of the abovementioned period,still the periods succeeding it received that degree of notice which the harmonious union of the whole indispensably called for. The results of many years reading, for the purpose of lexico- graphy, have been put together in order to make the picture of the classical and post-classical usage, if not a striking likeness, at least a resemblance to the original. From this language of Freund it will be at once apparent, that what he has done, or attempted to do, for the ante-classi- cal literature of Rome, must be done for the classical and post-classical periods also, before we can in truth say that the materials are collected and in readiness. Freund says very truly, that it would have been utterly impossible for himself alone, to examine for lexicographical purposes all the Latin authors from Livius Andronicus and Ennius down to Jerome and Augustin in unbroken series. Until this is done, we may have valuable additions to our existing lexicographical resources, but we cannot have a complete lexicon, constructed symmetrically, according to clear and well defined principles. We look upon Freunds lexicon as such an addition, and a very valuable one, too; and we again express, in the name *Freund means by this the earliest period, from the oldest fragments to Lucretius and Varro. He divides the body of Latin writings into three principal periods; 1. ante-classical, from the oldest fragments to Lucretius and Varro; 2. classical, from Cicero and Ctasar to Tacilus, Suetonius, an~ the younger Pliny, inclusive; 8. post- classical, from that time to the fifth century ~f our era. Tbe classical Latinity is subdivided into Ciceronian, Augustan, and post-Angustan. 1851.] Freunds Latin Lexicon. 77 of the classical students of America, our sincere acknowledg- ment to Dr. Andrews that, by his enterprise, labor, and per- severance, it has been rendered accessible to the students of this country. But truth and justice forbid us to represent that as complete and perfect which falls still short of corn- pletene~s and perfection. We now understand in some degree the relation which Freunds Lexicon bears to the authors own ideal, as sketched in his preface. The next thing is to ascertain the relation of Freunds labors to those of his predecessors, which we shall best accomplish by taking a brief survey of Latin lexicogra- phy. We should like to extend this survey over the entire field; but our limited space obliges us to pass by in silence what the Romans themselves have done in the department of lexicography, and what has been done in it during the middle ages, until we come to the time when the revival of letters imparted to this branch of learning, as to many others, a new and vigorous impulse. We shall confine our survey, there- fore, to the more recent period of Latin lexicography, and begin it with an account of the labors of one of the founders of modern Latin lexicography, one whose influence continued for more than two centuries, and whose labors are still re- garded, by classical scholars, with respect and admiration. We refer, of course, to Robert Stephanus. It cannot be our object to give a biography of this distin- guished man; we shall merely touch upon those events of his life, a knowledge of which will enable us better to appre- ciate his lexicographical labors. It is well known that his national name was Robert Etienne. He was born in 1503, at Paris, and belonged, by birth, to the class of men, at that time considerable, who were at the same time scholars and printers, such as Aldus Manutius and his descendants in Venice, and Joh. Froben in Basle. His fathers name was Henri Etienne, of course not- to be confounded with that of the great Greek lexicographer, who was the son of Robert. When only nineteen years old, he managed the printing esta- blishment of his step-father, Simon de Collines. He early joined the party of the Reformation. By this act, as well as by the publication of a new edition of the New Testament, he aroused the hostility of the Sorbonne. He was yet quite young when he married Petronella, the daughter of a printer, 7* 78 Freunds Latin Lexicon. [July, Jodocus I3adius Ascansius, who understood Latin so well that she was able to teach it to her children and servants, so that there was no one in the household who could not talk Latin with fluency. Stephanus became the father of a numerous family, so that one of his biographers says humorously, and yet truly, inter librorum et liberorum partum minimum spa- tium interfuit. Enjoying the favor and protection of Fran- cis I., he was by him, in 1539, appointed royal printer of Latin and Hebrew; hut notwithstanding the favor of this powerful patron, the persecutions of the Catholic party not only continued, but increased; and when Francis died, Ste- phanus saw himself obliged, in 1552, to leave France and go to Geneva. Being himself a zealous Protestant, he naturally entered into friendly and even intimate relations with John Calvin, Theodore Beza, and other leading Reformers, the works of some of whom he printed. He formed a partner- ship with his kinsman, Conr. Badius, and after a most active and useful life, died the 7th of January, 1559, in his fifty- sixth year. He left three sons, Henry, Robert, and Francis, and a daughter, Catharine. At an early period of his life, in 1528, seeing the deficien- cies of the lexicon of Calepinus, at that time the most exten- sively used, and influenced by the urgent solicitations of his friends, he undertook a revision of that work; but soon be- coming convinced that a radical improvement was impossible, he at first endeavored to induce others to undertake the con- struction of a new dictionary; but all declining the task, he undertook it himself. Led, we suppose, by a sound instinct, he commenced with a careful study of Plautus and Terence, those inexhaustible sources of genuine nervous Latinity. He extracted the words himself, and causing them to be arranged alphabetically, made them the basis of his dictionary. If he had continued this course, he would have furnished a work far superior to that which he actually published; but the remainder of the material was collected with less care and discrimination, with less original investigation, and chiefly by his assistants. After preparing two or three sheets, he sub- mitted them to several scholars, by whose encouragement he was stimulated to such a degree, that, in his eagerness to complete the work, he neglected his business and impaired his health. After the labor of nearly two years, the work 1851.] Freunds Latin Lexicon. 79 was published on the 29th of September, 1531. The expla- nations of the several words were, as Stephanus distinctly states, wholly derived from others, he adding the greater part of the French definitions. From these facts it is apparent, that the work was mainly a compilation, and too little care was exercised in excluding words, not only of the later period, but those which are altogether barbarous. The approbation called forth by the appearance of the work was not universal. Complaints were made that words were wanting, that Cicero, Varro, and other writers were incor- rectly quoted, that the quantity of syllables was not marked, and that proper names were omitted. The second edition, which appeared on the 18th of November, 1536, was greatly improved, in consequence both of the suggestions of scholars and his own continued reading of the best authors, especially Cicero, C~sar, Cato, Varro, Columella, Livy, Pliny, Martial, and others. Proper names, of which there had been but few in the first edition, were added; also, many words omitted in the first edition. He again states that he has added nothing of his own to the explanations of the words. The French translations, the greater part of which were furnished by him, were retained. The third edition, and the last, prepared by Stephanus, appeared on the 21st of May, 1543. This, while it gave evidence of continued improvement founded upon the extended and careful study of good authors, labored still under many defects, for which Stephanus is, in part only, responsible. Many of the best authors, not yet published, were accessible in manuscripts only; the fragments of poets and historians, an important soutce of lexicography, were not yet collected; and the lapidary inscriptions, a still richer and more important source, were not yet available, as was the case at a later period, chiefly through the labors of Gruter and others. The French definitions were, in this third edi- tion, omitted. The principal charge that can be brought against Stephanus himself, is a use, not sufficiently critical, of older and later commentators. The edition, prepared by Phil. Tinghyus, and published at Lyons, in 1573, in four volumes, is usually considered the most complete; but it was rather an enlargement than an improvement, accumulating many things which do not belong into a dictionary. The number of dictionaries honestly or dishonestly built 80 Freunds Latin Lexicon. [July, upon, or derived from, the work of Stephanus is very large. Of the latter class, we mean those whose editors had not the honesty to acknowledge that their materials were derived from Stephanus, were the Thesaurus Lingue Latirue, sive Forum Romanum, published in Basle, in 1576, by Co~lius Secundus Curio, apparently a better and more honest Protest.. ant than lexicographer; and the Promptuarium of Theodo- sins Trebellius, published in the lifetime of Stephanus, and complained of by him. In enumerating some of the more important legitimate suc- cessors of Stephanus, who acknowledged their indebtedness to him, we come, after mentioning a Latin-German dictionary by Job. Fries, which proved so acceptable that it was re- printed more than ten times, and the Gazaphylacium Lati- nitatis, by G. Mattb. Koenig, to a series of able English lexi- cographers, the leader of whom is Thomas Elliot, who pub- lished his dictionary, called Bibliotheca Eliotce, in 1541. He was a friend of Thomas More, and died in 1546. Elliots dictionary was again edited, in 1552, by Thomas Cooper, who added many words and phrases, apparently, however, not derived from original investigation, but from R. Stephanus and Job. Fries. About thirty years later, in 1584, Cooper published a lexicon of his own, in folio, at London: Thesau- rus Linguce Romance et Britannicce tam accurate congestus, ut nihil fere in co desiderari possit, quod vel Latine complecta- tur amplissimus Stephani Thesaurus, vel Anglice totius aucta Eliotce Bibliotheca, opera et industria Thomce Cooperi, Magdalenensis. Cooper preferred, even at the expense of space, to give a full and various translation of each word, because in many instances a single English word is not an adequate rendering of a Latin term. He furnished many passages to show what epithets and adverbs might be pro- perly and elegantly joined to nouns and verbs; he mentioned the gender, declension, conjugation, accent, and derivation of each word. The authorities were given, but unfortunately, in general only, without a particular designation of the pas- sages. Cooper rose high in the church. From being Fellow of Magdalen College in Oxford, he became Dean of Glou- cester, Bishop of Lincoln, and then of Winchester. He died the 20th of April, 1594. These two patriarchs of Latin lexicography in England, 1851.] Freunds Latin Lexicon. 81 Elliot and Cooper, were followed by a crowd of others~ Thomas Thomas, Philemon Holland, John Rider,* and Fran- cis Holyoke together with his son, Thomas, and grandson, Charles Holyoke, Adam Littleton, and, above all, the Linguce Romance Dictionarium luculenturn novum sive Dictionarium Cantabrigiense; which appeared at Cambridge in 1693, and was, for many years, considered a standard work. While most of the preceding dictionaries had paid a disproportionate attention to the English-Latin part, this returned to the right path, and deserves particular attention for the original studies which its authors, who are not named, made for this purpose. The writers thus specially examined by them were Lucretius, Terence, Cmesar, Phmedrus, and Petronius. The editors fol- lowed the second edition of R. Stephanus, and, what gives peculiar interest to their work, used a manuscript collection, made by John Milton, in three folios, from the best and purest Roman authors. They also availed themselves of the In- dices of the Delphin editions, indicated the construction of verbs, rejected incorrect or impure words, and distinguished poetic ones from others. All this shows that the Cambridge dictionary was a great improvement upon Littleton, and all previous dictionaries, as regards the mode both of collecting the material and elaborating the single articles. Before turning to the other Continental lexicographers, who may be considered as followers of R. Stephanus, it will, perhaps, be most convenient, to finish this brief enumeration of English lexicographers. The London edition of Stephanus, published in 1735 by Edmund Law, John Taylor, Thomas Johnson, and Sandys Hutchinson, holds deservedly a high rank, combining the excellencies of Stephanus and Faber. The preface, the Latinity of which is not as pure and correct as might be desired and justly expected from scholars, con- tains a sketch of Latin lexicography, beginning with the Ca- tholicon. The editors, while stating that nothing more was expected of them than a revision of the Lyons edition of Stephanus which enjoyed at that time an exaggerated fame, insinuate, that, left to their own judgment, they would have introduced more radical improvements. * Rider was the first to place the English-Latin part before the Latin-English, an arrangement afterwards imitated by Ainsworth. 82 Freunds Latin Lexicon. [July, Nearly simultaneously with the last mentioned London edition of Stephanus, in 1736, appeared the first edition of Ainsworth. Ainsworth was born in September, 1660, near Manchester, educated at Bolton, and afterwards employed there as teacber. At a later time, he kept a boarding school in London, at Bethual Green, and then in several other places. Having by this means acquired a moderate fortune, he retired, and died April 4th, 1743. The plan of a new dictionary was not original with him, but suggested by others. As was natural in a man who bad been the greater part of his life a classical teacher of English youths, he had a limited educa- tional object in view in preparing his dictionary; and this sufficiently accounts for the shortcomings of his work. He wished to furnish the pupils of classical schools in England with the means of acquiring the faculty of writing the Latin language with purity and propriety. While we cheerfully acknowledge, nay, indeed maintain, that no one can be said to understand a language which he is not able to write, the faculty of writing Latin, and especially of constructing Latin verses, must not merely be a mechanical accomplishment, but both the result and means of penetrating deeply into the spirit as well as the forms of the language. Several of the prede- cessors of Ainsworth, influenced undoubtedly, like him, by the peculiar method of English schools, John Rider, for instance, pursued the same path with the same limited ob- ject. It is natural that Ainsworth, having this aim, should treat with special care the English-Latin part; and he takes a great deal of credit to himself for furnishing a translation not only for all English words, but for many English phrases. He states with great distinctness his object in preparing the Latin-English part: The Latin-classical part, being de- signed partly for the interpretation of the classical writers, and partly as a standard for the Latin tongue, ought to con- tain all words found in any good edition of the several Latin authors generally allowed to be classical, distinguishing those which rarely occur, or are only read in authors of an inferior class, or in the poets, from those which are undoubtedly classical, and used by good writers in prose; together with their etymologies, as far as they can be fixed with any cer- tainty or good probability, and an exact and clear interpreta- tion of all their different senses, ranged in their due order, 1851.] Freunds Latin Lexicon. 83 beginning with those nearest their originals; as also the pro- per vouchers or authorities for every sense so given. This shows that Ainsworth had, within the limits of his scope, a very high ideal; the defects of his work, therefore, are gene- rally defects of execution rather than of his plan. His criti- cisms of his principal predecessors,~Littleton and the Cam- bridge Dictionary, are in accordance with his principles, and so far just. The principle of arranging the significations, and which he claims as entirely new, beginning with that signification which cometh nearest to the etymology of the word, where that is known, and proceeding gradually to those which are more remote from the original sense, though sometimes the most usual, is certainly a great step in the right direction. He acknowledges, in general, that he had the Thesaurus of Stephanus and other good dictionaries before him, hut he does not state more particularly how much he owes to them, and how much to his own reading. He had evidently read much with a view to the preparation of a dictionary; but we should like to have a more particular account of his proceed- ing, in order to judge fairly and correctly of his own labors. Here is undoubtedly the weak point of the work. His mode of quoting, in many instances, proves that he has not read entire authors for the purpose of collecting his materials, but has obtained them from other dictionaries, endeavoring, how- ever, to verify them. He acknowledges the advantage he has derived from the indices of the Delphin editions and others; but indices are a very insufficient source from which to draw the materials for a dictionary. If we add to this, that it was not a part of his original plan to quote the author- ities, but an improvement on that plan, and a very essential one, suggested and made by his associate in the work, S. Patrick, the reader will see that Ainsworths notion of this part of a dictionary, at least, was yet very humble. While we thus, with frankness, point out the imperfections of the work of Ainsworth, when measured by a more perfect standard, we think he had a perfect right to say at the close of his preface: But this I hope will not be denied me by compe- tent judges, that the method taken herein is the best plan towards a complete Latin dictionary that hath yet appeared in our language.~~ 84 Freunds Latin Lexicon. [July, For the second edition, which appeared in 1746, after the death of Ainsworth, Dr. S. Patrick read on purpose the works of Livy, Silius Italicus, Corn. Celsus, Columella, and others, granting thus that the important task of collecting by careful personal research the materials for the dictionary, had been very inadequately performed. The third edition, being called for before the necessary preparations for it were made, Dr. Patrick having in the mean time died, was merely a reprint of the second. The fourth, which appeared in 1752, was pre- pared by Mr. William Young, with additions by Professor Wood, of Gresham College, who had already made some contributions to the second. Having thus completed our brief review of the principal English lexicographers, we have to mention two more distin- guished men who may, to some extent, be considered as fol- lowers of R. Stephanus. The first of them is Basilius Faber, born in 1520, in Sorau. He studied in Wittenberg, and was afterwards successively rector of the Gymnasia at Nordhausen and Erfurt, at which latter place he died in 1576. He pub- lished, in 1571, his Thesaurus Eruditionis Scholasticce. As the title indicates, it was not a lexicon of the language merely, hut of antiquities. He possessed a better and more philo- sophical knowledge of the Latin language than Stephanus, and his work, still of use to scholars, is full of the most valu- able observations. His sons, Philip and Christopher Faber, prepared a new edition in 1587. This was succeeded by a series of editions, prepared by different scholars, by Paul Frank, Aug. Buchner, Jac. Thomasius, Christ. Cellarius, Andr. Stuhel, and finally, by Job. Matth. Gesner, in 1726. Gesner was born in 1691, in Roth, in the principality of Anspach, studied at Jena, was successively teacher at Weimar, Anspach, Leipsic, and finally professor at Goettingen, where he died in 1761. The influence which he exercised, particularly in the last office, upon classical studies and a proper mode of pursuing them, was highly beneficial. The labor which Gesner bestowed upon this edition of Fabers Thesaurus was an excellent preparation for his undertaking a new edition of the Thesaurus of Stephanus. He, at first, intended to make the London edition of 1735 the basis; but he soon discovered that it would be easier and more satisfac- tory to collect the materials bimself, and thus his work was 1851.] Freunds Latin Lexicon. 85 essentially an original one. It was one of his leading objects to condense the work into a smaller bulk, an object which the English editors had desired, but were unable to accom- plish. He entered at once upon an extensive course of read- ing for the purpose. The work being destined neither for beginners, nor for Germany only, but for scholars of all coun- tries, he omitted the German definitions. He paid considera- ble attention to the subject, which even at present is far from being in a satisfactory condition, of determining the precise meaning of the names of animals, plants, and minerals. If he had occasion to refer to authors whom he had not read, and had any doubt, he examined the context of the passage, in the best editions, and thus detected many errors of his predecessors. One great object of his was to transfer the general observations on peculiarities of language from the best commentators to his Thesaurus, which thus became the depo- sitory of the labors of the best classical scholars. He did not conceal that he left some points unsettled, sometimes because no doubt had arisen in his own mind, sometimes from want of time for pursuing an inquiry, being hurried by the printer. The Latinity of Gesner is excellent, far superior to that of the editors of the London edition of Stephanus, and entirely free from the many grammatical mistakes which disfigure the style of the latter. The work to which he had devoted the spare time of twelve years appeared in 1749, under the title, Novus Linguai et Eruditionis Romance Thesaurus. The consideration of the labors of Gesner has brought us to the modern period of Latin lexicography, and we shall now proceed to give a brief account of the greatest Latin lexicographer and his labors; we mean Forcellini. The events of his life are so extremely unimportant that we can despatch the account of them in a few words. Egidio For- cellini was born the 26th of August, 1688, in a village near Padua. The poverty of his parents prevented for some time his attendance upon a school, and he was, therefore, some- what advanced in age when he was admitted into the semi- nary of Padua, then under the direction of Facciolati. The latter, having been solicited by the Cardimd Cornelius, Bishop. of Padua, to undertake a revision of the dictionary of Cale- pinus, which seems to have been still chiefly used in Italy at that time, nearly two hundred years after the publication of VOL. Lxxiii. NO. 152. 8 86 Freunds Latin Lexicon. [July, Stephanuss Thesaurus, he did so with the aid of his young pupil Forcellini, who performed the principal part of the labor. This undertaking, which was commenced the 13th of April, 1715, and occupied them four years, convinced Facciolati of the insufficiency of the work of Calepinus, and suggested to him, in 1718, the idea of an independent dic- tionary. Here, too, the principal work was done by Forcel- lini. He spent three years and a half on the letter A.; and had not advanced far in the work, when the death of Cardinal Cornelius caused an interruption. Forcellini was, in 1724, appointed rector of the school at Ceneda, but re. turned, in 1731, to Padua. During these seven years, the work seems to have been completely stopped. Favored by the Cardinal Rizzonico, and still aided by the advice of his teacher Facciolati, Forcellini devoted himself henceforth almost uninterruptedly to the completion of his great work. He recommenced the work on the 13th of April, 1731, and proceeded sedulously until 1742. Being then appointed Confessarius clericorum, his progress was, in consequence of his official duties, somewhat retarded. Being after nine years, in 1751, relieved from that office, chiefly through the kind intervention of Cardinal Rizzonico, he completed his labors about two years later, on the 21st of February, 1753. A few weeks later, on the 4th of June, he commenced the revision of the work, which he finished in two years, on the 9th of April, 1755. The copying of the manuscript com- menced soon after the beginning of the revision, on the 3d of December, 1753, by Ludovico Violato, and was finished on the 13th of November, 1761. Forcellini did not live to see the printing of his work completed; he died on the 4th of April, 1768, in his eightieth year. It is touching to see the patient unflinching devotion with which this learned, simple- hearted, and pure-minded man bestowed his learning, his labor, and the greater part of a long life upon this one work, and to hear him say, adolescens manum admovi; senex, duin perficerem, factus sum. However valuable the counsel and suggestions of Facciolati may have been, the work is essen- tially the labor of Forcellini; and Facciolati himself says so, on the 13th of January, 1756, after the completion of the revision of the manuscript: Tandem per varios casus, quos nihil attinet commemorare, ad calcem ventum est, vixque ego in 1851.] Freunds Latin Lexicon. 87 plerasque lileras qu~piain contuli pr.~eter consilium. Prin- ceps izujus opens conditor atque adeo unus Forcellinus est. He uses even stronger language in another edition of the same letter: Vixque ego in plerasque voces quippiarn contuli pra~ter consilium, in multas autem ne consilium quidem. The work was published three years after the authors death, and fifty-three years after its first conception, in 1771, in four volumes. Let us now, for a moment at least, glance at the work itselg and the principles and rules which guided Forcellini in its construction. With regard to the collection of the words, he aimed at completeness; in the case of authors where he was not aided by indices, he went through them himself; and besides the works of the ancient grammarians, he availed himself of six or seven collections of lapidary inscriptions and coins. In the examination of inscriptions he proved himself a remarkably keen critic. Although he could not avail himself of Scipionis Maffeii Ars Cnitica Lapidania, which appeared in 1765, after the completion of the dictionary, and had a judgment naturally too well balanced to carry his skepticism as far as that clever and ingenious writer, he rejected many inscriptions which had gained admittance into the Thesaurus of Gruter. On the other hand, the same scrupulous care enabled him to vindicate, from the same source, the Latinity of many words. He paid proper attention to orthography, following the best writers on the subject, as well as the inscrip- tions and coins; and in case of difference, he stated, with reasons, which mode he considered the best. On the subject of etymology he used great caution, seeing that even Varro was mistaken in many of his etymologies; if the etymology of a word was probable, or not too far fetched, he mentioned it. Grammatical points are properly attended to; the de- clension or conjugation of each noun or verb is marked, as also the gender of nouns, the government or construction of verbs~, which words are complete or defective in their gram- matical forms, and which are obsolete, or in good use. As he aimed at completeness in collecting all really Latin words, so he endeavored to give all the significations in which each was used. The heaviest charge which can, perhaps, be brought against Forcellini, is the want of a clear, intelligi- ble principle in arranging the several meanings of a word. 88 Freunds Latin Lexicon. [July, He followed, apparently, in each case such an order as seemed good to him. A consequence of this defect is, that freqi~ently the reader, not knowing from a fixed principle previously explained where to look for a particular significa- tion, is obliged to look through an entire article in order to find a single signification. But while justice requires us to acknowledge this defect, it also obliges us to declare that the manner in which each word and each meaning of a word is supported by one authority or several is such, that Forcellini has far excelled his predecessors, and has left hut little to his successors to add. He quotes no passage as an authority which he has not himself examined in its connection, and quotes so much of it that the reader can judge for himself. When it became necessary to quote fragments, he mentioned where he obtained them, and what grammarian had preserved them. He prefers to omit an authority, however plausible, rather than give as certain what really is not certain. His mode of citation is very accurate, and, in order to prevent all misunderstanding, he goes so far as to give a list of the edi- tions used by him. In arranging his authorities he observes this order; he quotes first the writers of the golden age, adding such older ones as may be extant; then the writers of succeeding ages, and, for the sake of completeness, even writers of the latest age, lutei scriptores. He does not seem to have been aware of a better and more philosophical reason in favor of this course, namely, that, by tracing the history of a word through all its stages of development, we see its decline and end as well as its period of youth, bloom, and vigor. However extensive was his knowledge of history and antiqui- ties in all their branches, he did not, in his explanations of matters of fact or science, disdain to avail himself of the learning of others; for instance, of Julius Pontadera concern- ing Frontinus, Vegetius, and Vitruvius, and of Giambattista Morgagni in matters of surgery. From this short account of Forcellinis work it will appear that he possessed almost every qualification of a lexicogra- pher, profound and extensive learning, keen penetration, sound judgment, indefatigable industry. If he has any de- fect, it is one belonging to the time rather than himself; we mean the want of a more philosophical spirit in viewing and treating language and its phenomena. This deficiency has 185 1~] Freunds Latin Lexicon. 89 been supplied. Modern philology is eminently distinguished fr~r the philosophical spirit with which its labors are carried on; and it is only necessary to read Freunds preface to perceive the effect of this philosophical spirit upon lexico- graphy. We cannot close this sketch of Latin lexicography without adverting for a few moments to a man whose work was for many years more extensively used than any other of the kind. 1mm. J. Gerh. Scheller was born on the 22d of March, 1735, in Ihlow, a village in Lower Lusatia, received his school education in Apolda, Eisenberg, and Leipsic (Thomas school,) and studied philology and theology in Leipsic from 1757 to 1760. He was appointed, in 1761, rector of the school in Liibbe, and in 1771, of that of Brieg, where he remained to his death, July 5th, 1803. After pub- lishing a smaller lexicon, he formed the plan of a larger one, which should enable students to dispense with all commenta- ries. This bold declaration, together with his attacks upon philologists, commentators, and other lexicographers, was a painful but striking illustration of the superciliousness, self- sufficiency, and conceit so rife among the scholars of Ger- many at that time. His animadversions on Gesner, in parti- cular, show much more temper than judgment, and are far from being fair. Notwithstanding this evil spirit, he was a man of great learning, and furnished a useful work. The preface, to the first edition, published in 1783, though long, does not give as much information on the principles which he observed in the construction of his work as we could desire. From a passage of his preface to the second edition, which appeared in 1788, we are led to fhink that Scheller, taught probably by the experience gained in preparing the first edi-. tion, had come to the conclusion that the making of a perfect dictionary, satisfying all demands which can be made on such a work, exceeds the power of one man, and requires the co6peration of several. An examination of the work itself, especially in the shape which it has in the third edition, pub- lished in 1803, frequently suggests the suspicion that Scheller is indebted for much that is contained in his dictionary to Forcellini; and yet Forcellini is not once mentioned. If the suspicion be well founded, the conduct of Scheller is certainly a remarkable instance of gross disingenuousness and plagia.- 8* 90 Coltons Public Economy: [July rism; if it be unfounded, the coincidence between the two works is equally remarkable. No slight testimony to the excellency of Schellers work is to be found in the fact that, after the appearance of the second edition, the great scholar Ruhnken in Holland caused a translation of it into Dutch to be made. This dictionary of Schellers appeared in seven volumes, five containing the Latin-German part, and two the German- Latin. For the benefit of younger students, he published a smaller dictionary, an abstract of the larger one, which was repeatedly reprinted, and had a very large circulation. Seve- ral of the later editions of this smaller lexicon were prepared by G. H. Liinemann, rector of the gymnasium at Goettingen, where he died in 1830, a pupil of G. F. Grotefend. Its im- provements from edition to edition were so steady that in the seventh, 1831, the last prepared by Liinemann, it had be- come one of the most perfect works of the kind. It deserves the more notice among us as it is, for the most part, the ori- ginal of Leveretts translation. Neither the character of this Journal nor the space allotted to this subject allow us to enter upon a detailed examination of Dr. Andrewss translation, even if the shortness of the time which has elapsed since its publication had permitted us to make as thorough and careful an examination as such a work deserves. The merit of introducing to our scholars so useful a work, and the general excellency of the execution, are so great, that a few defects arising from misapprehension or oversight call scarcely for any notice. They are, as far as our observation extends, such as can be easily remedied in succeeding editions, which will undoubtedly be soon called for. ART. IV. Public Economy for the United States. By CALVIN COLTON. New York: A. S. Barnes. 1848. 8vo. pp. 536. MR. COLTON should remember, that if a book be intended to advocate a particular measure or course of policy, the

