



Produced by Richard Tonsing, Chris Curnow and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)






 _UNDER THE SUPERINTENDENCE OF THE SOCIETY FOR THE DIFFUSION OF USEFUL
                              KNOWLEDGE._




                                  THE
                         GALLERY OF PORTRAITS:
                                  WITH
                                MEMOIRS.

                               VOLUME VI.


                                LONDON:
                  CHARLES KNIGHT, 22, LUDGATE-STREET.

                                 1836.

                  [PRICE ONE GUINEA, BOUND IN CLOTH.]




                                LONDON:
                  PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS,
                         Duke-Street, Lambeth.

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                       PORTRAITS AND BIOGRAPHIES
                       CONTAINED IN THIS VOLUME.


                                           Page.

                        1. Raleigh             1

                        2. Jenner             11

                        3. Maskelyne          20

                        4. Hobbes             25

                        5. Raphael            30

                        6. John Knox          40

                        7. Adam Smith         49

                        8. Calvin             55

                        9. Lord Mansfield     62

                       10. Bradley            69

                       11. Melancthon         75

                       12. William Pitt       84

                       13. Wesley             93

                       14. Dr. Cartwright    102

                       15. Porson            108

                       16. Wiclif            113

                       17. Cortez            122

                       18. Leibnitz          132

                       19. Ximenes           137

                       20. Addison           147

                       21. Bramante          156

                       22. Madame de Stael   161

                       23. Palladio          172

                       24. Queen Elizabeth   177

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by Posselwhite._

  RALEIGH.

  _From a Picture in the Collection of the Duchess of Dorset._

  Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]




[Illustration]

                                RALEIGH.


Very little is known concerning the youth of Sir Walter Raleigh. He was
a younger son, descended of an ancient family, and was born at a farm
called Hayes, near the mouth of the river Otter, in Devonshire, in the
year 1552. He went to Oriel College, Oxford, at an early age, and gained
high praise for the quickness and precocity of his talents. In 1569 he
began his military career in the civil wars of France, as a volunteer in
the Protestant cause. It is conjectured that he remained in France for
more than six years, and returned to England in 1576. Soon after, he
repaired to the Netherlands, and served as a volunteer against the
Spaniards. In such schools, and under such leaders as Coligni and the
Prince of Orange, Raleigh’s natural aptitude for political and military
science received the best nurture: but he was soon drawn from the war in
Holland by a pursuit which had captivated his imagination from an early
age—the prosecution of discovery in the New World. In conjunction with
his half-brother, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, a man of courage and ability,
and a skilful sailor, he made an unsuccessful attempt to establish a
colony in North America. Returning home in 1579, he immediately entered
the Queen’s army in Ireland, and served with good esteem for personal
courage and professional skill, until the suppression of the rebellion
in that country. He owed his introduction to court, and the personal
favour of Elizabeth, as is traditionally reported, to a fortunate and
well-improved accident, which is too familiar to need repetition here.
It is probable, however, that his name and talents were not unknown, for
we find him employed almost immediately in certain matters of diplomacy.

Among the cares and pleasures of a courtier’s life, Raleigh preserved
his zeal for American discovery. He applied his own resources to the
fitting out of another expedition in 1583, under command of Sir Humphrey
Gilbert, which proved more unfortunate than the former one: two out of
five vessels returned home in consequence of sickness, and two were
wrecked, including that in which the admiral sailed; and the only result
of the enterprise was the taking possession of Newfoundland in the name
of England. Still Raleigh’s desire for American adventure was not
damped. The Continent northward of the Gulf of Florida was at this time
unknown. But Raleigh, upon careful study of the best authorities, had
concluded that there was good reason for believing that a considerable
tract of land did exist in that quarter; and with the assent of the
Queen in council, from whom he obtained letters patent, granting to
himself and his heirs, under certain reservations, property in such
countries as he should discover, with a right to provide for their
protection and administration, he fitted out two ships, which sailed in
April, 1584. The first land which they made was an island named Okakoke,
running parallel to the coast of North Carolina. They were well received
by the natives, and returned to England in the following autumn highly
pleased. Nor was less satisfaction felt by Raleigh, or even by the
Queen, who conferred on him the honour of knighthood, a title which was
then in high esteem, inasmuch as it was bestowed by that wise princess
with a most frugal and just discrimination. She also gave him a very
lucrative mark of favour, in the shape of a patent for licensing the
selling of wine throughout the kingdom; and she directed that the new
country, in allusion to herself, should be called Virginia. Raleigh did
not think it politic, perhaps was not allowed, to quit the court to take
charge in person of his undertaking; and those to whom he intrusted the
difficult task of directing the infant colony appear to have been
unequal to their office. It is not necessary to pursue the history of an
enterprise which proved unsuccessful, and in which Sir Walter personally
bore no share. He showed his earnestness by fitting out several
expeditions, which must have been a heavy drain upon his fortune. But he
is said to have derived immense wealth from prizes captured from the
Spaniards; and we may here observe that the lavish magnificence in
dress, especially in jewels, for which Raleigh was remarkable, even in
the gorgeous court of Elizabeth (his state dress is said to have been
enriched with jewels to the value of £60,000), may be considered less as
an extravagance, than as a safe and portable investment of treasure. A
mind less active might have found employment more than enough in the
variety of occupations which pressed upon it at home. He possessed a
large estate, granted out of forfeited lands, in Ireland; but this was
always a source rather of expense than of profit, until, in 1601, he
sold it to the Earl of Cork. He was Seneschal of the Duchies of Cornwall
and Exeter, and held the wardenship of the Stannaries; and in 1586, as
well as formerly in 1584, we find that he possessed a seat in
parliament. In 1587, the formidable preparation of the Spanish Armada
withdrew the mind of Raleigh, as of all Englishmen, from objects of
minor importance, to the defence of their country. He was a member of
the council of war directed to prepare a general scheme of defence, and
held the office of Lieutenant-General of Cornwall, in addition to the
charge of the Isle of Portland: but as on this occasion he possessed no
naval command, he was not actively engaged in the destruction of that
mighty armament. In 1589 he served as a volunteer in the expedition of
Norris and Drake to Portugal, of which some account has been given in
the life of the latter. Nor were his labours unrewarded even in that
unfortunate enterprise; for he captured several prizes, and received the
present of a gold chain from the Queen, in testimony of her approbation
of his conduct.

Soon after these events, Raleigh retired to his Irish property, being
driven from court, according to some authorities, by the enmity of the
Earl of Essex, then a young man just rising into favour. He there
renewed a former intimacy with the poet Spenser, who, like himself, had
been rewarded with a grant of land out of forfeited estates, and then
resided at Kilcolman Castle. Spenser has celebrated the return of his
friend in the beautiful pastoral, ‘Colin Clout’s come home again;’ and
in that, and various passages of his works, has made honourable mention
of the highly poetic spirit which enabled the ‘Shepherd of the Ocean,’
as he is there denominated, to appreciate the merit of the ‘Fairy
Queen,’ and led him to promote the publication of it by every means in
his power. The loss of Raleigh’s court-favour, if such there were, could
not have been of long duration on this occasion. But he incurred more
serious displeasure in consequence of a private marriage contracted with
Elizabeth Throgmorton, one of the Queen’s maids of honour, a lady of
beauty and accomplishments, who proved her worth and fidelity in the
long train of misfortunes which beset the latter years of Raleigh’s
life. In consequence of this intrigue, he was committed to the Tower.
One or two amusing anecdotes are related of the devices which he
employed to obtain forgiveness, by working on that vanity which was the
Queen’s chief foible. He succeeded in appeasing his indignant mistress
so far as to procure his release; and about the same time, in 1594, she
granted to him the valuable manor of Sherborne, in Dorsetshire: but
though she requited his services, she still forbade his appearance at
court, where he now held the office of Captain of the Yeomen of the
Guard. Raleigh was peculiarly fitted to adorn a court by his imposing
person, the graceful magnificence of his taste and habits, the elegance
of his manners, and the interest of his conversation. These
accomplishments were sure passports to the favour of Elizabeth; and he
improved to the utmost the constant opportunities of intercourse with
her which his post afforded, insomuch that, except the Earls of
Leicester and Essex, no one ever seems to have stood higher in her
graces. But Elizabeth’s jealousy on the subject of her favourites’
marriages is well known, and her anger was lasting, in proportion to the
value which she set on the incense of Raleigh’s flattery. He retired, on
his disgrace, to his new estate, in the improvement and embellishment of
which he felt great interest. But though deeply alive to the beauties of
nature, he had been too long trained to a life of ambition and adventure
to rest contented in the tranquil routine of a country life; and during
this period of seclusion, he again turned his thoughts to his favourite
subject of American adventure, and laid the scheme of his first
expedition to Guiana, in search of the celebrated El Dorado, the fabled
seat of inexhaustible wealth. Having fitted out, with the assistance of
other private persons, a considerable fleet, Raleigh sailed from
Plymouth, February 6, 1595. He left his ships in the mouth of the river
Orinoco, and sailed 400 miles into the interior in boats. It is to be
recorded to his honour, that he treated the Indians with great kindness;
which, contrasted with the savage conduct of the Spaniards, raised so
friendly a feeling towards him, that for years his return was eagerly
expected, and at length was hailed with delight. The hardships of the
undertaking, and the natural advantages of the country which he
explored, are eloquently described in his own account of the ‘Discovery
of Guiana.’ But the setting in of the rainy season rendered it necessary
to return, without having reached the promised land of wealth; and
Raleigh reaped no other fruit of his adventure than a certain quantity
of geographical knowledge, and a full conviction of the importance of
colonizing and taking possession of the newly-discovered region. This
continued through life to be his favourite scheme; but neither Elizabeth
nor her successor could be induced to view it in the same favourable
light.

On reaching England, he found the Queen still unappeased; nor was he
suffered to appear at court: and he complains in pathetic terms of the
cold return with which his perils and losses were requited. But he was
invested with a high command in the expedition of 1596, by which the
Spanish fleet was destroyed in the harbour of Cadiz; and to his judgment
and temper in overruling the faulty schemes proposed by others the
success of that enterprise was chiefly due. Indeed his services were
perhaps too important, and too justly appreciated by the public, for his
own interests: for the great and general praise bestowed on him on this
occasion tended to confirm a jealousy of long standing on the part of
the commander-in-chief, the Earl of Essex; and it was probably owing to
that favourite’s influence, that Raleigh was still forbidden the Queen’s
presence. Essex, and the Secretary of State, Sir Robert Cecil, regarded
each other with mutual distrust and dislike. Cecil and Raleigh were
connected by ties of common interest, and, as the latter supposed, of
friendship. Still Raleigh found the interest of the minister too weak to
serve his purpose, while the interest of the favourite was employed
against him; and, as the only method of effecting his own restoration to
the Queen’s favour, he undertook to work a reconciliation between these
two powerful rivals. In this he succeeded, to the great admiration of
all spectators; and the fruit of his policy was seen in his re-admission
to the execution of his official duties at court, June 1, 1597. In the
following August he was appointed Rear Admiral in the expedition called
the Island Voyage, of which Essex held the chief command. The slight
successes which were obtained were again due to the military talents of
Raleigh; the main objects of the voyage were lost through the Earl’s
inexperience.

From this time to the death of the Queen, Raleigh enjoyed an
uninterrupted course of favour. The ancient enmity between Essex and
himself was indeed renewed, and that with increased rancour; but the
indiscretions of the favourite had greatly weakened his influence.
Raleigh and Cecil spared no pains to undermine him, and were in fact the
chief workers of his ruin. This is perhaps the most unamiable passage in
Raleigh’s life; and the only excuse to be pleaded for him is, the
determined enmity of that unfortunate nobleman. This fault, however,
brought a slow but severe punishment with it; for the death of Essex
dissolved the tie which held together Cecil and himself. Neither could
be content to act second to the other; and Raleigh’s high reputation,
and versatile as well as profound abilities, might well alarm the
secretary for his own supremacy. The latter took the surest way of
establishing his power prospectively. Elizabeth was now old: Cecil took
no steps to diminish the high esteem in which she held Sir Walter
Raleigh, but he secretly laboured to prejudice her successor against
him, and he succeeded to his wish. Very soon after the accession of
James I., Raleigh’s post of captain of the guard was taken from him; and
his patent of wines was revoked, though not without a nominal
compensation being made. To complete his ruin, it was contrived to
involve him in a charge of treason. Most writers have concurred in
speaking of this passage of history as inexplicable: it is the opinion
of the last historian of Raleigh, Mr. Tytler, that he has found
sufficient evidence for regarding the whole plot as a device of Cecil,
and he has supported this opinion by cogent arguments. Lord Cobham, a
violent and ambitious but weak man, had engaged in private dealings with
the Spanish ambassador, which brought him under the suspicion of the
government. By a device of Cecil’s (we here follow the account of Mr.
Tytler) he was induced, in a fit of anger, and in the belief that
Raleigh had given information against him, to accuse Sir Walter himself
of being privy to a conspiracy against the government. This charge
Cobham retracted, confirmed, and retracted again, behaving in so
equivocal a manner, that no reliance whatever can be placed on any of
his assertions. But as the King was afraid of Raleigh as much as the
secretary hated him, this vague charge, unsupported by other evidence,
was made sufficient to commit him to the Tower; and, after being plied
with private examinations, in which nothing criminal could be elicited,
he was brought to trial, November 17, 1603. For an account of that
memorable scene we shall refer to Mr. Jardine’s ‘Criminal Trials,’ vol.
i. It is reported to have been said by one of the judges who presided
over it, on his death-bed, that “the justice of England had never been
so degraded and injured as by the condemnation of Sir Walter Raleigh.”
The behaviour of the victim himself was the object of universal
admiration, for the tempered mixture of patience and noble spirit with
which he bore the oppressive measure dealt to him. He had before been
unpopular; but it was recorded by an eye-witness that “he behaved
himself so worthily, so wisely, and so temperately, that in half a day
the mind of all the company was changed from the extremest hate to the
extremest pity.”

The sentence of death thus unfairly and disgracefully obtained was not
immediately carried into execution. James was not satisfied with the
evidence adduced on the trial; and believing at the same time that
Raleigh had been plotting against him, he set his royal wit to dive into
the mystery. Of the singular scene which our British Solomon devised it
is not necessary to speak, since Raleigh was not an actor in it. But as
no more evidence could be obtained against him even by the King’s
sagacity, he was reprieved, and remanded to the Tower, where the next
twelve years of his life were spent in confinement. Fortunately, he had
never ceased to cultivate literature with a zeal not often found in the
soldier and politician, and he now beguiled the tedium of his lot by an
entire devotion to those studies which before had only served to
diversify his more active and engrossing pursuits. Of his poetical
talents we have already made short mention: to the end of life he
continued the practice of pouring out his mind in verse, and there are
several well-known and beautiful pieces expressive of his feelings in
prison, and in the anticipation of immediate death, especially ‘The
Lie,’ and the beautiful little poem called ‘The Pilgrimage.’ He also
possessed a strong turn for mathematics, and studied them with much
success in the society and under the guidance of his friend Thomas
Hariot, one of the most accomplished mathematicians of the age.
Chemistry was another favourite pursuit in which, according to the
standard of his contemporaries, he made great progress. But the most
important occupation of his imprisonment was the composition of his
‘History of the World.’ Notwithstanding the quaintness of the style and
the discursive manner in which the subject is treated, it is impossible
to read this volume without admiring the wonderful extent of the
author’s reading, not only in history, but in philosophy, theology, and
even the ponderous and untempting stores of Rabbinical learning. Many of
the chapters relate to subjects which few persons would expect to find
in a history of the world; yet these will often be found among the most
interesting and characteristic portions of the book; and its deep
learning is relieved and set off by passages of genuine eloquence, which
display to the best advantage the author’s rich imagination and grasp of
mind. The work extends from the Creation to the end of the second
Macedonian war. Raleigh meant to bring it down to modern times; but the
untimely death of Henry Prince of Wales, for whose use it was composed,
deprived him of the spirit to proceed with so laborious an undertaking.
He enjoyed the confidence of that generous youth in a remarkable degree,
and maintained a close correspondence with him on civil, military, and
naval subjects. Several discourses on these topics, addressed to the
Prince, will be found in the editions of Raleigh’s works. Henry repaid
these services with sincere friendship and admiration; and we may
presume that his adviser looked forward to that friendship, not only for
a cessation of misfortune, but for a more brilliant period of favour and
power than he had yet enjoyed. Fortunately, however, this calamity was
preceded by the death of his arch-enemy, Cecil; and through the
mediation of the Duke of Buckingham, employed in consideration of
1500_l._ paid to his uncles, Sir William, Sir John, and Sir Edward
Villiers, Raleigh was released from the Tower in March, 1615; and
obtained permission to follow up his long-cherished scheme of
establishing a colony in Guiana and working a gold mine, of which he had
ascertained the existence and situation.

The terms on which this licence was granted are remarkable. He was not
pardoned, but merely let loose on the engagement of his friends, the
Earls of Arundel and Pembroke, that he should return to England. Neither
did James contribute to the expense of the undertaking, though it was
stipulated that he was to receive a fifth part of the bullion imported.
The necessary funds were provided out of the wreck of Raleigh’s fortune
(his estate of Sherborne had been forfeited) and by those private
adventurers who were willing to risk something in reliance on his
experience and judgment. A fleet of fourteen sail was thus provided, and
Raleigh, by letters under the privy seal, was appointed
commander-in-chief and governor of the intended colony. He relied, it is
said, on the full powers granted him by this commission as necessarily
including a remission of all past offences, and therefore neglected to
sue out a formal pardon, which at this period probably would hardly have
been denied him. The results of this disastrous voyage must be shortly
given. Raleigh sailed March 28, 1617, and reached the coast of Guiana in
November following. Being himself disabled by sickness from proceeding
farther, he dispatched a party to the mine under the command of Captain
Keymis, an officer who had served in the former voyage to Guiana. But
during the interval which had elapsed since Raleigh’s first discovery of
that country, the Spaniards had extended their settlements into it, and
in particular had built a town called Santa Thome, in the immediate
neighbourhood of the mine in question. James, with his usual duplicity,
while he authorised the expedition, revealed every particular connected
with it to the Spanish ambassador. The English, therefore, were expected
in the Orinoco, and preparation had been made for repelling them by
force. Keymis and his men were unexpectedly attacked by the garrison of
Santa Thome, and a sharp contest ensued, in which the English gained the
advantage, and burnt the town. In this action Raleigh’s eldest son was
killed. The Spaniards still occupied the passes to the mine, and after
an unsuccessful attempt to dislodge them, Keymis abandoned the
enterprize, and returned to the ships. Raleigh’s correspondence
expresses in affecting terms his grief and indignation at this double
misfortune; the loss of a brave and promising son, and the destruction
of the hopes which he had founded on this long-cherished adventure. On
his return to England, he found himself marked out for a victim to
appease the resentment of the Spanish court, to which he had long been
an object of fear and hatred. He quietly surrendered himself to Sir
Lewis Stukeley, who was sent to Plymouth to arrest him, and commenced
the journey to London under his charge. But his mind fluctuated between
the desire to confront his enemies, and a sense of the hopelessness of
obtaining justice, and he was at last entrapped by the artifices of the
emissaries of government who surrounded him into an attempt to escape,
in which he was arrested and committed to close custody in the Tower.
Here his conversation and correspondence were narrowly watched, in the
hopes that a treasonable understanding with the French government, from
which he had received the offer of an asylum in France, might be
established against him. His conduct abroad had already been closely
scrutinized, in the hope of finding some act of piracy, or unauthorized
aggression against Spain, for which he might be brought to trial. Both
these hopes failing, and his death, in compliment to Spain, being
resolved on, it was determined to carry into effect the sentence passed
fifteen years before, from which he had never been legally released; and
a warrant was accordingly issued to the judges, requiring them to order
execution. The case was a novel one, and threw that learned body into
some perplexity. They determined, however, that after so long an
interval execution could not be granted without allowing the prisoner
the opportunity of pleading against it; and Raleigh was therefore
brought to the bar of the Court of King’s Bench, October 28, 1618. The
record of his conviction having been read, he was asked whether he could
urge any thing why the sentence should not be carried into effect. He
insisted on the nature of his late commission, and on that plea being
overruled, submitted with his usual calmness and dignity. The execution,
with indecent haste, was ordered to take place on the following morning.
In this last stage of life, his greatness of mind shone with even more
than its usual lustre. Calm, and fearless without bravado, his behaviour
and speech expressed the piety and resignation of a Christian with the
habitual coolness of one who has braved death too often to shrink at its
approach. The accounts of his deportment on the scaffold effectually
refute the charges of irreligion and atheism which some writers have
brought against him, unless we make up our minds to believe him an
accomplished hypocrite. He spoke at considerable length, and his dying
words have been faithfully reported. They contain a denial of all the
serious offences laid to his charge, and express his forgiveness of
those even who had betrayed him under the mask of friendship. After
delivering this address and spending some time in prayer, he laid his
head on the block, and breathing a short private prayer, gave the signal
to the executioner. Not being immediately obeyed, he partially raised
his head, and said, “What dost thou fear? Strike, man!” and underwent
the fatal blow without shrinking or alteration of position. He died in
his sixty-sixth year.

Raleigh sat in several parliaments, and took an active part in the
business of the house. His speeches, preserved in the Journals, are said
by Mr. Tytler to be remarkable for an originality and freedom of thought
far in advance of the time. His expression was varied and animated, and
his powers of conversation remarkable. His person was dignified and
handsome, and he excelled in bodily accomplishments and martial
exercises. He was very fond of paintings, and of music; and, in
literature as in art, he possessed a cultivated and correct taste. He
was one of those rare men who seem qualified to excel in all pursuits
alike; and his talents were set off by an extraordinary laboriousness,
and capacity of application. As a navigator, soldier, statesman, and
historian, his name is intimately and honourably linked with one of the
most brilliant periods of British history.

The works of Oldys, Birch, Cayley, Mrs. Thompson, and Mr. Tytler, may be
consulted concerning this remarkable person. The life of the last-named
gentleman, published in the ‘Edinburgh Cabinet Library,’ is the most
recent; and the industry of the author has enabled him to gain a clue to
some points which before had been imperfectly understood. A list of
Raleigh’s numerous works is given in the ‘Biographia Britannica.’ They
will be found collected in eight volumes, in the Oxford edition of 1829.
Several of his MSS. are preserved in the British Museum.

[Illustration: [Sir Walter Raleigh in the Tower.]]

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by E. Scriven._

  JENNER.

  _From a Print engraved and  by J. R. Smith in the possession
    of the late John Ring Esq^r._

  Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]




[Illustration]

                                JENNER.


Edward, the third son of the Rev. Stephen Jenner, was born May 17, 1749,
in the vicarage-house of Berkeley in Gloucestershire, of which parish
his father, a man of independent fortune, and of a family long
established and esteemed in that neighbourhood, was incumbent. At the
death of that parent in 1754, the care of Edward Jenner’s education
devolved upon his eldest brother, Stephen, who succeeded to the living
of Berkeley, and faithfully and affectionately discharged the duties of
a father towards him.

He began at a very early age to give tokens of that fondness and
aptitude for the study of natural history, which first directed the
choice of his profession; and afterwards led him, by steps which may be
easily traced, to the discovery of a method of securing the constitution
against the small-pox, by a remedy so mild as to be scarcely an
inconvenience, yet so effectual as almost to have extinguished that
disease in some countries where it has been energetically used.

Having finished his school education and fixed upon a profession, Jenner
was apprenticed at the usual age to Mr. Ludlow, a surgeon practising at
Sodbury near Bristol; and in 1770, when nearly twenty-one, he came to
London, and put himself under the tuition of John Hunter, in whose house
he lived for two years, as much in the capacity of a friend as in that
of a pupil, with great advantage to his professional studies. The
intimacy between these two eminent men was very close and cordial, and
subsisted till Hunter’s sudden death in 1793. It is attested by many
letters from Mr. Hunter, which Jenner carefully preserved; his own were
probably destroyed with the rest of Hunter’s papers by the late Sir
Everard Home. Their correspondence relates chiefly to facts and
experiments in natural history.

The success with which Jenner had already pursued his studies, and the
respect entertained for his talents by his illustrious instructor at a
period when their intercourse was yet in its infancy, may be gathered
from his being selected in 1771, on the recommendation of Mr. Hunter, to
arrange the collections in natural history which had been made by Sir
Joseph Banks in his voyage round the world with Captain Cook, then just
completed. Jenner acquitted himself so well of this charge, that he was
offered, though little more than twenty-two years of age, the situation
of naturalist to the second expedition under the command of Captain
Cook, which sailed in 1772. This was a flattering proposal to so young a
man, and consonant to Jenner’s ruling tastes; nevertheless he declined
it. It is fortunate for mankind that he chose the laborious seclusion of
a country practice in preference to aiming at distinction and wealth;
for in no other sphere could he have found opportunities of pursuing his
discovery of vaccination through all the perplexities in which his early
researches into that subject involved him. Indeed, it is probable that
considerations of this kind, independently of his fondness for a country
life, had their weight with him in the choice; for the idea had already
taken strong hold of his naturally sanguine feelings and quick
apprehension, that he was furnished with a clue which might lead him to
a result of the highest importance to mankind.

It may be added here that a few years after this time he declined a very
lucrative situation in India, as well as a much more tempting proposal
from Mr. Hunter, in 1775, to join him in a project for establishing in
London a school of natural history, including medicine, of which Jenner
was to undertake the anatomical department.

Having determined to settle in the country, and being amply provided
with the requisite knowledge, Jenner established himself as a general
practitioner at Berkeley. Here he speedily acquired a profitable and
extensive practice; so much so, indeed, that finding his health giving
way, he was obliged to limit himself to the practice of medicine alone;
for which purpose he purchased, as it was then customary, the degree of
doctor at St. Andrew’s in 1792.

But he not only attained at an early age to a high degree of
professional reputation, but won the affectionate esteem of all with
whom he associated. It is related of him that his friends were in the
habit of joining in his daily professional rides, often of considerable
extent, for the sake of his agreeable and instructive conversation; and
that when any of them were ill, he would sometimes make their houses the
head-quarters of his practice for the time being, and remain in close
attendance upon them till their recovery.

Music, the lighter kinds of literature, both as a reader and
occasionally as an author, and the innocent recreations of society,
which no one enjoyed more keenly than himself, were the means by which
Jenner lightened the burden of his professional labours; but his chief
amusement was natural history, including geology, a science then in its
infancy, for the study of which his position in the vale of Gloucester
afforded ample opportunity, the neighbourhood abounding with fossil
remains, and exhibiting a great variety of terrestrial structure.
Towards subjects of this nature he was led, not only by his original
bias, but by his correspondence with Hunter, Banks, and Parry.

In 1778 he formed a medical society, which held its periodical meetings
at Rodborough, for the purpose of communicating professional information
and promoting a friendly feeling among the members. In furtherance of
these objects, Jenner contributed several important and original papers,
the substance of which is now embodied in medical science, without his
property in them being generally known. Among these were essays on the
nature and causes of Angina Pectoris, on a peculiar disease of the heart
occurring in acute rheumatism, and on several of the more severe
affections of the eye. He also belonged to another medical society,
meeting at Alveston near Bristol, to the members of which, who were men
of congenial dispositions with his own, he was personally much attached.
Upon one topic, however, they did not agree; for it is said that he was
in the habit of enlarging so frequently upon his favourite speculation
of the cow-pox, that the subject was at length proscribed, and he was
jestingly forbidden to renew it on pain of expulsion. This club was for
many years a source of much enjoyment and advantage to him, and we may
suppose that he was a very principal contributor to the diversion of the
other members; for it ceased to exist in 1789, when other objects began
to engross the time that he could spare from his practice. In March of
the previous year, at the age of thirty-seven, he married Miss Catharine
Kingscote, by whom he had several children. The choice appears to have
been a very fortunate one for his domestic happiness.

In 1786 he had communicated to Mr. Hunter, in the form of an essay, the
result of several years’ careful observation of the singular habits of
the cuckoo, till then a mystery to naturalists. It was presented by Mr.
Hunter to the Royal Society, and was printed entire in their
Transactions in 1789, having been returned to Jenner in the mean time,
in order that he might record some additional facts which he had
ascertained. This tract has been considered as a very masterly
performance, and was the occasion of the author being elected to the
fellowship of the Royal Society. It is not a little remarkable that Mr.
Hunter, like Jenner’s friends at Alveston, thought so doubtfully of his
views on the subject of vaccination, that he cautioned him against
publishing them, lest they should interfere with the fame he had
acquired in the learned world by his ‘Essay on the Cuckoo.’ But the
event proved that the caution, though well meant, was unnecessary.
Jenner was not more disposed than his gifted master to admit any
conclusion on merely collateral grounds, that might be put to the test
of experiment. This, however, was too new and important a matter to be
lightly or prematurely hazarded; and Jenner waited long and patiently
for an opportunity of thus testing his opinions, losing in the mean time
no occasion of collecting additional information. The idea, thus
watchfully and laboriously improved, was first excited in his mind while
he was an apprentice at Sodbury, by a remark accidentally dropped by a
young countrywoman in his master’s surgery, who, overhearing a
conversation about the small-pox, observed that she had no fear of
catching that disease as she had taken the _cow-pox_. Jenner, who was
always alive to any subject connected with natural history, was induced
to make more particular inquiries into this complaint, of which he had
never heard before; and the answers he received were such as to suggest
the probability of substituting it with advantage for the inoculated
small-pox. Of this theory he never lost sight till he established it on
the clearest evidence, and with it his unrivalled claim to the perpetual
gratitude of mankind.

The cow-pox is a disease of the eruptive kind, which is sometimes
extensively prevalent among cattle in large dairy countries where they
are herded together in numbers, but often disappears for a long time
together. Though commonly mild, it is occasionally so severe as to
terminate fatally; and it is believed, on strong grounds, to have been
at different times even pestilential among them, and as such, to have
been mentioned by various writers on rural economy, ancient and modern,
as well as in medical and other histories. It is generally, however, a
very mild disorder, appearing on the udder of the cow, at first in the
form of vesicles much resembling those of small-pox; and it is
sometimes, as in the instance which first attracted the attention of
Jenner, communicated to the hands of milkers. In such cases, an eruption
of similar vesicles takes place on the hands and arms, not without much
swelling and inflammation, and occasionally with fever and disturbance
of the health for some days. It has never been known to prove fatal when
thus communicated, or to have left any unpleasant effects behind it,
except a few indented marks in the situation occupied by the pustules.
It is not communicable, like small-pox in the human subject, by the
effluvia; but the matter, or lymph as it is called, contained in the
vesicles, must be actually inserted under the skin, or applied to a raw
or an absorbing surface. But the most important of its peculiarities is
the security it affords against the infection of small-pox. This
property was well known among the agricultural classes in the grazing
districts before the time of Jenner, and it has been stated that
individuals among them had turned their knowledge of it to account for
the protection of their families, by inoculating them with the vaccine
disease. But this circumstance, alleged on very scanty evidence by those
who were opposed to Jenner’s claims, cannot lessen the merit of his
independent discovery, of which each step was communicated in succession
to a numerous circle of medical friends, and is recorded in the most
authentic form. His reputation is, on the other hand, enhanced by the
fact that, although the immunity conferred by the casual disease in
milkers had frequently come under the notice of medical men from their
failing in such persons to produce the small-pox by inoculation, yet the
idea of introducing the disease of an animal into the human frame was so
little in consonance with any former practice, that Jenner was the first
among his brethren to conjecture that cow-pox, as the milder disease,
might advantageously supersede the inoculated small-pox; and that, as
the latter is rendered less virulent by inoculation, so the former
introduced in the same way might be milder than the casual complaint,
and yet retain its protecting power. He had even communicated this
conjecture to Hunter, himself no mean innovator in medicine, so early as
the year 1770; and Mr. Hunter was for many years in the habit of
mentioning it in his public lectures coupled with Jenner’s name: but the
proposed substitution was so distasteful, or appeared of such
questionable propriety, that it obtained no favourable notice till it
was forced by the inventor on the public attention, thirty years after
it had first attracted his own.

It would be interesting to enter into a detail of the progress of
Jenner’s discovery and of its introduction into general use, as well as
to show its inestimable value to society by a reference to statistical
facts. This, however, can only be done here in a very cursory manner.

The way in which the idea was first suggested to him has been already
mentioned. After his return to Berkeley from London, he pursued the
subject with great patience and sagacity for many years. In the course
of these preliminary inquiries he found reason to believe that of
several kinds of vesicular disease in the cow, but one had the property
of securing from the small-pox, and that one exclusively, or at least
with the greatest certainty, in its first stage. He also ascertained
that the horse is subject to an eruption of similar vesicles, apparently
arising without infection, and popularly known by the name of the
_grease_. The matter issuing from these is sometimes conveyed to the cow
by milkers engaged in farriery; and Jenner conceived it to be the
original and only source of cow-pox among the herds. The opinion is not
generally held at present to its full extent; but experiments by himself
and others since the publication of his Inquiry have proved a fact much
disputed at the time, that he was right in believing the diseases to be
identical, whatever may be their origin.

It may be mentioned as a curious circumstance, that the first lymph
transmitted in an active state to British India in 1802 by Dr. De Carro
of Vienna, long the only source of vaccination in that country, had been
furnished to him by Dr. Sacco of Milan, from genuine vesicles produced
by direct inoculation from the horse, without passing through the cow;
an intervention which, till about that period, Jenner had continued to
think essential to the production of the true disease in man.

In addition to these and other curious results, laboriously collected
during a period of twenty-six years, Dr. Jenner at length arrived at a
rational conviction of the safety of the experiment he meditated, from
observing the invariable harmlessness of the disease when casually
taken: he determined therefore to put his long-cherished idea to the
trial on the first opportunity.

This offered on the 14th of May, 1796, the anniversary of which is still
kept as a festival at Berlin. On that day he inoculated a boy of the
name of Phipps in the arm, from a pustule on the hand of a young woman
who was infected by her master’s cows. The boy went favourably through
the disease. On the 1st of July he was inoculated for the small-pox,
and, as Jenner had predicted, without effect.

The feelings of the sanguine philanthropist may be conceived. They
cannot be better described than they have been by himself in the
following terms. “While the vaccine discovery was progressive, the joy I
felt at the prospect before me of being the instrument destined to take
away from the world one of its greatest calamities, blended with the
fond hope of enjoying independence and domestic peace and happiness, was
often so excessive, that in pursuing my favourite subject among the
meadows, I have sometimes found myself in a reverie. It is pleasant to
me to recollect that these reflections always ended in devout
acknowledgments to that Being from whom this and all other mercies
flow.”

During the next two years many other equally successful trials were
made; and at length the discovery was published to the world in June,
1798, in a quarto pamphlet of seventy pages, which had been previously
subjected to the most rigorous criticism and revision by a few chosen
friends who met for that purpose at the house of Thomas Westfaling,
Esq., at Rudhall, near Ross. It is entitled ‘An Inquiry into the Causes
and Effects of the Variolæ Vaccinæ; a disease discovered in some of the
Western Counties of England, particularly Gloucestershire, and known by
the name of the Cow-pox.’ The pamphlet is enriched with the detail of
sixteen cases of the casual, and seven of the inoculated disease, the
latter including the case of one of the author’s sons; and with 
drawings of the appearances in both.

The style of this pamphlet, as well as of others which succeeded it from
Jenner’s pen in the course of a few years, is remarkably modest, and
admirable in all respects, which probably contributed much to the early
favour it received. The facts were such as to defy contradiction, and
the conclusions so just and mature, that the experience of nearly forty
years has been able to add little more than its seal of confirmation to
them. The few errors that have been detected relate chiefly to the
degree of protection afforded by the cow-pox, which Jenner affirmed to
be perfect: it is now however believed to be incomplete, perhaps in
three instances out of every hundred; that small proportionate number
passing, in general after the lapse of some years, through a very mild
and modified small-pox, in which the per-centage of fatal cases is
certainly not more, and probably much less, than five; being not more
than three in 2000 of all vaccinated persons, while the rate of
mortality even in inoculated small-pox is one in fifty, or forty in
2000. It should be borne in mind that small-pox itself sometimes occurs
a second time even in a severe and fatal form, as in the case of Louis
XV. Some constitutional peculiarity is probably the occasion of both
these anomalies; and this supposition will also account for the
often-observed fact, that small-pox after vaccination commonly affects
several members of the same family almost simultaneously, thus giving an
appearance of failure in a proportion much greater than the truth.

Another position advanced by Jenner in this pamphlet is too remarkable
to be passed over. After stating his belief that the cow-pox originates
from the horse in the way already mentioned, he proceeds to suggest that
the small-pox may have been itself originally morbid matter of the same
kind, aggravated into a malignant and contagious form by accidental
circumstances. But this opinion, though plausible, is not considered by
any means as established.

Favourably as his work was received, the author, who had come to London
partly to superintend the publication, was unable to obtain an
opportunity of displaying the disease in that city, which had been the
chief object of his visit; and returned, much disappointed, to
Cheltenham, where he now frequently resided, in the middle of July. He
left, however, some vaccine lymph with Mr. Cline, who was the first
surgeon in London that ventured to make a trial of it. The complete
success of the experiment, which was publicly performed, so strongly
interested the profession, that the new practice became quickly popular,
in spite of a warm though partial opposition, which was put down in the
summer of 1799 by a manifesto expressive of confidence in its efficacy
and safety, signed by seventy-three of the most eminent medical men in
the metropolis. In the same year some unfortunate occurrences took place
in consequence of Dr. Woodville, the physician of the Small-pox
Hospital, having incautiously used and distributed matter from persons
whom he had inoculated with small-pox a few days after vaccination,
before it had taken a sufficient hold. The mongrel lymph thus produced
sometimes occasioned one, sometimes the other disease; their effects
were confounded; and some deaths which ensued, as well as a general
eruption of the skin which took place in many instances, were attributed
to the cow-pox. This and other mistakes would probably have much
retarded the general adoption of vaccination, but for the promptitude of
Jenner to discover and expose the source of the error.

In 1802 a parliamentary inquiry into the value of the new method of
preventing small-pox, including Jenner’s claim to the discovery of it,
was instituted, and a grant was voted to him of 10,000_l._ In 1807 he
received an additional vote of 20,000_l._, which, considering that he
had been the instrument of saving in England alone at least 45,000 lives
annually, will seem by no means an extravagant mark of national
gratitude and respect.

In 1803 the Royal Jennerian Society, for the encouragement of
vaccination, was established in London under the superintendence of Dr.
Jenner. In 1808 this society was merged by his advice in the National
Vaccine Establishment, which still continues to dispense the blessings
of the antidote at the public charge.

The growing interest in the public mind in favour of vaccination was of
course everywhere extended to its author, who, in spite of several
unworthy cabals, and attempts to deprive him of the credit of a
discovery peculiarly his own, was received among all ranks with the
highest distinction at home, and also gratified with various continental
honours. If he had thought fit to settle in London, he might undoubtedly
have secured wealth in proportion to his reputation; but he preferred
the quiet enjoyment of rural life and domestic happiness. His death took
place at Berkeley, from a sudden attack of apoplexy, in February, 1823,
in the seventy-fourth year of his age. The latter years of his life were
spent between Berkeley and Cheltenham, and in occasional visits to
London, in the zealous prosecution of his favourite subjects of
research, and successful endeavours to diffuse the blessings of his
discovery more widely in his own and other lands.

In England, however, these have not been so extensively felt as in some
other countries where the form of government has given facilities for
the enforcement of vaccination. The small-pox consequently prevails to a
considerable extent in this country, and especially in London. Yet the
annual number of deaths from small-pox within the bills of mortality is
at present under 700; the largest number in one year since the general
practice of vaccination having been 1299, in 1825. A century ago, when
the population certainly did not reach half its present amount, the
yearly average was 2000, the maximum being in 1796, when the mortality
swelled to 3549. That this decrease is wholly due to vaccination cannot
be doubted; the advantage, however, is partly indirect, and has arisen
from the discontinuance of the practice of inoculating for the
small-pox, which afforded security to individuals, but increased the
general mortality by keeping alive a constant source of infection. But
the most striking examples of the advantage derived from vaccination are
to be found on the continent. Thus at Berlin, where the average annual
amount of deaths from small-pox was 472 for the twenty years previous to
1802, and 1646 died in 1801, the mortality so speedily diminished after
the enforcement of vaccination by law, that in 1821 and 1822 there was
only one death in each year. These and similar instances which might be
adduced from other countries, seem almost to warrant us in adopting the
sanguine expectation of Jenner, that by means of his discovery this
disgusting and dreadful malady, from which not four in a hundred of the
human race wholly escaped, and which destroyed a tenth part of all that
were born, and disfigured where it did not destroy, may yet be swept
from the face of the earth.