90 Coltons Public Economy: [July rism; if it be unfounded, the coincidence between the two works is equally remarkable. No slight testimony to the excellency of Schellers work is to be found in the fact that, after the appearance of the second edition, the great scholar Ruhnken in Holland caused a translation of it into Dutch to be made. This dictionary of Schellers appeared in seven volumes, five containing the Latin-German part, and two the German- Latin. For the benefit of younger students, he published a smaller dictionary, an abstract of the larger one, which was repeatedly reprinted, and had a very large circulation. Seve- ral of the later editions of this smaller lexicon were prepared by G. H. Liinemann, rector of the gymnasium at Goettingen, where he died in 1830, a pupil of G. F. Grotefend. Its im- provements from edition to edition were so steady that in the seventh, 1831, the last prepared by Liinemann, it had be- come one of the most perfect works of the kind. It deserves the more notice among us as it is, for the most part, the ori- ginal of Leveretts translation. Neither the character of this Journal nor the space allotted to this subject allow us to enter upon a detailed examination of Dr. Andrewss translation, even if the shortness of the time which has elapsed since its publication had permitted us to make as thorough and careful an examination as such a work deserves. The merit of introducing to our scholars so useful a work, and the general excellency of the execution, are so great, that a few defects arising from misapprehension or oversight call scarcely for any notice. They are, as far as our observation extends, such as can be easily remedied in succeeding editions, which will undoubtedly be soon called for. ART. IV. Public Economy for the United States. By CALVIN COLTON. New York: A. S. Barnes. 1848. 8vo. pp. 536. MR. COLTON should remember, that if a book be intended to advocate a particular measure or course of policy, the 1851.1 International Exchanges. 91 effect produced by it is usually in inverse proportion to its size. His ponderous volume, of more than five hundred closely printed octavo pages, is not likely to make many converts to his reasoning in favor of a protective tariff. Even those who are most interested in domestic manufactures will be reluctant to read so large a work; and it would be unrea- sonable to expect that the friends of free trade should study an elaborate confutation of their own doctrines. Yet there is good material in the book; the writer has shown commenda- ble industry in collecting facts, and some skill in their dispo- sition and use. But he has buried them under an avalanche of words, which needs to be shovelled away before the care- ful reader can derive any instruction from them. The author is not so happy in founding his doctrines upon abstract prin- ciples, as in fortifying and illustrating them with statistical details. His figures prove that the conclusions are sound; but they are often deduced by a summary process in logic from very doubtful premises. The reasoning in behalf of free trade, as a general maxim in economical science, is plau- sible, to say the least; it is a less hazardous attempt to show that the rule has its limitations, or is not applicatAe in all cases, than to take the bull by the horns in a bold assertion that the principle is a false one, and the reasoning in its favor is sophistical. The authority of Adam Smith and Ricardo cannot be easily put aside or lightly appreciated. Having endeavored, in a former article, to show that the general doctrine of free trade is perfectly reconcilable with the policy of granting a reasonable amount of protection to the manufacturing interest here in America, which cannot flourish or even subsist without it, we now resume the subject in order to consider more particularly the effects of this policy upon our commercial intercourse with other nations. This brings us at once to an explanation of the theory of interna- tional values and exchanges, a recent and valuable addi- tion to the science of political economy, and one which has lately compelled the old fashioned advocates of free trade to make numerous and very significant concessions to their opponents. It has struck away the great prop of the univer- sality of their system, and has compelled them to acknow- ledge that the importation of foreign manufactures may be excessive, even for. a long period of years; and that the 92 Coltons Public Economy: [July, inevitable consequence of such excess is to depress the prices of our exports in all foreign markets, and thus to neutralize all our natural advantages for producing these articles of ex- port, by compelling us to exchange them for foreign goods upon the most disadvantageous terms. Hitherto, the evil of excessive importation has been held to be, that it caused a drain of specie from the country, or what was technically called an unfavorable balance of trade. To this unwise argument the reasonable answer was, that a drain of specie to any injurious extent is impossible; for an unnatural efflux of money must raise the value of what is left, and thereby lower the money price of all goods which are exchanged for it. The fall of prices thus occasioned would inevitably tempt foreigners hither to make their purchases, and the goods thus bought must he paid for by remittances of coin or bullion, so that the current of specie would be turned the other way. Money is a self-distributing commodity, which always apportions itself among commercial nations in exact proportion to the wants of each. In theory, this reasoning is perfectly sound; and though many attempts have been made to refute it, we know of none which have had even the appearance of success. Practi- cally, however, as all intelligent merchants will admit, very large importations are found to be attended with very great evils. Experience has proved that they tend to depress the prices of domestic products, to paralyze domestic industry, and even to bring on commercial crises, which are equally disastrous to our agricultural, commercial, and manufacturing interests. To account for these facts, hitherto inexplicable on theory, we must go back to first principles, and after gain- ing clear ideas of the nature of commercial exchanges in general, must see in what manner the aggregate of our ex- changes with other nations is effected. The applicability of our analysis of this subject to the particular question between protection and free trade will appear in the sequel. To effect the domestic exchanges in every civilized coun- try a great amount of money is needed; but as the money which is thus used is merely a convenient ticket of transfer, as it discharges its whole office by being simply transferred from hand to hand, without any of its physical properties being needed or called into exercise, many practices and 1851.] International Exchanges. 93 expedients have been invented, by which the necessity of using so costly a material as gold and silver coin for money is obviated. Some of these may properly be viewed, not as substitutes for the precious metals, but as means which have been contrived for really completing the transactions of com- merce without the intervention of any money. Such are what are termed accounts current between merchants who have frequent dealings with each other. If, for instance, A has occasion, in the course of a year, to make a hundred different purchases of B, and B to buy as frequently and about as largely from A, were each transac- tion to be completed and settled by itself at the time, two hundred transfers of different sums of money from one to the other must be made in a twelvemouth. But if each party chose to allow the other credit till a fixed time for settlement, then the whole amount of purchases on one side might b~ deducted from the whole amount on the other, and only the balance be paid in money. If nine tenths of an account are thus settled by offsets, and only one tenth by cash, it is evi- dent that nine tenths of the trade have been a direct barter of one kind of merchandise for another, just as if money, or a universal medium of exchange, had never been invented. It is by practices analogous to this, rather than by increase4 rapidity of circulation, as we believe, that a nation s want of currency does not increase in as rapid a ratio as its popula- tion and its opulence. Even when the sales are all made by one of the parties, a person who has credit with him may adjust by a single payment in cash several hundred different purchases made at various times since the former settlement. It is important to remember such familiar facts as these, when an attempt is made to attribute all the evil of over-trading to an undue expansion of paper currency, and to a consequent scarcity of specie. We see that over-trading may take place to any extent, without the intervention of any currency what- ever, whether paper or metallic. Another mode of avoiding the frequent transfer of specie is, the transfer or sale of debts. If a merchant has a sum of money due to him by one person, A, while he owes an equi- valent sum to another, B, he can cancel both obligations at once without having the money pass through his own hands at all, by simply giving B an order upon A for the amount 94 Coltons Public Economy: [July, required. Here, one operation one transfer of currency evidently takes the place of two; instead of A paying the given sum to the merchant, and the merchant immediately paying it over to B, A pays it directly to B, and the account is settled all round. If the merchant does business in New York, while A and B are both resident in London, such an order is called a bill of exchange, and the saving of trouble and expense that is effected by it is very obvious; without such an order, A must pay his debt by shipping the required amount of specie from London to New York; and then the merchant, in order to pay his debt to B, must immediately ship the specie back again to London. There would then be a loss of time enough for making two voyages across the ocean, a loss of interest on the money during this time, and the cost of freight and insurance on the amount during two voyages. All this expense and inconvenience are saved by the simple expedient of a bill of exchange, or an order for the transfer of a debt. It may happen that the merchant, though he has a debt due to him in London, does not himself owe any money in that city; still, he will not be obliged to have the specie sent to him by sea, if he can find another merchant in New York who does owe a debt in London to precisely the same amount. The first merchant, C, will then sell his debt to the second merchant, D, or in other words, sell him a bill of exchange, which, when paid in London by A to B, at once cancels As debt to C, and Ds debt to B. Two payments of money, the one from A to B, who are both in London, and the other from D to C, who are both in New York, evidently cancel four obligations, two of which, one from A to C, and another from D to B, are eliminated, or set off against each other, their direct adjustment being inconvenient, because the re- spective parties to them reside in different cities. We can now understand what is meant by the course and par of exchange. All the merchants in New York who have debts due to them in London, draw bills of exchange for the amount of these debts, and go into market to sell these bills to other New York merchants who have debts to pay in Lon- don. If the former set have a larger amount to sell than the latter have occasion to buy, or, in other words, if a greater amount of debt is due from London to New York, than from 1851.] international Exchanges. 95 New York to London, the competition of the selling mer.. chants with each other will lower the price of these bills a little, or subject them to a small discount. A bill of exchange for one hundred dollars may not bring in the market more than ninety-eight and a half dollars; the exchange is then said to be one and a half per cent. against London, or one and a half per cent. below par. It cannot fall much lower than this, for the merchant, rather than take ninety-eight dollars for his bill, will cause the one hundred dollars to be sent over to him by his London debtor in specie; the freight, insurance, and other charges cannot amount to more than t~vo dollars. Whenever, then, the exchange falls about one and a half per cent. below par, we may expect that ship- ments of specie from England to America will begin. On the other hand, if a greater amount of debt is due from New York to London than from London to New York, then there will be more buyers than sellers of such bills in New York market; and the competition of these buyers with each other may cause a bill for one hundred dollars to sell for one hun- dred and one dollars and fifty cents. The difference cannot be much greater than this, or it would cause specie to be shipped from America to England. The exchange is then said to be against New York, or one and a half per cent. above par. In order to simplify this explanation, we have supposed the metallic currency of the two countries to consist of the same denomination of coin, namely, of dollars. But this is not the case; the New York merchant who has a debt due to him in London, draws a bill of exchange, not for so many dollars, but for so many pounds sterling, or sovereigns. Now, the American dollar, or the tenth part of an eagle, contains 23.2 grains of pure gold, and the English sovereign 113 grains and a fraction. These two numbers are to each other, very nearly, as one to 4.87. The exchange, then, is really at par when a bill on London for one hundred pounds sterling sells in New York for four hundred and eighty-seven dollars. This, we say, is the real par; the nominal par, established many years ago, when bills of exchange were paid in silver in New York, and in gold in London, and when the market value of gold compared with silver was less than it is at present, made the pound ster- ling worth only $~4.44. The present value of the pound 96 Coltons Public Economy: [July, sterling, ~4.87, is about nine and a half per cent. more than this; and therefore the exchange is really at par, when, according to the prices current, it is nine and a half per cent. above par. The expense of shipping specie either way being about one and a half per cent., when the exchange nominally rises to about eleven per cent., specie will be shipped from New York to London; when it nominally falls below eight per cent., specie will be shipped from London to New York. If the rates practically vary one or two per cent. from these limits, it is because the market value of gold, when compared with silver, also fluctuates to this extent. From the explanation now given,, it appears very clearly, that bills of exchange represent the items in the account cur- rent between England and America; and the specie shipped either way is the cash balance that is struck on the adjust- ment of the account. Bills of exchange are not drawn against air; they represent real transactions. The New York merchant cannot draw bills on London unless he has debts due to Aim there, which debts have been contracted for cot- ton, flour, tobacco, and other American products, which he had sent thither to be sold. On the other hand, a New York merchant cannot have debts to pay in London, except in return for manufactured goods, whether of cotton, silk, woollen, or iron, which he has received from England, and consumed or sold in America. And in the long run, it is evident that our exported goods must exactly pay for our imported goods, or the two sides of the account must balance each other. If they did not balance, if our exports were not equivalent in value to our imports, the deficiency would have to be made up by sending specie abroad; and a continued drain of specie, according to what has already been demonstrated, would raise the value of the money left behind, and in consequence of raising the value of money, would lower the prices, of goods in America; and the influx of specie into England would lower the value of money there, and raise the prices of goods. Ere long, then, the tide would turn; more goods would ba sent from America, where they are lower in price, to England, where they are higher in price; and in payment for these goods, the current of specie would set in the opposite direction, till the value of money in the two countries was equalized again. The exports of any country must exactly balance its im 1851.] International Exchanges. 97 ports, for the same reason that when two individual pro- ducers of different articles trade exclusively with each other, they must really barter merchandise for merchandise, exchang- ing equivalent values of different kinds, money serving no purpose between them but that of facilitatinn~ the exchanges of goods, and this being, in fact, the only office that money, as such, ever performs. It is oil that diminishes the friction of exchanges. If, for instance, a hatter trades exclusively with a shoemaker, the former can buy no more shoes than he can sell hats with which to pay for them. He may, indeed, run in debt for a large stock of shoes at once; but that debt he will be obliged ultimately to pay by restricting his pur- chases of shoes, and enlarging his sales of hats. So, this country, trading with all the rest of the world, can buy no more foreign products than it has domestic products with which to pay for them. Money and bills of exchange cannot help us to pay our debts; they only facilitate and represent the operations out of which those debts have grown. Thus, in the fatal year, 1836, the imports into the United States were about one hundred and ninety millions of dollars, and the exports were less than one hundred and twenty-nine mil- lions ; apparently a balance of sixty-one millions against us, a sum much too large to be accounted for by the ordi- nary profits of trade and charges of transportation. We ran deeply in debt that year, and had to suffer for it afterwards. In 1838, the balance was five millions, and in 1839, it was forty-one millions, the other way. The sum of these two, or forty-six millions, probably paid off, or nearly paid ofI the balance contracted against us, in 1836, of sixty-one mil- lions. For it is important to state, that although we must really pay for our imports with our exports, the latter must always exceed the former in nominal amount, if we take the home valuation of both. This may easily be perceived by attending to a single voyage of one ship. Suppose a mer- chant sends a cargo of oil to Russia, and brings back a ship- load of duck, iron, hemp, and other Russian products. If his venture be a successful one, it is evident that the aggre- gate value of the return cargo [nust so far exceed that of the outward cargo as to pay the charges of transportation both ways, and afford a reasonable profit on both parts of the transaction. Estimate the values in the Russian port, and it VOL. Lxxxii. NO. 152. 9 98 Coltons Public Economy: [July, will appear that our general proposition holds true; the oil exactly paid for the duck, iron, and hemp, the exports just balanced the imports. Estimated in the American port, the duck, iron, and hemp, exceed in value the oil enough to pay the charges of the voyage and leave a profit. This illustration brings us to an important qualification of the principle as first stated, and to an explanation of another purpose, or office, of bills of exchange. To simplify the matter, we supposed at first that the United States traded with England alone, that bills of exchange facilitated our transactions with her; and we were thus led to the general proposition, that foreign trade is really a barter of merchan- dise for merchandise, equal values being exchanged, and money playing only a very subordinate part in the affair. Foreign trade is only a long and heavy account current of one nation with all the rest of the world, charges on one side being set off by charges on the other, and the account being finally ad- justed by the transfer of a comparatively trifling sum in cash to represent the balance. But our trade is not confined to Eng- land ; it extends to every nation of the earth, and to every isle of the sea. The account is not balanced with each nation separately; far from it. In the case of China, our purchases very much exceed our sales; in the case of the British kingdom, our sales very much exceed our purchases. We set off one case against the other; we pay our debt to China by transferring to her a portion of the debt owed to us by Great Britain, bills of exchange enabling us to transfer debts, not only from one individual to another, but from one country to another. We annually buy tea and other Chinese products to the amount of seven millions; we export directly to China less than two millions. The balance, which is evidently too great to be accounted for solely by charges of transportation and profits of trade, we pay by sending to China bills of exchange on London. On the other hand, our annual exports to the British West Indies tire from four to five mil.. lions, while our imports from these islands seldom exceed one million. We may receive pay for the balance by bills of exchange on London; that is, the West India planters pay us for the articles of provision that we send to them, by transferring to us a part of the debt due to them for the sugar, molasses, spirits, & c., which they have sent to England. 1851.] International Exchanges. 99 These very bills of exchange, emanating from the British West Indies, we might use in paying our debt to China for tea. One article of merchandise is really paid for with an- other, though the one is obtained from Canton, and the other is sent to Jamaica. Very little money is used in the whole circle of transactions ; a single shipment of half a million of dollars may suffice to balance an immensely long account, opened with England, the continent of Europe, China, and both Indies, amounting in the aggregate to sixty or seventy millions. Bills of exchange, then, or the transfer of debts, may take the place of money to an almost incalculable extent. The instances thus far adduced relate only to foreign bills of ex- change, or the adjustment of our trade with other countries. But domestic hills of exchange are also drawn to vast amounts, to represent and balance the items in our account current with the other States and cities of this Union ; they are not, indeed, always called by this name; they generally appear under the form and appellation of drafts and checks. But they all amount to the same thing; they are really bills of exchange, because they are written orders for the transfer or sale of debts. They are distinguished from paper currency, properly so called, or bank bills, by this single circumstance; that a proper bill of exchange, draft, or check must usually be indorsed by each party through whose hands it passes; and every person who indorses it incurs a modified responsi- bility for its payment; while bank bills, as we all know, pass from hand to hand without any indorsement. And this leads us at once to an explanation of the true nature of a bank bill ; like a bill of exchange, it is simply evidence of a debt, which debt is transferred from hand to hand, or ex- changed for merchandise. The bank which pays out one of its own bills simply acknowledges that it is indebted for a specified amount to the person who receives it, or to any other person to whom he may transfer it; and it promises to pay this debt on demand in specie. We are now prepared to consider how it is, in this inter- change of commodities between two countries, that the prices of the articles exchanged are adjusted. For this purpose, we must first see how the price of an article is affected by the demand and supply. 100 Coltons Public Economy: [July, The general principle is, that the price so adjusts itself that the demand shall be just equal to the supply. If the supply he too great, if the market he overloaded with the article, the price must fall; and this fall of price will bring the commodity within the means of a larger class of consum- ers ; that is, the demand for it will be increased enough to take off the quantity which is a drug in the market at the higher price. For instance, when flour is ten dollars a har- rel, it is heyond the means of a lar~,e class in the community, who will then he obliged to live on corn meal and potatoes; we~ will suppose that only 600,000 harrels of flour can be disposed of at this price, for this quantity will satisfy the wants of all who are able to pay ten dollars a harrel. But if the price should fall to five dollars, then the poorer class can purchase flour, and a million of barrels may consequently be disposed of. On the other hand, if the supply should not be equal to the demand, if only 500,000 barrels should be brought to market, the competition of huyers with each other will cause the price to rise from ten to twelve dol- lars; and this enhancement of price will lessen the numher of those who are able to purchase, so that now only half a mil- lion of barrels are required. Thus the fluctuations of price constantly operate to make the demand just equal to the supply. The price of a thing is its market value, or temporary ex- changeable power reckoned in money; its permanent, or natural, exchangeable value will depend on the cost of produc- tion, or the amount of labor that is needed to produce it. Temporary and unforeseen circumstances may cause a com- inodity for a short time to be sold at a price much below its cost; but this cannot continue a long time; the discourage- ment will cause a smaller quantity of it to be produced, and then the price, or market value, will rise again to the true value. The market value is perpetually oscillating about the point of the true value, or the cost of production, seldom exactly coinciding with it, but still more seldom departing from it to any great extent. We repeat the principle, then, that the price, or market value, is adjusted with reference to the supply and demand, and so adjusted as to make the demand just equal to the supply, while the true, or exchangeable value is always regulated in the long 1851.] International Exchanges. 101 run by the cost of production, or the amount of labor needed for the creation of the article. It should be observed, however, that the price does not vary in the same ratio with the excess or deficiency of the supply. If the commodity be a mere article of luxury, a deficiency of one third in the amount offered for sale will not make the price one third larger; people will do without it altogether, rather than purchase it at a cost so materially enhanced. But if the article is a necessary of life, which, rather than resign, people will pay for at any price, a defi- ciency of one third may raise the price to double, triple, or quadruple. The price of corn in England, says Mr. Tooke, has risen from one hundred to two hundred per cent., when the utmost computed deficiency of the crops has not been more than between one sixth and one third below an average, and when that deficiency has been relieved by foreign supplies. To what point, then, will the enhance- ment of price, in either case, whether of luxuries or neces- saries, be carried ? To that point, says Mr. Mill, whatever it be, which equalizes the demand and supply ; to the price which cuts off the extra third from the demand, or brings forward additional sellers sufficient to supply it. With these principles in min~l, let us turn to the considera- tion of foreign trade and international values. We have already proved, that we really purchase commodities with commodities,that we pay for our whole imports with our whole exports, that if, in our traffic with any one coun- try, (China, for instance,) our imports much exceed our exports, then we pay the balance, not in money, but by transferring to China the debt due to us from another country, (England, for instance,) with which our trade is such that our exports exceed our imports. It is only the balance of the immensely long account-current of our trade with all foreign countries whatsoever, which is struck in money; and this cash balance can never be more than an insignificant fraction of either side of the account. The facts here a ree with the theory. The official returns, for instance, for the year ending June 30th, 1848, show that our total imports for that year amounted to one hundred and forty-four millions, while the specie we sent abroad that year was less than three millions. Our total exports of domestic produce for 9* 102 Coltons Public Economy: [July, that year exceeded one hundred and thirty millions, and all the specie we received from abroad was less than six millions. The actual cash balance that year, of course, was the differ- ence between these two sums of specie ; that is, about three millions of dollars. And this was the balance of an account which had one hundred and forty-four millions on one side, and one hundred and thirty millions on the other. Evidently, then, in our foreign traffic, we barter commodities for commodities ; we buy all the articles of foreign produc- tion which we desire, paying for them with our domestic pro- duce that we send abroad. The necessary limit of our im- portation is what we can pay for with all our exports; the necessary limit of our exportation is what we are willing to receive of foreign goods, not of foreign goods brought from one country, but from all countries. It is not necessary that we should take of English manufactured goods enough to pay us for all the cotton, tobacco, andwheat which we sell to England; England is able, though of course she is not very willing, to pay us the balance in tea from China, coffee from Brazil, hemp from Russia, or whatever other article, from whatever other country, we see fit to require. We can compel her to pay us in whatever commodities we may select; for the articles which we sell 4o England, cotton, tobacco, and wheat, are of prime necessity to her, and most of which she cannot obtain elsewhere. As our exports must pay for our imports, the only point to be considered is, how we can dispose of the former to most advantage, or obtain for them the largest return of the latter. The cost to us of our domestic products is, the labor that is expended upon their production. But the cost to us of foreign products is, not the labor which has been expended upon their production, but the labor which we must expend upon the articles that are given in exchange for those pro- ducts. The advantage of an interchange of commodities between nations said Mr. Mill, consists simply and solely in this, that it enables each to obtain, with a given amount of labor and capital, a greater quantity of all commodities taken together. This it accomplishes, by enabling each, with a quantity of one commodity which has cost it so much labor and capital, to pur. chase a quantity of another commodity, which, if produced at 1851.] International Exchanges. 103 home, would have required labor and capital to a greater amount. To render the importation of an article more advantageous than its production, it is not necessary that the foreign country should be able to produce it with less labor and capital than ourselves. We may even have a positive advantage in its production ;but if we are so far favored by circumstances as to have a still greater positive advantage in the production of some other article which is in demand in the foreign country, we may he able to obtain a greater return to our labor and capital by employing none of it in producing the article in which our advantage is least, but devoting it all to the production of that in which our advantage is greatest, and giving this to the foreign count ryin exchange for the other. It is not a difference in the absolute cost of production, which determines the interchange, but a difference in the comparative cost. The inhabitants of Barbadoes, for instance, favored by their tropical climate and fertile soil, can raise provisions cheaper than we can in the United States. And yet Barba- does buys nearly all her provisions from this country. Why is this so? Because, though Barbadoes has the advantage over us in the ability to raise provisions cheaply, she has a still greater advantage over us n her power to produce sugar and molasses. If she has an advantage of one quarter in rais- ing provisions, she has an advantage of one half in regard to products exclusively tropical; and it is better for her to em- ploy all her labor and capital in that branch of production in which her advantage is greatest. She can thus, by trading with us, obtain our breadstuffs and meat at a smaller expense of labor and capital than they cost ourselves. If, for in- stance, a barrel of flour costs ten days labor in the United States, and only eight days labor in Barbadoes, the l)eople of Barbadoes can still profitably buy the flour from this coun- try, if they can pay for it with sugar which cost them only six days labor; and the people of. this country can profitably sell them the flour, or buy from them the sugar, provided that the sugar, if raised in the United States, would cost eleven days labor. This is a striking example to show the benefit of foreign trade to both the countries which are parties to it. The United States receive sugar, which would have cost them eleven days labor, by paying for it with flour which costs them but ten days. Barbadoes receives flour, which would have cost her eight days labor, by paying for it with 104 Coltons Public Economy: [July, sugar, which costs her hut six days. If Barbadoes produced both commodities with greater facility, but greater in precisely the same degree, there would be no motive for interchange. Now let us apply these principles to the trade hetween England and the United States. We will suppose, what is the fact, that this country has a very considerable advantage over England in the production of cotton, flour, and tohacco; while England has some advantage, (a comparatively trifling one,) over us in manufactured goods ; we say a compara- tively trifling advantage, because cotton and tobacco cannot be cultivated in England at all, and one of these articles (cotton) cannot be purchased by her in sufficient quantities from any other country than the United States; while we can manufacture all the goods that are now manufactured in Eng- land. Some of them, (the coarser cotton~, for instance,) we can even manufacture more cheaply than the English; hut most of the finer fabrics, unquestionably, owing to the lower profits of capital and the lower wages of labor, can be more cheaply manufactured in England. To simplify the matter as much as possible, we will take hut one article, flour, as the representative of all the commodities that America sells to England; and hut one article, cloth, as the representative of all the goods which England sells to America ; that is, we will suppose the trade between the two countries to consist exclusively of these two articles. As it has been proved that in foreign trade we barter directly commodities for com- modities, we can fortunately leave money out of the case alto- gether, and estimate the value or cost of the two only by comparing them with each other. We will suppose, on ac- count of the respective advantages possessed by the two countries, that the production of one barrel of flour in Eng- land costs as much labor and capital as would suffice for the manufacture of ten yards of cloth; while in America, one barrel of flour can be produced for three fifths of its cost in England ; or in other words, for as much labor and capital as would, in England, manufacture only six yards of cloth. Whether this state of things proves that in America the cost of flour is less, or the cost of cloth greater, than in England, is a point of no importance. We can simplify the matter still farther, then, by supposing that cloth can be manufactured to equal advantage, or with the same amount of labor and capi 1851.] International Exchanges. 105 tal, in both countries. Our supposition is, tbat so long as each country produces both commodities for itself, the American price of a barrel of flour will be six yards of cloth; while the English price of a barrel of flour will be ten yards of cloth. Now, if a systefn of free trade between the two countries be established, the two commodities will be exchanged for each other at the same rate both in England and America. The price will be equalized between the two countries; but at what point will it be equalized? Shall the English price be established in America, or shall the American price be established in England? Or shall a price intermediate be- tween the two be established? Either of these three sup- positions is possible. The Englishman can afford to give ten yards, for it will cost him that amount of labor and capital to produce the flour in his own country, or for himself. On the other hand, the American can afford to sell the flour for six yards, because this quantity of cloth, if produced in his own country, would cost him as much labor and capital as a bar- rel of flour. Suppose that by the higgling of the market, the price in both countries is fixed at seven yards. The advantage of the trade is then shared between the two coun- tries, but it is shared unequally. America gains one yard on each barrel, as she now receives seven yards of cloth for the labor which formerly produced but six; England gains three yards on each barrel, for the flour now costs her but seven yards a barrel, while it formerly cost her ten. We will sup- pose that, at these rates, America sells one hundred thousand barrels of flour to England, and receives in exchange, of course, seven hundred thousand yards of cloth. The demand on each side must be just sufficient to carry off the supply received on the other. So long as England wants only this amount of flour, and the United States only this quantity of cloth, the interchange will continue at this rate, giving three fourths of the profit to Great Britain, and only one fourth to this country. But suppose the demand to vary in one of the two coun- tries; suppose that England, on account of the increase of her population, now needs one hundred and fifty thousand barrels of flour, which America is perfectly able and willing to furnish. But England can pay for this larger purchase 106 Coltons Public Economy: [July, only by sending over more cloth; the United States, however, by the supposition, are fully supplied with the seven hundred thousand yards which they received before; they cannot buy any more at the old rate of seven yards for one barrel. How, then, is England to obtain the additional quantity of flour that she needs. She has but one coarse to pursue; she must offer her cloth at a reduced price, knowing that this reduced price will bring it within the reach of a larger class of consumers, who will take off the increased quantity that she needs must sell. Instead of seven, she will now offer nine, yards of cloth for a barrel of flour. At this price, the Ame- ricans may be willing and able to buy 1,350,000 yards of cloth, which will furnish the hundred and fifty thousand bar- rels of flour, required by England; or, if we do not need this large quantity of cloth, England has only to sell this quantity at the reduced price to other countries, and obtain in exchange for it tea, coffee, sugar, and other products, which, (at this reduced price again) we do need. If we do not receive the benefit of the change of price in cloth, we shall receive it in other commodities. There is, indeed, one other mode by which England might obtain the additional quantity of flour required without lower- ing the price of her cloth. Suppos~ that the demand of the United States for cloth had been kept down to seven hundred thousand yards by a protective tariW the revenue from which paid the expenses of our government, though it somewhat enhanced the price of cloth to our people. Suppose, farther, that our government, learning that England was inclined to purchase more flour of us, in order to favor that inclination, should determine to abolish the tariff, and admit cloth duty free, or at a nominal duty. Then, indeed, the demand for cloth might be so far increased, that England might obtain her hundred and fifty thousand barrels of flour by paying for it at the rate of seven yards to a barrel. We should, indeed, sell the increased quantity of breadstuffs, but receive in payment only 1,050,000, instead of 1,350,000, yards of cloth. By this wise act of legislation, also, we should be obliged to pay the expenses of our government by direct taxation, should have our domestic manufactures ruined, and the profits of our agriculturists much diminished by the influx into their busi- ness, and the consequent competition, of the disbanded work- men from our manufactories. 1851.] international Exchanges. 