The best books of reference on the subjects of this memoir are ‘Baron’s
Life of Jenner,’ ‘Moore’s History of the Cow-pox,’ Dr. Gregory’s
admirable articles in the ‘Encyclopædia of Medicine,’ and the reports of
various parliamentary committees, especially those of 1802 and 1833.




[Illustration]

                               MASKELYNE.


Nevil Maskelyne was born in London, October 6, 1732. He was educated at
Westminster, and in time proceeded to Catherine Hall, Cambridge, from
whence he migrated to Trinity College. He took the degree of Bachelor of
Arts, with honours, in the year 1754. In 1755, he was ordained to a
curacy near London. He had previously turned his attention to astronomy,
to which he was led by the solar eclipse of 1748; and he now formed an
acquaintance with Bradley, an astronomer of unequalled merit, whether in
discovery or practical excellence in observation, whom he assisted in
calculating his table of refractions. It is no wonder that, under such
instruction, Maskelyne should have distinguished himself afterwards as
an observer. From this period (A.D. 1750) Delambre dates the
commencement of really good observations.

In 1758 Maskelyne was elected Fellow of his college; in 1759 he became
Fellow of the Royal Society. In 1761 he went to St. Helena, to observe
the transit of Venus, and also to collect such observations as might, if
possible, enable him to detect the parallax of the fixed stars. He
failed in both objects; in the first from cloudy weather, in the second
from faulty instruments, as he supposed, though the quantity in question
is so small that its existence has not yet been detected; but he was
enabled to correct the principal errors of those instruments in a
considerable degree, and also to make very good observations on various
other points. In his voyage out and home he applied himself to perfect
the method of observing lunar distances, and deducing the longitude from
them. In 1764 he sailed to Barbadoes, to make a trial of Harrison’s
time-keeper; and in 1765 he was appointed Astronomer Royal, on the
decease of Mr. Bliss. He was then only thirty-three years of age, and
had enjoyed a rapid career of celebrity. He had published enough in the
‘British Mariner’s Guide,’ A.D. 1763, to require honourable mention of
his name and methods in every work of navigation.

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by E. Scriven._

  MASKELYNE.

  _From the original Picture by Vanderburgh in the possession of the
    Royal Society._

  Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]

As soon as he had obtained the post of Astronomer Royal, he began to
call the attention of the Commissioners of Longitude to the
practicability of the method of lunar distances, and proposed to them to
establish a Nautical Almanac, which should contain such an ephemeris of
the moon’s path as would make the object in view attainable. The
memorial on this subject was presented February 9, 1765, and the
evidence of various officers of the East India Company’s service was
taken as to the success of the method. The lunar tables of Mayer
furnished the proposed materials for the moon’s places; and upon the
adoption of the scheme of Maskelyne, a parliamentary reward of 3000_l._
was given to Mayer’s widow. To Maskelyne we are thus indebted for a work
which has more than any other contributed to the advancement of
navigation, in the removal of the great difficulty of finding the
longitude. It is true that this first effort could hardly then be
expected to give the longitude within a degree; but this was a great
improvement, when it is considered that the reckoning of a ship might be
out several degrees, and that chronometers had not yet been introduced.
But the ‘Nautical Almanac’ must be considered as a work addressed to
astronomers as well as seamen, from its earliest commencement. Maskelyne
saw the importance of saving the observer the trouble and risk of error
which would attend his reductions without such assistance, and
contemplated the continual improvement of the lunar tables. It is not
one of the least obligations which astronomical science owes to
Maskelyne, that since his time a very slender portion of mathematical
knowledge will enable a diligent observer to turn his means to good
account in the promotion of sidereal and even of planetary astronomy.
Without saying that the observer, as such, is employed about the highest
department of the science, or in any way recommending the lover of
observation to stop his career at that point, we may remind him that,
with the assistance of an ephemeris, such as the ‘Nautical Almanac’ of
Maskelyne did, still more as that of the present day, he can never want
the means of turning his amusements to useful purpose.

The first Nautical Almanac was published in 1767, and was continued by
Maskelyne to the end of his life. The requisite tables, intended to
accompany that work, were first published by him in 1781.

With the exception of attending the meetings of the Royal Society,
Maskelyne hardly ever quitted his observatory. His life is therefore
difficult to describe, except by its results. But in 1772 he went to
Scotland, to pursue his celebrated experiment for the discovery of the
earth’s density. The Newtonian doctrine of attraction, in the general
form, that all matter attracts all other matter, could hardly be said to
be finally established, except as a point of strong probability. That a
planet, considered as a whole, attracts a planet, might be thought to be
demonstrated, but there was no proof of matter being the agent of
attraction upon matter, _on the earth_, except in the case of magnetised
or electrified bodies. The notion that the attraction of a mountain, if
it existed, would cause a slight deviation of the plumb-line, which
should be perceptible in its effect on the observed position of the
stars, had been entertained, and the effect even suspected, but without
being reduced to absolute proof. To give an idea of the minuteness of
the angle of deviation which was to be looked for, we may state that a
pendulum ten thousand inches long, vibrating through an angle of ten
seconds, would only move through half an inch at the end farthest from
the point of suspension, and that ten seconds was, as it turned out,
nearly double of the angle in question. Maskelyne chose the mountain
Schehallien, in Perthshire, as the scene of his operations. By observing
well-known stars with an instrument depending on a plumb-line, both
north and south of the mountain, he determined the difference of
latitude of two stations, subject of course to an error if the
plumb-line were affected in its position by the attraction of the
mountain. He then measured the difference of latitude of his stations by
a trigonometrical survey, which gave their relative position by a method
independent of the plumb-line and its errors. He thus found that his
north and south plumb-lines were inclined to each other at an angle of
about eleven seconds and a half more than they should have been from
their difference of position on the earth, and that the direction of
their inclination was towards the mountain. He deduced his results from
those among his observations which he considered as the best, being
about one out of ten of the whole; but it is much to his credit as an
observer, that Baron Zach afterwards found that all his observations,
good and bad, gave the same average result as those he had selected.
Zach also established the same fact by his observations in the
neighbourhood of Marseilles, namely, that the vicinity of a mountain
affects the level, which was the instrument he used, and not the
plumb-line.

The labour of deducing an approximation to the earth’s mean density was
undertaken by Dr. Hutton. By getting the best possible estimate of the
materials of which Schehallien is composed, and comparing what we must
call the weight of the plumb-line _towards the mountain_ with its weight
towards the earth, it appeared that the mean density of the latter is
about five times that of water. This, considered as a numerical
approximation, alone and unsupported, would have been worth little,
owing to the doubt which must have existed as to the correctness of the
estimation of the mountain’s density. It would prove that there was
attraction in the mountain, but would give no very great probability to
the value of the earth’s density, as deduced. But a few years afterwards
Cavendish made an experiment, with the same object, and by an entirely
different method. By producing oscillations in leaden balls by means of
other leaden balls, and by a process of reasoning wholly free from
astronomical data, he inferred that the mean density of the earth was
five and a-half times that of water. The experiment of Cavendish was
published in 1798. It is much to be wished that the experiments of
Cavendish should be repeated on a larger scale: but the expense of the
apparatus will probably deter individuals from the attempt.

The Schehallien experiment was carried on under many difficulties and
privations; and its successful result places its author in the list of
those who first opened the road to the determination of a fundamental
element of the solar system. But brilliant as it must appear, it is by
no means the most useful of Maskelyne’s labours. Excepting Bradley, he
may almost be called the first who systematically directed his efforts
to the attainment of the minutest accuracy in astronomical
observation. His celebrated catalogue, A.D. 1790, consisted only of
thirty-six of the principal stars, but the places of these, especially
in right ascension, were determined with a degree of precision which
was then believed to be hardly attainable. The means by which he
accomplished his objects, such as taking the nearest tenth of a second
instead of the nearest second, or half second, of time in his transit
observations, the practice of uniformly observing all the wires of the
instrument, instead of one; the introduction of the movable eye-piece,
by which the several wires could all be viewed directly, instead of
obliquely, and many little things of the kind, are the indications of
a man who was familiar above his contemporaries with the sources of
error, and who had formed at once a bold estimate of the extent to
which they might be avoided, and a correct view of the means of doing
it. It is difficult to say what portion of the present improved spirit
of observation in these points may be attributed to Maskelyne, but it
certainly was not small. Delambre, who knew at least as well as any
man of his time what had been done and was doing, and who was never
profuse of praise, as his ‘History of Astronomy’ amply demonstrates,
pays him the following compliment in the memoir which he contributed
to the ‘Biographie Universelle:’—“Maskelyne était en correspondance
avec tous les astronomes de l’Europe, qu’il considérait comme ses
frères, et qui, de leur côté, le respectaient comme un doyen, dont les
travaux leur avaient été éminemment utiles.”

We have spoken, in the life of Harrison, of the controversy about the
merits of the time-piece of the latter. As Astronomer Royal, Maskelyne
was the official investigator of the rates of those instruments, and
both in the case of Harrison, and in that of Mudge, his decisions
underwent printed attacks, which he answered. Without entering into the
merits of these questions, since all the grave accusations which were
brought against him have fallen harmless, we shall only state, that
Maskelyne’s answers are full of documents, and free from passion; both
very favourable symptoms.

Dr. Maskelyne held church preferment from his college, and was besides
in possession of an easy fortune. He died Feb. 9, 1811, leaving behind
him an unblemished personal reputation, and a character for scientific
utility of the first order. He left behind him much evidence of his
utility in the labours and character of the assistants whom he formed;
all of whom, says Lalande, were useful astronomers. The late Dr.
Brinkley, Bishop of Cloyne, who added the reputation of a distinguished
mathematician to that of an eminent observer, was for sometime one of
his pupils in the practical part of the science.

[Illustration: [Schehallien.]]

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by J. Posselwhite._

  HOBBES.

  _From a Picture by Dobson in the possession of The Royal Society._

  Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]




[Illustration]

                                HOBBES.


When Thomas Hobbes was eighty-four years of age he composed an amusing
account of his own fortunes in Latin hexameter and pentameter verses;
and in these it is mentioned that his birth was premature, owing to the
terror occasioned to his mother by a false report of the approach of the
Spanish fleet. To this accident he humorously ascribes his patriotic
zeal and the peacefulness of his disposition. We quote from a
translation made by a contemporary hand, which in elegance of expression
is on a par with the original.

           “And hereupon it was, my mother dear
           Did bring forth twins at once, both me, and Fear.
           For this my country’s foes I e’er did hate,
           With calm Peace and my Muse associate.”

It was at Malmsbury, on the 5th of April, 1588, that this very singular
man was thus called into an existence, which was continued, in perpetual
activity, for ninety-one years.

One of the earliest efforts of his talents was to translate the Medea of
Euripides into Latin iambics. At the age of fourteen, he commenced his
more serious labours at Magdalen College, Oxford; and employed five
years there in the study of logic and Aristotle’s Physics. Immediately
afterwards he entered into the family of William Cavendish, Baron
Hardwick, subsequently Earl of Devonshire, and became tutor to his
eldest son. The companion alike of his sports and his studies, Hobbes
presently acquired the affection of his pupil and the confidence of the
family; and the two young men (for they were of the same age) set out
together to travel in France and Italy.

A free intercourse with the learned men of other countries enlarged the
mind of Hobbes, and opened new channels to his investigation. And it
appears, in the first instance, that when he beheld the contempt in
which the subjects of his academical industry were generally held, he
turned from them to the more diligent study of Greek and Latin. Nor was
it his object alone to become master of the languages, but also to
meditate on the invaluable records of the history and the wisdom of the
ancients. He employed his leisure hours in the translation of
Thucydides; and he published it in the year 1628, to the end (says his
contemporary biographer), that the absurdities of the democratical
Athenians might become known to his own fellow-citizens. This was the
first of his publications; and it may have been that perhaps to which,
in later life, he attached the least importance. Yet has it so fallen
out, that after a lapse of two long centuries of slowly progressive
knowledge and wisdom, his other works are for the most part consigned to
the shelves of the profound and curious student, while the “Translation
of Thucydides” is familiar to the acquaintance and respect of every
scholar.

It is related that Hobbes, while yet a youth, was present at an assembly
of several eminent men of letters, when one of them asked, in a
contemptuous manner, _And what is sensation?_ No one attempted to make
any reply; and the question was thus silently acknowledged to be
inscrutable. This piqued his curiosity and his pride; for he was
astonished that those, who through their pretensions to wisdom so
despised others, should be ignorant of the nature of their own senses.
Accordingly he directed his deepest attention to that inquiry. The first
result of his meditation was this position: that if all things were at
_rest_, they would part with all their qualities. Hence, in his mind, it
followed, that all the principles of natural science, including the
senses of all animated things and all bodily affections, depended on the
varieties of _motion_; and to these, rather than to any inherent or
occult qualities, he referred all the phenomena of physics.

This his system of physics is amply developed in the first section (De
Corpore) of his book of the ‘Elements of Philosophy;’ which failed not
to gain him a celebrity more than proportionate to the number of his
proselytes. For many admired his ingenuity who did not adopt his
conclusions. In conjunction with these pursuits, Hobbes engaged with
zeal in the study of mathematics. He flattered himself that he had
discovered how to square the circle, and published several treatises in
relation to that celebrated problem, which at the time gained for him
considerable reputation. In 1647 he was appointed mathematical tutor to
the Prince of Wales. He engaged in a long mathematical controversy with
Dr. Wallis, of which an amusing account will be found in D’Israeli’s
‘Quarrels of Authors,’ vol. 3. Wallis, however, was an adversary
entirely above Hobbes’ strength in this department of science.

If Hobbes had confined his exertions to the pursuits of classical
literature and physical philosophy, he would have spent a more peaceful,
and therefore to him a happier, existence. But in the tumultuous times
in which he lived, with a mind habituated to deep investigations, it was
scarcely possible that he should do otherwise than fix his attention on
the political phenomena which were passing before him, and endeavour to
trace their causes and solve their difficulties. After a residence of
three years in England, he returned to Paris in 1640, and enjoyed the
society of some of the distinguished men who were collected around
Cardinal Richelieu. There he wrote his first political work, the book
_De Cive_, which he published in 1646. He then proceeded to compose a
much more elaborate treatise on the same subject, which he published in
England in the year 1651; this was his _Leviathan_—a name associated
with that of Hobbes in the mind of every reader, though the _peculiar_
principles which are embodied under it are now known to few. Suffice it
here to say, that the object of this work was to give a decided support
to the monarchical institution: to show that there could be no safety
without peace, no peace without a strong government; that arms and money
were the elements which alone could give that strength; that even arms
will scarcely avail to this end, unless placed in a single hand, or if
opposed (as is the case in religious dissension), by motives and
principles which do not terminate in this world.

Political researches in that age necessarily involved theological, or at
least ecclesiastical, principles; and Hobbes had not feared to denounce
some of the antient usurpations of the clergy, and to pronounce
religious concord to be absolutely essential to the civil happiness of a
people: and while he broached some principles not well pleasing to the
pretensions of the hierarchy of the day, he advanced others which were
thought to end, by no violent interpretation, in absolute infidelity.
Accordingly, the theologians assailed him from every quarter; and his
work, while it divided learned laymen, some of whom thought it a marvel
of political genius, others a dangerous and unseemly monster, was
condemned by the unanimous indignation of the ecclesiastical body. The
churchmen of Rome united in hostility with those of England against
doctrines which were dangerous to the common prerogatives of the whole
order, if not to the integrity of religion itself. The latter, being
more closely attacked, were more violent in their enmity. They denounced
the opinions as false and heretical; and the divines of Cambridge went
so far as publicly to stigmatize the author as an atheist. Besides this,
he did not even escape the charges of being ill disposed to royalty, and
a disguised adversary to the party of the king. These calumnies (such at
least he constantly asserted both to be,) deprived him of the patronage
of the Court, and seemed at one time even to have endangered his
personal safety; insomuch that, under the Commonwealth, he found it
expedient to escape from his enemies at Paris, and take refuge among
those, whose enmity he had rather deserved, the republicans of England.
He escaped however the fate, so common to men of moderation in violent
times, of being persecuted by both parties; and only sustained the
animosity of that which he had intended to serve.

Hobbes was a decided Episcopalian. He studied in all matters to conform
both to the doctrines and the ceremonies of the church established; and
avoided, even with a feeling of dislike, the conventicles of the
Puritans. Still less did he incline, on the other hand, to the Roman
Catholic faith. During a dangerous illness, which he suffered with great
firmness at Paris, when he was supposed to be on the point of death, an
intimate friend, named Mersenne, a learned Franciscan, approached him
with spiritual consolation, and pressed him to depart in communion with
the Roman church. Hobbes calmly replied, “Father, I have long ago
considered all those matters well, and it would trouble me to reconsider
them now. You can entertain me on some more agreeable subject. When did
you see Gassendi?”

Yet neither his unmoved adhesion to Protestantism, nor even his
affection for episcopal government, could disarm the wrath of the
theologians, who continued to wage an unsparing warfare against him, and
to inflict on his reputation, and even on his fortunes, such mischief as
they were able. On the other hand, his singular qualities and talents
failed not to procure him many powerful protectors; and he stood so
balanced (says his biographer) between his friends and his enemies, that
the former were just strong enough to prevent his destruction, the
latter to obstruct his advancement. So that he continued, with a mighty
reputation and a slender fortune, to remain, even to the end of his
days, under the same noble patronage, under which his first distinctions
had been acquired.

But in this comparative obscurity he was consoled by the society of the
learned, the courtesy of the great, and the admiration of almost all
men. Among his personal friends or acquaintances were numbered Francis
Bacon of Verulam, Ben Jonson (who is said to have revised his
Translation of Thucydides), the astronomer Galileo, the antiquarian
Selden, Lord Herbert of Cherbury, Harvey, physician to Charles I., Des
Cartes, Gassendi; and his praises were celebrated by the contemporary
muse of Cowley. He was sought by distinguished foreigners who visited
England, even nobles and ambassadors; especially by Cosmo de’ Medici,
then Prince, afterwards Duke of Tuscany, who offered him ample proofs of
his esteem; and there were many among his own compatriots who received
his opinions with respect, if not with favour.

During the long period of his declining life, Hobbes is related to have
pursued with most assiduity his studies in natural philosophy; but the
publications of his old age (if we except the Decameron Physiologicum,
published in 1676) rather indicate a return to his earliest tastes,
which inclined, we are told, to history and poetry. At the age of about
80, he wrote, in English, the _Behemoth_, or History of the Civil Wars
between Charles and the Parliament; besides a long Latin poem on the
origin and increase of the pontifical power. At about 86, he translated
the Odyssey into English verse, and the Iliad at 87: and he persevered
for the four following years, which were his last, in the same peaceful
course of literary recreation. A list of his works, forty-two in number,
is given in Chalmers’ ‘Biographical Dictionary:’ the great majority of
them are forgotten.

He died towards the end of the year 1679, and was buried at
Hault-Bucknall, close by the grave of his faithful patroness, the
Countess of Devonshire. Respecting his personal character and
conversation it is recorded, that he was agreeable and courteous in his
familiar intercourse with all, those alone excepted who approached him
for the mere purpose of disputation: and these he treated with more
severity than was necessary. Above all things, he detested theological
controversy, and always strove to turn his hearers away from it to the
exercise of piety and the practice of Christian morality. His favourite
authors were Homer, Virgil, Thucydides, and Euclid: but his reading was
not extensive; as he thought the careful meditation on a few good works
more profitable to the understanding than a more abundant draught of
indiscriminate learning; and was fond of saying upon this subject, that
if he read as much as others he should be as ignorant as they were. He
persisted in a life of celibacy, that he might be able to pursue his
studies with the less interruption. In his disposition he was generous
and charitable; but his means were scanty: for even at the end of his
life he had little else but two small pensions, the one from the family
of Devon, the other from the king.




[Illustration]

                                RAPHAEL.


Raffaello Sanzio, the greatest of painters, was born in 1483 at Urbino,
where the house in which he passed the first years of his life is still
preserved, consecrated by a suitable inscription. His first teacher was
his father, Giovanni Sanzio, a painter who, allowing for the technical
imperfections of the time, was perhaps entitled to more praise than
Vasari has awarded him; the evidence of the remaining works of this
master has indeed led his recent biographer, Pungileoni, to conclude
that he was in many essential points equal to the best of his
contemporaries, and that his feeling for expression may have had no
unimportant influence on the genius he was destined to instruct. An
interesting altar-piece by the elder Sanzio still exists at Urbino, in
the church of S. Francesco, representing the Madonna with St. Francis
and other saints: the members of the painter’s family are introduced,
and among them the infant Raphael kneels by his mother’s side.

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by J. Thomson._

  RAFFAELLE.

  _From a Miniature copy of the original Picture in the Gallery at
    Florence. In the Possession of the Rev^d. Horace Cholmondeley
    Kingston House, Dorchester._

  Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]

The silence of the historians of art as to the claims of Giovanni Sanzio
is less surprising than their omitting to notice the importance of his
city and province at the period in question. The duchy of Urbino, at the
close of the fifteenth century, could boast, as Sismondi justly remarks,
a population as warlike, and a court as lettered and polished as any in
Italy. The hereditary dukes of the ancient family of Montefeltro ranked
high among the captains of the age, and among the distinguished patrons
of science. Federigo da Montefeltro, who died a few months before the
birth of Raphael, had employed the talents of some of the best painters
of Italy, and of other countries, to adorn his capital. Among the native
artists, Fra Carnevale was one of the earliest who attempted
perspective; and to him, or at least to his works, Bramante, as well as
Raphael, may have been indebted for a knowledge of the rudiments of
architecture; Pietro della Francesca, whose compositions on mathematics
and geometry enriched the ducal library, was domiciliated with Giovanni
Sanzio; Lucian, a painter and architect of Dalmatia, superintended for a
time the building of the castle; but the most remarkable guest was
Justus van Ghent, called by the Italians Giusto da Guanto; a
considerable work painted by him contained portraits of the Duke
Federigo and his successor Guid’ Ubaldo, under whose auspices again the
talents of the celebrated Luca Signorelli were put in requisition.
Pictures by most of these artists probably still exist at Urbino, and
undoubtedly were seen and studied by Raphael in his early youth. Among
the first reputed works of the great artist himself, which are preserved
in his native city, may be mentioned a Madonna, originally painted on
the wall in his father’s house, and a holy family on wood in the church
of S. Andrea.

It is difficult to fix with precision the time when Raphael first
studied under Perugino; but if, as Rumohr supposes, that painter only
settled finally at Perugia about 1500, his distinguished scholar must
have joined him at the age of sixteen or seventeen, and not some years
earlier, as has been generally assumed. Even at this age it is
sufficiently wonderful that the scholar should have been fitted to
select the best qualities in his master’s style, and indeed very soon to
improve upon them.

Besides the works which his native city contained, Raphael doubtless had
had opportunities of seeing the productions of Andrea Luigi di Assisi,
called Ingegno, of Niccolò di Fuligno, and other painters of the school
of Umbria. Their robust style of colour, which was somewhat modified by
Perugino and Pinturicchio, is occasionally to be traced in Raphael’s
early works. There was another quality which Perugino, in his best time,
possessed in common with other painters of his province, and which may
be said generally to characterize the school of Umbria. This was an
intensity of expression in sacred subjects indicating a deep religious
feeling; and it is so striking in the best productions of the artist
last named, that it has been considered sufficient of itself to prove
the orthodoxy of his creed, which Vasari had called in question. The
impulse was probably derived from Assisi, where some of the earliest
Italian masters had left specimens of their powers, and the source was
the doctrine of St. Francis. The history and legends of this saint (who
died in 1226), frequently exercised the pencil of the early Italians,
even to the danger of causing Bible subjects to be neglected, from the
time of Giotto to that of Angelico da Fiesole: but the chief influence
on the school above-mentioned is apparent rather in the treatment than
in the subject; it is to be recognised in a certain subdued earnestness
of expression, allied to the severe tenets of the saint of Assisi, and
exhibiting religion rather in its suffering than in its triumphant
character. This tendency received an additional impulse from the works
which Taddeo di Bartolo of Siena had left in Perugia and other parts of
Umbria early in the fifteenth century. The painters most remarkable for
the quality alluded to were Niccolò Alunno, called Niccolò di Fuligno,
and Pietro Perugino; but the same feeling had extended itself to Francia
in Bologna. The taste of the Florentine painters on the other hand, with
the single exception of Angelico da Fiesole, had long taken another
direction: their pictures of this time abound in portraits; the saints
and Madonnas of the school, those for instance of Domenico Ghirlandajo,
seem to have been taken from common nature, and are seldom inspired with
that sanctity of expression so frequent and so remarkable in the
painters above-named. In later times, the painters of the various
Italian schools, who were supposed to copy nature with too little
selection, were called _naturalisti_, and, at the period alluded to,
Florence may be considered comparatively the seat of this kind of
imitation; a tendency greatly owing, it appears, to the introduction of
early Flemish pictures, in which portraits were frequent, and in which
the back-ground and accessories were treated with an attention new to
the Italian painters.

Thus it cannot but be considered among the greatest of Raphael’s
advantages, that he had opportunities of studying in both the schools
alluded to; and in both, he of all men knew or felt what was fittest to
be imitated. The depth and fervour of expression which he imbibed from
the masters he first contemplated, and which he never relinquished, was
improved and enlivened by the accurate study of the forms and varieties
of nature to which the Florentines were devoted: again, before Raphael
arrived in Florence, Lionardo da Vinci had laid the foundation of that
profound anatomical knowledge, the only true means of representing
action, which was afterwards carried to its greatest results in the
works of Michael Angelo. The celebrated Cartoons of both these great
designers were the object of study and admiration in Florence at the
time Raphael resided there, although they were not completed quite so
soon as might be inferred from a passage in Vasari. The importance of
considering and accounting for the earliest tendency of Raphael’s
feeling, will be apparent when we remember that it reappeared in his
later, and even in his latest, works. The Dispute of the Sacrament, his
altar-pieces, and even the Cartoons, are not Florentine in their taste,
but are rather allied to the school from which he derived his first
impressions.

From 1500, or perhaps a little earlier, to 1504–5, Raphael was employed
at Perugia, or at Città di Castello (a township midway between Perugia
and Urbino); his works in the latter place must, however, have been
executed after he became a pupil of Perugino, as they clearly evince an
imitation of that painter’s manner. An altar-piece, originally in the
church of S. Niccola di Tolentino, at Città di Castello, is now in the
Vatican; a Crucifixion from the church of S. Domenico, in the same
place, is in the Fesch collection at Rome; and the celebrated Marriage
of the Virgin, from the church of S. Francesco, is at Milan. The last,
which was copied almost without alteration from a painting of Perugino,
has the date 1504, and immediately precedes Raphael’s first visit to
Florence.

The works done by Raphael in Perugia were much more numerous, to say
nothing of his assistance in pictures which pass for Perugino’s. Among
his own may be mentioned an Assumption of the Virgin, now in the
Vatican, as well as another picture of the same subject begun by
Raphael, but finished, not till after his death, by his scholars. The
fresco, in the cloister of S. Severo, at Perugia, which resembles the
upper part of the _Disputa_ (to be hereafter mentioned), has the date
1505; the lower part was finished by Perugino when very old, after
Raphael’s death. The style of this fresco bespeaks an acquaintance with
higher examples of art than Perugia contained; it was probably done
after a first visit to Florence. The interesting picture at Blenheim,
mentioned by Vasari as having been painted for the chapel Degli Ansidei,
in the church De’ Servi at Perugia, has the date 1505; it may be
considered to be the last example of Raphael’s imitation of Perugino,
and to mark the transition from that imitation to the Florentine manner.

While Raphael was studying at Perugia, Pinturicchio, a native of that
place, and an assistant of Perugino, was employed to paint some subjects
relating to the Life of Pius II., in the library, now the sacristy, of
the Duomo at Siena. Vasari relates, not without contradicting himself in
the separate lives of Raphael and Pinturicchio, that the latter availed
himself of his young friend’s skill in composition, in engaging him to
design the whole series of subjects; he further adds, that Raphael
accompanied Pinturicchio to Siena, but left him to proceed to Florence,
in order to see the Cartoons of Michael Angelo and Lionardo da Vinci.
The works in the sacristy at Siena appear to have been done before the
death of Pius III., in 1503: at that time the Cartoons in question were
not completed (M. Angelo’s was not finished and publicly shown before
1506, Vinci’s not much earlier); and as we have before seen, Raphael was
employed at Città di Castello in 1504, probably before he had seen
Florence at all. It is however certain that Raphael made some designs
for Pinturicchio, since two small compositions, almost identical with
the frescoes at Siena, and other separate studies by his hand exist,
although various reasons, too long to adduce here, render it extremely
improbable that he was ever employed at Siena. The vast number of works
which this great man executed in his very short life, make it
sufficiently difficult to assign time enough for the production of those
that are undoubted.

The amiable character, as well as the extraordinary talents of Raphael,
soon procured him the notice and admiration of the Florentine artists.
Among his chief friends were Taddeo Gaddi (in return for whose
hospitality he probably painted the Madonna del Gran Duca and the
Madonna Tempi), Ridolfo Ghirlandajo, and Fra Bartolommeo. It would be
impossible here to give a list of the works which he executed during his
residence in Florence from 1504–5 to 1508, when we find him in Rome.
Some pictures were left unfinished at the time of his departure for that
city, and were completed by Ridolfo Ghirlandajo. A picture sent to
Siena, by some supposed the Giardiniera, now at Paris, but more probably
the Lanti Madonna, was among these, as well as the Madonna painted for
the Dei family: an accurate critic, Rumohr, even supposes that the
celebrated entombment done for Perugia, which is now in the Borghese
palace in Rome, was completed from Raphael’s designs by Ridolfo
Ghirlandajo. The number of Madonnas, portraits, and altar-pieces
produced in the three or four years of Raphael’s residence in Florence,
must of necessity lead to the conclusion that the _repetitions_ of these
works, which all pretend to originality, must have been done by his
imitators. Again Vasari states, not without some probability, that
Raphael visited his native place, and painted several works there for
the Duke Guid’ Ubaldo, during the short time above-mentioned: and
Malvasia, in his account of the Bolognese school, enumerates various
works which were unknown even to Vasari.

Meanwhile Raphael reaped all the improvement which the sight of the
excellent works of art in Florence was calculated to communicate. The
inspection of the works of Michael Angelo and Lionardo da Vinci enlarged
his knowledge of form and his execution, while the inventions of the
earlier Florentine masters were diligently examined and remembered; yet
it is here important to remark, that he never imitated even the highest
examples alluded to, as he had imitated the first models from which he
studied. This is naturally to be accounted for in some degree by the
greater docility of earlier youth; but as so much has been said of the
inspiration which Raphael caught from Michael Angelo, in Florence from a
sight of the Cartoons, and in Rome from that of the ceiling of the
Capella Sistina, it is necessary to remember that a direct imitation of
Michael Angelo is no where to be traced in Raphael, and that he seemed
desirous rather of exhibiting his own feeling as distinct from that of
the great Florentine master, than of aiming at that master’s style.

From 1508 to 1520, the year of his death, Raphael resided in Rome.
Vasari relates that Bramante, the architect of Julius II., being from
the same city with Raphael and distantly related to him, had recommended
him to the Pope, as qualified to paint in fresco certain rooms of the
Vatican; but it was more probably Raphael’s great reputation, now second
to none, which was the real cause of the Pope’s notice, although
Bramante may have been the medium of communication. To the honour of
Julius it should be remembered, that he had discernment enough to fix in
every instance on the best artists of his age, and he left no means
unemployed, sometimes even to an indulgence at variance with the
haughtiness of his character, to secure their best efforts in his
service.

At no period of Raphael’s laborious life were his exertions greater than
during the reign of Julius II., that is, till 1513, the year of that
pontiff’s death. The room called the Camera della Segnatura, where the
great artist began to work, was evidently planned by him as one design,
and its four walls were appropriated to four comprehensive
subjects,—theology, philosophy, poetry, and jurisprudence. The ceiling
is occupied with single figures and subjects forming part of the same
scheme. The subject of Theology, commonly called the _Disputa_, was
begun the first, and the right hand of the upper part was first painted.
This is evident from a certain inexperience in the mechanical process of
fresco painting, which is found to disappear even in the same work. Six
of these vast subjects, besides other works, were executed between 1508
and 1513, and the two last, the Miracle of Bolsena and the Heliodorus,
are unsurpassed in colour, as well as in every other excellence fitted
for the subject and dimensions. For richness and force of local colour
these two works have often been compared to those of Titian; it should
be added that they are earlier in date than the finest oil pictures of
Titian, and that they are decidedly superior in colour to the frescoes
by that master in Padua. The supposition of Rumohr, that Giorgione may
have seen and profited by these specimens, is, however, not to be
reconciled with the date of that painter’s death. The impatience of the
character of Julius, who was bent on the speedy prosecution of this
undertaking, makes it probable that some works attributed by Vasari to
this period were executed later. The portrait of Julius, that of Bindo
Altoviti, the musician in the Sciarra palace, the Madonna di Fuligno,
the Madonna della Sedia, and the Vision of Ezekiel, belong however to
this time. The St. Cecilia, begun in 1513, was not sent to Bologna till
some years afterwards. In the last, the assistance of subordinate hands
is evident; and the variety of works in which Raphael was employed under
Leo X. made this practice of intrusting the execution of his designs to
others more and more necessary. Unfortunately, his grand works, the
frescoes of the Vatican, with the exception of two excellent specimens,
the Attila and the Liberation of Peter (painted immediately after the
accession of Leo), were completed very much in this way by his scholars.
Even the Incendio del Borgo, so remarkable for its invention and
composition, has but few traces of his own hand in the execution. The
frescoes of the Vatican have often been described as exhibiting one
comprehensive plan as to their meaning, but it is well known that the
subjects of the Attila and the Liberation of Peter were suggested by
incidents in the life of Leo, and consequently that they could not have
been thought of before the accession of that pope. Of all these works
the Attila is justly considered to be the most perfect example of fresco
painting, and to exhibit the greatest command over the material; though
produced after the death of Julius, it may be regarded as the noblest
result of that impulse which the pontiff’s energy had communicated to
Raphael. The character of Leo X., as a protector of art, has been
perhaps sometimes too favourably represented. More educated than his
predecessor, he loved the refinement which the arts and letters imparted
to his court; but he had no deep interest, like Julius, in inciting such
men as Raphael and Michael Angelo to do their utmost under his auspices.
Whether from the indifference of Leo, or from his neglecting, as Vasari
hints, to discharge his pecuniary debts to Raphael, we soon find the
painter employed in various other works, and the remaining frescoes of
the Vatican bear evidence of the frequent employment of other hands.
Many works of minor importance in the same palace were entirely executed
by his assistants.

The celebrated Cartoons were designs for tapestries, of which more than
twenty of various sizes are preserved in the Vatican. The Cartoons, it
may be inferred, were equally numerous, but seven only, now fit Hampton
Court, remain entire. A portion of another was bequeathed by the late
Prince Hoare to the Foundling Hospital, where it is now to be seen.
These works owed their existence to the Pope’s love of magnificence
rather than to a true taste for art; but although destined for a merely
ornamental purpose, some of the designs are among the very finest of
Raphael’s inventions, and a few may have been, at least in part,
executed by his hand. The Ananias, the Charge to Peter, the Paul and
Barnabas at Lystra, and the Paul preaching at Athens, are generally
considered to have the greatest pretensions to this additional interest.
The fine portrait of Leo with the Cardinals de’ Medici and de’ Rossi
completes the list of larger works undertaken for the Pope, but the many
designs by Raphael from classical or mythological subjects may be
supposed to have been also made at the suggestion of the pontiff. In
obedience to his wishes, Raphael undertook the inspection of the ancient
Roman monuments, and superintended the improvements of St. Peter’s.
Among the numerous and extensive works done for other employers may be
mentioned the Sybils in the Chiesa della Pace, the frescoes from
Apuleius’s story of Cupid and Psyche in the palace of Agostino Chigi,
called the Farnesina, where the so-called Galatea was the beginning of
another Cyclus from the same fable, the Madonna del Pesce, the Madonna
di S. Sisto, and the Spasimo di Sicilia. Many a palace in the
neighbourhood of Rome still exhibits remains of frescoes for which
Raphael at least furnished the designs; and his own Casino, near the
more modern Villa Borghese, may retain traces of his hand, but it is now
fast falling to decay. A long list of portraits might be added to the
above works, together with many interesting designs in architecture, and
even some productions in sculpture. In reviewing the amazing number of
works attributed to Raphael, it must not however be forgotten that many
are his only in the invention, and some pictures that bear his name may
have been even designed as well as finished by his imitators. The
Flemish copies of Raphael are frequent, and are to be detected, among
other indications, by their extreme smoothness; the contemporary
imitations, especially those of the earlier style of the master, by
Domenico Alfani and Vincenzo di S. Geminiano, are much less easily
distinguished. The question respecting the Urbino earthenware may be
considered to have been set at rest by Passeri (Storia delle pitture in
Maiolica di Pesaro e di altri luoghi della Provincia Metaurense). From
this inquiry, it appears, first, that the art of painting this ware had
not arrived at perfection till twenty years after Raphael’s death: and
secondly, that about that time Guid’ Ubaldo II. (della Rovere) collected
engravings after Raphael, and even original designs by him, and had them
copied in the Urbino manufactory. Battista Franco at one time
superintended the execution, and one of the artists was called Raffaello
del Colle; his name may perhaps occasionally be inscribed on the Urbino
ware, but the initials O. F. (Orazio Fontana) are the most frequent.

The Transfiguration was the last oil picture of importance on which
Raphael was employed; it was unfinished at his death, and was afterwards
completed, together with various other works, by his scholars. The last
and worst misstatement of Vasari cannot be passed over, for
unfortunately, none of the biographer’s mistakes have been oftener
repeated than that which ascribes the death of this great man to the
indulgence of his passion for the Fornarina. Cardinal Antonelli was in
possession of an original document, first published by Cancellieri,
which assigns a different, and a much more probable, cause for Raphael’s
death; it thus concludes,—“Life in him (Raphael) seemed to inform a most
fragile bodily structure, for he was all mind; and moreover, his
physical forces were much impaired by the extraordinary exertions he had
gone through, and which it is wonderful to think he could have made in
so short a life. Being then in a very delicate state of health, he
received orders one day while at the Farnesina to repair to the court;
not to lose time, he ran all the way to the Vatican, and arrived there
heated and breathless; there the sudden chill of the vast rooms, where
he was obliged to stand long consulting on the alterations of St.
Peter’s, checked the perspiration, and he was presently seized with an
indisposition. On his return home, he was attacked with a fever, which
ended in his death.” Raphael was born and died on Good Friday. Some of
his biographers have hence, through an oversight, asserted that he lived
exactly thirty-seven years. He was born March 28, 1483, and died April
6, 1520. He was buried in the Pantheon, now the church of Sta. Maria ad
Martyres, in a niche or chapel which he had himself endowed. His remains
have been lately found there.

Quatremère de Quincy’s ‘Histoire de la Vie et des Ouvrages de Rafael,
etc. Paris, 1824,’ has been improved and superseded by the notes to the
Italian translation of Longhena, Milan, 1829. Pungileoni, the author of
the ‘Elogio Storico di Giovanni Santi, Urbino, 1822,’ has been long
employed in preparing a life of Raphael. The observations of Rumohr, in
the third volume of his ‘Italienische Forschungen, Berlin, 1831,’ are
original and valuable. A few interesting facts will be found in Fea’s
‘Notizie intorno Raffaele Sanzio, Rome 1822.’ The author, however, fails
to prove the regularity of Leo’s payments to Raphael, since the latest
document concerning the frescoes in the _Stanze_ has the date 1514.

The engraving is from a miniature after the portrait by Raphael himself,
in his first manner, cut from the stucco of a wall at Urbino, which
forms the chief attraction of the Camera di’ ritratti at Florence. The
head engraved by Morghen, and so generally known, represents the
features of Bindo Altoviti, which do not even resemble in a single point
those of Raphael. The notion arose solely from a passage in Vasari’s
Lives:—‘_E a Bindo Altoviti fece il ritratto suo_;’ for Bindo Altoviti
he did his portrait (not _his own_): these words were distorted by the
Editor Bottari in a marginal note; but the error has been decisively
exposed by Missirini and others, whose account is every where received
in Italy. Nor does it appear that the Tuscans in general fell into the
mistake, for the portrait now given, and not, as Bottari asserts, the
Altoviti portrait, is engraved in the _Museum Florentinum_.

[Illustration: [Death of Ananias.]]




[Illustration]

                                 KNOX.