107 Those who have followed our reasoning thus far will have perceived that our suppositions all along have been only dis- guised statements of recent facts. The great increase of the English population in consequence of the misery of that population, the policy of the English landlords in depopulat- ing their vast estat~s by driving the peasantry into the towns, thus substituting manufactures for agriculture as their employ- ment, and the deficient harvests of 1846 and 1847, all these causes combined created an evident necessity for a much enlarged importation of breadstuffs into Great Britain. These facts were recognized almost simultaneously by the leading English statesmen of both parties, by Lord John Russell and Sir Robert Peel; and they led, first to a partial, and in a very short time to a total, abolition of the corn laws, those laws which had existed for over thirty years, avowedly to check our sale of provisions to England, and thereby to enhance the price of English manufactures in America. But under the American tariff of 1842, a much enlarged supply of grain from this country could not be obtained without a corresponding material reduction in the price, not only of English manufactures, but of all the other foreign products needed in this country which had been pur- chased for us with English manufactures. The English, therefore, were eager to procure the repeal or modification of this tariff, and succeeded in persuading American statesmen that such a step would be only a fair return for the abolition of the corn laws, and that, in fact, it was necessary in order to induce and enable the English to buy more grain and flour from us. This argument would have had more force, if it had been shown how they could avoid making this enlarged purchase at any rate. But these representations were suc- cessful; Congress did substitute the tariff of 1846 for that of 1842; and this lowered the priceof English manufactures in this country so far that our increased consumption of them paid for the whole enlarged supply of breadstuffs needed by Great Britain. The result was, that a conjuncture of events, which ought to have operated greatly to the advantage of the United States, and to the disadvantage of England, really paralyzed our domestic manufactures, almost destroying those of iron, and greatly injuring those of cotton and wool, while the English manufactures have never been more prosperous 108 Coltons Public Economy: [July, than since the abrogation of the corn laws. Why should they not be? The demand for their products in the United States has greatly increased, while the reduction of price, through which alone this increase of demand could have been effected, has really taken place, not through the English manufacturers receiving less for their goods, but through our own modification of our tariff. We have thereby just thrown away the benefit that would naturally have accrued to us from the increased English demand for our provisions, and we have nearly crushed our own manufactures into the bar- gain. We have now stated the doctrine of international values in the most precise manner, carefully analyzing each step of the process, in order to show that there was no gap in the reason- ing. But as the theory of the matter is necessarily compli- cated and abstruse, we will now state it over again in a more general way, in order to be more fully understood. America produces chiefly raw material, because she has the advantages of a more extensive territory, and a more fertile soil; En 0land produces chiefly manufactured goods, because she has the advantages of more capital, longer expe- rience, and cheaper labor. (We must now use numbers and measures almost at random, for convenience of brief calcula- tion; but any numbers and denominations will answer equally well to illustrate the principle with.) In consequence of their respective advantages, we will suppose that England must give the labor vested in ten pounds of manufactured goods for one hundred weight of raw material; while the labor vested in six pounds of such goods would raise or buy one hundred weight of raw material in America. Now the doctrine of free trade, (which is in itself a perfectly sound and just doctrine if applied to two countries which are simi- larly situated in every respect,) if applied in this case, would teach the Americans to give themselves exclusively to the production of raw material, and the English exclusively to manufactures, on the ground that each could purchase of the other xvhat it would then need, more profitably than it could produce that article for itself. Let us suppose that the Ame- ricans adopt this advice, and raise nothing but raw material. What will be the consequence? As every civilized nation must consume more value vested 1851.] International Exchanges. 109 in manufactured goods than in raw material, (without reckon- ing tea, coffee, and tropical products which must be brought from abroad,) it is evident that we must be constantly pressed to purchase from foreign countries more than we can easily pay for by selling to them raw material. Jn order, then, to enlarge the foreign market for our cotton, tobacco, and flour, in order to bring them within the reach of a larger class of consumers, we must offer them on the most favorable terms. We must offer them at the American price, (of one hundred weight for six pounds of manufactures,) rather than at the foreign price, which they would otherwise naturally assume, of one hundred weight for t~n pounds. At this last price, it may be assumed that we could dispose of only one thousand tons of the raw material; and for this amount we should procure only 200,000 pounds of manufactured goods; not enough to supply our wants. But in order to obtain more, we must be able to sell more; and in order to sell more, we must offer the raw material at a lower price, so as to enable a greater number of foreigners to purchase it. If we offered it at the rate of six pounds to the hundred weight, we might be able to sell, not merely one thousand tons, but ten thousand; and this, at the price mentioned, would give us one million two hundred thousand pounds of manufactured goods, which might perhaps be sufficient. The principle is, then, that whichever nation is under the strongest temptation or necessity to buy from others, whichever needs to buy more value than it can readily sell of its own products to pay for, that nation labors under a disadvantage in the traffic, and must offer its own commodities at the lowest possible price. At the lowest price which is possible, we say; for the theory shows clearly that there are limits beyond which the price can neither be elevated nor depressed. We cannot sell for less than six pounds, because the labor and capital expended in producing a hundred weight of raw material would, with all our disadvantages in manufacturing, enable us to manufacture six pounds of such goods for ourselves. Neither can we obtain more than ten pounds, because the English labor and capital bestowed on ten pounds of these goods would enable the English, in spite of their disadvan- tages in regard to raw produce, to raise one hundred weight VOL. LXXIII. NO. 152. 10 110 Coltons Public Economy: [July, of raw material for themselves. Within these limits, then, is the sphere of operation of a protective tariff; beyond them is the sphere of free trade. Prohibitory duties are always unwise; for the object is to check consumption, not to destroy foreign trade. The purpose of a protective tariff is to secure to each nation the use of its own natural advan- tages; or rather, to prevent it from throwing these natural advantages away by too assiduous and exclusive cultivation of them, the effect of which would be, that the other arts and branches of industry would perish by neglect. An ana- logy may here be traced between the true policy of a nation in developing all its ftsources, and the true system of edu- cation for cultivating all the mental faculties of a man. One faculty of a child, the memory or the imagination, may be developed by accidental circumstances to an inordinate ex- tent. An unwise parent, like the injudicious partisans of free trade, would foster and enlarge this inequality instead of striving to diminish it; and would, thereby, not only leave the other faculties to die out by disuse, but would make the one talent preternaturally developed a curse rather than a blessing. A community cannot prosper by devoting all its energies to the cultivation of but one of the three great branches of industry. Devoted to agriculture alone, or to manufactures alone, or to commerce alone, it makes no difference ; in either case, it will have but one class of articles to sell, while it will have two classes of articles to purchase ; in either case, it will have a greater surplus of one kind to dispose of, than other nations will be willing or able to purchase, except at the lowest possible price ; and to sell at the lowest pos- sible price, as we have now demonstrated, is just to sacrifice the whole of the natural advantage with which we are en- dowed by nature, and to put ourselves on a par with other countries in this respect, while we are below them in every other respect. On this point, the history of England is as full of instruction as that of our own country. The English peasantry have been driven away from their natural pursuits and mode of life in the fields, and have been forced to become operatives in the towns. English manufactures have thus been developed to a prodigious extent; and the consequence is, that England is importuning every government in the world to throw down 1851.] International Exchanges. 111 its barriers of protection, and to receive manufactured goods at a inarvellously cheap price, a price much below their natural cost of production, if English labor were remunerated at a fair rate. But it is not thus remunerated; the wages of English operatives have, of late years, been reduced to the point where starvation is ever imminent; and bewildered by the lamentable consequences of this state of things, astonished to find general misery where their theory of free trade led them to expect general prosperity, the English economists have had recourse to such doctrines as those of Malthus ai~d Ricardo to explain away the failure of their prognostications, and have actually discovered that all the evil must be attri- buted to an inevitable cause, to the over population of the earth. What has been the fate of England in regard to manufactures may be our own condition in respect to agricul- ture, if we do not become wise in time. That we are not here advocating a protective policy to an extent which will impeach the truth of all the leading doc- trines of political economy, as that science is usually taught, must appear from the limitations of the theory which we have already laid down, and from the fact that this theory is frankly accepted even by those English economists who are the stoutest advocates of the general doctrine of free trade. For proof, we quote from John Stuart Mill. If it be asked, he says, what country draws to itself the greatest share of the advantages of any trade it carries on, the answer is, the country for whose productions there is in other countries the greatest demand, and a demand the most suscepti- ble of increase from additional cheapness. In so far as the pro- ductions of any country possess this property, the country obtains all foreign commodities at less cost. It gets its imports cheaper, the greater the intensity of the demand in foreign countries for its exports. It also gets its imports cheaper, the less the extent and intensity of its own demand for them. The market is cheap- est to those whose demand is small. A country which desires few foreign productions, and only a limited quantity, while its own commodities are in great request in foreign countries, will obtain its limited imports at extremely small cost, that is, in exchange for the produce of a very small quantity of its labor and capital. Mills Political Economy, vol. ii. p. 131. Consequently, he argues, the opening of a new branch of export trade; or an increase in the foreign demand for our pro- 112 Coltons Public Economy: [July, ducts, either by the natural course of events, or by an abrogation of duties; or a check to our demand for foreign commodities by the laying on of import duties at home, or of export duties else- where ; these, and all other events of similar tendency, would make our imports no longer a balance for our exports; and the countries which take our exports would be obliged to offer their commodities, (specie among the rest,) on cheaper terms, in order to reestablish the equation of demand; and thus we should ob- tain money cheaper, and acquire a generally higher rate of prices. Incidents the reverse of these would produce effects the reverse, would reduce prices. lb. p. 145. We borrow from another English authority a clear state- ment of the limitation under which alone the theory of free trade is applicable. If all the countries of the globe were actually, or were ready to become, constituent portions of one and the same great family, the theory of the Free-traders might seem plausible. But the plain truth is, that the whole analogy is forced and unna- tural. By treating the human race as one great family, we are not following, but departing from, the apparent design of Provi- dence as indicated in the dispensations which everywhere present themselves to our observation. In these, we are totally unable to discover any trace of this ideal incorporation. Separated by natural and defined boundaries, often by broad tracts of ocean; differing even in physical organization; inhabiting portions of the earths surface varying in temperature from the fervid heat of the torrid zone to the almost unendurable cold of the arctic regions; above all, absolutely unintelligible to each other by variety of language ; the Deity seems to have stamped on the features of nature and of humanity in unmistakable characters that nations shall remain separate and distinct, each pursuing, under the restraints only of moral obligations and just laws, its own separate interests; and thus, in beautiful harmony with the similar arrangements among individuals of the same nation, each, however unconsciously, contributing to that general good which is but the aggregate of the separate good of its parts. Quar. Review, No. clxxi. p. 86. The situation of the United States is so peculiar that argu- ments drawn from European experience for the guidance of our conduct are apt to be wholly fallacious and unsound. We can more profitably go for a lesson to the other side of the habitable globe ; to a country even more widely sepa-. rated than we are, by a waste of ocean, from the arts and 1851.] international Exchanges. 113 industry of England and her European rivals; we mean, to British India. There we find a deficiency of capital, an abundance of fertile territory, a consequent surplus of agricul.. tural produce, and a lack of skill in manufacture which can only be gained by long experience under a strict protective policy, such as England has enjoyed for nearly two centu- ries ; all these circumstances strongly reminding us of cor- responding features in our own condition. Now, the Go- vernor-General of India, in a recent correspondence with the East India Company on the subject of the Dacca weavers, makes this statement: Some years ago, the East India Company annually received of the produce of the looms of India to the amount of six million to eight million pieces of cotton goods. The demand gradually fell, and has now ceased altogether. European skill and machinery have superseded the produce of India. CottQn piece-goods, for ages the staple manufacture of India, seem forever lost; and the present suffering to numerous classes in India is scarcely to be paralleled in the history of commerce.~ We have introduced this example especially because it throws light upon another reason for the establishment of a protective policy, in America as well as in India ; we mean, the great difference in the cost of transportation be- twee& raw materials and manufactured goods, which operates greatly to the advantage of the country producing the latter, because manufactures have much the greater value in the smaller weight and bulk. Rice, wheat, cotton, and sugar are among what might be called the greatest natural exports of India, as they are produced there very cheaply in great abundance. The average price of wheat at Calcutta is less than fifty cents a bushel; but the freight and other charges of transporting that bushel to England and selling it there amount to about eighty cents. England, therefore, though she has abolished her corn laws, enjoys a virtual protective duty against wheat from India, amounting to one hundred and sixty per cent. The cost of transporting English manufac- tured goods to India cannot, on an average, exceed forty per cent. of their value. The difference between these two rates, amounting to one hundred and twenty per cent., is, of course, really prohibitive in its effects; and India wheat is not brou~ht to England at all. The difference in the cost of 10 * 114 Coltons Public Economy: [JuJy~. transporting raw materials and manufactured goods across the Atlantic is certainly not so great as in sending them round the Cape of Good Hope; hut it is enough to give a very important advantage in the traffic to England. Our chief article of export, raw cotton, is a very bulky one; and even breadstuffs and tobacco are more expensive, both for land and sea carriage, than the cheapest manufactures of the loom. We speak of the carriage, by land as well as sea, because the greater part of the raw material that we export is raised far in the interior, and the cost of bringing most of it to the Atlantic coast far exceeds that of carrying it over the ocean. On the other hand, our chief articles of import from Great Britain5 with the possible exception of pig and bar iron, are of the finer species of manufacture, and therefore contain great value within little weight and bulk. It would be diffi- cult, if not impos~ible, to esthnate the average charges of transportation of so many different articles; hut it would be perfectly safe to consider the difference as twenty per cent. on the whole value of the goods in favor of England; that is, as an English protective tariff to that extent. In other words, if we send a million of dollars worth of raw material to England, we must pay thirty per cent. on its value for carriage, before it is admitted; while on a million of dollars worth of fine manufactured goods received in exchange, the English have to pay but ten per cent. Consequently, on the very principles of free trade, which means nothing but trade with equal advantages to the two parties, we ought to levy a general protective duty of twenty per cent. One other consideration in favor of what may be called the American system we must mention, because it affords an answer to an argument frequently and strenuously urged on the other side. It is said that a protective duty raises the cost to the consumer, not only of those goods which are imported, and which therefore pay the duty, but of those also which are manufactured within the country, and sold at an enhanced price, because they are in a great measure protected against foreign competition. We have already alluded to the fact which does away with at least half the force of this argument ; namely, that a protective duty, being designed as a check to injurious fluctuations of price, is graduated with reference to the lowest price at which the foreign cornmtxlity 1851.] International Exchanges. 115 is ever sold, and not with reference to the average price. Thus, a duty of thirty, may not raise the average price more than fifteen, per cent., and this last may be the whole amount of real protection that the American manufacturer needs; but to secure this protection at all times, the duty must be fixed at thirty per cent., because circumstances may sometimes force the foreign commodity upon the market at a price fifteen per cent. below its ordinary value. But farther, this expression forcing upon the market~ points to another fact of frequent recurrence in trade, which demonstrates the necessity of placing a check upon excessive imports. The reaction of a commercial crisis in England, makin0 dealers there eager to get rid of a large quantity of goods at almost any price, or the beginning of such a crisis in America, when the speculative fever tempts importers to accumulate stocks to j~ ruinous extent, may cause a glut in our market of many commodities at once, depressing the value of the whole exchangeable produce of the country to a degree far beyond the proportion which the stocks of those commodities bear to the aggregate of that produce. We have seen that the abstraction of a third part of the ordinary supply may double the price, or fail to raise it more than one sixth, according as the article is one of prime necessity, or one which people can easily do without. So the addition of a third to the ordinary stock of goods on hand may sink the price, not merely in proportion to that increase, but to one half of its former amount. The whole stock, then, both of foreign and domes- tic products, must be sold at this ruinous sacrifice. But on this great question between free-trade and protect- ive policy, these considerations of immediate pecuniary loss and gain do not deserve so much notice as the circumstances which we considered at length in our last number, result- ing from the devotion of the greater part of our people to rude or skilled labor, and from their consequent collection into towns and cities, or wide dispersion over the face of the country. Viewed in this light, we confess, the question seems to be one between progress in civilization and the arts, or a gradual return, we will not say to barbarism, but to that very imperfect stage of civilization which exists in all coun- tries where the population are almost exclusively devoted to agriculture. The best legislative policy is that which will 116 Coltons Public Economy. [July, most effectually develop all the natural advantages of a country, whether mental or material. To give full scope to all the varieties of taste, genius, and temperament; to foster inventive talent; to afford adequate encouragement to all the arts, whether mechanical, or those which are usually distin- guished as the fine, arts; to concentrate the people, or to bring as large a portion of them as possible within the sphere of the humanizing influences and larger means of mental cul- ture and social improvement which can only be found in cities and large towns ; these are objects which deserve at least as much attention as the inquiry where we can purchase calicoes cheapest, or how great pecuniary sacrifice must be made before we can manufacture railroad iron for ourselves. We see not how these ends can be obtained in a country like ours, which is, so to speak, cursed with great advantages for agriculture, emigration, and the segregation of the people from each other, without throwing over our manufacturing industry, at least for half a century to come, the broad shield of an effective protecting tariff. We shall need this shield only while we are passing through the term of our pupilage and apprenticeship, which, for a nation, of course, is always a protracted one; we shall need it, to adopt Burkes phrase, only while we are in the gristle, and have not yet hardened into the bone, of manhood. When we have enjoyed, as England has already enjoyed, the benefit of a strict protect- ive policy for over a century, for the purpose of completing our education in manufactures, then we shall be ready to do, what England at last has done, to throw down all barriers, and to invite the world to compete with us in the application of industry and skill to any enterprise designed to satisfy the wants of man. 1851.] Sanitary Reform. 117 ART. V. Report of a General Plan for the Promotion of Public and Personal Health, devised, prepared, and recommended by the Commissioners appointed by the Legislature of Massachusetts, relating to a Sanitary Survey of the State. Boston: Dutton & Wentworth, State Printers. 1850. Svo. pp. 544. THE character and purpose of sanitary science are such, that every one is directly interested in diffusing a knowledge of it as widely as possible. It does not, like medical science, offer to cure diseases, but aims to prevent them. It is based upon well-observed and accurately-recorded facts. Drawing its inferences from a careful observation of the lamentable results of the actual mode of life, both of communities and individuals, it does not present a new theory of living, but points out the evils which may be avoided, and the advantages which may be gained by obedience to sanitary laws. It is no vague project for lengthening the natural term of life. It holds out no promise of an earthly immortality, or of an existence which shall be reckoned by centuries. Its only promise is to remove whatever artificially curtails or saddens our mortal life. When the old pass away, we are sad, but not comfortless. Some natural tears are shed, as we receive their parting blessing; but we have faith, even amidst our tears, that it is a merciful dispensation which calls them to another life. But it is not so when infancy dies, or when youth and manhood perish by the roadside. When the silver cord is loosed before the music of the harp has been heard; when the golden bowl is broken before the waters of life have filled it, then our hearts are desolate and refuse to be comforted. It is the death of the young, the premature blighting of the flower in the bud, which, more than any other affliction, requires for its consolation the exercise of the highest Christ- ian faith. The instincts of nature refuse to believe, that because such trials are permitted by the Great Disposer of life, they were therefore intended always to exist. From the details of sanitary science, from the forbidding statistical columns of Health Returns and Registration Reports, we learn the comforting lesson, that these saddest of all afflictions are owing more to the transgressions of man than to the

1851.] Sanitary Reform. 117 ART. V. Report of a General Plan for the Promotion of Public and Personal Health, devised, prepared, and recommended by the Commissioners appointed by the Legislature of Massachusetts, relating to a Sanitary Survey of the State. Boston: Dutton & Wentworth, State Printers. 1850. Svo. pp. 544. THE character and purpose of sanitary science are such, that every one is directly interested in diffusing a knowledge of it as widely as possible. It does not, like medical science, offer to cure diseases, but aims to prevent them. It is based upon well-observed and accurately-recorded facts. Drawing its inferences from a careful observation of the lamentable results of the actual mode of life, both of communities and individuals, it does not present a new theory of living, but points out the evils which may be avoided, and the advantages which may be gained by obedience to sanitary laws. It is no vague project for lengthening the natural term of life. It holds out no promise of an earthly immortality, or of an existence which shall be reckoned by centuries. Its only promise is to remove whatever artificially curtails or saddens our mortal life. When the old pass away, we are sad, but not comfortless. Some natural tears are shed, as we receive their parting blessing; but we have faith, even amidst our tears, that it is a merciful dispensation which calls them to another life. But it is not so when infancy dies, or when youth and manhood perish by the roadside. When the silver cord is loosed before the music of the harp has been heard; when the golden bowl is broken before the waters of life have filled it, then our hearts are desolate and refuse to be comforted. It is the death of the young, the premature blighting of the flower in the bud, which, more than any other affliction, requires for its consolation the exercise of the highest Christ- ian faith. The instincts of nature refuse to believe, that because such trials are permitted by the Great Disposer of life, they were therefore intended always to exist. From the details of sanitary science, from the forbidding statistical columns of Health Returns and Registration Reports, we learn the comforting lesson, that these saddest of all afflictions are owing more to the transgressions of man than to the 118 Sanitary Reform. [July, decrees of Providence. Thousands die annually before their time, and tens of thousands waste much of their lives on beds of sickness, not by the inscrutable purposes of their Creator, but because the noisome atmosphere of uncleanliness, disease, and death has been allowed to gather and float about them, till the lamp of life has gone out. Sanitary improvement is now generally recognized in Europe as one of the great reform movements of the day. It has attained this position more on account of its intrinsic importance, than from the exertions of its friends. It is much indebted to the efforts of a few persevering and philanthropic men, like Mr. Chadwick and Mr. Southwood Smith; but it has chiefly commended itself to public notice through the magnitude of the interests which it affects. In Europe, and particularly in France, Germany, and England, it has attracted considerable attention and accomplished much good. It is regarded, not merely as an auxiliary, but as an indispen- sable prerequisite, to any attempt for the general and perma~ nent elevation of the poorer classes. In this country the sanitary movement is less known. Our readers are doubtless familiar with its name, though it has not yet assumed before the community the importance which rightfully belongs to it. We trust, however, that the Report of the Sanitary Commis.- sion of Massachusetts will do much towards creating a more enlightened public sentiment upon the subject. We do not propose at the present time to give a history of the sanitary movement, or even an exposition of the princi- ples upon which it is founded. Our object is to present, as briefly as possible, a few of the most important facts, which form at once the basis of sanitary science, and the most urgent reasons for sanitary reform. Pure air, exercise, and cleanliness, have been recognized since the days of Hippocrates as indispensable to soundness of body and length of years. But until very lately, there have been no data by which to estimate, with any degree of exactness, the enormous waste of life and health, which result from the privation and insufficient supply of these essential conditions of physical existence. The labors of the Regis- trar-General in England, and of the Bureaus of Health in France and Germany, have at length supplied this defect, so far as those countries are concerned. Their Registration 1851.] Sanitary Reform. 119 Reports do not contain merely a barren enumeration of each years births, marriages, and deaths. They present accurately.. recorded observations, in every case, of the date and cause of death, and also of the occupation, age, sex, habitation, and locality of those who have died. It is from these Reports, which contain the actual sanitary history, not of a single community, but of millions of individuals, and which now embrace a series of years, that we are enabled to ascertain the comparative healthiness of different classes and occupa- tions in society, and to compare the mortality of different cities with each other, and with that of the country. With these Reports before us, it is easy to eliminate the unnecessary, from the inevitable, causes of disease and death; and thus to show how sickness may be avoided and human life prolonged. Let us look at some of the facts with regard to this matter. In the first place, there is an annual, needless sacrifice of human life in this country and in Europe, which is great enough to stagger belief. The English Registration Reports show that two per cent., or one death to every fifty inhabit- ants, is the annual average mortality for the healthy districts of England. In a large proportion of the districts, (nearly one half of the whole number,) the average rate is somewhat less than this. These districts do not exhibit this low ratio of mortality merely because they are rural. They contain towhs and cities, whose population varies from ten to forty thousand inhabitants. Even in Birmingham, a manufacturing town with a population of 140,000, the average mortality, accord- ing to the authority of an intelligent writer in the British and Foreign Medical Review for January, 1848, is less than two per cent. Thus it appears from actual observation, that in nearly one half of England, in towns as well as in the coun- try, the rate of mortality is two per cent., or less. In the other parts of England, which, in a sanitary point of view, differ from these only in circumstances that are removable, the ratio is much greater. According to the writer just quoted, the annual mortality in Birmingham is one in 50.63 of the population, or less than two per cent. In London, it is one in 39.10; in Sheffield, one in 29.28; in Liverpool, one in 34.92; in Leeds, one in 35.44; in Manchester, one in 39.93. In the whole of England, it is one in 45.8, or 2.18 per cent. A glance at these figures is enough to show 120 Sanitary Reform. [July, an appalling waste of human life. There- is no reason why these last named towns should have a sanitary condition infe- rior to that of Birmingham; and, a fortiori, the mortality of the United Kingdom ought not to be greater. It has, in fact, been proved that the rate of mortality for the whole kingdom might be reduced, hy proper sanitary regulations, to less than two per cent., the rate of Birmingham and of nearly half the districts of England. If this were the case, there would be a saving of the excess ahove that rate, which would amount annually to more than 50,000 lives in Great Britain alone. Surely, such a sacrifice of life should arouse the atten- tion of every philaHthropist. The Registration Reports of Massachusetts, imperfect as they are, show that the amount of unnecessary sickness and the waste of life are proportionally as great in New England, as among our Transatlantic brethren. We learn from the Report of the Sanitary Commission, that the average rate of mortality, during a period of ten years, in three country towns of New England, was one in 67 of the inhabitants, or 1.49 per cent. This agrees very nearly with the healthiest Eng- lish district. In Boston, according to the City Registrars Report, the average rate for the ten years ending with 1850 inclusive was one in 41, or 2.43 per cent. For the year 1849, when the cholera prevailed, it was as high as one in 26, or 3.84 per cent. For the last half of this decade, the rate was one in 34, or 2.94 per cent. This is nearly one per cent. greater than the mortality of Birmingham with all its smoke, and dirt, and manufactories; and hut little less than the average mortality of Liverpool, one of the unhealthiest cities in England. Observation has shown, as we have stated, that the average rate of mortality in any community need not exceed two per cent. If the number of deaths in Boston had been kept at this standard for the last ten years, by proper sanitary regulations, there would have been in this city a saving of more than 1,100 lives annually. What an amount of anguish and grief might have been averted, how many hearts might have heen saved from desolation, and families from gloom, and homes, how often, from poverty and misery, if the hand of the destroying angel had been so often stayed! The waste of life in our large towns may be seen in a still 1851.] Sanitary Reform. 121 more striking manner, by comparing different sections of the same city with each other. For this purpose, let us make a comparison of three different sections of Boston. We are enabled to do this with considerable exactness through the kindness of Mr. Simonds, the City Registrar. Compare, for example, the mortality of the population for the year 1850, on Beacon Hill, with that of the inhabitants of what is called the Back Bay, and of those who dwell along the wharves, in Broad, Sea, and Cove Streets. We give the population of these sections as set down in the city census report for the same year. The first section which we have selected comprises the portion between Beacon and Pinckney Streets inclusive, ex- tending from the State House to Charles Street. Belknap and West Cedar Streets were not included. This section of the city is all high land and thoroughly drained by nature. The houses are large and well ventilated. The inhabitants belong to the upper classes of society, and in England would be denominated the gentry. The population of this dis- trict is 2615. Of this number, 2054 are Americans, and 561 foreigners. Most of the latter class are probably domestics in the families of the former. The number of deaths in this section for 1850 was only 35; this is one in 74.7 of the inhabitants, or 1.3 per cent. In Herefordshire, one of the healthiest districts of England, the rate of mortality is about one in 68.49. In the country towns of New England, cited ahove, it is one in 67. Thus the Beacon Hill district of Boston exhibits a more favorable rate of mortality than either of these rural localities. We should he careful, however, not to draw a too hasty conclusion from this statement. The year 1850 was one of unusual health in Boston. Moreover, many of the inhabitants of this district spend a considerable portion of each year out of the city, and doubtless several deaths occurred, during their absence, which are not included in the enumeration. It would therefore be a nearer approxi- mation to the actual mortality to assume one in 67, or the rate of the country towns, just cited, as the rate of the Beacon Hill district. Even this is much more favorable than the standard of two per cent., or one in 50, to which sanitary science has shown the mortality of every community may be reduced. vOL. LXXIU.NO. 152. 11 122 Sanitary Reform. [July, The next section is that upon the Back Bay. It con- tains the district which is included between Pleasant Street and the marsh, and extends from the Providence Railroad station to West Orange Street. lit is composed entirely of newly made land. The streets are narrow, the sewerage and drainage are imperfect. The houses are small, and built around alleys as well as upon streets. The population is 5121. Of this number, 1348 are foreigneis, and 3773 Ameri- cans. The native inhabitants are mostly tradespeople and mechanics. They are intelligent, and are as attentive to the known laws of hygiene as the average of any community. Here the mortality was one in 52.7 of the inhabitants, or 1.9 per cent. This rate is much higher than that of the first dis- trict, and nearly equal to the mortality of Birmingham. It is not, however, a large mortality, and is a close approximation to the standard of two per cent. If the year had been sickly, the rate would have been considerably increased. Let us now look at the last district selected for comparison. It comprises Broad, Cove, and Sea Streets. These streets are situated near the wharves. They are built principally upon made land, and have numerous blind alleys, or cul-de- sacs, leading from them. The streets and alleys are badly drained, and crowded with an overflowing population. A large number of the houses have no means of sewerage what- ever, and all their refuse of every description stagnates about the yards, spreading on every side poisonous exhalations, laden with disease and death. A majority of the houses con- tain several families, and some of them have no less than nine or ten. Even the cellars of the houses are often inhabited. In some instances, one cellar leads to another, and this to a third, a sort of dungeon, all inhabited by human beings of both sexes and every age. The population of these three streets was 2813, of whom 2738 were foreigners, and only 75 Americans. The mortality was one in 17.6 of the popu- lation, or 5.65 per cent., and this in a year remarkable for its healthiness. What it would have been in a sickly year, we dare not conjecture. There are but few instances on record of a mortality like this, in any community, except during the visitation of a pestilence or an epidemic. Doubt- less, the habits of the people, their excesses and inattention to personal cleanliness, or rather fondness for filth, contributed 1851.] & rnitary Reform. 