John Knox was born in East Lothian, in 1505, probably at the village of
Gifford, but, according to some accounts, at the small town of
Haddington, in the grammar-school of which he received the rudiments of
his education. His parents were of humble rank, but sufficiently removed
from want to support their son at the University of St. Andrew’s, which
Knox entered about the year 1524. He passed with credit through his
academical course, and took orders at the age of twenty-five, if not
sooner. In his theological reading, he was led by curiosity to examine
the works of ancient authors quoted by the scholastic divines. These
gave him new views of religion, and led him on to the perusal of the
scriptures themselves. The change in his opinions appears to have
commenced about 1535. It led him to recommend to others, as well as to
practise, a more rational course of study than that prescribed by the
ancient usage of the University. This innovation brought him under
suspicion of being attached to the principles of the Reformation, which
was making secret progress in Scotland: and, having ventured to censure
the corruptions which prevailed in the Church, he found it expedient to
quit St. Andrew’s in 1542, and return to the south of Scotland, where he
openly avowed his adherence to the Reformed doctrines.

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by B. Holl._

  JOHN KNOX.

  _From a Picture in the possession of Lord Somerville._

  Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]

Having cut himself off from the emoluments of the Established Church,
Knox engaged as tutor in the family of Douglas of Langniddrie, a
gentleman of East Lothian. As a man of known ability, and as a priest,
he was especially obnoxious to the hierarchy; and it is said that
Archbishop Beatoun sought his life by private assassination, as well as
openly under colour of the law. At Easter, 1547, Knox, with many other
Protestants, took refuge in the castle of St. Andrew’s, which was seized
and held, after the archbishop’s murder, by the band of conspirators who
had done the deed. He here continued his usual course of instruction to
his pupils, combined with public reading and explanation of the
scriptures to those who sought his assistance. His talents pointed him
out as a fitting person for the ministry; but he was very reluctant to
devote himself to that important charge, and was only induced to do so,
after a severe internal struggle, by a solemn call from the minister and
the assembled congregation. He distinguished himself during his short
abode at St. Andrew’s by zeal, boldness, and success in preaching. But
in the following July the castle surrendered; and, by a scandalous
violation of the articles of capitulation, the garrison were made
prisoners of war, and subjected to great and unusual ill-treatment.
Knox, with many others, was placed in a French galley, and compelled to
labour like a slave at the oar. His health was greatly injured by the
hardships which he underwent in that worst of prisons; but his spirit
rose triumphant over suffering. During this period he committed to
writing an abstract of the doctrines which he had preached, which he
found means to convey to his friends in Scotland, with an earnest
exhortation to persevere in the faith through persecution and trial. He
obtained liberty in February, 1549, but by what means is not precisely
known.

At that time, under the direction of Cranmer, and with the zealous
concurrence of the young King Edward VI., the Reformation in England was
advancing with rapid pace. Knox repaired thither, as to the safest
harbour; and in the dearth of able and earnest preachers which then
existed, he found at once a welcome and active employment. The north was
appointed to be the scene of his usefulness, and he continued to preach
there, living chiefly at Berwick and Newcastle, till the end of 1552. He
was then summoned to London, to appear before the Privy Council on a
frivolous charge, of which he was honourably acquitted. The King was
anxious to secure his services to the English Church, and caused the
living of All Hallows, in London, and even a bishopric, to be offered
him. But Knox had conscientious scruples to some points of the English
establishment. He continued, however, to preach, itinerating through the
country, until, after the accession of Mary, the exercise of the
Protestant religion was forbidden by act of parliament, December 20,
1553. Shortly afterwards he yielded to the importunity of his friends,
and consulted his own safety by retiring to France. Previous to his
departure, he solemnised his marriage with Miss Bowes, a Yorkshire lady
of good family, to whom he had been some time engaged.

Knox took up his abode in the first instance at Dieppe, but he soon went
to Geneva, and there made acquaintance with Calvin, whom he loved and
venerated, and followed more closely than any others of the fathers of
the Reformation in his views both of doctrine and ecclesiastical
discipline. Towards the close of 1554 he was invited by a congregation
of English exiles resident at Frankfort to become one of their pastors.
Internal discords, chiefly concerning the ritual and matters of
ceremonial observance, in which, notwithstanding the severe and
uncomplying temper usually ascribed to him, no blame seems justly due to
Knox, soon forced him to quit this charge, and he returned to Geneva;
where he spent more than a year in a learned leisure, peculiarly
grateful to him after the troubled life which he had led so long. But in
August, 1555, moved by the favourable aspect of the time, and by the
entreaties of his family, from whom he had now been separated near two
years, he returned to Scotland, and was surprised and rejoiced at the
extraordinary avidity with which his preaching was attended. He visited
various districts, both north and south, and won over two noblemen, who
became eminent supporters of the Reformation, the heir-apparent of the
earldom of Argyle, and Lord James Stuart, afterwards Earl of Murray. But
in the middle of these successful labours he received a call from an
English congregation at Geneva to become their pastor; and he appears to
have felt it a duty to comply with their request. It would seem more
consonant to his character to have remained in Scotland, to watch over
the seed which he had sown, and that his own country had the most
pressing claim upon his services. But the whole tenor of his life
warrants the belief that he was actuated by no unworthy or selfish
motives; and in the absence of definite information, some insight into
the nature of his feelings may probably be gained from a letter
addressed to some friends in Edinburgh, in March, 1557. “Assure of that,
that whenever a greater number among you shall call upon me than now
hath bound me to serve them, by His grace it shall not be the fear of
punishment, neither yet of the death temporal, that shall impede my
coming to you.” He quitted Scotland in July, 1556.

During this absence Knox maintained a frequent correspondence with his
brethren in Scotland, and both by exhortation and by his advice upon
difficult questions submitted to his judgment, was still of material
service in keeping alive their spirit. Two of his works composed during
this period require mention; his share in the English translation of the
Scriptures, commonly called the ‘Geneva Bible,’ and the ‘Blast of the
Trumpet against the monstrous Regimen of Women,’ a treatise expressly
directed against the government of Mary of England, but containing a
bold and unqualified enunciation of the principle, that to admit a woman
to sovereignty is contrary to nature, justice, and the revealed will of
God. In January, 1559, at the invitation of the leading persons of the
Protestant congregation, he again returned to Scotland. Matters at this
time were drawing to a crisis. The Queen Regent, after temporising while
the support of a large and powerful party was essential to her, had
thrown off disguise, and openly avowed her determination to use force
for the suppression of heresy: while the leading Protestants avowed as
plainly their resolution of protecting their preachers; and becoming
more and more sensible of their own increasing strength, resolved to
abolish the Roman, and set up the Reformed method of worship in those
places to which their influence or feudal power extended. St. Andrew’s
was fixed on for the commencement of the experiment; and under the
protection of the Earl of Argyle and Lord James Stuart, Prior of St.
Andrew’s, Knox, who on his landing had been proclaimed a rebel and
outlaw, undertook to preach publicly in the cathedral of that city. The
archbishop sent word that he should be fired upon if he ventured to
appear in the pulpit, and as that prelate was supported by a stronger
force than the retinue of the Protestant noblemen, they thought it best
that he should abstain at this time from thus exposing his life. Knox
remained firm to his purpose. After reminding them that he had first
preached the Gospel in that church, of the sufferings of his captivity,
and of the confident hope which he had expressed to many that he should
again perform his high mission in that same church, he besought them not
to stand in the way when Providence had brought him to the spot. The
archbishop’s proved to be an empty threat. Knox preached for four
successive days without interruption, and with such effect, that the
magistrates and the inhabitants agreed to set up the reformed worship in
their town; the monasteries were destroyed, and the churches stripped of
images and pictures. Both parties now rose in arms. During the contest
which ensued, Knox was a chief agent in conducting the correspondence
between Elizabeth and the Lords of the Congregation. The task suited
neither his profession nor his character, and he rejoiced when he was
relieved from it. In July, 1560, a treaty was concluded with the King
and Queen of France, by which the administration of the Queen Regent was
terminated; and in August a parliament was convoked, which abolished the
papal jurisdiction, prohibited the celebration of mass, and rescinded
the laws enacted against Protestant worship.

From the persecuted and endangered teacher of a proscribed religion,
Knox had now become, not indeed the head, but a leader and venerated
father of an Established Church. He was at once appointed the Protestant
minister of Edinburgh, and his influence ceased not to be felt from this
time forward in all things connected with the Church, and in many
particulars of civil policy. Still his anxieties were far from an end.
Many things threatened and impeded the infant Church. Far from
acquiescing in the recent acts of the parliament, the young King and
Queen of France were bent on putting down the rebellion, as they termed
it, in Scotland by force of arms. The death of Francis put an end to
that danger; but another, no less serious, was opened by the arrival of
Mary in August, 1561, to assume her paternal sovereignty, with a fixed
determination of reviving the supremacy of the religion in which she had
been brought up, and to which she was devotedly attached. There were
also two subjects upon which Knox felt peculiarly anxious, and in which
he was thwarted by the lukewarmness, as he considered it, of the
legislature,—the establishment of a strict and efficacious system of
church discipline, and the entire devotion of the wealth of the Catholic
priesthood to the promotion of education, and the maintenance of the
true religion. In both these points he was thwarted by the indifference
or interestedness of the nobility, who had possessed themselves, to a
large amount, of the lands and tithes formerly enjoyed by monasteries.

It soon became evident that the Queen disliked and feared Knox. She
regarded his ‘Blast against the Regimen of Women’ as an attack upon her
own right to the throne; and this is not surprising, though Knox always
declared that book to be levelled solely against the late Queen of
England, and professed his perfect readiness to submit to Mary’s
authority in all things lawful, and to wave all discussion or allusion
to the obnoxious tenet. His freedom of speech in the pulpit was another
constant source of offence; and it is not to be denied that, although
the feelings of that age warranted a greater latitude than would now be
tolerated in a teacher of religion, his energetic and severe temper led
him to use violent and indiscreet language in speaking of public men and
public things. For Mary herself he prayed in terms which, however
fitting for a minister to employ towards one of his flock whom he
regarded to be in deadly and pernicious error, a queen could hardly be
expected to endure from a subject without anger. Accordingly, he was
several times summoned to her presence, to apologise or answer for his
conduct. The narrations of these interviews are very interesting: they
show the ascendancy which he had gained over the haughty spirit of the
Queen, and at the same time exonerate him from the charge urged by her
apologists of having treated her with personal disrespect, and even
brutality. He expressed uncourtly opinions in plain and severe language;
farther than this he neither violated the courtesy due from man to
woman, nor the respect due from a subject to a superior. In addition to
the causes of offence already specified, he had remonstrated, from her
first landing, against the toleration of the mass in her own chapel. And
at a later time, he spoke so freely concerning the probable consequence
to the Reformed Church from her marrying a <DW7>, that in reprimanding
and remonstrating with him she burst into a passion of tears. He
remained unmoved, protesting that he saw her Majesty’s tears with
reluctance, but was constrained, since he had given her no just ground
of offence, rather to sustain her tears than to hurt his conscience, and
betray the commonwealth through his silence. This interview is one of
the things upon which Mr. Hume has sought to raise a prejudice against
the reformer in his partial account of this period.

Many of the nobility who had aided in the establishment of the
Reformation, gained over either by the fascination of Mary’s beauty and
manners, or by the still more cogent appeal of personal interest, were
far from seconding Knox’s efforts, or partaking in his apprehensions.
The Earl of Murray was so far won over to adopt a temporising and
conciliatory policy, that a quarrel ensued in 1563 between him and Knox,
which lasted for two years, until quenched, as Knox expresses it, by the
water of affliction. Maitland of Lethington, once an active Reformer, a
man of powerful and versatile talents, who was now made Secretary of
State, openly espoused the Queen’s wishes. In the summer of 1563, Knox
was involved in a charge of high treason, for having addressed a
circular to the chief Protestant gentlemen, requesting them to attend
the trial of two persons accused of having created a riot at the Queen’s
chapel. It appears that he held an especial commission from the General
Assembly to summon such meetings, when occasion seemed to him to require
them. Upon this charge of treasonably convoking the lieges, he was
brought before the privy council. Murray and Maitland were earnest to
persuade him into submission and acknowledgment of error. Knox, however,
with his usual firmness and uprightness, refused positively to confess a
fault when he was conscious of none, and defended himself with so much
power, that by the voice of a majority of the council he was declared
free of all blame.

In March, 1564, more than three years after the death of his first wife,
Knox was again married to a daughter of Lord Ochiltree, a zealous
Protestant. Throughout that year and the following, he continued to
preach as usual. Meanwhile, the Protestant establishment, though
confirmed by the parliament, remained still unrecognised by the Queen,
whose hasty marriage to Lord Henry Darnley in July, 1565, increased the
alarm with which her conduct had already inspired the Reformers. But
early in the following year, when Mary, in conjunction with her uncles
of the House of Lorrain, had planned the formal re-establishment of
Catholicism, her dissensions with her husband led to the assassination
of Rizzio, and in rapid succession to the murder of Darnley, her
marriage with Bothwell, and the train of events which ended in her
formal deposition and the coronation of her infant son James VI. It is
denied that Knox was privy to the assassination of Rizzio, and the tenor
of his actions warrants us in disbelieving that he would have been an
accomplice in any deed of blood; but after that event, he spoke of it in
terms of satisfaction, indiscreet, liable to perversion, and unbecoming
a Christian preacher. The Queen’s resentment for this and other reasons
became so warm against him, that it was judged proper for him to retire
from Edinburgh. He preached at the coronation of James VI. After Mary
was made prisoner and confined at Lochleven, he, in common with most of
the ministers and the great body of the people, insisted strongly on the
duty of bringing her to trial for the crimes of murder and adultery, and
of inflicting capital punishment if her guilt were proved.

During the short regency of Murray, Knox had the satisfaction, not only
of being freed from the personal disquietudes which had been his portion
almost through life, but of seeing the interests of the Church, if not
maintained to the full extent which he could wish, at least treated with
respect, and advocated as far as the crooked course of state-policy
would permit. The murder of that distinguished nobleman, January 23,
1570, affected Knox doubly, as the premature decease of a loved and
esteemed friend, and as a public calamity to church and state.

In the following October he suffered a slight fit of apoplexy, from
which however he soon recovered so far as to resume his Sunday
preachings. But the troubled times which followed on the death of the
Regent Murray denied to him in Edinburgh that repose which his
infirmities demanded, and in May, 1571, he was reluctantly induced to
retire from his ministry and again to seek a refuge in St. Andrew’s. Nor
was his residence in that city one of peace or ease, for he was troubled
by a party favourable to the Queen’s interests, especially by that
Archibald Hamilton who afterwards apostatised to the Roman Catholic
Church and became his bitter calumniator; and he was placed in
opposition to the Regent Morton with respect to the filling up of vacant
bishoprics and the disposal of church property, which, far from being
applied to the maintenance of religion and the diffusion of education,
was still in great measure monopolised by the nobility. In August, 1572,
his health being rapidly declining, he returned to Edinburgh at the
earnest request of his congregation, who longed to hear his voice in the
pulpit once more. He felt death to be nigh at hand, and was above all
things anxious to witness the appointment of a zealous and able
successor to the important station in the ministry which he filled. This
was done to his satisfaction. On Sunday, November 9, he preached and
presided at the installation of his successor, James Lawson, and he
never after quitted his own house. He sickened on the 11th, and expired
November 24, 1572, after a fortnight’s illness, in which he displayed
unmixed tranquillity, and assured trust in a happy futurity, through the
promises of the Gospel which he had preached. It is the more necessary
to state this, because his calumniators dared to assert that his death
was accompanied by horrid prodigies, and visible marks of divine
reprobation. The same tales have been related of Luther and Calvin.

Knox’s moral character we may safely pronounce to have been unblemished,
notwithstanding the outrageous charges of dissolute conversation which
have been brought by some writers against him,—calumnies equally
levelled against Beza, Calvin, and other fathers of the Reformation, and
which bear their own refutation in their extravagance. As a preacher, he
was energetic and effective, and uncommonly powerful in awakening the
negligent or the hardened conscience. As a Reformer and leader of the
Church, he was fitted for the stormy times and the turbulent and
resolute people among whom his lot was cast, by the very qualities which
have been made a reproach to him in a more polished age, and by a less
zealous generation. He was possessed of strong natural talents, and a
determined will which shunned neither danger nor labour. He was of
middle age when he began the study of Greek, and it was still later in
life when he acquired the Hebrew language,—tasks of no small difficulty
when we consider the harassed and laborious tenor of his life. No
considerations of temporising prudence could seduce him into the
compromise of an important principle; no thought of personal danger
could make him shrink when called to confront it. His deep sense and
resolute discharge of duty, coupled with a natural fire and impetuosity
of temper, sometimes led him into severity. But that his disposition was
deeply affectionate is proved by his private correspondence; and that
his severity proceeded from no acerbity of temper may be inferred from
his having employed his powerful influence as a mediator for those who
had borne arms against his party, and from his having never used it to
avenge an injury. The best apology for his occasional harshness is that
contained in the words of his own dying address to the elders of his
church as quoted by Dr. M’Crie. “I know that many have frequently
complained, and do still loudly complain, of my too great severity; but
God knows that my mind was always void of hatred to the persons of those
against whom I thundered the severest judgments. I cannot deny but that
I felt the greatest abhorrence at the sins in which they indulged; but
still I kept this one thing in view, that, if possible, I might gain
them to the Lord. What influenced me to utter whatever the Lord put into
my mouth so boldly, and without respect of persons, was a reverential
fear of my God, who called and of His grace appointed me to be a steward
of divine mysteries, and a belief that He will demand an account of the
manner in which I have discharged the trust committed to me, when I
shall at last stand before His tribunal.”

A list of Knox’s printed works, nineteen in number, is given by Dr.
M’Crie at the end of his notes. They consist chiefly of short religious
pieces, exhortations, and sermons. In addition to those more important
books which we have already noticed, his ‘History of the Church of
Scotland’ requires mention. The best edition is that printed at
Edinburgh in 1732, which contains a life of the author, the ‘Regimen of
Women,’ and some other pieces. Dr. M’Crie’s admirable ‘Life of Knox’
will direct the reader to the original sources of the history of this
period.

[Illustration: [Knox’s House in the Canongate, Edinburgh.]]

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by W. Holl._

  ADAM SMITH.

  _From a Medallion executed in the life time of A. Smith, by Tafsiel._

  Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]




[Illustration]

                               A. SMITH.


Adam Smith was born June 5, 1723, at Kirkaldy, in the county of Fife,
where his father held the place of comptroller of the customs. Being a
posthumous and only child, he became the sole object of his widowed
mother’s tenderness and solicitude; and this was increased by the
delicacy of his constitution. Upon her devolved the sole charge of his
education; and the value of her care may be estimated from the
uninterrupted harmony and deep mutual affection which united them,
unchilled, to the end of life. He was remarkable for his love of reading
and the excellence of his memory, even at the early age when she first
placed him at the grammar-school of Kirkaldy, where he won the affection
of his companions by his amiable disposition, though the weakness of his
frame hindered him from joining in their sports.

At the age of fourteen he was sent to the University of Glasgow, from
which, at the end of three years, he was removed to Baliol College,
Oxford, in order to qualify himself for taking orders in the English
Church. Mathematics and natural philosophy seem to have been his
favourite pursuits at Glasgow; but at Oxford he devoted all his leisure
hours to belles-lettres, and the moral and political sciences. Among
these political economy cannot be reckoned; for at that period it was
unknown even in name: still, in such studies, and by the sedulous
improvement of his understanding, he was laying the foundations of his
immortal work. He remained seven years at Oxford, without conceiving, as
may be inferred from some passages in the ‘Wealth of Nations,’ any high
respect for the system of education then pursued in the University; and,
having given up all thoughts of taking orders, he returned to his
mother’s house at Kirkaldy, and devoted himself entirely to literature
and science. In 1748 he removed to Edinburgh, where, under Lord Kames’s
patronage, he delivered a course of lectures on rhetoric and
belles-lettres. These were never published; and, with other papers, were
destroyed by Smith a short time before his death. Dr. Blair, in the
well-known course which he delivered ten years afterwards on the same
subject, acknowledges how greatly he was indebted to his predecessor,
and how largely he had borrowed from him.

In 1751 Mr. Smith was elected Professor of Logic in the University of
Glasgow, and in the following year he was transferred to the chair of
Moral Philosophy, which he filled during thirteen years. The following
account of his lectures is given by Professor Millar. “His course of
lectures on this subject was divided into four parts. The first
contained natural theology, in which he considered the proofs of the
being and attributes of God, and those principles of the human mind upon
which religion is founded. The second comprehended ethics, strictly so
called, and consisted chiefly of the doctrines which he afterwards
published in his ‘Theory of Moral Sentiments.’ In the third part he
treated more at length of that branch of morality which relates to
justice, and which, being susceptible of precise and accurate rules, is
for that reason capable of a full and particular explanation.... In the
last part of his lectures he examined those political regulations which
are founded, not on the principle of justice, but on that of expediency,
and which are calculated to increase the riches, the power, and the
prosperity of a state. Under this view, he considered the political
institutions relating to commerce, to finances, to ecclesiastical and
military establishments. What he delivered on these subjects contained
the substance of the work he afterwards published under the title of ‘An
Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations.’”

“There was no situation in which the abilities of Dr. Smith appeared to
greater advantage than as a professor. In delivering his lectures, he
trusted almost entirely to extemporary elocution. His manner, though not
graceful, was plain and unaffected; and as he seemed to be always
interested in the subject, he never failed to interest his hearers. Each
discourse consisted of several distinct propositions, which he
successively endeavoured to prove and to illustrate. These propositions,
when announced in general terms, had, from their extent, not
unfrequently something of the air of a paradox. In his attempts to
explain them, he often appeared at first not to be sufficiently
possessed of the subject, and spoke with some hesitation. As he
advanced, however, the matter seemed to crowd upon him, his manner
became warm and animated, and his expression easy and fluent. In points
susceptible of controversy, you could easily discern that he secretly
conceived an opposition to his opinions, and that he was led upon this
account to support them with greater energy and vehemence. By the
fulness and variety of his illustrations, the subject gradually swelled
in his hands, and acquired a dimension which, without a tedious
repetition of the same views, was calculated to seize the attention of
his audience, and to afford them pleasure as well as instruction in
following the same object through all the diversity of shades and
aspects in which it was presented, and afterwards in tracing it
backwards to that original proposition or general truth from which this
beautiful train of speculation had proceeded.”

“His reputation as a professor was accordingly raised very high, and a
multitude of students from a great distance resorted to the University
merely upon his account. Those branches of science which he taught
became fashionable at this place, and his opinions were the chief topics
of discussion in clubs and literary societies. Even the small
peculiarities in his pronunciation or manner of speaking became
frequently the objects of imitation.”

Smith published his ‘Theory of Moral Sentiments’ in 1759. The
fundamental principle of this work, we use the summary of Mr.
Macculloch, is that “_sympathy_ forms the real foundation of morals;
that we do not immediately approve or disapprove of any given action,
when we have become acquainted with the intention of the agent and the
consequences of what he has done, but that we previously enter, by means
of that sympathetic affection which is natural to us, into the feelings
of the agent, and those to whom the action relates; that having
considered all the motives and passions by which the agent was actuated,
we pronounce, with respect to the _propriety_ or _impropriety_ of the
action, according as we sympathise or not with him; while we pronounce,
with respect to the _merit_ or _demerit_ of the action, according as we
sympathise with the gratitude or resentment of those who were its
objects; and that we necessarily judge of our own conduct by comparing
it with such maxims and rules as we have deduced from observations
previously made on the conduct of others.” This theory, ingenious as it
is, is generally abandoned as untenable. Dr. Brown has argued, and the
objection seems fatal, that though sympathy may diffuse, it cannot
originate moral sentiments: at the same time he bears the strongest
testimony to the literary merits and moral tendency of the work.

In 1763 Smith received from the University of Glasgow the honorary
degree of Doctor of Laws, and he was offered, and accepted, the
situation of travelling tutor to the young Duke of Buccleugh. His long
residence in the populous and manufacturing metropolis of western
Scotland had enabled him to collect a rich hoard of materials for the
great work he had in view; and this new appointment changed the method,
rather than interrupted the course, of his studies. It afforded him the
means of examining the habits, institutions, and condition of man under
new forms, and in new countries, and he observed with his natural
acuteness and sagacity the influence of locality, of climate, and of
government. He no doubt derived considerable advantage from the society
of the distinguished men with whom he associated at Paris; among these,
Turgot, D’Alembert, Helvetius, Marmontel, Morellet, Rochefoucauld, and
Quesnay, were his intimate friends. So highly did he appreciate the
talents of the last-named person as an economist, that he had intended,
had Quesnay lived, to have acknowledged the debt he owed him by
dedicating to him his own great work on the ‘Wealth of Nations.’

Having spent two years on the Continent, Dr. Smith returned to England
with his pupil, and soon after joined his mother at Kirkaldy, where he
resided for about ten years almost entirely in seclusion, occupied in
the prosecution of his great work. It was published in 1776; and few
books have ever been given to the world tending more directly to destroy
the prejudices, develop the powers, and promote the happiness of
mankind. But the world at that time was not clear-sighted enough to
appreciate its merits. Dr. Smith however had the gratification to see
that, during fifteen years which elapsed between its publication and his
death, it had produced a considerable effect upon public opinion, and
that the eyes of men were beginning to be opened upon an object of such
importance to human happiness. In this country at least Dr. Smith was
the creator of the science of political economy, for he had only a chaos
of materials from which to form it. Some defects may be discovered in
his arrangement, and some errors detected in the principles as laid down
by him; for it is hardly given to human intellect, that the originator
of a science should also carry it to perfection. But Smith established
the foundation upon which all future superstructures must rest; and the
labours of Ricardo, Malthus, and some now living, eminent as they are,
instead of superseding their predecessor do but enhance his merit. With
all the progress which liberty of every kind has made since his time, no
one has maintained the freedom of industry in all its bearings more
forcibly than himself. The theories of rent, and of population, seem to
be the only important branches of the science, as it now stands, which
had escaped his observation.

In 1778 Dr. Smith was appointed Commissioner of the Customs for
Scotland. The duties of his office obliged him to quit London, where he
had resided for two years subsequent to the publication of the ‘Wealth
of Nations,’ and where his society had been courted by the most
distinguished characters; and he took up his abode in Edinburgh,
accompanied by his aged mother. In 1787 he was elected Rector of the
University of Glasgow; a compliment which gave him great pleasure, as he
was much attached to that body, and grateful for the services it had
rendered him in his youth, and the honours it had conferred on him at a
more advanced age.

His mother died in 1784, and his grief on this occasion is supposed to
have injured his health, and his constitution, which had never been
robust, began to give way. He suffered another severe privation in the
death of his cousin, Miss Douglas, who had managed his household for
many years, since the infirmities of his parent had disqualified her for
that employment. He survived Miss Douglas only two years, and died in
1790 of a tedious and painful illness, which he bore with patience and
resignation.

Adam Smith’s private character is thus summed up by his friend Mr.
Dugald Stewart: “The more delicate and characteristical features of his
mind it is perhaps impossible to trace. That there were many
peculiarities both in his manners and in his intellectual habits was
manifest to the most superficial observer; but, although to those who
knew him, these peculiarities detracted nothing from the respect which
his abilities commanded; and although, to his intimate friends, they
added an inexpressible charm to his conversation, while they displayed
in the most interesting light the artless simplicity of his heart, yet
it would require a very skilful pencil to present them to the public
eye. He was certainly not fitted for the general commerce of the world,
or for the business of active life. The comprehensive speculations with
which he had been occupied from his youth, and the variety of materials
which his own inventions continually supplied to his thoughts, rendered
him habitually inattentive to familiar objects and to common
occurrences; and he frequently exhibited instances of absence which had
scarcely been surpassed by the fancy of La Bruyère. Even in company he
was apt to be engrossed with his studies, and appeared, at times, by the
motion of his lips, as well as by his looks and gestures, to be in the
fervour of composition. I have often however been struck, at the
distance of years, with his accurate memory of the most trifling
particulars; and am inclined to believe, from this and some other
circumstances, that he possessed a power, not perhaps uncommon among
absent men, of recollecting, in consequence of subsequent efforts of
reflection, many occurrences which, at the time when they happened, did
not seem to have sensibly attracted his notice.

“To the defect now mentioned, it was probably owing, in part, that he
did not fall in easily with the common dialogue of conversation, and
that he was somewhat apt to convey his own ideas in the form of a
lecture. When he did so however, it never proceeded from a wish to
engross the discourse, or gratify his vanity. His own inclination
disposed him so strongly to enjoy in silence the gaiety of those around
him, that his friends were often led to concert little schemes, in order
to engage him in the discussions most likely to interest him. Nor do I
think I shall be accused of going too far, when I say that he was
scarcely ever known to start a new topic himself, or to appear
unprepared upon those topics that were introduced by others. Indeed, his
conversation was never more amusing than when he gave a loose to his
genius, upon the very few branches of knowledge of which he only
possessed the outlines.

“In his external form and appearance there was nothing uncommon. When
perfectly at ease, and when warmed with conversation, his gestures were
animated, and not ungraceful; and in the society of those he loved, his
features were often brightened with a smile of inexpressible
benignity.... He never sat for his picture, but the medallion by Tassie
conveys an exact idea of his profile, and of the general expression of
his countenance.” It is from this that our portrait of him is engraved.

To those of Smith’s works of which we have already spoken, we have to
add two articles in a short-lived periodical publication, called the
‘Edinburgh Review,’ for 1755, containing a review of Johnson’s
Dictionary, and a letter on the state of literature in the different
countries of Europe; an ‘Essay on the Formation of Languages;’ and
Essays, published after his death by his desire, with an account of his
life and writings prefixed, by Dugald Stewart, on the Principles which
lead and direct Philosophical Inquiries; on the nature of the Imitation
practised in the Imitative Arts; on the affinity between certain English
and Italian verses; and on the External Senses. To that account of his
life we may refer for an able analysis of his most important writings,
as well as to the memoir prefixed to Mr. Macculloch’s edition of the
‘Wealth of Nations,’ from which this sketch is principally taken.

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by T. Woolnoth._

  CALVIN.

  _From a Print engraved by C. Dankertz._

  Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]




[Illustration]

                                CALVIN.


John Cauvin (afterwards called Calvin) was born of humble parents, his
father following the trade of a cooper, at Noyon in Picardy, July 10,
1509. He was intended in the first instance for the profession of the
church, and two benefices were already set apart for him, when, at a
very early age, from what motive is not exactly known, his destination
was suddenly changed, and he was sent, first to Orleans and then to
Bourges, to learn under distinguished teachers the science of
jurisprudence. He is said to have made great proficiency in that study;
but nevertheless, he found leisure to cultivate other talents, and made
himself acquainted with Greek, Hebrew, and Syriac, during his residence
at Bourges. His natural inclination seems ever to have bent him towards
those pursuits to which his earliest attention was directed; and though
he never attended the schools of theology, nor had at any time any
public master in that science, yet his thoughts were never far away from
it; and the time which he could spare from his professional labours was
employed on subjects bearing more or less directly upon religion.

Thus it was, that he failed not to take part in the discussions, which
arose in France during his early years, respecting the principles of the
Reformation; and it may be, that his happy escape from theological
tuition made him more disposed to embrace them. It is certain that his
opposition to the Church of Rome became very soon notorious, and made
him, young as he was, an object of jealousy to some of its powerful
adherents. Even the moderate Erasmus viewed his aspiring talents and
determined character with some undefined apprehension; and he is related
(after a conversation with Calvin at Strasbourg) to have remarked to
Bucer, who had presented him,—“I see in that young man the seeds of a
dangerous pest, which will some day throw great disorder into the
Church.” The weak and wavering character of Erasmus renders it difficult
for us to understand what sort of disorder it was that he anticipated,
or what exactly was the _Church_ on which the apprehended mischief was
to fall. In 1535 Calvin published his great work, the ‘Christian
Institute,’ which was intended as a sort of confession of faith of the
French reformers, in answer to the calumnies which confounded them with
the frantic Anabaptists of Germany.

In 1536, finding that his person was no longer secure in France, Calvin
determined to retire into Germany, and was compelled by accident to pass
through Geneva. He found this city in a state of extreme confusion. The
civil government was popular, and in those days tumultuous: the
ecclesiastical had been entirely dissolved by the departure of the
bishops and clergy on the triumph of the Reformation, and only such laws
existed as the individual influence of the pastors was able to impose
upon their several flocks. It was a tempting field for spiritual
ambition, and Calvin was readily persuaded to enter into it. He decided
to remain at Geneva, and forthwith opened a theological school.

In the very year following his arrival, he formed the design of
introducing into his adopted country a regular system of ecclesiastical
polity. He assembled the people; and, not without much opposition,
prevailed on them at length to bind themselves by oath; _first_, that
they would not again, on any consideration, ever submit to the dominion
of Rome; _secondly_, that they would render obedience to a certain code
of ecclesiastical laws, which he and his colleagues had drawn up for
them. Some writers do not expressly mention that this second proposition
was accepted by the people—if accepted, it was immediately violated: and
as Calvin and his clerical coadjutors (who were only two in number)
refused with firmness to administer the holy communion to such as
rejected the condition, the people, not yet prepared to endure that
bondage, banished the spiritual legislators from the city, in April,
1538.

Calvin retired to Strasbourg, where he renewed his intimacy with Bucer,
and became more and more distinguished for his talents and learning. He
was present at the Conferences of Worms and Ratisbon, where he gained
additional reputation. He founded a French reformed church at
Strasbourg, and obtained a theological chair in that city; at the same
time, he continued in communication with Geneva, and in expressions of
unabated affection for his former adherents. Meanwhile, the disorders
which had prevailed in that city were in no manner alleviated by his
exile, and a strong reaction gradually took place in his favour;
insomuch, that, in the year 1541, there being a vacancy in the ministry,
the senate and the assembly of the people proclaimed with equal
vehemence their wish for the return of Calvin. “We will have Calvin,
that good and learned man, Christ’s minister.” “This,” says Calvin,
Epist. 24, “when I understood, I could not choose but praise God; nor
was I able to judge otherwise, than that this was the Lord’s doing; and
that it was marvellous in our eyes; and that the stone which the
builders refused was now made the head of the corner.”

It was on September 13th that he returned from his exile in the pride of
spiritual triumph; and he began, without any loss of time, while the
feelings of all classes were yet warm in his favour, to establish that
rigid form of ecclesiastical discipline which he may formerly have
meditated, but which he did not fully propound till now. He proposed to
institute a standing court (the Consistory), consisting of all the
ministers of religion, who were to be perpetual members, and also of
twice the same number of laymen to be chosen annually. To these he
committed the charge of public morality, with power to determine all
kinds of ecclesiastical causes; with authority to convene, control, and
punish, even with excommunication, whomsoever they might think
deserving. It was in vain that many advanced objections to this scheme:
that they urged the despotic character of this court; the certainty too,
that the perpetual judges, though fewer in number, would in fact
predominate over a majority annually elected; and that Calvin, through
his power over the clergy, would be master of the decisions of the whole
tribunal. He persisted inflexibly; and since there now remained with the
people of Geneva only the choice of receiving his laws or sending him
once more into exile, they acquiesced reluctantly in the former
determination. On the 20th of November, in the same year (1541), the
Presbytery was established at Geneva.

Maimbourg, in his ‘History of Calvinism,’ has remarked that, from this
time forward, Calvin became, not pontiff only, but also caliph, of
Geneva; since the unbounded influence which he possessed in the
Consistory extended to the council, and no important state-affair was
transacted without his advice or approbation. At the same time, he
enlarged the limits of his spiritual power, and made it felt in every
quarter of Europe. In France most especially he was regarded personally
as the head of the Reformed Church; he composed a liturgy for its use;
and, secured from persecution by his residence and dignity, he gave
laws, by his writings and his emissaries, to the scattered congregations
of Reformers. The fruits of his unwearied industry were everywhere in
their hands. His Institute, and his learned Expositions of Scripture,
were substantial foundations of spiritual authority; and he became to
his Church what the “Master of the Sentences,”—almost what Augustin
himself—had been to the Church of Rome. And he did the Reformed Church
an essential service by procuring the establishment of the academy, or
university of Geneva; which was long the principal nursery of
Presbyterian ministers, and which was the chief instrument of
communicating to the citizens of its little state, that general mental
culture and love of literature for which they have been remarkable.

The peculiarities of his religious opinions are known to all our
readers; nor indeed, at any rate, have we space, in this brief outline
of the Life of the Reformer, so to detail his tenets as to avoid the
chance of misconception, either by his followers or his adversaries. We
shall, therefore, proceed to another subject, respecting which there
will be little difference, either as to the facts themselves, or the
judgment to be formed of them—we mean that darkest act of his life,
which being, as far as we learn, unatoned and unrepented, throws so deep
a shadow over all the rest, as almost to make us question his sincerity
in any good principle, or his capability of any righteous purpose.

A Spaniard, named Servetus, born at Villa Nueva, in Aragon, in the same
year with Calvin, had been long engaged in a correspondence with the
latter, which had finally degenerated into angry and abusive
controversy. He had been educated as a physician, and had acquired great
credit in his profession; when, in an evil hour, he entered the field of
theological controversy, and professed without fear, and defended
without modification, the Unitarian doctrine; adding to it some obscure
and fanciful notions, peculiar, we believe, to his own imagination. He
published very early in life ‘Seven Books concerning the Errors of the
Trinity,’ and he continued in the same principles until the year 1553,
when he put forth (at Vienne, in Dauphiné), a work entitled ‘The
Restoration of Christianity, &c.,’ in further confirmation of his views.

Now it is very true, that the propagation of these opinions by a
professed Reformer was at that crisis a matter of great scandal, and
perhaps even of some danger to the cause of the Reformation. It was felt
as such by some of the leading Reformers. Zuinglius and Œcolampadius
eagerly disclaimed the error of Servetus. “Our Church will be very ill
spoken of,” said the latter in a letter to Bucer, “unless our divines
make it their business to cry him down.” And had they been contented to
proclaim their dissent from his doctrine, or to assail it by reasonable
argument, they would have done no more than their duty to their own
communion absolutely demanded of them.

But Calvin was not a man who would argue where he could command, or
persuade where he could overthrow. Full of vehemence and bitterness,
inflexible and relentless, he was prepared to adopt and to justify
extreme measures, wheresoever they answered his purpose best. He was
animated by the pride, intolerance, and cruelty of the Church of Rome,
and he planted and nourished those evil passions in his little
Consistory at Geneva.

Servetus, having escaped from confinement at Vienne, and flying for
refuge to Naples, was driven by evil destiny, or his own infatuation, to
Geneva. Here he strove to conceal himself, till he should be enabled to
proceed on his journey; but he was quickly discovered by Calvin, and
immediately cast into prison. This was in the summer of 1553. Presently
followed the formality of his trial; and when we read the numerous
articles of impeachment, and observe the language in which they are
couched;—when we peruse the humble petitions which he addressed to the
“Syndics and Council,” praying only that an advocate might be granted
him, which prayer was haughtily refused;—when we perceive the
misrepresentations of his doctrine, and the offensive terms of his
condemnation, we appear to be carried back again to the Halls of
Constance, and to be witnessing the fall of Huss and Jerome beneath
their Roman Catholic oppressors. So true it is (as Grotius had
sufficient reason to say), “that the Spirit of Antichrist did appear at
Geneva as well as at Rome.”

But the magistrates of this Republic did not venture completely to
execute the will of Calvin, without first consulting the other
Protestant cities of Switzerland; namely, Zurich, Berne, Bâsle, and
Schaffhausen. The answers returned by these all indicated very great
anxiety for the extinction of the heresy, without however expressly
demanding the blood of the heretic. The people of Zurich were the most
violent: and the answer of their “Pastors, Readers, and Ministers,”
which is praised and preserved by Calvin, is worthy of the communion
from which they had so lately seceded. As soon as these communications
reached Geneva, Servetus was immediately condemned to death (on the 26th
of October, 1553), and was executed on the day following.

There is extant a letter written by Calvin to his friend and
brother-minister, William Farel (dated the 26th), which announces that
the fatal sentence had been passed, and would be executed on the morrow.
It is only remarkable for the cold conciseness and heartless
indifference of its expressions. Not a single word indicates any feeling
of compassion or repugnance. And as the work of persecution was carried
on without mercy, and completed without pity, so likewise was it
recollected without remorse; and the Protestant Republican Minister of
Christ continued for some years afterwards to insult with abusive
epithets the memory of his victim.