123 to swell the mortality. But after making all due allowances, there remains an appalling per centage of death. If one in every seventeen and a half of the population in those streets is doomed to death annually, a fearful responsibility will rest upon the community until such pestiferous abodes are purified. The pestilential atmosphere of the spot will spread, and con- taminate the healthier districts of the town. All must suffer for the neglect and indifference with which such abodes are regarded. No community can have so fearful a plague spot near it with impunity. It appears, then, that the mortality of the whole of Boston and of several of its districts presents the following contrasts. The rate for the whole city (omitting decimals) is one in 38 of the inhabitants. For the Beacon Hill district, it is one in 74; for the Broad Street district, one in 17; and along the Back Bay, one in 52. We were at first inclined to regard these figures as an exaggeration. We could not believe that a portion of Boston is annually almost decimated of its population. But a careful rei~xamination has confirmed the accuracy of the statement. We are told a great deal of the contrasts of European life. We have heard much of famine in the midst of plenty; of splendor set off by squalid misery; of abject wretchedness showing its gaunt and deformed fea- tures by the side of ease and luxury. Undoubtedly this is true. We can bear personal testimony to the accuracy of the picture. And yet we can recall, neither from our own observation nor from the statements of others, any contrasts of life, (not even in London,) greater or more striking, than that which we have copied above, and which may be gathered from the columns of the Registrars account of the mortality of Boston. Whether similar results would be obtained, if similar invest- igations were made with regard to. New York, Philadelphia, and other cities in the United States, we do not know. Not having the means at command, by which to institute similar comparisons, we will hazard no conjectures upon the matter. It is time to return from this digression. The sanitary movement does not merely relate to the lives and health of the community; it is also a means of moral reform. It appeals to the philanthropist, and to Christians of every sect. The ultimate connection between filth and vice has been noticed 124 Sanitary Reform. [July, by all writers upon this subject. Outward impurity goes band in hand with inward .pollution, and the removal of the one leads to the extirpation of the other. Cleansing the body is not more a symbol, than it is a means and a condition, of inward purity. Wesley was wont to say, that cleanliness stands next to godliness, and there is scripture authority for putting clean hands before a pure heart. We do not mean that building proper sewers and drains, clearing the cellars, ventilating the houses, and diminishing the excessive crowd- ing of the population in the Broad Street district would put an end to all the vice and crime that lurk there. But no one can doubt that such a course would materially lessen the degrading and disgusting vices, and alleviate much of the misery, which prevail in that section of the city. A series of able articles appeared not long since, in the London Morning Chronicle, upon the condition of the poor. They presented a frightful picture of the poverty, utter absence of self-respect, degradation, filth, and vice of the laboring classes. The details are too heart-sickening and disgusting to be reproduced here. It is difficult to conceive of humanity sunk so low as was represented in these reports. We only allude to them now on account of the constant and abundant evidence which they give of the connection of vice with filth, of spiritual with physical uncleanliness. It is undeniable that the moral condition of a community is typified in the character of their habitations. The Edinburgh Review for April, 1850, gives the following graphic picture of the sure and gradually demoralizing influence of such polluted dwellings upon one unaccustomed to them. There can he no sight more painful, than that of a healthy, rosy, active countrywoman brought to one of these dwellings. For a time there is a desperate exertion to keep the place clean; several times in the forenoon is the pavement in front of the house washed, hut as often does the oozing fifth creep along the stones, and she feels at length that her labor is in vain. The noxious exhalations infuse their poison into her system, and her energies droop. Then she becomes sick, and cleanliness being impossible, she gets accustomed to its absence, and gradually sinks into the ways of her neighbors. The art of concealing dirt is substituted for the habit of cleanliness; she becomes a dirty, debilitated slat. tern, followed by sickly, scrofulous, feverish children; and she falls through successive stages of degradation, till, physical wretch- 1851.] & rnitary Reform. 125 edness having done its worst, she reaches the lowest of all, that in which she has ceased to complain. The fate of the children is, if possible, more heart-hreaking. All idea of sobriety, all notion of self-respect, all sense of modesty, all instinct of decency is nipped in the bud; they congregate in masses and mix with the worst vagrants. At last some dreadful fever forces on the notice of the public the existence of their squalid dens of misery; such as those in the Saffron Hill district, where twenty-five people were found living in a room sixteen feet square, where a man and his wife, and four children, occupying one room, took in seven lodgers, and where one house contained a hundred and twenty-six people, and only six or seven beds. These people save nothing, but invariably spend all they earn in drink; and with that precocious depravity too surely evinced by human beings when herded together like beasts, the young of both sexes live together from the ages of twelve and thirteen years.~~ This is an appalling picture; and yet the same language might be used without exaggeration, of parts of Fort Hill and other places in Boston. Human beings, men, women, and children, boys and girls, living together like swine, and like swine wallowing in filth, and, worse than swine, steeped in vices that we dare not mention, may be seen by any one who will visit Burgess Alley and other localities, in the Broad Street district. Let us be thankful for one exception, how- ever; the wrecks of only a few rosy-cheeked American women can yet be found there. It is difficult to find an adequate remedy for evils of such magnitude. Evidently, the first thing to be done is to ascer- tain their utmost extent. They should be exposed in all their vileness. The wound must be probed to the bottom, however painful or disagreeable the operation, before a cure is attempted. Hence the great importance of an accurate registration of every case of death, with the attendant cir- cumstances of age, sex, locality, disease, etc. These are a portion of the facts by which the sanitary condition of a people is made known; and without which, sanitary science is impos- sible. An accurate record of births and marriages is equally indispensable. We have not space now to point out the unerring exactness with which the births, marriages, and deaths of a community indicate, by their varying proportions, its seasons of prosperity and adversity, of health and disease. Like the three quantities which a geometer demands for the 11 * 126 Sanitary Reform. [July, construction of a triangle, they form the three great facts, without which the sanitary condition of a people cannot be determined. Notwithstanding the registration laws, which have existed for some years in Massachusetts, the returns made under them were very deficient. Within the last few years, however, the laws have been revised, and these facts, which are so important to the welfare of the State, are at present recorded almost with the accuracy of the English registration system. Let us now advert briefly to the economical aspect of the sanitary question. This is scarcely less importafit than its physical and moral bearings; and perhaps in the present age, when the auri sacra fames is diffused so widely, will exert the greatest influence upon the public mind. The waste or misapplication of money produced by un- necessary sickness is probably the heaviest tax which presses upon the community. It is none the less real, because it does not come in the form of a direct impost. The expenses of sickness, of doctors bills, nurses, medicines, and funerals, are far greater than is generally supposed ; and they fall with the greatest severity upon the classes that are least able to bear them. It has been calculated that for every case of death, there are twenty-eight cases of sickness; and conse- quently, for every case of unnecessary death, twenty-eight cases of unnecessary sickness. Apply this rule to Boston. We have shown that there are in this city, every year, eleven hundred deaths that might be prevented. Then there are more than thirty thousand cases of unnecessary sickness in Boston every year. Now endeavor to estimate the needless expense which is thus entailed upon the community by the cost of sickness; and (in doing so) let it he remembered, that among the ill ventilated, badly drained, and crowded dwellings of the poor and filthy, disease not only enters more frequently, but abides longer, and leaves behind it more enfeebled and broken constitutions than anywhere else. Including the loss of labor attendant and consequent upon sickness, and the cost of medicines, nursing, medical attend- ance, and the like, we cannot be accused of exaggeration in estimating the cost of sickness at the average rate of five dollars for every case. This would give more than one hun- dred and fifty thousand dollars, annually, as the expense 1851.] Sanitary Reform. 127 which Boston incurs for preventable sickness. A comparison of this estimate with a similar one made, by careful inquiries, for the city of London, will show that we have kept far within the limits of the truth. In the tables of the Vital Statistics of England and Wales, the annual waste, resulting from un-. necessary sickness, funerals, and labor thereby lost, reduced to an equivalent in money, is stated, for the metropolis alone, at the enormous amount of two millions of pounds sterling. This is at the rate, in round numbers, of five hundred thou- sand dollars, for every hundred thousand of the population of London. Estimated at the same rate, the annual loss to Boston on account of preventable sickness, would be repre- sented by a grand total of rather more than seven hundred thousand dollars. But this is not all. In the words of a writer, already quoted There is another enormous item of waste or misappropriation of money, not contained in these tables; namely, the sums squan- dered in the shape of defective and costly structural arrangements, above and below ground ; in sewers, which are little better than elongated cess-pools, put down in wrong places, built of wrong materials, faulty ia shape, with insufficient fall ; in cis- terns and water.butts, with their paraphernalia of pipes and ball. cocks, adapted to a limited and intermittent supply of water ; in shops and work-shops, destitute of all means of ventilation ; in houses and hovels, furnished with the costly and barbarous cess-pool, expensive alike to landlord and tenant. Add to these the enormous expenditure incurred by the use of hard water for soft; by the smoke nuisance, with its double waste of fuel and soap; and by the discharge of the refuse of towns into the sea. What these barbarisms have cost and are costing us, it would be difficult to say; but that they amount to several millions (pounds) a year, no reasonable man can doubt. We refer our readers to the Reports of the Health of Towns Commission, and the publications of the Health of Towns Association for particu-. lars. If the estimates appear exaggerated, let them halve or quarter every item, and there will still remain the most remarka- ble expos6 ever yet made of municipal and national extravagance. We should be glad to give a sketch of the most important measures of sanitary reform which have been proposed; but our limits forbid They all, however, with various differences of detail, are alike in embracing the following circumstances as indispensable; namely, an ample supply of good water, pure 158 Sanitary Reform. [July, air, and light, with sufficient drainage and sewerage, and large exercise grounds. These are the cardinal points of sanitary reform. No expense, which is necessary to secure them, is extravagant, and any arrangements, which neglect them, will in the end prove costly. The prevention of disease is much easier and more economical than its cure. It has been stated as one of the broad principles of sanitary economics, that it costs more money to create disease than to prevent it; and that there is not a single structural arrangement, chargeable with the production of disease, which is not in itself an extrava- gance. Narrow streets, without proper sewers and without open spaces, and small houses destitute of sufficient ventila- tion and without drains, may in the first instance cost little capital, and for a short time give large dividends; but by destroying the health and lives, and impairing the productive energy of those who dwell in them, they diminish the real wealth of the community, and eventually curtail the returns of the capitalist and landlord. We have already alluded to the comparative neglect with which the sanitary movement has been regarded in this country. Moved by the intrinsic importance of the subject, and awam~e of the increasing attention bestowed upon it in Europe, the Legislature of Massachusetts, in 1849, ap- pointed a commission for the purpose of making a sanitary survey of the State. Lemuel Shattuck, of Boston, Nathaniel P. Banks, Jr., of Waltham, and Jehiel Abbott, of Westfield, were selected by the Governor and Council as Commission- ers to carry out the intentions of the Legislature. The result of their labors was presented at the last session of the Legis- lature in a long Report, which evinces much industry, and a thorough acquaintance with the subject. We understand that the work of preparing the report was chiefly performed by Mr. Shattuck, to whom it was assigned on account of his long acquaintance with sanitary matters. The act of the Legislature directed the Commissioners to prepare a plan for a sanitary survey of the State, embrac- ing a statement of such facts and suggestions as they might think proper to illustrate the subject. Under this compre- hensive resolve, the Commissioners not only presented a plan for a sanitary survey, but added to it various collateral matters, which they deemed important. Thus the Report is 1851.] Sanitary Reform. 129 prefaced by a brief account of tbe sanitary movement abroad and at home, and followed by an appendix, which occupies more tban one third of the volume. This appendix contains much valuable matter, such as the various Health Acts of Massachusetts; actual sanitary surveys of several towns in the Commonwealth; a classification of the causes of death generally adopted in registration; some account of tenements for the poor; cholera reports; atmospheric observations; and many other matters which the Commissioners wished to bring before a community where the sanitary movement was in its infancy. The bill which the Legislature are advised to pass, is entitled an Act for the Promotion of Public and Personal Health. It consists of forty sections, in which are described the duties of the various health officers of the State, the ex- tent and character of their jurisdiction, their compensation and mode of election, and the penalties attached to any dis- regard of their regulations or decisions. A superficial read- ing of the act would lead one to believe that it is so compli- cated in its machinery and minute in its details as to be impracticable. This impression is removed by a more care.. ful study of its provisions. It is both simple and p~racticable in its essential parts; and we hope it will divert the attention of our legislators for a season from their political strife. The Act provides for the creation of a General Board of Health for the State, and of local Boards for each town or city. The executive officer of the General Board is to be a Secretary, appointed by them, who shall receive an adequate compensa- tion and devote his whole time to the duties of his office. Each local Board is likewise required to appoint one of their own members as a local secretary, who shall sustain to theni the same relation that the general secretary does to the gene- ral Board. Provision is also mr~de for the appointment in each town of a medical officer and sanitary surveyor, with appropriate duties. The whole system is in fact analogous to the actual organization which exists for the superintend- ence of the schools of the State. The duties of the general Board, assisted by the Secretary, are to superintend the execution of the sanitary laws of the State; to decide upon sanitary questions, submitted to them by the State, by cities or towns, or the local Boards; to 130 iS1anitary Reform. [July, advise with regard to the location and sanitary regulations of public buildings and institutions; to superintend the taking of the census, and the registration of births, marriages, and deaths; to perform various other duties, appertaining or inci- dent to these, and to diffuse as far as practicable, throughout the commonwealth, information relating to the sanitary condi- tion of the State and its inhabitants. The local Boards are required to carry into execution, within their respective juris- dictions, the sanitary laws of the State and the regulations of the General Board, and to carry out such local sanitary measures as circumstances may demand. We sincerely hope that this plan, or one similar to it, may soon receive the sanction of law; and we should rejoice if Massachusetts would take the lead in this reform as she has done on so many other occasions. The duties of the pro- posed Secretary of the General Board of Health are similar to those of the English Registrar-General, the importance of whose labors can scarcely be over-estimated. The plan for a sanitary survey consists of a series of mea- sures, fifty in number, which are presented in the form of separate recommendations. In the words of the commission, they are not of equal importance, and are not all the useful sanitary measures which a complete and perfect plan would require. The commission do not propose that these measures should become Jaws at present. They are only offered to the consideration of the legislature and of the public, to be adopted whenever such a course may be advis- able. The expediency of some of them may be doubted, while others are of the highest importance. Some are iden- tical with the provisions of the proposed Health Act, and others are subsidiary to it. They are spread over a hundred and thirty-three pages of the Report, and are enforced by numerous arguments and illustrations. Our remarks have already reached a length which precludes us from entering into a close examination of them; we can only commend a few of the most important to the careful attention of our readers. We recommend that tenements for the better accommodation of the poor be erected in cities and villages. We recommend that public bathing houses and wash houses be established in all cities and villages. 1851.] Sanitary Reform. 131 We recommend that, whenever practicable, the refuse and sewage of cities and towns be collected and applied to the pur- poses of agriculture. We recommend that measures be taken to prevent, as far as practicable, the smoke nuisance.~~ These are important measures. Fortunately they have already been submitted elsewhere to the test of experience; and it has been shown that they can be carried into effect, not only as measures of sanitary reform, but as offering to the capitalist opportunities for profitable investment. Large buildings, containing tenements for the poor, have been erected in some of the cities of England and of the continent, in which two or more rooms are occupied by single families, according to their means. These buildings are substantial, well ventilated and drained, supplied with an abundance of water and light, and provided with out-houses in such a way as to secure individual decency and self-respect. The rent which the occupants pay is not greater than what other fami- lies of the less fortunate poor are obliged to give for a part of some miserable hovel, or for a portion of a room, in a crowded, undrained, filthy house, where the atmosphere is poisoned within and without, both morally and physically. The property invested in these tenements, which are called model lodging-houses, has proved to be as safe and profit- able as any investments, except the best. For the proof of this assertion, we refer our readers to the Appendix of the Report of the Commission, and particularly to Dr. Simons Report upon dwelling-houses for the better accommodation of the London poor. We are satisfied that by the erection of model tenements for the poor, a vast benefit would be con- ferred upon the community, as well as upon the poor them- selves, and that capital so invested would yield a fair return. The whole matter commends itself with peculiar force to the wealthy and philanthropic portion of our community. Public baths were established by the corporation, in Liver- pool, in the year 18452. They contain warm and cold, shower, plunge, and vapor baths, with every grade of comfort and elegance. The price varies from about two cents for the cheapest bath to twenty-five cents for the dearest. They have proved to be successful both as an investment and as a source of public comfort and health. Public wash-houses 132 Sanitary Reform. [July, for the poor have also heen estahlished in various parts of Great Britain. They are provided with fuel, boilers, and all the necessary apparatus for washing and drying. Each washer-woman pays one penny (ahout two cents) for the use of the tuhs, water, drying apparatus, & c., for six hours. The washing houses, like the baths, have been in every way suc- cessful, and are important additions to the comfort and sub- sistence of the poor. The sanitary advantage of obliging all manufactories and other establishments to consume their own smoke, and of applying the refuse and sewage of cities and towns to agricultural purposes, is too obvious to need illustration; hut the economy of the measure, or rather the extravagance of neglecting it, has not been demonstrated until lately. These are practical and important matters, and the Commission have done well in directing public attention to them. The Commission advise, that in laying out new towns and villages, and in extending those already laid out, ample provision he made for a supply, in purity and abundance, of light, air, and water; for drainage and sewerage, for paving and for cleanliness. In this country, where new towns spring up so rapidly, and old ones seem to possess the power of indefinite extension, the manner of laying out streets and sewers becomes of great moment. Our population is fast becoming dense. Villages are growing into towns, and towns into cities, and cities are constantly extending their borders. In this rapid development, the m~inner of growth has been unfortunately confided to private interest. In most instances, there have been no general plans; and where general plans have existed, they have been suggested hy the convenience or interest of the landed proprietors. Thus the grade, width, and direction of streets have been determined by an interested person, and not with any reference to the necessities of an ultimately dense population. Courts are built, closed at one end, and often at both ends, with a single narrow entrance at the side. Sometimes, for the purpose of economizing space and obtaining large rents, courts are built within and beyond courts, without regard to sanitary principles; they are en- tered by narrow and arched passage ways, and when densely inhabited, are filled with a stagnant and pestiferous atmo- sphere. For a time, in the embryo stage of a towns exist- 1851.] Sanitary Reform. 133 ence, these retired courts and alley ways are not unpleasant or unhealthy; but as the population increases, they become abodes of filth and centres of disease and contagion. A far- seeing economy would prevent this, by taking into view the future necessities of a large population, as well as the tempo- rary interest of a few individuals. The beneficial effect of this policy, if generally adopted, upon the comfort, health, productive energy, and wealth of the community for future generations, would almost exceed calculation. In reality, the subject is not so much a matter of economy, or even of health, as of imperious duty. The Commissioners further recommend that the general management of cemeteries and other places of burial, an.d of the interment of the dead, be regulated by the local Boards of Health. The subject of intramural burials has lately occupied a considerable share of public attention, and we feel assured that public opinion is taking a right direction with regard to them. The fact that noxious exhalations and dele.. terious gases rise and spread from graveyards, carrying poison and deaTh with them, is now well known. It has also been dis- covered, that the respect for the bodies of the dead, which our tenderest feelings demand, does not conflict at all with a pro- per regard for the health of the living. Intramural burials, even when the body is deposited beneath the sacred aisles of the sanctuary, are often not less revolting than they are inju- rious. It is not more in accordance with the ia~s of sanitary science than with the holiest sentiments of our nature, that the departed should rest, not by the side of crowded thorough- fares, where the idle laugh and profane oath go up to Heaven on the same breath that carries the prayer of the mourner and bereaved, but in retirement and solitude, away from the haunts of busy men, where Nature, by her manifold agencies, shall resolve the body into dust, with a blessing instead of a curse to the living. Another recommendation of the Commission is, that per- sons be specially educated in sanitary science, as preventive advisers as well as curative advisers. This includes, directly or indirectly, all the rest. It strikes at the root of the whole matter. Disease can often be prevented, and rarely cured. The world has yet to learn that, in medicine as in morals, prevention is far easier and better than cure. When disease vOL. LXXIII. NO. 152. 12 134 Sanitary Reform. [July, has fairly commenced its attack, the physician can do little else, with his whole battery of drugs, from calomel to tho- roughwort, than watch the progress, mitigate the violence, and alleviate the distress of the struggle; and when it must terminate fatally, he can smooth the pathway to the tomb, making the passage thither less painful both to the dying and the bereaved. But if disease cannot be cured, it can often be avoided and prevented. This is what should be done; and if this recommendation were adopted, and men were in the habit of seeking advice and information with regard to their habitations, occupation, diet, etc., so as to learn, when well, the art of preserving health, we have no doubt that an important and beneficial influence would be exerted upon the sanitary condition of the community. Hitherto, such advice has not been often sought, or much valued. Its importance, however, is daily becoming more apparent; and we hope the time is not far distant, when men will give as much heed to the advice which would prevent a fever, as to that which seemingly cures it. There are many other points in this Report which we should be glad to discuss, and some which we might be inclined to criticize; but we feel that our remarks should be drawn to a close. Its appearance marks a new epoch in cis- Atlantic sanitary legislation, and we hope it may be the har- binger of a comprehensive and enlightened system of sanitary reform. We commend the Report to the consideration of the philanthropists, economists, and legislators of our coun- try, with the confident belief, that if the principles which it presents should receive the sanction of public opinion and the authority of law, they would prove of inestimable advantage to the whole community. To adopt the words of the Com- mission We believe that the conditions of perfect health, either public or personal, are seldom or never obtained, though attain. able ; that the average length of human life may be very much extended, and its physical power greatly augmented ; that in every year, within this Commonwealth, thousands of lives are lost which might have been saved ; that tens of thousands of cases of sickness occur, which might have been prevented ; that a vast amount of unnecessarily impaired health and physical debility exists among those not actually confined by sickness ; 1851.] A Parsee Merchant. 135 that these preventible evils require an enormous expenditure and loss of money, and impose upon the people unnumbered and immeasurable calamities, pecuniary, social, physical, mental and moral, which might be avoided; and that measures for preven- tion, will effect infinitely more, than remedies for the cure of disease. ART. VI. 1. Annals of India for the Year 1848. By GEORGE BuIsT, LL. D., F. R. S., & c. Bombay: 1849. Svo. Pp. 82 and xciv. 2. Correspondence, Deed, Bye-Laws, & S~-c., relating to Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoys Parsee Benevolent Institution, established in Bombay, 1849. Together with a Goojrat- tee Translation of the Deed and Bye-Laws. Published by order of the Punchayet of the Institution. Printed at the Times Press: Colaba. 1849. pp. 105 and 113. OF all the cities of the East, from Constantinople to Cal- cutta, Bombay is the least Oriental. All other eastern cities have a peculiar, distinctive, character of their own depending upon that of their people. A certain degree of special same- ness belongs to each. But Bombay is a city of patch-work. Its streets have the appearance of a fair. The scene is so animated and gay that it seems like the scene in a pantomime, and you expect it to vanish even while you are looking at it. There is no other place in the world where the representa- tives of so many nations and so many religions are gathered together. Bramin and Buddhist, Mussulman and Parsee, Jew and Christian jostle each other at every turn. There is the Persian merchant, who has come from Ormuz, or Busso- rab, with a cargo of horses or of dates; the Arab trader, with his long, dyed beard and his grave face, meditating how he may best sell his coffee or his myrrh ; the Bedaween, tempted from the desert across the ocean by the hope of gain, but preserving in the midst of the city his wild look and his desert dress, the yellow-fringed kerchief hanging down from be- neath the folds of his tightly rolled turban upon his long bur- noose of goats hair; the Armenian, bearing the mark of his

1851.] A Parsee Merchant. 135 that these preventible evils require an enormous expenditure and loss of money, and impose upon the people unnumbered and immeasurable calamities, pecuniary, social, physical, mental and moral, which might be avoided; and that measures for preven- tion, will effect infinitely more, than remedies for the cure of disease. ART. VI. 1. Annals of India for the Year 1848. By GEORGE BuIsT, LL. D., F. R. S., & c. Bombay: 1849. Svo. Pp. 82 and xciv. 2. Correspondence, Deed, Bye-Laws, & S~-c., relating to Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoys Parsee Benevolent Institution, established in Bombay, 1849. Together with a Goojrat- tee Translation of the Deed and Bye-Laws. Published by order of the Punchayet of the Institution. Printed at the Times Press: Colaba. 1849. pp. 105 and 113. OF all the cities of the East, from Constantinople to Cal- cutta, Bombay is the least Oriental. All other eastern cities have a peculiar, distinctive, character of their own depending upon that of their people. A certain degree of special same- ness belongs to each. But Bombay is a city of patch-work. Its streets have the appearance of a fair. The scene is so animated and gay that it seems like the scene in a pantomime, and you expect it to vanish even while you are looking at it. There is no other place in the world where the representa- tives of so many nations and so many religions are gathered together. Bramin and Buddhist, Mussulman and Parsee, Jew and Christian jostle each other at every turn. There is the Persian merchant, who has come from Ormuz, or Busso- rab, with a cargo of horses or of dates; the Arab trader, with his long, dyed beard and his grave face, meditating how he may best sell his coffee or his myrrh ; the Bedaween, tempted from the desert across the ocean by the hope of gain, but preserving in the midst of the city his wild look and his desert dress, the yellow-fringed kerchief hanging down from be- neath the folds of his tightly rolled turban upon his long bur- noose of goats hair; the Armenian, bearing the mark of his 136 Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy: [July, race upon his countenance, and distinguished by his high, sheepskin hat, and his loose, flowing, black dress; the Chinese sailor, with his blue trowsers, his straw hat, and his long tail of braided hair; the unmistakable Jew; the thick-lipped, crisp-haired Seedee, from the coast of Abyssinia; the black, half-caste descendants of the old Portuguese conquerors; the poor native Hindu; the Englishman, who in his double capa- city of ruler and trader belongs now as much to India as any of its native races; and ourselves from the farthest West; all the world in fine is represented in this brilliant pano- rama. But the most interesting figure in the group is that of the Parsee, who pushes actively along among the crowd, and is not less easily recognized by his purple and brimless hat, and his spotless, white dress, than by a look, so unusual in India of energy, subsisting unsubdued under the withering glare of the tropical sun. It is by this look, and by the character of which it is the expression, that the true Parsee shows that he traces back his origin to a northern country. More than a thousand years ago, faithful to a religion which for ages they had respected undisturbed, the Parsees, flying before Mahommedan per- secution, left their native Persia, carrying with them their sacred, unextinguished fire. Guided by the bright emblem of their God, they found shelter on the western coast of India. Here they established themselves, and during succeeding centuries, preserving always traces of their ancient customs and faith, keeping as far as possible out of the frequent quar- rels and wars which have been the curse of the native races of India, taking no historical part in the affairs of the country, but distin0uished by their intelligence, activity, and prudence, they have spread and prospered, until now they have become the most flourishing people in India, and a great part of the commerce of the western coastof Hindostan is in their hands. In Bombay they form at present one of the most important portions of the community, not only in numbers, but in re- spectability and wealth. But one can speak of them with only comparative praise. The nobler qualities of character, those alone which can give a people an honorable place in the history of the world, are almost as rare among them as among other Oriental races. They have nothing which can be called a literature of their 1851.] A Parsee Merchant. 137 own; no divinely gifted poet has sung to them, and no hero has arisen among them whose glories have been handed down by any pious narrator. Whatever may have been the cha-. racter of their religion in ancient times, it is now nothing better than a disjointed superstition, supported by a mass of senseless ceremonials, and possessing no moral influence over the lives of its professed adherents. This, however, although accompanied by great evils, may be regarded as in some sort a hopeful circumstance. The chief obstacle to improvement, both among the Hindus and the Mahommedans, in India is the manner in which their religions have intertwined themselves with every detail of life, and given to the most trivial cus- toms, and to the most absurd opinions, the weight of religious authority, and the sacredness of a religious sanction. The re- ligion of the Parsees, on the contrary, has so little influence with them, and has so little to do with their daily concerns, that they are not deprived by it of the free exercise of their intelligence, nor hindered from adopting any change of the practical benefit of which they may be convinced. They have preserved themselves in great measure free from the degrading and detestable institution of caste, the holy springs of natural affection and sympathy are left to flow unchecked, and to this single fact may be attributed much of their supe- riority to the other races in India. Benevolence, which, except in some rare and most honorable instances, is an un- known virtue among the Hindus, is comparatively common among the Parsees; and we remember hearing it said that a Parsee beggar was never to be seen. But beggary has a dif- ferent meaning and limit under the tropics, from what it has in our colder and more cruel climate. The manners of the Parsees are often marked by a natural grace characteristic of Orientals; but this is too frequently accompanied by a suspicious suppleness hardly less charac- teristic, the result of tyranny and the cover of falseness and deceit. Their life, as one sees it in Bombay, has a half east- ern and a half western character. At their counting-houses and their shops, they appear like merchants and shopkeepers in the West. But their life at home, in their private houses, is quite after Eastern fashions. Their wives and other females, though less secluded than is common among Hindus and Mussulmans, are kept much out of sight, and hold a low and 138 Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy: [July, subordinate place in the household. The houses rarely pos- sess that poetical elegance of ornament which often, in the East, serves to hide or render beautiful what otherwise would be utterly gaudy, ugly, and dirty; and though many of those belonging to the rich are spacious and well appointed, the generality are small and ill arranged, though better than the corresponding class of houses of other natives. It is late in the afternoon, just before sunset, that every day the Parsees may be seen congregated on the beautiful esplanade which divides the city of Bombay into two unequal portions. They meet there, as at an exchange, to talk over the affairs of the day; and they mingle with their talk the repetition of certain stated prayers, of whose meaning they are utterly ignorant, as they mumble them over in the ancient language of the Zendavesta, a language of which they know nothing but the sound. Here they watch the sun as he sinks into the ocean behind the palm-covered rocks of the neigh- boring shore ; for the sun, which in all ages and under all religions has been the highest and noblest symbol of divinities who were to be known only through their symbols, is regarded by the Parsees with peculiar veneration. As has so often happened in the history of religious beliefs, the symbol, from being regarded only as a sign of the Supreme and Holy Being, is now reverenced by the vulgar and uneducated as the visi- ble God himself. There is little that is poetical or elevated in their worship. As you pass through the crowd on the espla- nade, you may hear the prayer interrupted by a greeting to a friend, or by some trivial exclamation; you may see winking glances turned now and then towards the setting sun, while a few sturdy worshippers, furnished with green goggles, look till the last ray is extinguished in the glittering waves. The business of the day being over, the Parsee returns to his home, or drives to the outskirts of the city, where, at a pleasure house held in common by himself and some of his acquaint- ances, he passes the evening in amusements often not of the most refined character. But we are not about to describe the manners and cus- toms of the Parsees. It is our purpose to give an account of one of their number, who has done much of late years to raise the estimation in which the whole people are held. His good deeds have won for him, wherever they tire known, the 1851.] A Parsee Merchant. 