Soon after the death of Servetus, Calvin published a vindication of his
proceedings, in which he defended, without any compromise, the principle
on which he had acted. It is entitled, “A Faithful Exposition and short
Refutation of the Errors of Servetus, wherein it is shown that heretics
should be restrained by the power of the sword.” His friend and
biographer Beza also put forth a work “On the propriety of punishing
Heretics by the Civil authority.” Thus Calvin not only indulged his own
malevolent humour, but also sought to establish among the avowed
principles of his own Church the duty of exterminating all who might
happen to differ from it.

He lived eleven years longer; and expired at Geneva on the 27th of May,
1564; having maintained his authority to the end of his life, without
acquiring any of the affection of those about him. Neither of these
circumstances need surprise us, for it was his character to awe, to
command, and to repel. Fearless, inflexible, morose, and imperious; he
neither courted any one, nor yielded to any one, nor conciliated any
one. Yet he was sensible of, and seemingly contrite for, his defects of
temper; for he writes to Bucer: “I have not had harder contests with my
vices, which are great and many, than with my impatience. I have not yet
been able to subdue that savage brute.” His talents were extremely
powerful, both for literature and for business. His profound and various
learning acquired for him the general respect which it deserved. He was
active and indefatigable; he slept little, and was remarkable for his
abstemious habits. With a heart inflated and embittered with spiritual
pride, he affected a perfect simplicity of manner; and professed, and
may indeed have felt, a consummate contempt for the ordinary objects of
human ambition. Besides this, he was far removed from the besetting vice
of common minds, by which even noble qualities are so frequently
degraded—avarice. He neither loved money for itself, nor grasped at it
for its uses; and at his death, the whole amount of his property,
including his library, did not exceed, at the lowest statement, one
hundred and twenty-five crowns, at the highest, three hundred.

We may thus readily understand how it was that Calvin acquired, through
the mere force of personal character thrown into favourable
circumstances, power almost uncontrolled over a state of which he was
not so much as a native, and considerable influence besides over the
spiritual condition of Europe—power and influence, of which deep traces
still exist both in the country which adopted him, and in others where
he was only known by his writings and his doctrines. His doctrines still
divide the Christian world; but that ecclesiastical principle, which
called in the authority of the sword for their defence, has been long
and indignantly disclaimed by all his followers.

The best clue to the real character of Calvin will be found in his
letters. Many accounts of his life, as well as of his doctrines and
writings, exist; but they are mostly influenced by party feeling. The
earliest is that of his friend Beza; it is said however not to be
strictly accurate even as to the facts of Calvin’s life before 1549,
when the author became acquainted with him, and it is of course a
panegyric.




[Illustration]

                               MANSFIELD


The first Earl of Mansfield was a younger son of a noble house in
Scotland, which he raised to higher rank by his own brilliant talents
and successful industry.

William Murray was the eleventh child of David, Viscount Stormont, and
was born at Perth, March 2, 1704. He received his education at
Westminster School and Christchurch College, Oxford, where he gained
distinction by the elegance of his scholarship. He took his degree of
M.A. in June, 1730, and was called to the bar in the Michaelmas term
following: the interval he employed in travelling in France and Italy.
At an early age he gained the friendship of Pope, who in several
passages has borne testimony to the grace, eloquence, rising fame, and
attractive social accomplishments of the young lawyer. In 1737, in
consequence of the sudden illness of his leader, who was seized with a
fit in court, Mr. Murray had to undertake, at an hour’s notice, the duty
of senior counsel, in the cause of Cibber _v._ Sloper. From his success
on this occasion he was wont to date the origin of his fortune.
“Business,” he said, “poured in upon me on all sides; and from a few
hundred pounds a year I fortunately found myself, in every subsequent
year, in possession of thousands.” In the same year he was retained by
the corporation of Edinburgh in the memorable transactions which arose
out of the Porteous riot; and his exertions to preserve their privileges
were subsequently acknowledged by the gift of the freedom of the city in
a gold box. November 20, 1738, Mr. Murray was married to Lady Elizabeth
Finch, daughter of the Earl of Winchelsea, a lady who, in addition to
rank and fortune, possessed those more valuable qualities which rendered
their married life, through near half a century, one of harmony and
domestic happiness.

Mr. Murray was appointed Solicitor-General in 1742, and took his seat in
parliament, for the first time, as member for Boroughbridge.

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by W. Holl._

  LORD MANSFIELD.

  _From the original Picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds in the Possession of
    Lord Mansfield._

  Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]

For many years, during which he held office under the Pelham
administration, he was recognized in the House of Commons as one of the
ablest supporters of government; and he was frequently opposed in the
outset of his career to Mr. Pitt, who, after the elevation of both to
the upper house, bore this high testimony, among others, to Murray’s
weight as a speaker. “No man is better acquainted with his abilities and
learning, nor has a greater respect for them, than I have. I have had
the pleasure of sitting with him in the other house, and always listened
to him with attention. I have not lost a word of what he said, nor did I
ever.” In his official station, he necessarily took a prominent part in
the prosecution of the rebel lords, especially at the trial of Lord
Lovat in 1747; and his eloquence was set off by his fairness towards the
prisoner, whose concern in the rebellion was indeed too evident to admit
of hesitation on the part of his judges. We may follow up the history of
his legal advancement by briefly stating that, in 1754, he was appointed
Attorney-General, and, in 1756, Chief Justice of the King’s Bench, and,
at the same time, raised to the peerage, by the title of Baron
Mansfield. It is said that the Duke of Newcastle was extremely unwilling
to consent to the removal of his most powerful supporter from the
Commons, but was forced to comply by the threat that, if he refused,
Murray would no longer act as Attorney-General.

Lord Mansfield’s private life appears for the most part to have been
passed in tranquil prosperity, which afforded no incidents for the
biographer to dwell on; at least the published records of him are nearly
confined to his exertions as an advocate, his speeches in parliament,
and reports on the important cases which he adjudicated. It will be
sufficient here to mention those events by which Lord Mansfield is
connected with the public history of England, and to make a few general
observations on his character as a lawyer and a judge.

In 1763, the legality of what were called general warrants, not directed
against persons by name specifically, but generally against any person
or persons supposed to be guilty of a certain act, was mooted, in
consequence of a secretary of state’s warrant to apprehend the “authors,
printers and publishers” of the celebrated No. 45 of the ‘North Briton.’
Wilkes, being apprehended by virtue of this warrant, was discharged by
Pratt, afterwards Lord Camden, Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, when
brought up before that court by writ of _habeas corpus_. The question
came before Lord Mansfield in a different form. An action of trespass
was brought in the court of Common Pleas against the messengers who
executed the warrant, and a verdict was given for the plaintiff. A bill
of exceptions against Chief Justice Pratt’s directions to the jury was
tendered, in pursuance of which the question was again argued before
Lord Mansfield, who coincided with his brother chief in holding the
instrument illegal under which the defendants had acted. Since this
decision, general warrants have been disused.

In 1768, Wilkes, then at the height of his popularity, returned to
England, and applied for a reversal of his outlawry. The excitement of
his partisans broke out both in riots and in indecent attempts to
intimidate the judges before whom the point was to be argued. Lord
Mansfield pronounced for the reversal upon the ground of a technical
informality, which the Court held fatal to the process; but in his
elaborate judgment he took care strongly to censure the seditious
efforts which had been made to influence the court, and to impress on
his auditors that the apparently trifling objection on which the
judgment turned was fatal in law, and could not have been passed over in
any other case. This speech has been much admired; nor is it easy to
overrate its beauties as a composition: it lies open, however, to the
objection of being too theatrical. After overruling the objections made
by the defendant’s counsel, it rises into eloquent declamation against
the attacks of the press, and the threats of the mob; and, at the moment
when all seems ripe for a contrary decision, proceeds to grant the thing
so loudly clamoured for. He may safely contemn danger who does not
expose himself to it; and it would on this occasion have been more
dignified to make less parade of independence.

Lord Mansfield’s view of the law of libel exposed him to much obloquy.
He was a resolute assertor of the doctrine that juries were to judge of
the fact only, not of the law, or rather of the question, libel or no
libel. A prerogative lawyer on the bench, he was a supporter of Tory
principles in parliament. He strenuously maintained the right of the
British legislature to tax America, and was the advocate, though he
probably would not have been the adviser, of those measures which led to
the American revolution; for the temper of his mind seems to have been
cautious and somewhat timid, and his political conduct was swayed by an
habitual moderation, which sometimes prevented his accession to the more
violent measures of his party. His course was consistent with what we
may suppose to have been his early prejudices, for he came of a Jacobite
family; and it was made a matter of accusation against him, while
Attorney-General (most unfairly revived by Junius), that, as a
schoolboy, he had been known to drink Jacobite toasts. The charge, if
true, was too trivial to merit further notice than George II. bestowed
upon it: “Whatever they were while they were Westminster boys, they are
now my very good friends.” At the same time he was a steady advocate of
religious toleration, both on the bench and in the House of Lords. This
he showed in 1768, on occasion of the prosecution of a Roman Catholic
priest by a common informer, in his strict dealing with the penal laws
enacted against that class of men; and in assigning his reasons for
admitting a Quaker’s evidence on affirmation in certain cases. And the
Dissenters in general, and especially of the city of London, were much
indebted to his support in the House of Lords in 1767, for the abolition
of that mean and oppressive custom by which they were fined for refusing
to serve the office of sheriff, being at the same time subject to legal
penalties if they accepted it. Lord Mansfield’s exposition of the
iniquity of this practice was unsparing and conclusive.

The unprecedentedly-long period during which Lord Mansfield presided in
the King’s Bench is one of considerable importance in the history of
British jurisprudence; indeed, the multiplicity of his decisions during
a period of thirty-four years could not fail materially to affect the
law relating both to commercial and other property, especially in a
country so rapidly increasing in wealth, and in which new cases were
continually arising out of the ever-changing state of society. By a
large body of his admirers, a class including the majority of the
nation, he was regarded with almost unlimited admiration; but several of
his important judgments have since been overruled; and we probably shall
not err in stating it as the general opinion of well-informed persons in
the present day, that, indecent and virulent as is Junius’s attack on
him as a judge, there is a solid foundation for the charge that he was
more prone to enlarge the power of the crown than to protect the liberty
of the subject, and more willingly referred to the Roman law and the law
of nations than to Magna Charta and the Bill of Rights. But the charge
of introducing equitable doctrines into the common law must be received
with much more caution. He may have gone too far in his favourite scheme
of introducing more enlarged and liberal views than had prevailed before
his time; he may have neglected former authorities, and introduced too
great laxity in the interpretation of the law; but, dangerous as such
licence is, lest, in the uncertainty of law, a greater evil be incurred
than by the occasional commission of an essential injustice, yet we must
look with complacency on that alleged tendency to relax the strict
rigour of law in favour of substantial justice, which seems to have
consisted chiefly in a disposition to admit evidence when mere technical
disqualification, and not essential unfitness, was urged against it; and
rather to let right prevail than give the victory to wrong by rigid
adherence to the technicalities of the law. His feelings may be
illustrated by a playful saying of his own to Garrick. “A judge on the
bench is now and then in your whimsical situation between Tragedy and
Comedy; inclination drawing one way, and a long string of precedents the
other.” It is certain that to him we owe all that our mercantile law has
of system, and of consistency with the principles which govern the
practice of other nations. It is no less true that the remedies
generally afforded by our courts of law have become much more
beneficial, since he enlarged and moulded actions originally of an
equitable nature to suit cases to which proceedings in equity are very
ill adapted. Nor is it too much to assert that under him the science of
law assumed the form of a liberal study.

It is hardly necessary to reply to the graver charges of moral guilt
adduced by the able and unscrupulous author to whom we have referred.
The spirit in which they are conceived may be estimated from the
unmeasured vituperation of the Scotch in general, which forms the
opening of the forty-first letter of Junius, addressed to Lord
Mansfield. His lordship’s knowledge of English law has been impugned;
his innovations upon its doctrines have been censured; his application
and extension of its principles have been questioned; and his
constitutional doctrines have been often and justly condemned; but we do
not believe that his honesty has been seriously doubted, since the
violence of party animosity has ceased to inflame men’s passions and
pervert their judgment.

Our knowledge of Lord Mansfield’s private history is very limited. His
life however seems to have been spent in happiness and tranquillity,
until the riots of 1780, in which his house, with its contents, was
destroyed. Beside a valuable property in books, pictures, and furniture,
he sustained that loss which, to a literary man, is irreparable,—the
collected manuscripts of a laborious life. He bore this heavy calamity
with honourable fortitude, and declined to accept of pecuniary
compensation. To the application of government he returned this answer:
“I think it does not become me to claim or expect reparation from the
state. I have made up my mind to my misfortune as I ought, with this
consolation, that it came from those whose object manifestly was general
confusion and destruction at home, in addition to a dangerous and
complicated war abroad. If I should lay before you any account or
computation of the pecuniary damage I have sustained, it might seem a
claim or expectation of being indemnified.” Shortly afterwards he
appeared in the House of Lords, to justify the strong measures by which
the riots had been quelled. “It was wonderful,” says Bishop Newton in
his ‘Life and Anecdotes,’ “after such a shock as he had received, that
he could so soon summon his faculties as to make one of the finest and
ablest speeches that ever was heard in parliament, to justify the
legality of the late proceedings on the part of government, to
demonstrate that no royal prerogative had been exerted, no martial law
had been exercised, nothing had been done but what every man, civil or
military, had a right to do in the like cases. ‘I speak not from books,’
he said, ‘for books I have none;’ having been all consumed in the fire.
The effects of his speech were the admiration and conviction of all who
heard him, and put an end to the debate without division. Lord Mansfield
never appeared greater in any action of his life.” No particular cause
connected with the frenzy of the time can be assigned for this attack on
the Chief Justice; he had not been active in supporting the measures for
the relief of the Catholics, which produced this remarkable ebullition
of folly and wickedness. But when once riot is afoot, the causes which
have first stirred up men’s minds are readily forgotten; and the
violence of party abuse with which Lord Mansfield had been assailed, and
the unpopularity of the government, in which he was supposed to exercise
a principal though secret influence, are sufficient to account for this
calamity.

In 1776, Lord Mansfield, at his own request, was raised to the dignity
of an earl. He had no children, and his object was to raise the rank of
his paternal family in the person of his nephew Lord Stormont, to whom
the succession was secured. In 1784, he was compelled to absent himself
from his judicial duties for a season, and spent some time, with
considerable benefit to his health, at Tunbridge Wells. He returned to
his judicial employment and continued to exercise it with unclouded
intellect, being only prevented by bodily infirmity from attending the
court during the last year and a half that he held the office. In 1788
he resigned it, at the advanced age of eighty-four, having presided in
the court of King’s Bench for the unprecedented period of thirty-two
years, and being still in possession of a share of health and power of
enjoyment which seldom fall to the lot of so advanced an age. He
retained the perfect possession of his faculties until within a week of
his death, which took place March 18, 1794, in the ninetieth year of his
age.

In the case of this, as of many other eminent men, we may regret that so
few particulars of their every-day manners have been preserved. In the
relations of private life his conduct was exemplary; and the amenity of
his manners, the playfulness of his wit, and his admirable
qualifications as a companion, secured the affection of those who
enjoyed his society. His talents as a speaker were set off by a graceful
and attractive person, and a remarkably harmonious voice; qualifications
greatly conducing to good delivery, which it is said he was in the habit
of improving in youth, by sedulous cultivation under the direction of
Pope.

A gentleman (Mr. Baillie), who had been deeply indebted to Lord
Mansfield’s professional abilities, bequeathed 1500_l._ to erect a
monument to his memory. The commission was entrusted to worthy hands,
for it was given to Flaxman. A sketch of his work forms the vignette to
this memoir.

The ‘Life of the Earl of Mansfield,’ by Mr. Halliday, is the only
biographical account of this eminent lawyer which we know to exist. It
is too manifestly panegyrical, and, as has been intimated, contains a
very meagre account of the private history of its noble subject. It is
mainly occupied by reports of Lord Mansfield’s speeches and judgments,
and must therefore be chiefly acceptable to legal readers.

[Illustration: [Monument of Lord Mansfield in Westminster Abbey.]]

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by E. Scriven._

  BRADLEY.

  _From the original Picture by Richardson in the possession of the
    Royal Society._

  Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]




[Illustration]

                                BRADLEY.


Of all men who have combined both astronomical theory and practice,
Bradley is one of the most remarkable. In this respect, we must assign
to him the first place in English history; and if we were disposed to
add, in that of the world, we are convinced that no country would
pretend to offer more than one candidate to dispute his claim.

James Bradley[1] was born in March 1692–3, at Sherbourn in
Gloucestershire. He was educated at the Grammar School of Northleach,
and admitted of Baliol College, Oxford, in March 1710–11, where he
proceeded to the degrees of B.A. and M.A. in the years 1714 and 1717
respectively. His mother’s brother was James Pound (deceased 1724),
rector of Wanstead in Essex, and known as an observer, particularly by
the observations which he furnished to Newton, as described in the
Principia. With him Bradley spent much of his younger life, and was his
assistant in his astronomical pursuits; and some observations of 1718–19
on double stars are in good accordance with the relative motions which
have been since established in the case of those bodies. His tables of
Jupiter’s satellites, on which he was employed at the same time, show
that he had detected the greater part of the inequalities in their
motions which have since been observed.

Footnote 1:

  The facts here given are entirely taken from the searching account of
  Bradley given by Professor Rigaud in his “Miscellaneous Works, &c., of
  James Bradley, Oxford, 1832.”

In 1718 he was elected fellow of the Royal Society; in 1719 he was
ordained to the vicarage of Bridstow, in Monmouthshire; in the following
year he received a sinecure preferment. But in 1721 he resigned these
livings, on obtaining the Savilian professorship of Astronomy at Oxford,
the holder of which, by the statutes, must not have any benefice. To
finish what we may call the gazette of his life, he was engaged in
observation (with what results we shall presently see) both at Kew and
Wanstead till 1732, when he went to reside at Oxford, having since 1729
given yearly courses of lectures on Experimental Philosophy. In 1742 he
was appointed to succeed Halley as Astronomer Royal, and he held this
appointment for the remainder of his life. In the same year he obtained
the degree of D.D. In 1752, having refused the living of Greenwich,
because he thought the duty of a pastor to be incompatible with his
other studies and necessary engagements, he was presented with a pension
of 250_l._ The last observation made by him in the observatory is dated
Sept. 1, 1761; and he died July 13, 1762, at Chalford in
Gloucestershire, having been afflicted by various diseases for several
years, and particularly by a depression of spirits, arising from the
fear lest he should survive his faculties. He married in 1744, and left
one daughter, who died at Greenwich in 1812.

There are now no lineal descendants of Bradley. Most of his writings,
which were few in number, were published in the Philosophical
Transactions. His personal merits are proved by the number of his
friends, and the warmth with which they endeavoured to serve him when
occasion arose, as well as by the strength of the testimonies which
those who survived bore to his reputation as a man and a member of
society.

We have much abridged the preceding account, in order to make room for a
popular exposition of his two great discoveries—the _aberration of
light_, and the _nutation of the earth’s axis_. If we were to blot these
discoveries out of his life, there would remain an ample stock of useful
labours, fully sufficient to justify us in stating that Bradley was
unequalled as an observer, and of no mean character as a philosopher.
But for the latter we must refer the reader to the excellent account
from which our facts have been taken, or to any history of astronomy.

The _parallax_ of the fixed stars had been long a subject of inquiry. If
a body describe a circle, and a spectator on that body be unconscious of
his own motion, all other bodies will appear to describe circles
parallel to that of the spectator’s motion, and, absolutely speaking,
equal to it; consequently, the greater the distance of the body from the
spectator, the smaller will its apparent annual motion be; and it will
not be circular, because the projection of the circle upon the apparent
sphere of the heavens will foreshorten, and cause it to appear oval. If
we suppose a star to describe an oval in the course of a year, the
consequence will be that it will pass the spectator’s meridian sometimes
before a star in the centre of the oval, sometimes after it; sometimes
nearer to the pole of the heavens, and sometimes more distant; and the
nature of the motion of this kind which would arise from parallax can be
mathematically deduced. If the star be so distant that the oval is too
small to be detected by measurement (which is hitherto the case with the
fixed stars), then no alteration of place will be perceived on this
account; but if an oval large enough to be observed be described in the
course of a year, then the test of the phenomenon arising from the
earth’s motion in its orbit is as follows:—Imagine a plane always
passing through the centre of the sun, the centre of the earth, and the
centre of the oval described by the star, then the place of the star in
its oval must be in that plane; or draw the shortest distance on the
globe from the centre of the oval to the sun, and the star will be on
the point of the oval which lies in that distance.