139 most honorable fame, and they deserve to be known the whole world over. The name of Jam setjee Jeejeebhoy, unfamiliar now to our western ears, will never be forgotten by his grateful countrymen, nor by those who learn the story of his splendid benevolence. He still lives to enjoy his well won honor, and we are glad to add our tribute of praise and admiration to the many which have rendered his last years proud and happy. In recounting the narrative of his life we shall follow, and often adopt, the language of an excellent notice of his bene.. factions which appeared in the Annals of India for 1848. Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy was born at Bombay, in the year 1783. We have heard that his father was so poor that he fob lowed the profession of a bottly-wallah, a bottle fellow, buying and selling old bottles. However this may have been, Jamset- jee, at the age of eighteen, entered into partnership with his fa~ ther-in-law, Framjee Nusserwanjee, and in the following years made several successful voyages to China. Possessing those qualities most desirable in a merchant, integrity, judgment, and enterprise, he gradually extended his dealings to other countries, and drew in a rich harvest of gains. His ships, built by the excellent Parsee shipwrights of Bombay, traded with all parts of the East, and now and then sailed even round the Cape. Year after year he prospered, and when he had been twenty years in business, he had acquired a large and still increasing fortune. He did not forget, in winning his fortune, how to spend it. The responsibilities and the duties which cannot be separated from wealth, but which Christian- ity itself is often powerless to enforce upon those who profess it, were a portion of his natural religion. It is in the years 1822 and 18~6 that the first public notice of his benefactions is to be met with. At both of these periods, he released the prisoners confined in the Bombay jail, for debt, under the authority of the Small Cause Court. On this the sum of three thousand rupees * was expended. The cases of imprisonment of this sort are often of the greatest cruelty and hardship. At funerals and marriages, all classes of natives indulge in unbounded extravagance. A man will frequently spend on these occasions the prospective earn- ings of years, which usurious money lenders stand ready to The rupee may be estimated at the value of half a dollar. 140 Sir Jamsetjee Je~jeebItoy: [July, advance at extravagant rates of interest.* Burkes description of a Hindu banian may with less exaggeration be applied to the Hindu usurer; he is a person a little lower, a little more penurious, a little more exacting, a little more cunning, a little more money-making, than a Jew. The poor debtor, pressed hard and cheated, often falls into a state of inextrica- ble difficulty; his little possessions are seized by his creditor, and he himself is cast into jail and ruined. It affords an indica- tion of the smallness of the sums for which individuals are often confined, that with this amount of three thousand rupees Jam- setjee satisfied the claims of the creditors of above fifty debtors. For the next twenty years, says the account to which we have referred, the flow of bounty from his coffers seems to have been almost uninterrupted. We have been able to trace the following items from various quarters, but we know that these have constituted but a small fraction of his gifts. Rupees. Payments towards effecting the release of debtors, 3,000 Property made over in trust, the funds from which are devoted to the periodical performance in Bombay, and sundry places in Guzerat, of various Parsee rites and ceremonies, . . . . . 170,000 Cost of a building made over to the Parsee Punchayet for the celebration of certain public festivals among the Parsees in Bombay,t . . . . 50,000 Contributions in money, grain, and clothes, for the benefit of the sufferers by the great fire at Surat, . 35,000 Remittances made from time to time for distribution among poor Parsees at Surat and neighborhood, . 40,000 Subscription to the Pinjrapole in Bombay4 . 65,000 * Sir Henry Lawrence in his entertaining and valuable book, ,Some Passages in the Lift of an 4drenturer in the Punjab, mentions the case of a man whose pay was four rupees a month, and who had a large family to support, who spent eighty rupees at his daughters wedding, and says the proportion in many in- stances vastly exceeds this scale. t The Punchayet is an institution adopted by the Parsees from the Hindus. It was originally a tribunal of not less than five persons, selected for their good charac. ter and trustworthiness, to whose arbitration all cases of dispute arising in the com- munity were referred for final decision. It often became invested with still further powers; and among the Parsees the Punchayet has been the guardian of rites and ceremonies, a sort of high council for the people. It is said, however, that of late years its influence has declined. $ The Pinjrapole is a hospital for sick and infirm animals. We know not the origin of this institution among the Parsees. Possibly they may have adopted it from the Hindus of Western India. See Forbess Oriental Memoirs, vol. i. p. 2~6, for a description of a hospital of this kind supported by Hindus at Surat. The religion of Zoroaster inenleated tenderness to animals. There is a story 1851.] A Parsee Merchant. 141 Rupees. Sums given at various times in effecting the amicable adjustment of disputes referred for arbitration, . 30,000 Sums given in aid of members of respectable native families in distress, . . . . 40,000 Subscriptions to the building of Parsee cemeteries in various places,* . . . . . 30,000 Sums expended for building and repairing various Parsee sacred buildings in Surat and the neighboring places,t . . . . . . 17,000 Cost of sundry wells and reservoirs in Bombay, Col- aba, and between Poona and Abmednugger, . 15,000 Amount given in trust to the Parsee Punchayet for the benefit of the poor blind at Nowsary, . . 5,000 Subscription to the Pinjrapole at Patton in Guzerat, 3,000 Amount given during ten years to the Punchayet for distribution in charity, . . . . 15,000 Cost of Parsee sacred buildings at Poona, . 50,000 Cost of Dhurmsalla, (or house for travellers,) at Khan dalla, . . . . . . 20,000 Contribution toward a fund for defraying the funeral expenses of poor Parsees at Gundavy, . . 5,000 608,000 It is not necessary to make any remark on this memo- rable list of benevolences. Meanwhile, the public acts of generosity of this noble merchant had attracted to him the regard and admiration, not only of the natives, but also of the European community of Western India. A report of his quoted by Voltaire in his Essai ncr les .M~eurs et lEsprit des JVotions, cli. V., which illustrates this trait. Zoroaster, it is said, was once permitted by God to behold the regions of torment. He saw there many kings, and among them was one without a foot. He asked the reason of this, and God said to him, That king performed but one good action in all his life. One day, when he was going out to the hunt, he saw a dromedary tied by the leg so far from his food, that with all his endea- vors he was unable to reach it. The king pushed the food towards him with his foot. Therefore, said God, I have placed that: foot in heaven and left the rest of him here. ~ The Parsees reverence all the elements; and hence, They never bury the bodies of their dead for fear of defiling the earth, but leave them to moulder away and be consumed by birds of prey. Their places of sepulture are round towers having platforms or terraces near the top, sloping gently to the centre, in which i~ a round hole for receiving the bones and decayed matter. On these the dead bodies are laid, exposed to the wind and rain, and to the birds of the air. Erskine on the Sacred Books and Religion of the Parsees. Translation of the Literary Society of Bombay. Vol ii. London: 1820. I The Parsees have no temples, considered as the abode of the Supreme Being, or of any of his subordinate spirits. Their sacred buildings are merely for guard. log the holy fire and preserving it unextinguished and undefiled. 142 Sir Jamse~jee Jeejeebhoy: [July, munificence was made to the home authorities of the East India government, and at the unanimous recommendation of the Court of Directors, a patent of Knighthood was conferred upon him by the Queen. It was the first instance in which any title of honor had been conferred by the English govern- ment upon a native of India, and no worthier opportunity had ever occurred for the granting of any such distinction. It was in May, 1842, that the ceremony of presentation took place at Parell, the residence of the Governor of Bombay. The circumstance was one not only highly gratifying to Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy himself, but to the native community in genera], who are accustomed to attach an extravagant value to any such marks of honor. It was consequently determined by some of the most influential natives to offer to him a tes- timonial at once of their respect for his character, and of their gratification at the distinction he had obtained. A sum of fifteen thousand rupees was accordingly raised by subscrip- tion, which it was determined to invest, not as we should have done, in a silver service, a bust, or a statue, but in a fund the interest of which should be devoted to procuring translations of popular or important works from other lan- guages into Guzerattee, the language chiefly in use among the Parsees. The proceedings which accompanied the presenta- tion of this testimonial to Sir Jamsetjee were so remarkable that we shall copy a portion of a full account which appeared in the Bombay Times newspaper, of June 18th, 1843, and is reprinted in the Correspondence relating to Sir Jam- setjee Jeejeebhoys Parsee Benevolent Institution. PRINCELY MUNIFICENCE OF SIR JAMSETJEE JEEJEEBHoY. On the forenoon of Wednesday last a very numerous party of Parsee and European gentlemen assembled at the mansion of Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy to witness the presentation of an address to him by his kinsmen and friends, accompanied by a testimonial of the value of Rupees 15,000. The following is an extract from the address which was read in English. We shall not expatiate upon your princely donation of a hundred and fifty thousand rupees towards the formation of a hospital for all classes of the community, your munificent offer to Government to contribute fifty thousand rupees towards 1851.] A Parsee Merchant. 143 the construction of a causeway or velard at Mahim, to connect Bombay and Salsette, the construction of a spacious building at Khandalla, on the high-road to the Deccan, for the accommoda- tion of travellers, nor upon the prompt and liberal relief which, from your own purse, and through your personal exer- tions, has been afforded to your fellow creatures in distress, espe- cially on the two occasions in which the city of Surat was visited with extensive and calamitous fires; while in your private chari- ties, your hand has ever been ready to alleviate the sufferings of the widow and orphan, the unfortunate and the destitute, there are few public institutions at this Presidency which have not shared largely in your bounty. Neither is it necessary to dwell upon the benefits which the trade of this port has derived from the enterprise and magnitude of your commercial opera- tions; nor to point out the great extent to which you have availed yourself of the means of doing good, derived from your mercan- tile knowledge and experience, joined to a conciliatory disposition and the probity of your character, as well as from your position in the native community, by arranging differences and settling disputes, so as to save the parties from the evils of a tedious and expensive litigation. But we would allude to these circumstances merely to show the grounds of the high estimation in which you are universally held, and of the feelings which have induced us to express our gratification at the distinction which has been con- ferred upon you, a gratification which derives no small addi- tion from the consideration of your being one of the principal members of our community. To commemorate this auspicious event, we request your per- mission to apply a sum of money which we have subscribed, in forming a Fund to be designated Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebboys Translation Fund, and to be vested in trustees for the purpose of being appropriated in defraying the expenses of translating into the Goozerattee language such books from the European and Asiatic languages, whether ancient or modern, as may be approved of by the Committee, to be by them published and dis- trihuted gratis, or at a low price, among the Parsee community, in furtherance of the education of our people, of which you have ever been a warm friend and zealous patron. We subserihe ourselves, with sentiments of esteem and re- spect, Sir, your faithful and obliged servants. Nowrojee Jamsetjee Wadia, Framjee Cowasjee Bannajee, Dadabhoy Pestonjee Wadia, Cursetjee Cowasjee, Cursetjee Ardaseerjee, and 932 others. 144 Sir Jamseqee Jeejeebboy: [July, After the reading of this address another was presented in the name of the native inhabitants of Poona and its vicinage; and then Sir Jamsetjee replied in a manner perfectly unparal- leled in the history of such occasions. My DEAR FRIENDS: I feel deeply grateful to you for the address which you have just presented to me: so distinguished a mark of the esteem of my fellow countrymen is an honor of which I, and those who are most dear to me, may justly be proud. To have been sel~cted by my Sovereign as the Native through whom she was graciously pleased to extend the order of Knight- hood to her Indian subjects, was, and ever must be, a source of deep personal gratification to myself. But to receive the congra- tulations of my fellow countrymen in a manner at once so kind and flattering, to have this auspicious event commemorated by the creation of a charity, to be connected with my name, and in the objects of which I so cordially concur, is a source of inward pride and satisfaction, which, rising higher than the grati. fication of mere wordly titles, will live with me to my dying day. Your too kind and favorable mention of my acts of charity has much affected me. The only merit I have a right to claim for them is, that they proceeded from a pure and heartfelt desire, out of the abundance with which Providence has blessed me, to ameliorate the condition of my fellow creatures. With this no unworthy motive was mixed; I sought neither public honors nor private applause, and conscious of a singleness of purpose, I have long since had my reward. When, therefore, Her Majestys most gracious intentions were communicated to me, I felt deeply gratified that I had unconsciously been the means of eliciting so signal a mark of the good feelings of England towards the people of India, and it is in this light that I prefer to consider the distin- guished honor Her Majesty has conferred upon me, and that also which I have received at your hands this day. Nothing could please me more than the purposes to which you propose to devote the funds that have been subscribed. I shall ever wish my name to be connected with every endeavor to dif- fuse knowledge amongst our people; and the surest way to incite them to elevate and improve themselves, to fit them to appreciate the blessings of the Government under which they live, and to deserve those honors which have now for the first time been ex- tended to India, is to spread far and wide amongst them, gratui- tously or in a cheap form, translations into our language of the most approved authors. Connected with this subject is a scheme 185L] A Parsee Merchant. 145 that I have long contemplated for relieving the distresses of the Parsee poor, of Bombay, Surat, and its neighborhood. You know full well the state of misery in which many of our people are living, and the hopeless ignorance in which their children are permitted to grow up. My object is to create a fund, the inte- rest of which shall be applied towards relieving the indigent of our people, and the education of their children; and I now pro- pose to invest the sum of 300,000 rupees in the Public Securi- ties, and place it at the disposal of trustees, who, with the inte- rest, shall carry out the object I have mentioned; and this trust I hope you will take under your care. And now, my dear friends, let me once again thank you for your kindness. There is nothing I value so highly as the good opinion of my countrymen, nor any thing I more anxiously desire han their welfare and happiness. The result of this very striking and happy reply, which must have overcome Sir Jamsetjees audience with the deep- est surprise and astonishment, and which resembles more some delightful Arabian Nights Story, than an actual reality belonging to our selfish and unromantic commercial times, has appeared in the establishment of a Parsee Benevolent Insti- tution, which we found last year to be in active operation, established upon a wide and sound basis, and productive of very great good. In many of its details, it would be well worthy of imitation, even in our enlightened and liberal com- munity. It will have been noticed that, in the address presented to Sir Jamsetjee, reference is made to his gift of a hundred and fifty thousand rupees for the establishment of a hospital for all classes. It was in January, 1843, that the corner-stone of this hospital was laid It was finished shortly after. It is a beautiful Gothic building, containing accommodations for 300 patients, and besides being one of the most useful institutions of the city of Bombay, is now one of its chief ornaments. Sir Jamsetjee expended at least 170,000 rupees in its erec- tion, and the government have liberally contributed to its sup- port. It is well worthy of a detailed description; but the good works of this man have been so many that it would take a volume to describe them all as they deserve. We copy, however, a portion of the beautiful inscription upon the plate set upon the corner stone, as an illustration of VOL. LXXIILNO. 152 13 146 Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy: [July, Sir Jamsetjees character, and of the creed of enlightened Parsees. This edifice was erected By Sin JAMSETJEE JEEJEEBITOY, KEIGHT, The first native of India honored with British Knighthood, Who thus hoped to perform a pleasing duty Towards his government, his country, and his people Aad in solemn remembrance of blessings bestowed, to present this, His offering of religious gratitude, to ALMIGHTY GOD, The Father in Heaven of the Christian the Hindoo Mahommedan and the Parsee, With humble, earnest prayer, for his continued care and blessing Upon his children, his family, his tribe, and his country. Before the year was out, Sir Jamsetjee received another mark of the approbation of the British Government, in the shape of a gold medal, set with diamonds, in honor, ran the inscription upon it, of his munificence and his patriot- isrn. In presenting it to him, the Governor of Bombay, Sir George Arthur, said, I could not, Sir Jamsetjee, with perfect satisfaction to myself, perform the pleasing task which has devolved upon me, without instituting some inquiry as to what were the acts of munificence, and what the deeds of patriotism to which the inscription refers. I learnt, after very careful inquiries, that the sums you had pub- licly given, and which were mostly expended in useful works for the general benefit of the country, amounted to the amazing sum of upwards of 900,000 rupees, or more than 90,000 sterling. Well, indeed, might her Majestys government designate such liberality as acts of munificence and deeds of patriotism! In inquiring what were the instances of public munificence by which you had distinguished yourself, it was impossible for me to avoid gaining an insight into your acts of private charity; and according to the best information I have been able to procure, through inquiries made with every desire to avoid hurting your feelings, I have learnt that your private charities, though so bestowed that many of them are unknown even to the members of your own family, have been nearly as unbounded. This eulogy, gratifying as it must have been, coming from the Governor of Bombay, was by no means extravagant. At this very time, Sir Jamsetjee was engaged in carrying through two other works of the greatest public utility, bene- ficial alike to all classes of the community. The first of 1851.] A Parsee Merchant. 147 these was the construction of a dam and causeway connect- ing the islands of Bombay and Salsette. Bombay is one of a numerous group of islands which fringe the Malabar coast. It is about seven miles in length, and three in hreadth. Pos- sessing exquisite beauty, its shore opening into quiet hays and inlets bordered with cocoa-palms, or jutting out in rocky and bold promontories upon which the waves swell and break, it yet is miserably barren, and its crowded population have to depend for all the daily necessaries of life upon a supply from Salsette and the mainland. The principal line of traffic, running through Salsette, was separated from Bombay by a narrow but dangerous ferry, which at some periods became entirely impassable, and was exposed to frequent accidents, owing to the violent rush of the water through the con- tracted channel. This was not only the occasion of loss of life, but it subjected to great suffering those passengers who might be detained without shelter, exposed to all the incle- mency of the weather, and caused extreme inconvenience to the inhabitants of Bombay, who might thus be cut off from an important portion of their supplies. It had been often proposed to bridge the ferry across; but the funds of govern- ment were too much occupied, for the most part in military objects, and there was too little public spirit in the commu- nity, to allow of the proposal being carried into execution. At last, by the benevolence of a single individual, the work was done. It was commenced in 1843; and in April, 1845, an a~dmirable bridge connected with a causeway, extending in united length for more than half a mile, and built with every regard to stability and convenience, was opened to the public. The event was commemorated by an impressive celebration, and we copy from Sir George Arthurs speech on the occa- sion, the remarkable story of the building of this work. Addressing Sir Jamsetjee, before acrowded audience of Na- tives and Europeans, he said It gives me sincere pleasure to address you on this occasion, after having passed over the noble Causeway which, through the munificence of your family, has been erected for the benefit of the public. I myself, as well as every one present, can bear testimony to the value of this splendid and most useful work. It affords me therefore high gratification to address you, for I have to speak on a subject which is interesting to us all to 148 Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebitoy: [July, every one now present, and its interest is best proved by this numerous assembly. As the exact circumstances under which this causeway has been constructed may not be known to all the company, I shall give a short explanatory history of the under. taking. Some years ago, the government of this Presidency, seeing the advantages of a regular communication between the islands of Bombay and Salsette, and being anxious to connect the towns of Mahim and Bandora by a causeway, had the ground surveyed, plans taken, and the estimates of the probable expense of the proposed work calculated. The expense of such an undertaking, it was reported, would be 67,000 rupees. The expenses of Government at the time being very great, the matter was allowed to remain in abeyance until more favorable oppor- tunity should arise, it not being considered of so great impor- tance as other proposed improvements then before the Govern- ment. This took place some years ago, and the plans remained unexecuted until the monsoon of 1841, I believe, when a dis- tressing accident occurred at the ferry here. A boat was swamped, and a number of poor natives, I think about 15, lost their lives. This distressing accident was of course a subject of conversation amongst the people, and came to the ears of Lady Jamsetjee, who was greatly pained at its consequences to the families of the sufferers. She spoke to you and asked you, why the Government did not endeavor to remedy an evil which was the cause of such misery among the poor of Salsette? The answer was, that the Government was fully occupied in other matters of importance, and that, according to the estimates, it would not only require the large sum already stated, but, more- over, that a second estimate had been made out, by which it was calculated that a further sum would be required amounting alto- gether to one lakh of rupees. Let the consent of the Go- vernment be obtained, was the answer of this noble-minded woman, and I will defray all expenses. The consent of Government was then obtained, and the work commenced, but it was soon discovered that further sums would be necessary to bring it to completion. Application was made to the Court of Directors for their aid and co6pei~ation, when they, with the libe- rality which has always characterized their proceedings, when called upon to assist the benevolent natives in their good under- takings, gave their assent. Various other sums were however required, and still supplied by Lady Jamsetjee, till at length, after an expenditure of 155,000 rupees, the structure was completed. It was then suggested that so handsome a structure demanded an equally handsome approach to it, for which it was calculated a sum of 20,000 rupees would be required, which further expend- iture was entirely defrayed by that noble-minded person, Lady 1851.] A Parsee Merchant. 149 Jamsetjee. Thus, after an expenditure of 175,000 rupees, has this great and most useful work been perfected, which reflects so great an honor on the kind, the charitable, the benevolent Lady, who has thus conferred a lasting benefit on the inhabitants of these islands, whether rich or poor; but more especially by the poorer classes has this great benefit been felt, as by this noble donation their means of transit have been rendered permanently secure, and their lives ensured to them from danger. As they have not the opportunity of rendering their thanks to Lady Jam- setjee in person, I am sure you will all unite with me in thanking her in their name, and so perpetuate this noble deed. I this day propose that the Causeway henceforth bear the name of LADY JAM5ETJEES CAUSEWAY. The causeway was well named. It will preserve, we trust for many ages, the remembrance of Lady Jamsetjee, and serve as the memorial of a deed which will appear most striking, and most worthy of grateful recollection, to those who are best acquainted with Oriental life. The instances in which woman assumes her true place in the East are so rare; her kindly, universal, sympathies are so commonly crushed by false customs; her love is so often degraded, and all the nobler qualities of her heart so frequently lost, that when she shows herself as she ought to be, as she by nature is, she deserves our highest respect, admiration, and honor, and her beautiful example gains our warmest gratitude. The other public work with which Sir Jamsetjee was occu- pied, while this causeway was being constructed, was the procuring for the city of Poona a regular supply of water. Poona, which was once the capital of the Maratta State, and is still a very considerable place, is situated on a high table land, and is exposed to frequent and long droughts, during which there was frequent suffering from want of this necessary of life. Two considerable streams unite not far from the city; but their bed lies much below the plain on which it is built, and at seasons when they were the fullest, water could be raised from them only with difficulty. It was determined to dam the streams below their point of union, so as to secure at all periods of the year a sufficient supply, and to connect the pond, thus formed, by suitable works with a reservoir at the city, 9000 feet in distance from the dam, and elevated 112 feet above it. During the seven months of annual drought, the streams fill but a small portion of their channel; but in 13* 150 Sir Jamse~jee Jeejcebhoy: [July, June and July, after a heavy fall of rain, they will sometimes rise as much as from fifteen to twenty feet in height in twenty- four hours. The difficulty of erecting a wall eighteen feet high and eight hundred and fifty feet long, strong enough to resist such a flood, may he imagined. Plans were obtained from England, and the dam was completed in 1845; but cho- lera had broken out in the neighborhood, and but a few people could be got to work, so that it was nearly a month later in being finished than was expected. The river came down a fortnight sooner than was looked for, the very day the work was completed, and hefore the mortar had hardened suffi- ciently to withstand the shock, and the whole gave way. It was rebuilt, and again hurst through in 1847; and it is now (1849) once more being reconstructed. This last time, we believe, the attempt has succeeded, and Poona has gained one of the greatest blessings that can be bestowed on any city, and more especially on one within the tropics. On this work Sir Jamsetjee must have expended at least 200,000 rupees. In 1847, Sir Jamsetjee erected at Bombay a dhurmsalla, or hostelry, for the accommodation of the poor travellers, whom business or necessity brings to the city, and who, arriv- ing in great numbers, often had no place of abode or shelter. It is a large and well constructed building, affording accom- modation for three hundred persons. Not content with erect- ing it at a cost of eighty thousand rupees, Sir Jamsetjee en- dowed it with 50,000 more for its permanent support, and to this endowment Lady Jamsetjee added a further sum of 20,000 rupees. Our long list of charities, seeming almost fabulous from their number, their variety, and their amount, is not yet nearly at an end; but our space compels us to bring the account to a close. Not a year has passed without being marked by some act of Sir Jamsetjees munificence. The schools at Calcutta and Bombay, the benevolent societies, the public works in all parts of the country, have all been aided by his wide-spread charity. No bigoted faith, no false feeling of nationality, no narrow standard of judgment, no contracted theory of duty, has ruled his efforts for the good of mankind, but his high and generous nature, Grasps the whole worlds of reason, life, and sense, In one close system of benevolence. 1851.] A Parsee Merchant. 151 It was in the spring of 1850 that we had the pleasure of knowing Sir Jamsetjee at Bombay. He bears the marks of age in the whiteness of his hair, and the slight tremulousness of his hand; but his expression is quick, and his manners kind and genial, for his heart is warm, and his mind as clear as ever. He lives surrounded with all that should accompany old age, honored by his people, loved by his family and friends, and with the delightful consciousness of the success of his efforts to alleviate misery, and to increase happiness. He has acquired the glory which is best worth having, the glory of good deeds. Quid enim est melius, aut quid pres- tantius, bonitate et beneficentia? We know of no parallel in the records of biography to the benevolence of this Parsee merchant. The lavish spendings of Herodes Atticus, though greater perhaps in amount, are of little value when compared in character with those of this man. One of the great rewards of such wise liberality, is, that its example may stimulate other men to similar excel- lence. We are accustomed to speak proudly of the generosity and the charities throughout our country. But we have little real reason to be proud in this respect. Our pride has arisen from our taking a false standard of comparison. We have compared what we have done with what other nations have omitted to do. We have forgotten that we are the most prosperous community that the world ever saw, and that we should be more blameworthy than any other people were we less liberal. While the laws which regulate the acquisition and the possession of property are so ill understood as they at present are all the world over, benevolence is not simply a duty, it is a necessity. More than anywhere else, it is a necessity in a republic like ours. Benevolence is dictated by the most refined selfishness, as well as by virtue. We have learnt that expensive schools are the cheapest institu~ tion of the state; we have yet to learn that the prevention of pauperism, at any cost, is cheaper than the care of it when it exists; we have yet to learn that the truest pleasure which wealth can afford is in spending it so as to promote the hap- piness of others. Nor ought our rich men only to be called on to be benevolent. The portion of our community which is too poor to be charitable is very small. The duty is the same to every man, to give to others according to his means. 152 The Life of Blennerhasset. [July, Let every one in his own way devote a portion of his posses- sions, it matters not whether it be his labor, his money, or his thoughts, to the good of others. Whatever he does for their happiness will return in tenfold happiness to himselg for benevolence is the most divine of virtues. ART. VII. The Life of HERMAN BLENNERHASSET; com- prising an Authentic Narrative of the Burr Expedition, and containing many Additional Facts not heretofore published. By WILLIAM SAFFORD. Chillicothe, Ohio. Ely, Allen, & Looker. 1850. ALONG the whole length of the Ohio river, in its endless succession of beautiful landscapes, and its many points of historical interest, Blennerhassets island is perhaps the only spot which is sure to arrest the attention of the voyager on the stream. In the long, narrow, flat island, covered with a few ill kept farms, with one or two mean houses and strag- gling trees, there certainly is nothing to attract notice; yet not a steamer passes it but that a group collects on the hurri- cane deck, to ask for the shrubbery which Shenstone might have envied, the music that might have charmed Calypso and her nymphs, and the wife who was said to be lovely even beyond her sex, and graced with every accomplishment that can render it irresistible. The name of Blennerhasset has invested it with a charm. Yet Blennerhasset was re- markable neither for any thing he did, nor for his ability to do any thing; nor were his misfortunes greater than what often happen to men as worthy as he, in every mercan- tile community. The elegant mansion, however, which he erected, and the scholastic life which he led, in a remote wilderness, throws an air of romance over him, while his connection with the schemes of Aaron Burr gives notoriety to his name, to which his misfortunes lend a melancholy interest. Herman Blennerhasset belonged to a family of some note among the gentry of Ireland, who traced their lineage back to the reign of King John. The residence of his parents

152 The Life of Blennerhasset. [July, Let every one in his own way devote a portion of his posses- sions, it matters not whether it be his labor, his money, or his thoughts, to the good of others. Whatever he does for their happiness will return in tenfold happiness to himselg for benevolence is the most divine of virtues. ART. VII. The Life of HERMAN BLENNERHASSET; com- prising an Authentic Narrative of the Burr Expedition, and containing many Additional Facts not heretofore published. By WILLIAM SAFFORD. Chillicothe, Ohio. Ely, Allen, & Looker. 1850. ALONG the whole length of the Ohio river, in its endless succession of beautiful landscapes, and its many points of historical interest, Blennerhassets island is perhaps the only spot which is sure to arrest the attention of the voyager on the stream. In the long, narrow, flat island, covered with a few ill kept farms, with one or two mean houses and strag- gling trees, there certainly is nothing to attract notice; yet not a steamer passes it but that a group collects on the hurri- cane deck, to ask for the shrubbery which Shenstone might have envied, the music that might have charmed Calypso and her nymphs, and the wife who was said to be lovely even beyond her sex, and graced with every accomplishment that can render it irresistible. The name of Blennerhasset has invested it with a charm. Yet Blennerhasset was re- markable neither for any thing he did, nor for his ability to do any thing; nor were his misfortunes greater than what often happen to men as worthy as he, in every mercan- tile community. The elegant mansion, however, which he erected, and the scholastic life which he led, in a remote wilderness, throws an air of romance over him, while his connection with the schemes of Aaron Burr gives notoriety to his name, to which his misfortunes lend a melancholy interest. Herman Blennerhasset belonged to a family of some note among the gentry of Ireland, who traced their lineage back to the reign of King John. The residence of his parents 1851.] The Life of Blennerliasset. 153 was Castle Conway, in the county of Kerry; but he was born in Hampshire, England, in the year 1767, while they were inakin0 a visit to some relative. He was educated care- fully at Westminster school, and afterwards at Trinity Col- lege, Dublin, where he graduated with great credit. Soon after graduating, he began to read law at the Kings Inns, in company with his relation and college friend, Thomas Addis Emmet, with whom he was admitted to the bar in the year 1790. Before attempting the practice of the law, he spent some time in travelling over France and the Neth~rlands. He saw France suffering with the throes of the Revolution, and re- turning to Ireland, he found it rent with factions. His means were too ample to require him to submit to the drudgery of practising law. He was averse to taking part in the political warfare of the country. All his tastes inclined to a life of retirement and repose, which was impossible in Ireland at that time. The death of his father, in 1796, leaving him in possession of a large fortune, he resolved to emigrate to the United States, where he could pursue his favorite studies in quiet, at the same time that he could gratify his wish to live in a republic. Selling his estate to his relative, Baron Ventry, he went to England to prepare for the voyage. He met there Miss Margaret Agnew, daughter of the lieutenant-governor of the Isle of Man, and granddaughter of General Agnew, who fell at the battle of Germantown. This lady is said to have been remarkably beautiful. She was tall and graceful; she had a very clear complexion, re~,ular features, deep blue eyes, and dark brown hair. She was an accomplished French and Italian scholar, and thoroughly acquainted with English literature. Her manners fascinated all who conversed with her. She was, withal, an accomplished housewife, instructed by two maiden aunts in all the mysteries of pastry and needlework. Blennerhasset met, saw, and conquered. They were mar- ned; a large library, together with an excellent set of philo- sophical apparatus, was bought, and, in 1797, they arrived in New York. After spending some months in New York, they crossed the Alleghany mountains, and reached Marietta in the fall of the same year. Before the winter was over, Blennerhasset 154 The Life of Blennerhasset. [July, selected for his home an island in the Ohio river, fourteen miles below Marietta. The Mississippi valley was then al- most an unbroken wilderness. The forty thousand settlers in what is now the State of Ohio only dotted the shores of some rivers with scattered germs of civilization. Pittsburg, the great mart of the valley of the Ohio, had scarcely fourteen hundred inhabitants. Marietta was a mere village; Cincin- nati counted a population of six hundred; Louisville was still smaller; and Chillicothe had not been surveyed two years. In this great wilderness, Blennerhasset chose the spot perhaps the most agreeable to his tastes. The island secured solitude whenever it was wished; while the village of Belpre on the Ohio shore, settled by retired officers of the army of the Revolution, Marietta, colonized by a company of highly edu- cated New Englanders, and some of the families of Wood county, the adjoining county on the Virginia shore, afforded sufficient society. The island is long, and, about the middle, quite narrow. Blennerhasset bought the upper portion, con- taining about one hundred and seventy acres, and reared there the home which tradition and oratory have invested with the interest of romance. The traveller sailing down the river, when some miles dis- tant, saw the white walls of the house gleaming through an opening which had been cut through the trees on the head of the island. Except this white speck, all looked as wild as nature had made it. But on landing, a gateway was seen, ornamented with large stone pillars. Beyond, a well graded road with a gentle slope led through the forest trees to the general level of the island. There spread a lawn of several acres, from which every stump and root had been removed, and where clumps of shrubbery variegated the smooth-shaven green. Facing the lawn was a spacious mansion, presenting, with its wings, a front of one hundred and four feet. Beyond the house was a garden as large as the lawn, where devious paths, amid arbors covered with trailing vines, and the min- gled hues of native flowers and exotics, together with choice wall fruit, were in strange contrast with the forest that waved its heavy boughs upon its borders. Beyond was an orchard and a kitchen garden, together with a farm of a hundred acres. The house was furnished in a style which then had no parallel beyond the mountains. The hall was a noble apart- 1851.] The Life of Bleunerhasset. 155 ment, constructed on acoustic principles, that Blennerhasset s excellent playing on the violincello should be marred by no echo; the walls, painted with a dark tint, the gilded cornice, and massive furniture gave this room quite a stately air. To this, the rich curtains, gay carpet, elegant furniture, and large mirrors of the drawing-room presented a pleasing contrast. In the dining-room, the sideboards were magnificent with plate. The chief peculiarity of the mansion, however, was the wing which contained the study. There, the ancient classics, the standard works of modern literature, a full col- lection of the recent French and German philosophers, a good telescope, a solar microscope, and a good collection of chemi- cal and electrical apparatus, formed the implements of this pioneer in the wilderness. The owner of the mansion was tall and slender in person, and stooped slightly. He had a marked though not a hand- some face, which generally wore a grave expression. He was not a man of strong will or firm purpose, but was honest, kind, and confiding. Many of his generous acts are still remembered in the neighborhood. His unsuspecting honesty laid him open to frequent impositions. From a dread of earthquakes, he built the house of wood, instead of the fine stone which abounds near the island. And so great was his fear of lightning, that he closed the house and lay on a feather bed whenever there was a thunder storm. He studied for amusement, without ever becoming an adept in any branch of science. His knowledge of medicine was enough to enable him to administer doses to all his poor neighbors, and to fancy constantly that he was suffering from some dan- gerous illness. His only recorded experiment in chemistry was unfortunate; conceiving that beeg if kept a sufficient time in running water, would be converted into a good substi- tute for spermaceti, he tried the experiment. But the fish of the river had so little respect for his science as to nibble the meat away before the experiment was finished. His music was more admired than his experiments in science ; some pieces of his composition are still remembered in Marietta. He was most at home with the old classic writers; and it is said that he could repeat a considerable portion of the Iliad from memory. He was excessively fond of such sport as the island afforded, shooting at quails and other small birds. His 156 The Life of Blennerhasset. [July, sporting, however, was almost a practical bull; for being very near-sighted, he only fired the gun after his wife or ser- vant had pointed it. Mrs. Blennerhasset was a very different person. Her remarkable beauty was heightened by every charm of grace, dignity, intelligence, and high breeding. Ladies who knew her well say they have not seen in America or Europe a by- her woman or a more accomplished lady. Always dressed with taste, often brilliantly, surpassing every one in the dance, charming all with her manners, and soothing distress wherever it appeared, she was regarded with a passionate admiration. A young farmer rented a cornfield on the island, simply in order to catch a glimpse of her in her daily ride or walk. In all disputes between her husband and a guest upon a point in history, she was made arbitrator. Sometimes she would delight a favored party with her reading of Shakspeare. At the same time, she did all the shopping for the large household, cut out clothes for her husband and the servants, and often went into the kitchen to make cake or pastry. Her habits were well suited to the region. She was not only a fearless rider, but could walk with ease from the island to Marietta; and, says her biographer, (Mr. Hildreth, of Mari- etta,) she could vault with the ease of a young fawn over a five-rail fence, with the mere aid of one hand placed on the top rail, and was often seen to do so when walking over the farm and a fence came in the way of her progress. It was performed with such graceful movement and so little effort, as to call forth the wonder and admiration of the beholder. Their life on the island passed very quietly. Blennerhasset found all the repose that he had longed for, and his wife urged him in vain to practise in the neighboring courts of law. Superintending his improvements, reading, experimenting in the laboratory, and firing his gun when some one had aimed it, formed his only occupation. This mode of life was varied with balls at Marietta and his own house, visiting, still more with receiving visits from his neighbors, together with an occasional visit from a cultivated emigrant, who, weary with floating down the river hundreds of miles between its uninhabited banks, was rejoiced to find this western Eden. They had lived here eight years, and two children were added to 1851.] The Life of Blennerhasset. 157 their other blessings, when they saw Aaron Burr the first time. What the plans of Burr were, it is impossible now to de- termine with certainty. It seems, however, that he intended to colonize so much of the tract of land on the Washita, called Bastrops Grant, as he had purchased. The grant was to be void unless the tract should be occupied by settlers within a specified time, which had nearly elapsed. A more impor- tant part of his plan was the conquest of Mexico. The dismemberment of the Union was alleged at the time to be the main end of his design. But no proof has been brought to establish it as a fact; such a project was so hopeless that we cannot believe even Aaron Burr should have entertained it; and, moreover, on his death-bed, he solemnly and with great emphasis denied it. The invasion of Mexico had been suggested by Miranda, on his visit to the United States dur- ing the administration of John Adams. The most prominent men in the country approved it; nothing was wanted but the sanction of the government to carry it into execution. Under the presidency of Jefferson, when war with Spain seemed imminent, Burr revived the project. The leading men in the West took part in it; the partisans of the administration throughout the West favored it. Nothing was wanted but a declaration of war against Spain to set an invading army in motion. When it became known that there would be no war, most of Burrs adherents abandoned the scheme; not a few, however, continued firm, partly through his persuasion, partly from a belief that the president secretly approved it. In the spring of 1805, before the plot was ripe, Burr sailed down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers to New Orleans to per- fect it. He landed at Blennerhassets island, and strolled over the grounds without approaching the house. A servant being sent to invite the stranger in, he spent the evening with the family. The visit was only such a casual visit as Mr. Blennerhasset commonly received from men of education who passed down the river; no allusion was made to the matter with which Burr was already busy. On his return in October, he again called at the island, but the host was not at home. Blennerhasset spent the winter in New York, where he went chiefly to meet his old fellow-student, Emmett, who VOL. LXXIII. NO. 152. 14 [July, 158 The Life of Blennerhasset. had just left Ireland on account of the political troubles. In the beginning of December, he received a letter from Burr, regretting that they had not met on the island in the previous October. Flattered by the interest taken in him by the ex- vice-president, he wrote word in reply, expressing a hope that he might be honored with a share in any speculation which might, during his tour of the country, have presented itself to Burrs judgment as worthy to engage his talents. In making this advance, not merely a commercial or land enter- prise was contemplated, hut a military adventure was men- tioned. He supposed the government was indignant at the aggressions of Spanish troops upon the American borders, as well as at the conduct of the Spanish minister at Washington. Under this impression, he supposed a speedy war with Spain was inevitable; and he offered, if a Spanish war should induce the government to call upon Burr, to engage with him in any enterprise to he undertaken for the conquest of any of the Spanish dominions. In the following April, 1806, Burr wrote a highly complimentary letter in reply. He stated that he had projected just such a speculation as Blennerhasset had mentioned, and which he would have suggested, had he found Blennerhasset at home in the previous autumn. He added, that it could not he begun before December, if ever; that as it could not he explained by letter, an explanation would be deferred until an interview could be had; and that there would be no war unless the country should be actually invaded by Spain. In August, 1806, Burr visited the island again with his daughter, Mrs. Alston, arriving at noon, and leaving the next morning. While on the island, he had an hours private con- versation with Blennerhasset; and the next day, at Marietta, at snatched intervals, the conversation was renewed. Blen- nerbasset was assured, that the expulsion of the Spanish from the American territory then violated by them, or even an invasion of Mexico, would be pleasing to the administration, if it could be done without declaring war with Spain; and that such a war would be avoided as long as possible, although existing circumstances would probably occasion its commence- ment before he should engage in any operation. Persuaded that the government would not be adverse to such designs, provided they should be kept secret till their execution should 1851.] The Life of Blennerhasset. 159 be legalized by a declaration of war, he tendered his services generally to Burr. In the course of the same conversation, Burr said that the people of the Mississippi territory were so disaffected towards the government, that they would at no distant period revolt and call in foreign aid; and when this time should arrive, the people of the Western States would be called on to determine to which section they would adhere. But he said this was a matter in which he was not at all concerned, though it was spoken of and feared at the seat of government. Both agreed that the people should he informed upon the subject, so that they might not be drawn unawares into a contest for which they were not prepared. Burr, before leaving, con- tracted at Marietta for the building of fifteen batteaux, capa- ble of carrying five hundred men, and a large keel boat for provisions. After his departure, Blennerhasset wrote for the Marietta newspaper a short series of articles advocating the propriety of separating the West from the eastern part of the Union, and another series confuting the first. These papers, Blennerhasset tUterwards stated, had no reference to their scheme, because their scheme had nothing to do with the United States; his object was, partly, to prepare the minds of the people for what he considered an inevitable event; but mainly, to divert public attention from the Mexican invasion, which he supposed the government would approve so long as it should be kept secret, though if it should become known, the administration would feel constrained to suppress it. By this time, rumors of the intended expedition began to be noised over the country. They occasioned a general dis- quietude, and even alarm, which we complacently smile at in these days when such expeditions are rife. The government appointed secret agents to spy out its organization; unusual powers were conferred upon the commanding general in the West; the legislatures of the Western States enacted special laws to aid in suppressing it; bands of hastily organized militia were posted along the Ohio, the Mississippi, and the rivers flowing into them; and a bill suspending the operation of the habeas corpus act passed through one branch of Congress. In October, Blennerhasset went to Lexington in Kentucky, with Mrs. Alston, who had been his guest since August, and her husband, who had just arrived at the island. Here he 160 The Life of Blennerhasset. [July, observed Burrs popularity increasing, and no jealousy shown on the part of the government towards him. But before the month was ended, he received a special messenger from his wife, who was alarmed by the reports of three companies of militia being organized in Wood county, and of their inten- tion to burn his house. On his way home, he met Charles Fenton Mercer, and spoke to him with great sensibility of the rumors that were afloat. He said he was the last man in the world who would disturb the peace of the United States; he had found in them an asylum the tranquillity of which he would never violate. He mentioned the plan of forming, on the Bastrop purchase, under the auspices of Burr, a colony of the most cultivated families in the Union, and strongly urged Mr. Mercer to join in it. When Mr. Mercer doubted the success of such a settlement begun under the auspices of Aaron Burr, Blennerhasset defended him with enthusiasm. Soon after he reached the island, Burr joined him, on his return from a recruiting tour through Ohio and Kentucky. The crisis of the undertaking was too near for a long friendly visit; in a few days, Burr completed his arrangements with the boat-builders in Marietta, and Blennerhassets family were again left to themselves. Not many days after, they heard that Burr had been arrested in Kentucky on a charge of ~C treasonable practices and a design to attack the Spanish domains and thereby endanger the peace of the United States, and discharged for want of evidence against him. Blennerhasset went for sympathy to Mr. Graham, who had lately arrived at Marietta, and who, he had understood from Burr, was one of their recruits. But learning from him that many of Burrs representations were false, that Graham was the agent appointed by the President to baffle the expedition, and that the President was resolved to use every means to sup- press it, he returned home disheartened. The menacing tone of his Virginia neighbors, and the enactments of the Ohio legislature, added to his despondency. He was ready to abandon the whole project, when, on the 6th of December, a party of recruits from New York arrived at the island. Their presence and the exhortations of his wife overcame his better reason; he resolved to persevere, whatever might be the con- sequences. The Presidents proclamation being received, 1851.] The Life of Blennerhasset. 161 the Wood county militia determined to seize Blennerhasset. But on the night of the 10th, he escaped down the river with the New York party. The next day, the militia found the island deserted. Mrs. Blennerhasset had gone to Marietta, to obtain the boat which had been built expressly for her, to follow her husband. Finding it was confiscated with the other boats, she returned to the island with a heavy heart. On landing, she heard an unusual sound of riot, and found her shrubbery trampled down, the lawn torn up and strewed with rubbish, and, near the house, by a fire made of her garden palings, she met a group of drunken militia. Her presence inspired them with no feeling of respect. The larder and wine cel- lar were emptied, the rich furniture was destroyed, and ser- vants were beaten who presumed to serve their mistress before waiting on the invaders. In her own room up stairs, whither she withdrew with her children, she was still harassed by the tumult, and narrowly escaped a rifle ball that was shot through the drawing-room ceiling. From such duress she was glad to escape on any terms. She took passage with her children in the rude cabin of a flat boat going down the river, and in January joined her husband again at Bayou Pierre, in the Mississippi Territory. But instead of joining him on his triumphant march to the halls of the Montezumas, as a princess of some new realm, she found him a hunted fugitive, with all his hopes blasted, brooding over the happiness that he had flung away. There was little time for revery. He and Burr were soon arrested, but were both discharged for want of sufficient evidence. Burr fled in disguise to escape another examination. A reward was offered for his capture, the whole region was on the watch for him, he was arrested the third time on a road in the almost uninhabited wilds of Alabama, and taken to Richmond, in Virbinia. There, on the 25th of June, indict- ments were preferred against him, Blennerhasset, and others. In June, Blennerhasset left Natchez, where he had been residing with his family, to visit the island. While stopping on the way with his friends hi Lexington, he was arrested and held for trial on the indictment found at Richmond. Henry Clay, his counsel, made an ineffectual effort to procure his discharge. He was taken to Richmond, where, through 14 * 162 The Life of Blennerhasset. [July, the long trial of Burr, he occupied himself in writing a brief statement, which he left incomplete, of his connection with the Burr scheme, in keeping a journal, and jotting down notices of men of mark who figured in the trial. Upon Burrs acquittal, the indictments against the others were dropped. Burr and Blennerhasset were required to give bail for their appearance at Chillicothe, in Ohio, to answer to a charge of misdemeanor; but the charge was never preferred against them. Blennerhasset returned to Mississippi, where, about a year after, he bought a cotton plantation with the remains of his fortune. Brighter days began to dawn upon him again. After two toilsome years, he again found a home. In Natchez, and on the neighboring plantations, he found a small, but choice, circle of acquaintances. He hoped, too, easily to repair his broken fortune. Cotton was sold for such exorbitant prices, that, with a well managed plantation, he might retrieve his losses in a few years. He indeed knew little about superin- tending a farm; he still divided his time between his study and society. But while he was with his books, his wife was riding over the plantation, giving all needful orders for its management. The war with England broke out, cotton lost its value, and the estate yielded him a bare subsistence. Bills contracted by Burr for the expedition, which Blenner- hasset had guaranteed to the amount of twenty thousand dol- lars, were thrust upon him. His old home, the island estate, was made over to a Virginia creditor, and the once beautiful grounds were used for a hemp patch, the house for a barn. While thus deprived of revenue and beset by creditors, the old mansion on the island, filled with hemp, took fire and was burned to the ground. Amid these new misfortunes, a new hope was held out to him. An old schoolmate, who was then Governor of Canada, wrote to him, inviting him to come thither and accept a vacant judgeship. He sold his lands, and emigrated to Mon- treal only to find his friend removed from office, and his own hopes destroyed. One resource was left. He still had a reversionary claim on some Irish estates, a claim which he had always regarded as a thing of straw, but which was now a straw clutched by a drowning man. He bade farewell to 1851.1 The Unity of Language and of Mankind. 163 America, spent some years in England, residing with an unmarried sister, soliciting office from the government, and endeavoring to bring under its notice an invention which he hoped was of great value. After weary years, both schemes were abandoned. He withdrew to the island of Guernsey, and in 1831, in the sixty-third year of his age, in poverty, but solaced by the affectionate care of his one constant friend, he sank to his rest. Mrs. Blennerhasset was now left alone in her old age, to support and educate three children. After eleven years of toil, she returned t6 the United States in the hope of obtain- ing from the government reparation for the injury done to her property, in the winter of 1806, in the name of the govern- ment, by officers acting under its authority. Henry Clay presented her petition in the federal Senate. The committee appointed to examine it reported that the claim was legal and proper, and that not to allow it would be unworthy a wise or just nation. It would, doubtless, have been granted; but while Congress were discussing it, she died in an humble abode in New York, soothed in her last hours by the charita- ble attentions of a society of Irish females. ART. VIII. 1. On the Present State and Recent Pro- gress of Ethnographical Philology. Part I. Africa. By R. G. LATHAM, M. D. pp. 66. 2. On the Various Methods of Research which contribute to the Advancement of Ethnology, and of the Relations of that Science to Other Branches of Knowledge. By JAMES C. PRIdHARD, M. D., F. R. S. & c. pp. 24. 3. On the Results of the Recent Egyptian Researches in Reference to Asiatic and African Ethnology, and the Classification of Languages: A Discourse read before the Ethnological Section of the British Association for the Advancement of Science at Oxford, on the 28th of June, 1847, by C. C. J. BUNSEN, D. C. L., Ph. D. pp. 46. 4. On the Importance of the Study of the Celtic Language

1851.1 The Unity of Language and of Mankind. 163 America, spent some years in England, residing with an unmarried sister, soliciting office from the government, and endeavoring to bring under its notice an invention which he hoped was of great value. After weary years, both schemes were abandoned. He withdrew to the island of Guernsey, and in 1831, in the sixty-third year of his age, in poverty, but solaced by the affectionate care of his one constant friend, he sank to his rest. Mrs. Blennerhasset was now left alone in her old age, to support and educate three children. After eleven years of toil, she returned t6 the United States in the hope of obtain- ing from the government reparation for the injury done to her property, in the winter of 1806, in the name of the govern- ment, by officers acting under its authority. Henry Clay presented her petition in the federal Senate. The committee appointed to examine it reported that the claim was legal and proper, and that not to allow it would be unworthy a wise or just nation. It would, doubtless, have been granted; but while Congress were discussing it, she died in an humble abode in New York, soothed in her last hours by the charita- ble attentions of a society of Irish females. ART. VIII. 1. On the Present State and Recent Pro- gress of Ethnographical Philology. Part I. Africa. By R. G. LATHAM, M. D. pp. 66. 2. On the Various Methods of Research which contribute to the Advancement of Ethnology, and of the Relations of that Science to Other Branches of Knowledge. By JAMES C. PRIdHARD, M. D., F. R. S. & c. pp. 24. 3. On the Results of the Recent Egyptian Researches in Reference to Asiatic and African Ethnology, and the Classification of Languages: A Discourse read before the Ethnological Section of the British Association for the Advancement of Science at Oxford, on the 28th of June, 1847, by C. C. J. BUNSEN, D. C. L., Ph. D. pp. 46. 4. On the Importance of the Study of the Celtic Language 164 The Unity of Language and of Manlcind. [July, as exhibited by the Modern Celtic Dialects still extant. By DR. CHARLES MEYER. Pp. 18. 5. On the Relation of the Bengali to the Arian and Abo- riginal Languages of India. By DR. MAX MULLER. pp. 32. THE treatises whose titles are here given are all con- tained in the Reports of the British Association for the year 1847; and, together with a few shorter contributions on kindred subjects, occupy just two hundred pages, or about a third part of the whole volume. It is our present design to recall the attention of our read- ers to the scientific character and value of linguistic re- searches, and especially to their hearing upon the vexed question of the unity of the human race. And as the very connection in which these treatises have been published indi- cates the position which the British, as well as the German, scientific world hawe been disposed to accord to philological inquiries, we have chosen to place them at the head of our article rather than any more recent productions. We are aware that it has become fashionable to treat such studies as dry and trite, and even to reject them as puerile. To scoff at etymology is no new thing; and efforts are sometimes made to decry all philological investigations as, in a scientific point of view, entirely unproductive and inconclu- sive. We are constrained, therefore, to beg pardon for our present intrusion; but, with Minerva, Mercury, Apollo, and the Muses on our side, we hope we shall not be denied a hearing by the votaries of Ceres, Neptune, and Vulcan. So far as those opinions relate to the inutility of the study of language, they are neither to be received nor rejected with- out a fair, open, and full consideration. But as to the want of interest attaching to such studies, its basis is unquestionably quite as much subjective as objective. To most men, the details of routine and appliances in the painters or the sculptors art would seem exceedingly dry and wearisome. But a Venus of Praxiteles, a Madonna of Raphael, or the Greek Slave of Powers was not a mere im- provisation, an extempore product of inspired genius, without tools or practice, or rules of art. Patient study of details, a perfect mastery of innumerable technical mniwuti~e, as well as 1851.] The Unity of Language and of Mankind. 165 diligent observation and long reflection, were essential ante- cedent conditions of such a glorious creation. To the true artist, the study of those minutke and details, instead of being rejected as irksome or despised as trifling, becomes ennobled by its connection with the ultimate result. Here, the end sanctifies the means. Not in marble or on canvas only; in language, too, hu- man genius has manifested its power; and nowhere is its impress more characteristic, more effective, more enduring. Poetry and eloquence, history and philosopby, are among the forms of such a manifestation. Language itself, in its very structure and development, is the noblest and most character- istic, the most direct and perfect, manifestation of the human mind. Hence the study of language has a humanizing ten-~ dency ; it is the study of man, not indeed in his material and animal relations, but in his proper and peculiar character as an intellectual and logical, or rational, being. In these later times, the study of the Natural Sciences has drawn to itself more and more of the intellectual activity of thinking and studious men throughout the sphere of Christian civilization, until at length it threatens to swallow up the mind of Christendom at least of Protestant Christendom altogether. It has already arrayed on its side the large major- ity, probably, of the greatest minds of the age; and this gives it now the prestige which formerly belonged to the department of Letters, Philosophy, and Theology. Men are gradually coming to think, or rather have already come to think, that no study can be so noble or so useful as that of external nature. We would not detract one tittle from the dignity or value of physical science. It has played a noble part in the eleva- tion of the human mind, and we trust, is destined to play a yet nobler. But we cannot see, after much reflection be- stowed upon the subject, why the study of a word of human speech, in its origin, history, connections, relations, and signi- ficance, is not, in itself and in its results, as worthy and as useful an employment as the examination of a shell, a peb- ble, a bug, or a worm. The worthiness may be, as we have said, chiefly a mat- ter of taste; but as useful, we say. A man may be an ex- cellent baker, a skilful smith or miner, without being a scien- tific chemist. He may know how to train an ox or a horse, 166 The Unity of Language and of Mankind. [July, or to distinguish a sheep from a goat, or to defend his fruits or crops from the cut-worm, the weevil, or the curcuijo, with- out a very thorough acquaintance with Zoblogy. And when, in the single department of Entomology, there are already found more species than man can number, what can he the great use, either practically or even philosophically, of adding one new hug to the number? If one had collected speci- mens of all the hugs in the world, and invented or stored in his memory a learned Greek name for each; or even had every individual bug been brought to him as soon as it was born, and all duly classified, and arranged in glittering files; it is difficult to see how much the wiser he would he for such a treasure, a thorough and minute acquaintance with which he could not gain were he to live to the good old age of Methuselah, nor convey the details to the world in as many volumes as are contained in the National Library of Paris. Nor is it easy to see to what purpose all this knowledge could be turned, even if it were once acquired and recorded. Certain selections and general views might be scientitically of use, but the measureless mass of particulars must surely frighten any but a most devout amateur of bugs. It may be suggested, leaving for the moment the argu- ment of utility, and returning to that of inherent dignity, that the leaf, the pebble, or the insect, is a work of God; the word a work of man. But is the former any more truly a work of God than the latter? The former is a work of God through the formative processes of natural law or of animal life~ the latter is a work of God, through the higher laws which regulate the development of intellectual and moral life. If the word were a mere arbitrary product of human inge- nuity, there might be more pertinency in the suggestion; but while it is no such arbitrary product, but is either the original and immediate creature and gift of God, or the normal, natu- ral, and necessary offspring and result of the mental constitu- tion and physical organization of man, the force of such a suggestion is utterly annihilated. As well might the human infant be arranged, as a work of man, side by side with the automaton, and thus unceremoniously placed below the bug or the calf. That the history of a word in the development of its forms and its significance is connected with mental rather 1851.] The Unity of Language and of Mankind. 167 than with merely physical processes, the same being pro- cesses, still, not of ingenious contrivance or of arbitrary volition or convention, but in the highest sense natural and subject to profound and harmonious laws, is surely no detraction from its character or diminution of its dignity as a work of God. And that character and dignity are rather enhanced than impaired by the fact that such a development is not a mere instinctive development, but is connected with and modi.. fled by the profoundest movements of a conscious mind, made itself after the image of God, and whose laws of evolution and action are of higher interest and dignity and importance, as a subject of human study, than those pertaining to any other, even the grandest, works of the Creators power, so far as those works are subject to our cognizance. Indeed, human language may be considered not so much the offspring, or the organ of communication, as the embodiment, the pro- per manifestation, of the human soul. It reveals to us all we know of other human souls, and probably all, or nearly all, that each of us knows of his own. Certain it is that, so far as experience can serve to determine the fact, we could not suppose human consciousness to be developed to any great extent in its intellectual or moral character, whether in the race or in the individual, without the development and the use of language. Language itself is a far greater work than any of the great works which it contains. The man who would argue down logic, and talk language into disrepute as mean- ingless, or at least conveying no definite and certain sense, may be left to contend with his own shadow. He will most effectually demolish his own forces. Physical science has penetrated the heavens, we may say literally, to inconceivable depths, and determined with amaz- ing precision the motions and the mechanism of the systems of bodies which roll in order through the vast expanse; and, what is more amazing still, she has found those motions and that mechanism to be in exact accordance in many cases with the prophetic anticipations of human reason, and always with the mathematical laws and principles which form a portion of its essential constitution. She has penetrated the crust of the earth with her divining rod, and, disinterring generation after generation of organisms that, one after another, have possessed the lordship of this terrestrial sphere, and, one after another, 168 The Unity of Language and of Mankind. [July, not merely as individuals, but as entire species, have been consigned to death and sepulchred in the solid rock, she has opened to us a vista of ages in the history of the creation as vast as the vista of distances revealed by astronomy in the immensity of space. She has analyzed all the forms of mat- ter organized and unorganized, and reduced them, provision- ally at least, to their simple elements. She has traced out and systematized the laws of the imponderable agencies on which depend the motions and the changes of the visible universe. She has studied the organization of crystal and shell, of plant, tree, and flower, of fish and reptile, beast and bird. And from this lofty position, to what point shall she next essay to climb? What shall be the climax of her ascent, the apex of her magnificent system? She is already beginning to answer these questions. She is at length becoming more and more conscious that man is her highest study. The physiology of the human frame, the natural history of the human race in space and time, occupies more and more intently the minds of scientific men, as the highest problem of scientific research, whose solution is to constitute the crowning triumph of scientific success in the merely physical department. But to the completion of their history, the study of human language must furnish a most important and indispensable aid. The part which philologi- cal investigations have begun to occupy among the ohjects of scientific expeditions, as well as in the doings of scientific associations, is a most significant fact. The question of the specific unity of mankind is daily assuming more and more prominence in the researches and discussions of scientific men and scientific bodies. This unity may be regarded as physiological, psychological, or genealo- gical. And first, in regard to the physiological unity. Consider- ing merely the structure, configuration, and aspect of the hu- man body, does man constitute one species, according to the principles of classification assumed in Natural History? This is the physiological question, a question for the most part of scientific convenience and consistency, rather than of ob- jective reality. Here it may be observed in the first place, that the affirma- tive answer to this question must in itself be more grateful to 1851.] The Unity of Language and of Manicind. 169 the philosophical mind than the negative. The mind instinct- ively grasps at unity; in science as well as in theology, it is burdened and pained by a heterogeneous multiplicity and variety. The goal of the scientific spirit, in its minutest ana- lysis and widest inductions, is unity. It knows no higher gra- tification than to reduce diverse and discordant phenomena under one general law or harmonious principle. It takes no pleasure either in splintering to pieces, or in jostling together. It rejoices in analysis; but only because that analysis is to be followed by a higher synthesis, in more rigid classifications and more comprehensi.ye unities. If, therefore, the idea of the unity of mankind must he abandoned, none can abandon it with greater reluctance than the man of a truly philoso- phical spirit. In the second place; if there be more than one species of men, then, how many? And here, if we seek for any thing more than vague generalities adapted to popular convenience, if we demand any thing like a scientific arrangement and rigid classification, the answer must be exceedingly difficult, not to say impossible. One can hardly see how, in consist- ency with the principles on which the former question was answered in the negative, we can hope to reach any thing definite unless we go boldly on to an almost perfect indivi- dualization, or at least to the establishing of specific differ- ences on physiological grounds, even where authentic history demonstrates a genealogical unity. In the third place; after all attempts at distinguishing and defining species among men, the antecedent idea and assump- tion of some sort of unity remains invincibly behind, a unity which, though it be called merely generic, is of far greater moment than the specific varieties thus established, a unity inalienably fixed in the human conscioUsness, and by it universally affirmed, a unity attested by such words as human, mankind, philanthropy, a unity, we say, so palpably manifest, so much more palpably manifest than any marks of diversity, that all men in all times have unhesitatingly recog- nized it; and even science herself though she may deny it, must needs begin with its assumption, and acknowledge her- self to be engaged in dividing a unity into parts, instead of performing her higher and proper office of grouping and: connecting parts into a whole. VOL. LxxHi.No. 152. 15 170 The Unity of Language and of Mankind. [July, Yet it is not to be disguised that there exists in the minds of distinguished scientific men a growing tendency to doubt or deny that mankind constitute physiologically but one spe- cies. Some have undertaken to answer the other question, that of plurality, and, applying to its solution the same crite- ria and principles on which their denial of the unity was founded, they have assigned, some two, some three, some eleven, and some, yet more consistently, fifteen or more, as the number of species into which humanity is to be distri- buted. But it is surely odd enough that Virey, who is con- tent with a bipartite division, should assign as specific cha- racters, among others, that the first division has the use of written laws and a condition of civilization more or less advanced; while the second has the natural habit of nudity, a limited understanding, and a civilization always imperfect. From which it will seem to follow, among other things, that we, of the so much lauded Anglo-Saxon race, belong at least so far as these characteristics are grounds of distinction to a different species from that to which our forefathers belonged when they lived in a habit of comparative nudity, and in a state of extremely imperfect civilization, and were destitute not only of written laws, but even of written language. In like manner, the republicans of Liberia have, at least for a time, made a physiological leap from the lower to the higher species. And such transitions in one or the other direction seem to have taken place, and seem likely to take place, very frequently in the course of human history. That such theories of the diversity of human species may be entertained by men not only of high scientific attainments, but of pure and honest minds, of high religious character and Christian faith, we are not disposed for a moment to question, or even to doubt. And we believe tbat great harm is done to religion, to morality, and to intellectual integrity, as well as to science, when those who have scarcely waited to coin- prehend the terms in which such theories are expressed, and who know nothing at all of the grounds on which they are based, instantly seize upon them, and, skillessly and witlessly comparing them with the received interpretation of the Bible, forthwith declare them, together with all wbo hold them, tainted with sheer infidelity. But on the other hand, we 1851.] The Unity of Language and of Mankind. 171 deem it no derogation from the broadest charity to declare that we find unmistakable marks of the spirit, if not the fact, of real infidelity, when we see in certain quarters a disposi- tion to ridicule and sneer at those physiologists who have endeavored to show the consistency of their scientific theories with the doctrines of Revelation; as though such an effort could never he made from an honest and pious purpose, for ones own satisfaction as well as that of others, but must of necessity be an unmanly sacrifice to vulgar prejudice. If such scoffers do not show their contempt for the Christian religion, they show either their hostility to science or their utter destitution of that large comprehensiveness which recog- nizes a common bond among all the various departments of human knowledge and human thought, and seekc to harmo- nize them in one consentaneous system. A mere physiolo- gist, who should have neither sympathy nor acquaintance with any other department of human knowledge, feeling, or effort, who should hold philosophy and polite learning, the- ology and religion, in thoughtless contempt, would be no more a complete man, a properly developed, humanized, civilized being, than a mere philologist, theologian, or pin- maker. No particular department of knowledge is fully mas- tered and comprehended in a manly sense, until it is viewed not only in itself, but in all its bearings and relations until it is harmonized with all other departments, and reduced to its appropriate place and order in the grand ~ystem of universal truth. By the psychological unity of the human race is meant, that all nations and tribes of men possess essentially the same intellectual and moral constitution, differing only in degree and in its stage of development at different times, in different countries, under different circumstances, and among different tribes, families, and individuals ; an intellectual and moral constitution by which, as by an infinite distance or impassable gulf, man is separated from all the other inhabitants of the earth. There is no probable evidence that any species of the lower animals, or even any one individual among them, however remarkable its instincts or great the indications of its intelligence, can apprehend, or be taught to apprehend, an abstract mathematical ratio, or the distinction between right and wrong as a universal ethical law, or the intelligent 172 The Unity of Language and of Mankind. [July, use of language as based upon and expressing logical gene- ralizations. But there has been found no tribe of men so degraded in organization or habit that they could not be taught to apprehend all these; or indeed that such an appre- hension has not been found already in some degree developed among them. Now, in the possession of this rational, ethical, and logical nature, all men are one, they must always recognize each other as brethren; even though, for the sake of some professedly scientific distinction, the physiologist should divide them into an indefinite number of species. Among the specific differences which Virey has laid down, certain intellectual and moral characteristics are enumerated, some of which have already beep alluded to; but it is observa- ble that they are all mere differences of degree, which may change, and do change, with changing times and circumstances. Some of these peculiarities of different nations and tribes may, indeed, have remained permanent for many generations, or even through the whole historical period; yet to make such pecu- liarities, even when thus permanent, the test for specific dis- tinctions, would multiply the number of species beyond the bounds of the wildest scientific credulity. According to such a view, not only would there be a specific difference between the negro and the white and red man; not only be- tween the red or copper-colored American and the white or brown Caucasian; not only between the Chinese and the European; but between Chinese and Tartar, and Burmese and Malay, and Hindoo and Affghan, and Kurd and Arab and Jew; between the Greek and the Roman, the Gaul and the German, the Saxon and the Norman; nay, even be- tween the Englishman and the Yankee. The differences are so various in their nature and so infinitesimally graduated in their quantity, that, hoxvever permanent they may be or seem to be, they can scarcely furnish a practicable basis for a sci- entific classification. Thus, while mankind, in all its varieties, is distinguished from all other races of animals by differences incomparably greater, more definite, and more important than those which separate the very highest class or species of those anhuals from the very lowest, the different varieties of mankind are so slightly marked, and so shaded into one another, that their unity is incomparably more prominent than their diversity. 1851.] The Unity of Language and of Mankind. 173 While, therefore, we should most reasonably repudiate that Lamarckian theory of universal development, whereby all permanent distinctions between species, genera, classes, or- ders, and even kingdoms, of nature are broken down and abolished, mind is evolved out of matter, and matter out of an eternal flux or original nothingness, we need not fly to the other extreme, as some in their panic seem disposed to do, and refuse to allow any range, however reasonable, to the application of the law of natural development, as a sufficient explanation of diversities of organization and characteristics. Est modus in rebus. The one extreme is perhaps as unphi- losophical as the other. The question of the genealogical unity of mankind is, after all, the ultimate and absdrbing question; that which un- derlies both the others, and which is tacitly referred to in them both; hut which yet, as a matter of historical fact, can never be positively settled. A physiological or psychological unity might indeed be maintained, even though a genealogical unity did not exist; but either of the former can scarcely be denied without denying the latter. Meantime, the probabi- lity of the latter rests on independent evidence evidence over and above that derived from physiology and psychology. This evidence is twofold, that derived from the Holy Scrip- tures, into which it is not our purpose at present to enter, and that derived from a systematic and thorough inductive comparison of all the languages spoken by the various branches and tribes of the human race. The languages of Europe and Asia have been shown, by men who have studied them most patiently and philosophi- cally, to be reducible to three great families; the Indo-Chinen, or monosyllabic, the Semitic, and the Japhetic, the last including two branches, the Iranian or Indo-European, and the Turanian, or Ugro-Tartarian. The two branches of the Japhetic are connected with each other, and the Semitic with both, by many common elements and direct grammatical analogies; and the two branches are, moreover, connected by the intermediation of the Celtic and the Basque, and the two families by that of the old Egyptian or Coptic; while the Indo-Chinen gradually passes into the Japhetic through the medium of the Burmese and Thibetian dialects. These con. stitute all of the most important and best known languages in 15* 174 The Unity of Language and of Mankind. [July, the world, spoken by nearly nine tenths of the human race. As for the remaining languages, those who have most tho- roughly and extensively studied the African declare, that they all constitute one family, consisting, it is true, of numerous members, but all allied by close affinities among themselves, and all connected, through the Egyptian or Coptic, the Ber- ber and the Abyssinian, both with the Semitic and Japhetic stocks. This is the testimony of Professor Latham in his elaborate Report. The aboriginal American languages, on the authority of our own Duponceau and of William von Humboldt, are likewise, by common consent, grouped toge- ther in another family, as having one common character of structure, called the polysynthetic, which compels us to pre- sume the unity of their origin. And this family is again con- nected by many and various affinities both with the African on the one band, and with the Turanian on the other. There remain the Polynesian, the Australian, and the Papuan languages. These, so far as they have been exa- mined, are found to have manifold connections with each other; and the Polynesian have been shown, by William von Humboldt, to be allied to those of the Indian Archipelago, Malacca, and Madagascar, by such essential affinities as de- monstrate a radical unity. As to the origin of language, whether it was derived from the special inspiration or direct gift of the Creator, or whe- ther it has been the natural product of the human mind re~icting, through its sensibilities and the physical organization with which it is connected, upon the external influences and objects by which it is surrounded, we need not and we can- not positively decide. That it is neither the growth of a mere materialistic development, nor the product of mere arbitrary convention, must be equally clear to any man who has fitted himself to pass an intelligent judgment in the case. The opinion of William von Humboldt may be inferred from the following passage in a letter to M. Abel R~musat. Je suis p~n6tr~ de la conviction quil ne faut pas m6connaitre cette force vraiment divine que rec~lent les faculff~s humaines, ce genie cr6ateur des nations, surtout dans l~tat primitif, oZm toutes les id~es et m~me les facult~s de l~me einpreintent une force plus vive de la nouveaut~ des impressions, oii lhomme peut pressentir des combinaisons auxquelles 51 ne serait jamais 1851.] The Unity of Language and of Mankind. 175 arriv6 par Ia marche lente et progressive de lexp~rience. Ce genie cr~ateur peut franchir les limites qui semblent prescrites au reste des mortels, et sil est impossible de retracer sa marche, sa presence vivifiante nest pas moms manifeste~ Plut6t que de renoncer, dans lexplication de lorigine des langues, ~ linfiuence de cette cause puissante et premi~re, et de leur assigner ~ toutes une marche uniforme et m~canique qui les trainerait pas ~ pas depuis le commencement le plus grossier jusqu ~ leur perfec- tionnement, jembrasserais lopinion de ceux qui rapportent lori- gine des langues ~ une r~v~lation imm6diate de Ia DiviniPi. Ils reconnaissent au moms l& incelle divine qui luit ~ travers tous les idiomes, m~me les plus imparfaits et les moms cultiv6s. We are convinced, says the Chevalier Bunsen, that the power of the mind which enables us to see the genus in the indi- vidual, the whole in the many, and to form a word by connecting a subject with a predicate, is the same which leads men to find God in the universe, and the universe in God. Language and religion are the two poles of our consciousness, mutually pre- supposing each other. The one is directed to the changing phe- nomena of the world, in the conviction of their unity, the other to the unchangeable, absolute One, with the subsumption of all that is changeable and relative under him. On the same subject Charles Meyer expresses himself as follows: One of the grnndest results of modern comparative philology has been to show that all languages belonging to one stock, and we may even say, enlarging this view, all languages of the earth, are but scattered indications of that primitive state of human intellect, and more particularly of the imitative faculty, under the highest excitement of poetic inspiration, in which the language originated, and with which every language remains con- nected, as well through the physiological unity of the human race, as through the historical unity of the family to which it more especially belongs. Of the divine art by which man in that happy primitive state of intellectual activity was enabled to un- derstand the world and himself by means of imitative movements of his voice, and, at the same time, of the sacred treasure of ideas thus embodied in sound with which he then became en- trusted, a certain portion only has been preserved and developed by each family of the human race, in accordance with its pecu- liar character and history, its virtues and defects. Whether the origin of language can thus be accounted for or not, tbe only choice seems to lie between some such 176 The Unity of Language and of Mankind. [July, explanation and a resort to immediate revelation, a resort from which we really can see no good reason for so sensitive a shrinkin ~,, or rather so anti-pathetic an aversion, as is often exhibited. For ourselves, we confess, we incline to the the- ory which ascribes primitive speech to immediate inspiration. Descending from such an origin, the great leading families of language represent not so much portions, fragments, or branches, as different forms and stages of development. Language is the produce of inward necessity, not of arbitrary or conventional arrangement; consequently, every sound must ori- ginally have been significative of something. The unity of sound (the syllable pure or consonantized) must therefore originally have corresponded to a unity of conscious, plastic thought; and every thought must have had a real or substantial object of per- ception. . . . Absolute, unchangeable, and unbending sub- stantiality, then, is the character of the primitive language; but it is equally true that the ideal principle, or the action of the mind which produced language by a spontaneous re-percussion of the perception received, must not be considered as ever resting or ceasing, but on the contrary, as being continually working upon the language. If substantiality is the principle of existence in a language, ideality is as essentially its principle of development or evolution. Language has in itself, by the very nature of the principle of its origin, a principle of development. The mind which forms a language, changes it also. It starts from sentence- formin~ words, and tends to break their absolute, isolating nature by making them subservient to the whole of a developed sen- tence, and~ changing them into parts of speech; and this it can only do by gradually using full ancient roots for the expression of all that is formal in language. [Thus arise pronouns, pre- positions, conjunctions, & c.] This step coincides necessarily with the division between syllables and words, and precedes the origin of prefixes and suffixes. By the introduction of these, in the way of composition and inflection, the grammar of a language is gradually perfected. Every really primitive language (if there are more than one) must therefore have begun, as we find that the Chinese and all monosyllabic languages really did begin. Perhaps we may also find the necessary steps of development from such a beginning to the perfection of formative languages. . . . The further we go in the examination of the most ancient formations, the more we perceive that every sound had originally a meaning, and every unity of sounds [every syllable] answered to a unity of object in 1851.] The Unity of Language and of Mankind. 177 the outward world for the world of mind. And in the latest for- mations, we find that inflections, apparently mere modifications of the sound of a word, are, in most cases reducible to prepositions or post-positions, and these again, and all particles, to full roots, or nouns and verbs. If instead of assuming one, we assume seve- ral, historical beginnings of speech, still we shall find ourselves obliged to assume that the starting point of all has been essen- tially the same, only that the materials employed have been quite distinct from the beginning. Different families of languages will then, according to this system, represent at the utmost only differ- ent stages in lines of parallel development. But if we assume one historical beginning, they all, with the exception of one, must have found something of speech and materials, more or less, already staniped and fixed, which they had to work upon when entering into the critical process of their nascent nation- ality. All languages do not reach the same stage of development at the same period of time, that is, at the same distance from the parent stock. Nomadic, agricultural, or commercial habits, climate and mode of life, intellectual and physical tempera- ment, revolutions, conquests, colonization, intermixture, and, above all, the introduction of written language and a highly cultivated literature, variously affect and determine the rate and character of the development. In writing, a language becomes, as it were, crystallized. But the use of letters, and even the appearance of finished literary productions, though they powerfully tend to arrest the progress of change in a language, cannot absolutely fix it where it is. The spoken language will still undergo con- tinual modifications, though at a slower rate; and the written language will follow, reluctantly it may be, yet surely follow, in the gradual transformation - That the Chinese language should have advanced but a few steps beyond the first stage of development is a remark- able phenomenon, but remarkably in accordance with the other peculiarities of the same people, and with the causes and principles of development above recognized. An agri- cultural people of the most rigid immobility of habits mental, moral, and social; never driven from their ancient territory by any political convulsion or external power; absorbing and assimilating all their conquerors; possessing the most ancient history, the most primitive civilization, and the earliest litera 178 The Unity of Language and of Mankind. [July, ture of any of the nations or families of mankind ; the Chinese remain to this day, as in almost every other particular, so in their language, a fac-sirnile almost of what they were thousands of years ago. In them the primeval development of human civilization and of human lan0uage has been ste- reotyped. The only preparation which, after a literature of 4000 years, the Chinese presents for a change from an inorganic to an organic character, is in the use of some of its unchangeable roots as signs of grammatical relations. A new nation arising a nation which should form itself into existence under such a state of the language, could as easily make that great step as the mummified Chinese is incapable and unwilling to do it. It is the feeling of the absolute independence and isolating substantiality of each word in a sentence which makes him contemplate such a change as a decided decay and barbarism. Among the monosyllabic languages, the Burmese and the Thibetian are said to have made a somewhat greater progress than the Chinese towards an organic character. If we take the Chinese as one extreme, the Sanscrit and Greek will represent the opposite extreme; and between the two, we shall have the old Egyptian, and perhaps the Celtic, and the Hebrew with its dissyllabic forms still traceable, as many linguists are confident, to monosyllabic roots. Here we are met with two surprising phenomena. The first is, that many of the most savage and uncultivated dia- lects, as the African and American families, for example, are among the most complex in organization and elaborate in structure; showing apparently that literary culture does not develop languages in this direction, but rather fixes and re- cords the stage in which it chances to find them. The second phenomenon is, that in the case of the more perfectly organized languages which have been possessed of a culti- vated and classical literature, when, by their violent breaking up in consequence of social convulsions or other great dis- turbing causes, they are succeeded by new formations, these formations almost invariably show a tendency to return to- wards a more primitive stage in the natural order of develop- ment. And the greatest cultivation of these languages for literary purposes does not seem to check such a tendency, or to introduce an opposite one. Thus, the decomposition which 1851.] The Unity of Language and of Mankind. 179 has taken place in the Teutonic languages with reference to the ancient Gothic or more ancient Sanscrit, and in the Romance languages with reference to the Latin, is, with reference to the still more primitive mother tongue, only a kind of return to their original state. Prepositions are substituted for the inflections of nouns, and auxiliaries for those of verbs. The grammatical structure of the English language as compared with the Anglo-Saxon is only another illustration of the same law. And it may, moreover, be added that, in the sounds of several letters, the English, as compared with the Anglo- Saxon, the Latin, and the Greek, betrays a strange tendency to revert to the phonology of the remote Sanscrit; as appears, for example, in the softening of the sounds of c and g. The general result of the most extended and critical philo- logical researches is, that there is no language, however savage, which is perfectly insulated. Every language be- longs to some family; and all the families, as such, are so related to one another by community of words, grammatical analogies, intermediate gradations, and an all-pervading net- work of tangled affinities, that it is impossible to suppose any portion to have been historically entirely separated from the common stock. It is, moreover, a remarkable fact that the less one knows of languages, the greater their diversities appear; but the more thoroughly they are studied and fami- liarized, the greater are found and acknowledged to be their similarities and analogies; and the greater the number of lan- guages which one is able intelligently to compare, the more those similarities and analogies branch out, interlock, and intertwine in every direction, until the whole is at length woven into one firm and solid texture. We are, therefore, forced to assume an original unity of human language, of which all existing languages are but branches and offshoots, or organized fragments, or, perhaps still better, different forms and stages of development. This essential and primeval unity of language points ~une- quivocally to a genealogical unity of man. There is but one way in which, admitting the premises, this conclusion can be avoided. It may be held that this unity of speech is suffi- ciently accounted for by the psychological unity, together with the nearly uniform phonetic organization, of the differ- ent races of men. Thus, every articulate sound having a 180 The Unity of Language and of Mankind. [July natural and proper significance, the coincidences in the appli- cations of these sounds may he regarded as a matter of course, without needing to be explained by any historical, that is, external or matter-of-fact, connection. That every articulate sound or syllable was originally significant, we are quite ready to believe and maintain. And that, in all languages, a cer- tain small portion, corresponding to objects, movements, and ideas which have a perceptible and proper relation to the sense of hearing, is based upon a direct and natural applica- tion of imitative sounds, and consequently may be nearly the same in each, is not to be denied. But beyond this restricted sphere, we can hardly be persuaded that the particular appli- cation of the significant sounds can, or ever could, he deter- mined by any psychologically ~i priori law, by any ascertain- able natural adaptation. Even if language be, as we are not disposed to deny, the natural product of the human faculties under the circumstances in which they have been from time to time developed, still, as the faculty of imagination must have had a principal share in the work, and that, too, while excited and acted upon, not by general or philosophical views, but by the special influences of particular emergencies and occasions, the result must, to a very great extent, be appa- rently arbitrary, and could hardly admit, on the supposition of several distinct and independent sources, of the multi- tudinous coincidences which the phenomena of language pre- sent to us. Besides, if different races of men, entirely dis- tinct in their origin and historically unconnected, were, in the first invention and formation of their languages, led by the similarity of their mental constitution into those coincidences which mark the fundamental materials and structure of hu- man speech, whence, then, should the tendency to divergence ever arise, that constitution remaining essentially the same in the latest as in the earliest times? The very same causes which shaped their origin, according to this theory, are daily determining the development of languages; why then should it be needful to resort to such exceedingly obscure and abstruse speculations on the natural si0nificance of pho- netic signs, in order (though after all unsuccessfully) to ren- der that significance generally intelligible to the same human faculties which first perceived and applied it, and must be daily perceiving and applying it? Certainly no dreams of 1851.] The Unity of Language and of Mankind. 181 the wildest of the old school of etymologists ever equalled in hoidness and oddity the profound and mysterious specu- lations of this modern school of linguists; who would fain make us believe, for example, that the letters k and g and their cognates, in the first place, name the guttur, gurgel, gorge, gosier, kehie, gula, coilunt, and express what resembles the throat physically, the dimensions of height or depth, the capacious, covering, hidden, or hiding, the angular, the break of a line or connection; and in the second place, they are symbolical of the internal, [see covering,] essential, central, causal; the key, the unknown, [how the unknown rather than the known?] the creative; growing, connecting, action, the cutting into any thing, the first personal pronouns, and the interrogative, & c., & c. ; and all this, he it observed, not as a historical fact, hut hy a natural and inherent fit- ness, a sort of special prei~stahlished~ harmony. So far as such coincidences exist, and they doubtless do exist to a remarkable degree, we cannot hut think that the presumed historical explanation must he far more satisfactory to coin- mon sense, as well as to sound logic, than the transcendental. We take the liberty to quote here the results and conclu- sions at which the Chevalier Bunsen has arrived, in his work on Egypt. This question (namely, of the antiquity and affinities of the Egyptian language) becomes the more interesting and important, when it must be considered as demonstrated, that such an affinity cannot be explained by mere internal analogy; that, on the con- trary, it is historical in the strictest sense of the word, namely, physi- cal or original. I mean that the affinity alluded to cannot be ration- ally explained by a real or supposed general analogy of languages, as the expressions of human thought and feeling, nor by the later influence of other nations and tongues. Now the Egyptian name of Egypt is Ch~mi, the land of Chain, which in Egyptian means black. Can we, then, have really found in Egypt the scientific and historical meaning of Chain, as one of the tripartite divisions of post-diluvian humanity? The Egyptian language attests a unity of blood with the great Aramaic tribes of Asia, whose languages have been comprised by scholars under the general expression of Semitic, or the languages of the family of Shem. It is equally connected by identity of origin with those still more numerous and illustrious tribes which occupy now the greatest part of Europe, and may perhaps, alone or with other families, have a VOL. LXXLIL NO. 152. 16 182 The Unity of Language and of Mankind. [July, right to be called the family of Japhet. I mean that great family to which the Germanic nations belong, as well as the Greeks and Romans, the Indians and Persians, the Sclavonic and the Celtic tribes, and which are now generally called, by some, the Indo- Germanic, by others, the Indo-European nations. The mode of answering the following question may show whether Bunsens opinion should have any scientific weight. Is the Asiatic and European man a more favorably developed and perfected Egyptian and African? or is the Egyptian (and perhaps the African man in general) a scion of the Asiatic stock which gradually degenerated into the African type? Both assumptions claim on the fields of science an equal right. I assume two principles as the inviolable conditions of every scientific inquiry. The one is, science excludes no sup- positions, however strange they may appear, which are not in themselves absurd, namely, demonstrably contradictory to its own principles; and the second, equally sacred, science admits of no assumptions, however natural or imperative they may be deemed, which are extraneous to its immediate object. The whole question lies in these two axioms. As to myself, I exclude the hypothesis of a difference in the physical descent of the Egyptians and the two great families of Asia and Europe already mentioned, merely because I believe that facts have been discovered and method- ically established which make it impossible to adopt such a theory. . Either there has been an infinite number of beginnings, out of which different tribes have sprung, and with them different languages, each doing originally the same work, and continuing and advancing it more or less according to its particular task, its natural powers, and its historical destinies; or the beginning of speech was made only once, in the beginning of human time, in the dawn of the mental day, by our favored race (however it was originally formed) in a genial place of the earth, the garden of Asia, & c. Now, if the first supposition be true, the different tribes or families of languages, however analogous they may be, (as being the product of the working of the same human mind upon the same outward world by the same organic means,) will neverthe- less offer scarcely any affinity to each other in the skill displayed in their formation, and in the mode of it; but their very roots, full or empty ones, and all their words, whether monosyllabic or polysyllabic, must needs be entirely different. There may be some similar expressions in those inarticulate bursts of feeling, not reacted upon by the mind, which the grammarians call inter- 1851.] The Unity of Language a~d of Mankind. 183 jections. There are besides some graphic imitations of external sounds, called onornatopceia, words the formation of which indicates the relatively greatest passivity of the mind. There may be besides some casual coincidences in real words; but the law of combination applied to the elements of sound gives a mathematical proof, that, with all allowances, the chance is less than one in a million for the same combinations of sounds signi- fying the same precise object. At all events, we flatter ourselves that we have made good our assertion, that the Egyptologic discoveries are most intimately connected with the great question of the primeval language and civilization of mankind, both in Asia and Africa, and that they give a considerable support to the opinion of the high, but not indefinite, antiquity of human history, and to the hypothesis of the original unity of mankind and of a common origin of all lan- guages of the globe. Thus we are again brought to the grand point to which we were proposing to apply the whole argument upon the ana- logy and unity of human speech. In concluding this argu- ment, we would simply add a reference to certain authorities, to strengthen it where it might otherwise seem weak or incon- clusive. We do not appeal to American physiologists, because their authority is too near home; and a prophet is not with- out honor save in his own country. We do not appeal to the first English physiologists, as Owen and Prichard, because we have observed that their names are sometimes, though most unjustly, treated with a sneer by those who array them- selves on the other side; we do not mean that Professor Agassiz, (who is in himself a host for our opponents,) or any other really scientific man, would so treat them. But let them pass. Cuvier, who was, at once, almost the founder and the finisher of physiology in France, is well known to have stoutly maintained the unity of the human species. Johannes Muller, who also occupies the very highest posi- tion among the most scientific physiologists of Germany, gives his conclusion in the following words The different races of mankind are forms of one sole spe- cies, by the union of two of whose members descendants are propagated. They are not different species of a genus, since in that case their hybrid descendants would remain unfruitful. But whether tIme human races have descended from several primitive 184 The Unity of Lo~iguage and of Mankind. [July, races of men or from one alone, is a question which cannot be determined from experience. We will add only the authority of the two Humboldts; which, all things considered, is the very highest that could be brought to hear upon the subjeqt. Muller has truly said that the genealogical unity of mankind can never be determined from experience; yet he plainly holds that experience shows nothing against it, that the results of all physiological researches are in perfect harmony with its assumption. Wil- ham von Humboldt adds a similar indecisive conclusion in regard to the results of philological investigations. It is in vain that we direct our thoughts to the solution of the great problem of the first origin, since man is too intimately asso- ciated with his own race and with the relations of time to con- ceive of the existence of an individual independently of a pre- ceding generation and age. A solution of those difficult ques- tions, which cannot be determined by inductive reasoning or by experience, cannot therefore be determined from philological data; and yet its elucidation ought not to be sought from other sources. That is to say, there can be no demonstrative or complete scientific proof in the case. The evidence can only be of such a sort as to render a certain hypothesis more or less probable. We would direct special attention to the phrases italicized above. The first refers to a truth too often lost sight of by natural philosophers; that the origin, the absolute beginning, always transcends the sphere of experimental in- ductions, as well as of our rational conceptions. Of neces- sity, something has to be assumed somewhere,call it miracle, creation, what you will, which is above all natural laws, so far, at least, as such laws are laws of experience, which can- not be explained by them or even conceived in consistency with their immediate application; but without which they them~ selves would be absolutely inconceivable, being destitute of all real substratum or rational support. In the case referred to, moreover, it is at least as easy to conceive of one inde- pendent beginning of humanity as of an indefinite number of independent beginnings. The second phrase, we would spe- cially note, contains the declaration that the elucidation of the primordial origines of the human race should be sought only in philological data. 1851.] The Unity of Language and of Mankind. 185 That William von Humboldt believed fully in the essential unity of the human race, (the genealogical unity remaining in his mind in a scientifically problematical state,) is evident from the following passage in his great work on the Kawi language: If we would indicate an idea, which throughout the whole course of history, has ever more and more widely extended its empire, or which more than any other testifies to the much contested, and still more decidedly misunderstood, perfectibility of the whole human race, it is that of establishing our common humanity of striving to remove the barriers which prejudice and limited views of every kind have erected amongst men, and to treat all mankind without reference to religion, nation, or color, as one fraternity, one great community, fitted for the attainment of one object, the unrestrained development of the physical powers. This is the ultimate and highest aim of society, identical with the direction implanted by nature in the mind of man towards the indefinite extension of his existence. Thus deeply rooted in the innermost nature of man, and even enjoined upon him by his highest tendencies, the recognition of the bond of humanity becomes one of the noblest leading principles in the history of mankind. It was Christianity which first pro- rnulgated the truth of this exalted charity, although the seed sown yielded but a slow and scanty harvest. Before the religion of Christ manifested its form, its existence was revealed only by a faint foreshadowing presentiment. In recent times, the idea of civilization has acquired additional intensity, and has given rise to a desire of extending more widely the relations of rational intercourse and of intellectual cultivation; even selfishness be- gins to learn, that, by such a course, its interests will be better served than by violent and forced isolation. Language, more than any other attribute of mankind, binds together the whole human race. Still more positive and explicit are the opinions expressed by Alexander von Humboldt on these points, of the unity of mankind, and of language as its principal bond and proof. In closing the first volume of his Cosmos, he holds the fol- lowing language: The investigation of the obscure and much-contested problem of the possibility of one common descent of mankind enters into the sphere embraced by a general physical cosmogony, and will impart a nobler, and, if I may so express myself, more purely human interest to the closing pages of this section of my work. 16* 186 Tie Uniiy of Language and of Mankind. [July, The vast domain of language, in whose varied structure we see mysteriously reflected the destinies of nations, is most inti- mately associated with the affinity of races. The most import- ant questions of the civilization of mankind are connected with the ideas of races, community of language, and adherence to one original direction of the intellectual and moral faculties. As long as attention was directed solely to the extremes in varieties of color and form, and to the vividness of the first impres- sion of the senses, the observer was naturally disposed to regard races rather as originally different species than as mere varieties. The permanence of certain types in the midst of most hostile influences, especially of climate, appeared to favor such a view, notwithstanding the shortness of the interval of time from which the historical evidence was derived. In my opinion, however, more powerful reasons can be advanced in support of the theory of the unity of the human race, as for instance, in the many in- termediate gradations in the color of the skin, and in the form of the skull, which have been made known to us in recent times by the rapid progress of geographical knowledge, the analogies presented in the varieties in the species of many wild and domes- ticated animals, and the more correct ohservations collected regarding the limits of fecundity in hybrids. rrhe greater num- ber of the contrasts, which were formerly supposed to exist, have disappeared before the laborious researches of Tiedemana on the brain of Negroes and of Europeans, and the anatomical investi- gations of Vrdlik and Weher, on the form of the pelvis. On comparing the dark-colored African nations, on whose physical history the admirable work of Prichard has thrown so much light, with the races inhabiting the islands of the South Indian and West Australian Archipelago, and with the Papuas and Alfourous, we see that a black skin, woolly hair, and a negro-like cast of countenance are not necessarily connected together. The distribution of mankind, therefore, is only a distribution into varieties, which are commonly designated by the somewhat indefinite term, races. Languages, as an intellectual creation of man, and as closely interwoven with the development of mind, are, independently of the national form which they exhibit, of the greatest importance in the recognition of similarities or differences in races. This importance is especially owing to the clue which a community of descent affords in threading that mysterious labyrinth in which the connection of physical powers and intellectual forces mani- fests itself in a thousand different forms. Language is a part and parcel of the history of the develop- ment of mind. From the remotest nebulai and from the revolv- ing double stars we have descended to the minutest organisms of 1851.] The Unity of Language and of Mankind. 187 animal creation, whether manifested in the depths of ocean, or on the surface of our globe, and to the delicate vegetable germs which clothe th~ naked declivity of the ice-crowned mountain summit; and here we have been able to arrange these phenomena according to partially known laws; but other laws of a more mysterious nature rule the higher spheres of the organic world, in which is comprised the human species in all its varied con- formation, its creative intellectual power, and the languages to which it has given existence. A physical delineation of nature terminates at the point where the sphere of intellect begins, and a new world of mind is opened to our view. It marks the limit, hut does not pass it. Such is the decided testimony borne to the probable spe- cific and genealogical unity of the human race, and to the importance of language as bearing upon the question of that unity, and upon human development and history in general, by the first physiologists of the age, and by men combining the highest and most comprehensive attainments in all the walks of science and learning, men of the widest observa- tion and of the most free and liberal views. Of all men living, if any man may be exempted from the charge of mere theorizing, of one-sidedness, or narrow-mindedness, surely it is Alexander von Humboldt. When, therefore, any man whose whole knowledge is limited to the sphere of the phy- sical sciences, or perhaps to that of some one of them, is dis- posed to treat the study of language with contempt, either as considered in itself or as bearing upon the origin and history of mankind, let him remember that there are men opposed to him who are neither mere etymologists nor mere theologians. Lest any one should suppose the opinions of the author of the Cosmos are warped by any influences of religious prejudice or religious scruples, we will cite a passage from the same work, which should set that question at rest; and we cite it solely for this defensive purpose, and not because we consider such an innuendo as it contains, in the slightest degree honor- able to the head or heart of the author. The applications of botanical and zoblogical evidence to determine the relative age of rocks this chronometry of the earths surface, which was already present to the lofty mind of ilooke indicates one of the most glorious epochs of modern geognosy, which has finally, on the continent at least, been emar& - cipated from the sway of Semitic doctrines. 188 The Unity of Language and of Mankind. [July, If the authorities which we have cited be deemed anti- quated, and later lights be referred to as having reversed all their decisions and cast them entirely into the shade, we can only answer with a sigh at the constant revolutions and changes by which the physical sciences are characterized ; while at the same time, strangely enough, they are often recommended, in contrast with metaphysical and literary pur- suits, as containing solid and permanent knowledge, indeed, the only solid and permanent knowledge there is in the world. If these authorities have grown antiquated in six or ei0ht years, what confidence can we put in the authorities which have succeeded them? What will they be worth six or eight years hence? The author of the Cosmos says, in his preface: lit has frequently been regarded as a subject of discouraging consideration, that whilst purely literary products of intellectual activity are rooted in the depths of feeling, and interwoven with the creative force of imagination, all works treating of empirical knowledge, and of the connection of natural phenomena and physical laws, are subject to the most marked modifications of form in the lapse of short periods of time, both by the improve- ment in the instruments used and by the consequent expansion of the field of view opened to rational observation, and that those scientific works which have, to use a common expression, become antiquated by the acquisition of new funds of knowledge, are thus continually being consigned to oblivion as unreadable. However discouraging such a prospect must he, no one who is animated by a genuine love of nature, and by a sense of the dig- nity attached to its study, can view with regret any thing which promises future additions and a greater degree of perfection to general knowledge. While we call the attention of others to the facts stated in the former part of this paragraph facts which must be well known to every person familiar with large modern libraries we cordially subscribe for ourselves to the sentiment con- tained in the latter. In estimating the value of the results of physical as of every other science, it is of the highest moment to distin- guish facts from theories, premises from conclusions. Facts never become antiquated; it is theories and hasty conclusions that are continually passing into oblivion. Facts are irresist- ible. Against them it is useless, as it is absurd, to reason. 1851.] The Unity of Language and of Mankind. 189 But theories, because they profess to be founded upon facts, are not at once to be assumed as supreme and impregna- ble, and to demand instant and unconditional submission. Theories without facts, are utterly baseless and worthless. Theories with facts, may have an insufficient foundation, may be ill-adjusted to it, or ill-constructed upon it, and thus be destined to be swept away by the next movement of the ele- ments, or abandoned as untenable by the next step of onward progress. Neither are all facts of equal value; on the contrary, the immense majority are unworthy of note or record. They can be duly distinguished, rightly and fully estimated, and set in effective array, only by a logical intelligence a quick- seem ~, and far-seeing, a truly theoretic, mind. And without the controlling action of such a mind, not only may the in- duction of facts be insufficient or irrelevant or incongruous, but their very significance cannot be apprehended or inter- preted; and without an intelligent, rational interpretation, facts themselves are dumW and dead. When, therefore, the physiologist, or geologist, or the cul- tivator of any other department of science, is sure that his induction of facts has been sufficiently extensive to include all apparently conflicting elements; that those facts have been well-sifted and well-digested; that they have been rightly and fully interpreted, and all those of a contradictory aspect satisfactorily harmonized; and that the theory or gene- ral conclusion drawn from them is legitimately deduced at every step; and when that theory has borne the test of years or centuries, growing stronger the more it is examined and assailed; then, and not till then, may he demand that his theory shall be recognized by all reasonable men, and that with it all the departments of human thought and belief, whether in literature, science, or religion, shall be conformed and harmonized. 190 The Life of James H. Perkins. [July, ART. IX. The Memoir and Writings of JAMES HANDASYD PERKINS. Edited by WILLIAM HENRY CHANNING. Boston: Crosby & Nichols. 1851. 2 vols. l2mo. MORALISTS of the old school were wont to draw a strongly marked distinction between personal and social duties, as if the two classes rested on different bases of obligation, and were capable of being separated, not only in ethical discus- sion, but in actual life. Until recently, what is called per- sonal virtue had the precedence. The purpose and the effort to do good were not essential to a high reputation for excellence. A large measure of selfishness and penurious- ness, contracted sympathies, bigotry, intolerance, self-isola- tion, were hardly deemed blots upon a character, especially if to freedom from vice, and systematic habits of business and care for ones own household, there were added the decencies of religious profession and observance. The ten- dency of our own times is towards the opposite error. Doing good is regarded as of more importance than heing good. Men think of themselves as beneficent machines, rather than as souls endowed each with an independent existence and destiny. Conscience is made an external organ, and its pro- vince is to ferret out the sins of classes and communities, not to detect ones own moral infirmities. Philanthropy is deemed not only the first, but almost the sole, duty. Men, who never learned to subdue their own passions, occupy the van in the assault on the inveterate wrongs and evils of the body politic. We know some people who, when a stranger is named, ask in their cant phrase whether he is a reformer, (not whether he needs reformation,) and who think that they fully know his character, when they have learned to what benevolent societies he belongs,~ and at what kinds of public meetings he makes speeches. Things have now reached such a pass, that almost every cause of humanity that de- serves championship is in the hands of the very men whose services are a perpetual disservice; while informal and mis- cellaneous modes of influence are all that remain for those, whose self-discipline fits them to be the guides and helpers of their brethren. Meanwhile, personal excellence and social usefulness are

190 The Life of James H. Perkins. [July, ART. IX. The Memoir and Writings of JAMES HANDASYD PERKINS. Edited by WILLIAM HENRY CHANNING. Boston: Crosby & Nichols. 1851. 2 vols. l2mo. MORALISTS of the old school were wont to draw a strongly marked distinction between personal and social duties, as if the two classes rested on different bases of obligation, and were capable of being separated, not only in ethical discus- sion, but in actual life. Until recently, what is called per- sonal virtue had the precedence. The purpose and the effort to do good were not essential to a high reputation for excellence. A large measure of selfishness and penurious- ness, contracted sympathies, bigotry, intolerance, self-isola- tion, were hardly deemed blots upon a character, especially if to freedom from vice, and systematic habits of business and care for ones own household, there were added the decencies of religious profession and observance. The ten- dency of our own times is towards the opposite error. Doing good is regarded as of more importance than heing good. Men think of themselves as beneficent machines, rather than as souls endowed each with an independent existence and destiny. Conscience is made an external organ, and its pro- vince is to ferret out the sins of classes and communities, not to detect ones own moral infirmities. Philanthropy is deemed not only the first, but almost the sole, duty. Men, who never learned to subdue their own passions, occupy the van in the assault on the inveterate wrongs and evils of the body politic. We know some people who, when a stranger is named, ask in their cant phrase whether he is a reformer, (not whether he needs reformation,) and who think that they fully know his character, when they have learned to what benevolent societies he belongs,~ and at what kinds of public meetings he makes speeches. Things have now reached such a pass, that almost every cause of humanity that de- serves championship is in the hands of the very men whose services are a perpetual disservice; while informal and mis- cellaneous modes of influence are all that remain for those, whose self-discipline fits them to be the guides and helpers of their brethren. Meanwhile, personal excellence and social usefulness are 1851.] The Life of James H. Perkins. 191 inseparable, and bear so close a proportion to each other, that the one may invariably be assumed as the measure of the other. A good man is every day and hour throwing off proof impressions of himself. He is enacting, not playing, the philanthropist in his labor, in his traffic, in his casual in- tercourse, in his home life, in the very scenes and transactions in which he makes the least show of benevolent intent. His mere presence creates a purer moral atmosphere. An ob- scurity or retirement can no more suppress his beneficent agency, than linen garments can smother fire. He can make his virtue inefficient only by becoming a voluntary recluse, and then he ceases to be good. Ones usefulness depends on his quantity of character, and is enhanced by every acces- sion of purity and strength, by every finer touch and richer hue of spiritual beauty. Nay, the very traits of the inward life, which if genuine are hidden, and of which a show is made only by those that lack them, those habits of thought and feeling which ally the soul to God and heaven, pass as factors into the sum of operative benevolence, and are transmuted into the utilities and amenities of common inter- course. Nor is this law for the expression of character ma- terially affected by xvhat is called a more or less favorable position. Could outward means and opportunities have well been less ample than they were in the case of John Pounds, the cobbler, in his stall ten feet square? Yet we can hardly conceive that any exaltation or enlargement of his sphere could have made him more useful. Indeed, the power of example bears an inverse proportion to the capacity of active benevolence. One who occupies a conspicuous place, and has the ability to perform signal services for others, discou- rages imitation, except on the part of the very few who move on the same social plane. On the other hand, he who has neither the full purse, the ready t6ngue, nor the fluent pen, and who therefore is scarcely conscious of doing good to others, may present an example which no beholder need despair of attaining, a goodness which seems within the reach of all, because self-nurtured and unpropped from with- out, a beneficence which none are too poor or ignorant to copy. An indefinite or fluctuating position might appear least of all propitious as regards usefulness; but it is, in fact, injurious 192 The Life of James H. Perkins. [July, to the perspective, rather than to the actual power, of cha- racter. The man who has a permanent post of business or professional duty is a well-known, trustworthy, calculable element in the current moral force of society, a fixed lumi- nary of registered ma0nitude and lustre; but for that very reason, his beneficent agency has its limits, which are but sel- dom and casually overpassed. On the other hand, he who seems never to find the right niche, and the phases of whose outward life are hardly less numerous than his years, though less distinctly recognized in his influence, may give a succes- sion of fresh impulses to successive circles of his fellow- men, impulses which outlast his immediate agency, and are still propagated when he is forgotten. His unsettled life may indefinitely multiply his opportunities and enlarge his sphere, while his virtue is made more venerable, lovely, and attractive, at once by its diversified manifestation, and by its having passed the frequent test of vicissitude and disappointment. But we are disposed to rebard this unsettled, desultory, vacillating mode of life, as the result less of circumstances than of character. Some men are nomadic by constitution; and to this type belong not a few of the loftiest minds and the noblest hearts. No one, who would lead a true life, is conscious of frilly reaching his aims and embodying his con- ceptions. Every profession and condition has its untoward circumstances, its malign influences, its distasteful associa- tions, its belittling drudgery, its defective standards. Every position, too, has its demands so intense, so vast, so various, as to give the consciousness of incompetency, and to suggest the yearning for a sphere of duty more favorable to self-cul- ture and unembarrassed influence. It is, no doubt, the part of wisdom to make a truce with ones aspirations, to be and do all that he can in the place where his lot is cast, and to content himself xvith its resources for increasing excellence and usefulness. But some good men are by the necessity of their nature morbidly sensitive to the straitnesses and disad- vantages of their present condition. They are impatient of obstacles which will not yield to a first assault, of a stand- ard which they cannot elevate by immediate effort, of task- work which seems fruitless as to the higher ends of their spiritual being. They imagine that limitations and necessities, which are inevitable conditions of human existence, are their 1851.] The Life of James H. Perkins. 193 peculiar misfortune. Such men are the tent-dwellers of civil- ized society. They dread the contracting and secularizing tendencies of a settled life; and, with noble energy of pur- pose, in the spirit of sincere self-sacrifice, they are perpe- tually devising new plans, launching out into new enterprises, and creating for themselves new modes and spheres of social duty. Nor is it failure or misfortune alone that sustains the nomadic habit. Such spirits are rendered even more uneasy by success or the promise of it. They are prone to regard emolument or applause either as a token that they have parted with their integrity and simplicity, or as the worlds retaining fee to pledge them to the wrong side in the conflict with evil. Mr. Perkins, the ~subject of the Memoir and the author of the other Writings in the volumes now before us, was one of the noblest specimens of the class of men whom we have just described. Of talents adequate for the highest place, of social endowments which rendered his intimacy a privilege ever to be borne in grateful remembrance, of a purity and loftiness of character which made his youth surpassingly lovely and the prime of his manhood venerable, he seems never to have attained a position which satisfied his spiritual yearnings, or gave him the consciousness of perfect freedom and entire adaptation to his sphere of duty. Always eminently successful, (except as to those pecuniary rewards which it was not in his nature to seek, or to retain if won,) he felt himself always distanced by the exalted standard and the ever-receding goal, which alone he could persuade himself to pursue. Never was a life so brief more full of great and varied usefulness; yet his intense self-distrust made him shrink from responsibilities, which no outward change could diminish, so long as he retained the eloquent address, the ripe wisdom, and the fervent philanthropy that won for him uni- versal confidence, reverence, and love. Modest, unassuming almost without parallel, he was a centre of commanding influence, regarded with pride by the city of his adoption, honored in life and mourned in death as a public benefactor by men of all classes, sects, and conditions. Mr. Perkins was born in Boston, in 1810. His early education was such as to fit him either for a mercantile life or for a course of professional study. He was happy in VOL. LXXIII. NO. 152. 17 194 The Life of James H. Perkins. [July, enjoying the services of a series of teachers no less capable of aiding the symmetrical growth of his whole being than of imparting the mere rudiments of knowledge. Not to speak of the living, it was an inestimable privilege to have been, for several of the most critical years of boyhood, under the charge of Solomon P. Miles, a man who could give his pupils nothing better than his own example; and then to have passed from his tuition to that of Dr. Abbot, and to the scholarly and manly training in which Exeter has taken the lead among our New England academies. As a member of a family of merchant-princes, than whom none have done more to liberalize their profession and to adorn it by uncor- rupt faith and munificent charity, James was destined for a commercial life; and at the age of eighteen, commenced his novitiate in the counting-room of his kinsman, Col. Thomas H. Perkins. But the details of business proved irksome to him, its temptations filled him with alarm, and even its most honorable walks seemed to him dishonored by the multitude of supernumeraries, who drain their subsistence from the public by arresting, rather than expediting, the passage of goods from the producer to the consumer. His morbid conscien- tiousness as to these matters preyed upon his spirits to such a degree, that he was sent abroad at the age of twenty, osten- sibly on a business mission, but really to regain the healthy action of his mind. On his return, he resolved to take his final leave of commerce, and turned his face westward, with the purpose of becoming a farmer. In February, 1832, Mr. Perkins arrived at Cincinnati, and, while waiting for the opening of spring to choose a loca- tion for his first experiment in agriculture, he was invited to spend his leisure hours in the law-office of his former tutor, Judge Walker. He became at once enamored with the law, and found himself a student in earnest of the books with which he had merely intended to beguile a brief and else idle inter- val of time. He was admitted to the bar with the most bril- liant prospects, and established his reputation by his very first argument. But he had hardly entered upon his professional duties before he was again thwarted in his opening career by conscientious scruples, and by scruples for which his legal friends admit that, then and there, justifying ground was not wanting. He might indeed have labored, as those very 1851.] The Life of James H. Perkins. 195 friends have, and not without encouraging success, to elevate the moral standard of the profession, and to connect with its practice those maxims of veracity, integrity, and frankness, which, so far as they prevail, check litigation and establish the reign of impartial justice. But he dared not trust himself to the encounter with licensed falsity and legalized iniquity. He feared lest he might contract the very stains which it would have been his mission to purge away from the frater- nity with which he was numbered. He accordingly left the bar before the expiration of his first year. For a few months he was an editor. He then accepted the agency of a mining, milling, and manufacturing enterprise at Pomeroy, on the Ohio. This proved a failure, and nearly swallowed up the little capital which he had invested, leaving him with a young family to commence the world anew. He purchased a few acres of ground in the neighborhood of Cincinnati, intending to lay them out as a nursery and market-garden. While completing his arrangements for this purpose, he published a Digest of the Constitutional Opinions of Chief Justice Marshall, a work which received the high commendation of Judge Story for its completeness, its lucid arrangement, and its felicitous style. Meanwhile, his character as an upright and energetic citi- zen, his influence in every form of benevolent effort and progressive movement, and his agency in the establishment and support of the literary, educational, and moral institu- tions of the metropolis of the West induced his numerous friends to make a strong effort to retain him at Cincinnati. A Ministry at Large had been recently instituted by the First Congregational Society, of which his kinsman and biographer was then the Pastor. He was urged to accept this Ministry, and entered upon its duties in the winter of 1838 39. From that time to the day of his death, his chosen work was among the poor of ~he city. Here he found the true sphere for an unselfish and self-abasing spirit. The field was at first all his own; and, when others entered upon it, his was still the leading and controlling mind. He systematized the labor of relief, gauged and registered the various forms of pauper- ism and vice, and was the means of bringing the whole mass of destitution, ignorance, and crime in the city under the influ- ence of Christian instruction and benevolence. As essential 196 The Life of James Th Perkins. [July, parts of this work, he busied himself largely in the reform of the County Prisons of Ohio, in the amelioration of the con- dition of the colored population, and in the development of the common school system of Cincinnati, a system founded under the auspices of emigrants from New England, and bearing a closer resemblance than can elsewhere be traced to the best school organizations of our northern cities. Finding the small salary attached to his Ministry inadequate to his support, he opened a school for young ladies, to which he devoted three hours of each day, without scanting the full measure of his missionary toil. But the time had arrived, and the avenue was now opened, for his entrance upon the profession for which he had always been predminently adapted, and which he undoubtedly would have chosen in his early manhood, but for the clinging weight of diffidence and self-distrust. He had been persuaded, in the absence of his friend and pastor, occasionally to lead the religious services of the congregation; and, the pulpit becom- ing vacant in 1841, he was unanimously elected their minis- ter. He accepted the charge, though but in part and without any permanent contract. The arrangement was subsequently suspended and renewed; and at the time of his death, he was still the pastor in the choice and affections of his flock, though he regarded himself as but the occupant of the pulpit during a protracted vacancy. The affecting story of his death may be best told in the words of a friend, as quoted by Mr. Chan- fling. For a period of between fifteen and twenty years, during which time we have known Mr. Perkins well, he has been subject to a sudden rush of blood to the head, which has produced dis- tressing vertigo, at times greatly impaired his sight, and often thrown him into deep despondency. Within the past five or six years, he has suffered intensely from palpitation of the heart, often being incapacitated by this distressing affection for the dis- charge of his pastoral and other duties. On Friday last, a parox- ysm of this kind was produced by the agitation he suffered in consequence of the supposed loss of his two children. In the morning of that day, one of his little boys, aged nine years, and another aged seven, rode to the city from Mr. Perkinss residence, on Walnut Hills, with a neighbor, and were to return home in the omnibus, at the stand of which their father, who was to come in by another conveyance, was to meet them. Not finding them 1851.] The Life of James H. Perkins. 197 there at the appointed time, Mr. Perkins feared that they had lost themselves, and commenced searching for them. Being unsuc- cessful, he became more and more agitated the farther he went, and finally employed the crier, who met with no better success. The search was at length abandoned, and in despair, and fatigued as he was, Mr. Perkins walked home, a distance of nearly four miles, whither his children had preceded him. He reached his residence about one oclock in the afternoon, utterly exhausted; but, after lying down for a time, rose and dined. He could not, however, overcome the excitement into which he had been thrown, although the children were with him and well. He was restless and nervous to a degree never before witnessed by his family; and so continuing, about five oclock he told his wife that he would take a walk to calm his nerves, but not be gone long, that he wished to try and allay the excite- ment, but would be back before tea time. He went out thus, but did not return, and nothing was seen of him afterwards by his family or friends. Early on Saturday morning, a report was spread from- the Jamestown Crossing of the Ohio, that on the previous evening a man had drowned himself from the ferry-boat at that point, leav- ing behind him several articles of clothing, among them an over- coat, in one of the pockets of which was found a memorandum- book, with initials in several places. A gentleman of the city, who happened to have business on the boat, asked to see the book, and upon opening it saw the letters J. H. P., with which he was familiar. He immediately rode to the residence of Mr. Perkins~s family with the information. Upon subsequent inquiry, it was ascertained that not quite half an hour elapsed between leaving his home and reaching the ferry, which is distant from a half to three fourths of a mile. With his arms folded and eyes bent upon the ground, he walked hastily on board, and crossed to the outer side of the boat, stand- ing on the very edge, and looking into the water. There being no carriages, the bar was not up. The ferryman said, loudly enough for him to hear, That man will be overboard if he does not take care. Mr. Perkins looked round, but did not speak. He, however, changed his position. This was the last that was seen of him. After a while, the collector discovered an over- coat, in which was found the memorandum-book referred to,a wrapper, a vest, a cap, and a pair of spectacles, all of which have been indentified as belonging to Mr. Perkins. The supposition among those well acquainted with the pecu~ liar mental constitution of the deceased, and his severe physical sufferings, is, that his walk, instead of allaying his excitement, 17* 198 The Jj4fr of James H. Perkins. [July, still further increased it, till reason was temporarily dethroned. In a wandering mood, not knowing whither he went, he had doubtless reached the Jamestown Ferry, and in a paroxysm of mental aberration had thrown himself into the stream. The unusual fatigue and excitement of Friday morning had brought on a more violent palpitation of the heart than Mr. Per- kins had ever before experienced. In lighter attacks, his friends have frequently thought his brain temporarily affected by his sufferings; and although nothing of the kind was observed by those who assisted him in the search for his children on Friday morning, or by his family when he left the house for the walk on Friday evening, it probably soon came on, producing the melan- choly termination recorded of his beautiful and useful life. In this rapid sketch, we have incidentally referred to the leading traits of Mr. Perkinss character. The most promi- nent feature of his spirit seemed the entire supremacy of conscience. His whole life was an embodiment of the prin- ciple of duty. Some men attach the sense of obligation only to their public life, and are careless of the daily details of domestic and social intercourse. Others are rigidly dutiful in little things, yet ready to surrender their self-guidance in professional or political conduct to the dictation of cliques, parties, or a multiform and Protean public. He united the strictest independence in all public relations and functions with a private life so sacredly guarded, so prudently ordered, and so watchfully governed, that Argus-eyed calumny might have dogged his steps and sat at his table, without finding matter of reproach or ground for accusation. If he commit- ted any errors, they were on the side of undue self-denial and excessive self-sacrifice. Yet this close adherence to con- science