In and before the time of Bradley, the refraction of light was not well
determined, which would throw a doubt over any observations made to
detect small quantities, unless the star which furnished them were
situated in that part of the observer’s heaven in which there is no
refraction, or next to none, that is, in or near his zenith. For the
purpose of measuring annual parallax, therefore, stars had always been
chosen which passed very nearly over the spot of observation, and
instruments called zenith sectors (now almost out of use) were employed,
which measured small angles of the meridian near the zenith, the latter
point being ascertained by a plumb-line. Mr. Molyneux, a friend of
Bradley, and a wealthy man, had caused the celebrated Graham to erect a
large instrument of this kind at his house in Kew, afterwards the
palace. Bradley and Molyneux observed with this instrument the star γ in
the Dragon, which passed nearly through the zenith of that place, in
December 1725. The star was found to pass the meridian more and more to
the south of the zenith, until the following March, when it was about
twenty seconds (about the sixty-five thousandth part of the whole
circuit of the heavens) lower than at first. It was afterwards traced
back again to its first position in the following December, allowing for
the precession of the equinoxes. Other stars were examined in the same
way, and the result was, that all stars were found to describe small[2]
ovals in the course of the year. But on comparing the situations of the
stars in their small orbits with the corresponding places of the sun, it
was evident that the cause of the phenomenon could not be the change of
place arising from the orbital motion of the earth. Various hypotheses
proposed by Bradley were found insufficient. In 1727 he erected a zenith
sector for himself at Wanstead; and by further observations, and using
different stars, he came at length to this fact, that instead of the
star being in the place which annual parallax would give it, it was
always in the position which it should have had a quarter of a year
later: or that if the observer could measure the oval with sufficient
exactness, and were to find the time of the year from the star, on the
supposition of annual parallax being the cause of the star’s orbit, he
would suppose himself in March instead of December, and so on.

Footnote 2:

  The original memorandum of Bradley, on the first night on which a
  decided result had been obtained, was accidentally found among his
  papers. There is a fac-simile of it in Professor Rigaud’s work.

That the phenomenon then had a regular connexion with the place of the
earth was evident; but it was not that sort of connexion arising from
the mere change of place of the earth. It is related[3] that he was led
to the true explanation by observing that the vane at the top of a
boat’s mast changed its direction a little whenever the boat was put
about, and made to go in a contrary direction; and that on his remarking
that it was curious the wind should shift every time the boat was put
about, he was assured by the boatmen that the same thing always
happened. Be this as it may, he proposed to the Royal Society, in 1728,
his beautiful explanation of the annual motion which he had observed in
the stars; namely, that it is caused by the alteration in the apparent
direction of the rays of light, arising from the earth being in motion.
Suppose a stream of bullets fired into a carriage in motion, in a line
perpendicular to its side, and so directed as to hit the middle of the
first window, but not with sufficient velocity to reach any part of the
second window. It is plain that they will strike the hinder pannel,
which the motion of the carriage brings forward, and that to passengers
in the inside the direction of the stream will appear to be from the
middle of the window at which it enters to the opposite hinder pannel:
whereas, had the carriage been at rest, it would have appeared to pass
through the centre of both windows. And to make the stream really pass
through both windows it must, if the carriage be in motion, be directed
through the nearer window towards the foremost pannel on the other side.
A ray of light is in the same situation with regard to the spectator,
both as to the diurnal and the annual motion of the earth. The former
gives an insensible aberration only; the latter, one which though small
is sensible. The smallness of the latter aberration arises from the
velocity of light being more than ten thousand times that of the earth
in its orbit. And it must be remembered that the motion of light was not
an hypothesis, invented to form the basis of Bradley’s explanation, but
was ascertained before his time, by Römer, from a phenomenon of an
entirely different nature; namely, the retardation observed in the
eclipses of Jupiter’s satellites, as the planet moved from the earth.
The absolute deduction of the laws of aberration was completed by
Bradley.

Footnote 3:

  Professor Rigaud gives this story on the authority of ‘Dr. Thomson’s
  History of the Royal Society,’ in which work we find no authority
  cited for it. We cannot find it in any other place, but are credibly
  informed that it rests on good traditional evidence.

The other great discovery of Bradley, namely, the _nutation_, or
oscillatory motion of the earth’s axis, was completed in 1747. In his
Wanstead observations he had observed some minute discrepancies, which
at that time might be attributed to errors of observation; but after he
was able to clear the apparent place of a star from the effects of
aberration, the field became open to consider and assign the laws of
smaller variations. By continual observation, he found a small
irregularity in the places of the stars, depending upon the position of
the moon’s node. Newton had already shown it to be a consequence of
gravitation, that the sun must produce a small oscillation in the
earth’s axis: Bradley showed that a larger oscillation must arise from
the moon, and be completed in the course of a revolution, not of the
moon, but of the point where her orbit cuts the ecliptic. This discovery
is therefore not of so original a character as the last, since
astronomers had for some time been in the habit of trying to reconcile
every discrepancy which they observed by supposing a nutation; but to
Bradley belongs the merit of discovering that small irregularity which
really can be reconciled to such a supposition, and its physical causes.
The easiest way of conceiving the effect of nutation is as follows:—The
precession of the equinoxes, discovered by Hipparchus, has this effect,
that the fixed stars, so called, appear to move round the pole of the
ecliptic, at the rate of a revolution in about 26,000 years. Instead of
a star, let a small oval describe the same course, and let the star in
the mean while move round that oval in the course of nineteen years. The
motion thus obtained will represent the combined effect of precession
and nutation.

To these discoveries of Bradley we owe, as Delambre observes, the
accuracy of modern astronomy. It must be remarked, that no individual,
whose previous labours have caused public opinion to point him out as
most fit for the part of Astronomer Royal, has ever been passed over
when occasion occurred, from the time of Flamsteed to that at which we
write. It is the fair reward of such a course, that the reputation which
each successive occupant brought to that position should be considered
as appertaining to him in the public capacity which it gained for him;
and this being granted, it may be truly said that there is no
institution in the world which has, upon the whole, done so much towards
the advancement of correct astronomy as the Observatory of Greenwich.

[Illustration: [Observatory at Greenwich.]]

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by W. Holl._

  MELANCTHON.

  _From an Engraving by Albert Durer
  1526._

  Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]




[Illustration]

                              MELANCTHON.


Philip was the son of a respectable engineer named Schwartzerde,
that is, Black-earth, a name which he Grecised at a very early age,
as soon as his literary tastes and talents began to display
themselves,—assuming, in compliance with the suggestion of his
distinguished kinsman Reuchlin or Capnio, and according to the
fashion of the age, the classical synonyme of Melancthon. He was
born at Bretten, a place near Wittemberg, February 16, 1497. He
commenced his studies at Heidelberg in 1509; and after three years
was removed to Tubingen, where he remained till 1518. These
circumstances are in this instance not undeserving of notice,
because Melancthon gave from his very boyhood abundant proofs of an
active and brilliant genius, and acquired some juvenile distinctions
which have been recorded by grave historians, and have acquired him
a place among the ‘Enfans Célèbres’ of Baillet. During his residence
at Tubingen he gave public lectures on Virgil, Terence, Cicero, and
Livy, while he was pursuing with equal ardour his biblical studies;
and he had leisure besides to furnish assistance to Reuchlin in his
dangerous contests with the monks, and to direct the operations of a
printing-press. The course of learning and genius, when neither
darkened by early prejudice nor perverted by personal interests,
ever points to liberality and virtue. In the case of Melancthon this
tendency was doubtless confirmed by the near spectacle of monastic
oppression and bigotry; and thus we cannot question that he had
imbibed, even before his departure from Tubingen, the principles
which enlightened his subsequent career, and which throw the
brightest glory upon his memory.

In 1518 (at the age of twenty-one) he was raised to the Professorship of
Greek in the University of Wittemberg. The moment was critical. Luther,
who occupied the theological chair in the same University, had just
published his ‘Ninety-five Propositions against the Abuse of
Indulgences,’ and was entering step by step into a contest with the
Vatican. He was in possession of great personal authority; he was older
by fourteen years, and was endowed with a far more commanding spirit,
than his brother professor; and thus, in that intimacy which local
circumstances and similarity of sentiments immediately cemented between
these two eminent persons, the ascendancy was naturally assumed by
Luther, and maintained to the end of his life. Melancthon was scarcely
established at Wittemberg when he addressed to the Reformer some very
flattering expressions of admiration, couched in indifferent Greek
iambics; and in the year following he attended him to the public
disputations which he held with Eckius on the supremacy of the Pope.
Here he first beheld the strife into which he was destined presently to
enter, and learned the distasteful rudiments of theological controversy.

Two years afterwards, when certain of the opinions of Luther were
violently attacked by the Faculty of Paris, Melancthon interposed to
defend their author, to repel some vain charges which were brought
against him, and to ridicule the pride and ignorance of the doctors of
the Sorbonne. About the same time he engaged in the more delicate
question respecting the celibacy of the clergy, and opposed the Popish
practice with much zeal and learning. This was a subject which he had
always nearest his heart, and, in the discussions to which it led, he
surpassed even Luther in the earnestness of his argument; and he at
least had no personal interest in the decision, as he never took orders.

In 1528 it was determined to impose a uniform rule of doctrine and
discipline upon the ministers of the Reformed churches; and the office
of composing it was assigned to Melancthon. He published, in eighteen
chapters, an ‘Instruction to the Pastors of the Electorate of Saxony,’
in which he made the first formal exposition of the doctrinal system of
the Reformers. The work was promulgated with the approbation of Luther;
and the article concerning the bodily presence in the Eucharist conveyed
the opinion of the master rather than that of the disciple. Yet were
there other points so moderately treated and set forth in so mild and
compromising a temper, as sufficiently to mark Melancthon as the author
of the document; and so strong was the impression produced upon the
Roman Catholics themselves by its character and spirit, that many
considered it the composition of a disguised friend; and Faber even
ventured to make personal overtures to the composer, and to hold forth
the advantages that he might hope to attain by a seasonable return to
the bosom of the Apostolic Church.

The Diet of Augsburg was summoned soon afterwards, and it assembled in
1530, for the reconciliation of all differences. This being at least the
professed object of both parties, it was desirable that the conferences
should be conducted by men of moderation, disposed to soften the
subjects of dissension, and to mitigate by temper and manner the
bitterness of controversy. For this delicate office Luther was entirely
disqualified, whereas the reputation of Melancthon presented precisely
the qualities that seemed to be required; the management of the
negotiations was accordingly confided to him. But not without the near
superintendence of Luther. The latter was resident close at hand, he was
in perpetual communication with his disciple, and influenced most of his
proceedings; and, at least during the earlier period of the conferences,
he not only suggested the matter, but even authorised the form, of the
official documents.

It was thus that the ‘Confession of Augsbourg’ was composed; and we
observe on its very surface thus much of the spirit of conciliation,
that of its twenty-eight chapters twenty-one were devoted to the
exposition of the opinions of the Reformers, while seven only were
directed against the tenets of their adversaries. In the tedious and
perplexing negotiations that followed, some concessions were privately
proposed by Melancthon, which could scarcely have been sanctioned by
Luther, as they were inconsistent with the principles of the Reformation
and the independence of the Reformers. In some letters written towards
the conclusion of the Diet, he acknowledged in the strongest terms the
authority of the Roman Church, and all its hierarchy; he asserted that
there was positively no doctrinal difference between the parties; that
the whole dispute turned on matters of discipline and practice; and
that, if the Pope would grant only a provisional toleration on the two
points of the double communion and the marriage of the clergy, it would
not be difficult to remove all other differences, not excepting that
respecting the mass. “Concede,” he says to the Pope’s legate, “or
pretend to concede those two points, and we will submit to the bishops;
and if some slight differences shall still remain between the two
parties, they will not occasion any breach of union, because there is no
difference on any point of faith, and they will be governed by the same
bishops; and these bishops, having once recovered their authority, will
be able in process of time to correct defects which must now of
necessity be tolerated.” On this occasion Melancthon took counsel of
Erasmus rather than of Luther. It was his object at any rate to prevent
the war with which the Protestants were threatened, and from which he
may have expected their destruction. But the perfect and almost
unconditional submission to the Roman hierarchy, which he proposed as
the only alternative, would have accomplished the same purpose much more
certainly; and Protestant writers have observed, that the bitterest
enemy of the Reformation could have suggested no more effectual or
insidious method of subverting it, than that which was so warmly pressed
upon the Roman Catholics by Melancthon himself. Luther was indignant
when he heard of these proceedings; he strongly urged Melancthon to
break off the negotiations, and to abide by the Confession. Indeed, it
appears that these degrading concessions to avowed enemies produced, as
is ever the case, no other effect than to increase their pride and exalt
their expectations, and so lead them to demand still more unworthy
conditions, and a still more abject humiliation.

Howbeit, the reputation of Melancthon was raised by the address which he
displayed during these deliberations; and the variety of his talents and
the extent of his erudition became more generally known and more
candidly acknowledged. The modesty of his character, the moderation of
his temper, the urbanity of his manners, his flexible and accommodating
mind, recommended him to the regard of all, and especially to the
patronage of the great. He was considered as the peace-maker of the age.
All who had any hopes of composing the existing dissensions and
preventing the necessity of absolute schism placed their trust in the
mildness of his expedients. The service which he had endeavoured to
render to the Emperor was sought by the two other powerful monarchs of
that time. Francis I. invited him to France in 1535, to reconcile the
growing differences of his subjects; and even Henry VIII. expressed a
desire for his presence and his counsels; but the Elector could not be
persuaded to consent to his departure from Saxony.

In 1541 he held a public disputation with Eckius at Worms, which lasted
three days. The conference was subsequently removed to Ratisbon, and
continued, with pacific professions and polemic arguments, during the
same year, with no other result than an expressed understanding that
both parties should refer their claims to a general council, and abide
by its decision.

In the meantime, as the Popes showed great reluctance to summon any such
Council, unless it should assemble in Italy and deliberate under their
immediate superintendence, and as the Reformers constantly refused to
submit to so manifest a compromise of their claims, it seemed likely
that some time might elapse before the disputants should have any
opportunity of making their appeal. Wherefore the emperor, not brooking
this delay, and willing by some provisional measure to introduce
immediate harmony between the parties, published in 1548 a formulary of
temporary concord, under the name of the Interim. It proclaimed the
conditions of peace, which were to be binding only till the decision of
the general council. The conditions were extremely advantageous, as
might well have been expected, to the Roman Catholic claims.
Nevertheless, they gave complete satisfaction to neither party, and only
animated to farther arrogance the spirit of those whom they favoured.

The Interim was promulgated at the Diet held at Augsbourg, and it was
followed by a long succession of conferences, which were carried on at
Leipzig and in other places, under the Protestant auspices of Maurice of
Saxony. Here was an excellent field for the talents and character of
Melancthon. All the public documents of the Protestants were composed by
him. All the acuteness of his reason, all the graces of his style, all
the resources of his learning were brought into light and action; and
much that he wrote in censure of the Interim was written with force and
truth. But here, as on former occasions, the effects of his genius were
marred by the very moderation of his principles, and the practical
result of his labours was not beneficial to the cause which he intended
to serve. For in this instance he not only did not conciliate the
enemies to whom he made too large concessions, but he excited distrust
and offence among his friends; and these feelings were presently
exasperated into absolute schism.

On the death of Luther, two years before these conferences, the foremost
place among the reformers had unquestionably devolved upon Melancthon.
He had deserved that eminence by his various endowments, and his
uninterrupted exertions: yet was he not the character most fitted to
occupy it at that crisis. His incurable thirst for universal esteem and
regard; his perpetual anxiety to soothe his enemies and soften the
bigotry of the hierarchy, frequently seduced him into unworthy
compromises, which lowered his own cause, without obtaining either
advantage or respect from his adversaries. It is not thus that the
ferocity of intolerance can be disarmed. The lust of religious
domination cannot be satisfied by soothing words, or appeased by any
exercise of religious charity. It is too blind to imagine any motive for
the moderation of an enemy, except the consciousness of weakness. It is
too greedy to accept any partial concession, except as a pledge of still
farther humiliation, to end in absolute submission. It can be
successfully opposed only by the same unbending resolution which itself
displays, tempered by a calmer judgment and animated by a more righteous
purpose.

The general principle by which the controversial writings of Melancthon
at this time were guided was this—that there were certain essentials
which admitted of no compromise; but that the Interim might be received
as a rule, in respect to things which were _indifferent_. Hence arose
the necessary inquiry, what could properly be termed indifferent. It was
the object of Melancthon to extend their number, so as to include as
many as possible of the points in dispute, and narrow the held of
contention with the Roman Catholics. In the pursuance of this charitable
design he did not foresee—first, that he would not advance thereby a
single step towards the conciliation of their animosity—next, that he
would sow amongst the Reformers themselves the seeds of intestine
discord: but so, unhappily, it proved; and the feeble expedient which
was intended to repel the danger from without, multiplied that danger by
introducing schism and disorder within.

Indeed, we can scarcely wonder that it was so: for we find that among
the matters to be accounted indifferent, and under that name conceded,
Melancthon ventured to place the doctrine of justification by faith
alone; the necessity of good works to eternal salvation; the number of
the sacraments; the jurisdiction claimed by the pope and the bishops;
extreme unction; and the observance of certain religious festivals, and
several superstitious rites and ceremonies. It was not possible that the
more intimate associates of Luther—the men who had struggled by his
side, who were devoted to his person and his memory, who inherited his
opinions and his principles, and who were animated by some portion of
his zeal—should stand by in silence, and permit some of the dearest
objects of their own struggles and the vigils of their master to be
offered up to the foe by the irresolute hand of Melancthon. Accordingly,
a numerous party rose, who disclaimed his principles and rejected his
authority. At their head was Illyricus Flacius, a fierce polemic, who
possessed the intemperance without the genius of Luther. The contest
commonly known as the Adiaphoristic Controversy broke out with great
fury; it presently extended its character so as to embrace various
collateral points; and the Roman Catholics were once more edified by the
welcome spectacle of Protestant dissension.

Melancthon held his last fruitless conference with the Roman Catholics
at Worms in the year 1557; and he died three years afterwards, at the
age of 63, the same age that had been attained by Luther. His ashes were
deposited at Wittemberg, in the same church with those of his master; a
circumstance which is thus simply commemorated in his epitaph:

             Hic invicte tuus Collega, Luthere, Melancthon
               Non procul a tumulo conditur ipse tuo.
             Ut pin doctrinæ concordia junxerat ambos,
               Sic sacer amborum jungit his ossa locus.

Some days before his death, while it was manifest that his end was fast
approaching, Melancthon wrote on a scrap of paper some of the reasons
which reconciled him to the prospect of his departure. Among them were
these—that he should see God and the Son of God; that he should
comprehend some mysteries which he was unable to penetrate on earth,
such as these:—why it is that we are created such as we are? what was
the union of the two natures in Jesus Christ? that he should sin no
more; that he should no longer be exposed to vexations; and that he
should escape _from the rage of the theologians_. We need no better
proof than this how his peaceable spirit had been tortured during the
decline of life by those interminable quarrels, which were entirely
repugnant to his temper, and yet were perpetually forced upon him, and
which even his own lenity had seemingly tended to augment. And it is
even probable that the theologians from whose rage it was his especial
hope to be delivered were those who had risen up last against him, and
with whom his differences were as nothing compared to the points on
which they were agreed, his brother reformers. For being in this respect
unfortunate, that his endeavours to conciliate the affections of all
parties had been requited by the contempt and insults of all, he was yet
more peculiarly unhappy, that the blackest contumely and the bitterest
insults proceeded from the dissentients of his own. Thus situated, after
forty years of incessant exertions to reform, and at the same time to
unite, the Christian world, when he beheld discord multiplied, and its
fruits ripening in the very bosom of the Reformation; when he compared
his own principles and his own conscience with the taunts which were
cast against him; when he discovered how vain had been his mission of
conciliation, and how ungrateful a task it was to throw oil upon the
waters of theological controversy; when he reflected how much time and
forbearance he had wasted in this hopeless attempt,—he could scarcely
avoid the unwelcome suspicion that his life had been, in some degree,
spent in vain, and that in one of the dearest objects of his continual
endeavours he had altogether failed.

The reason was, that the extreme mildness of his own disposition blinded
him to the very nature of religious contests, and inspired him with
amiable hopes which could not possibly be realized. He may have been a
better man than Luther; he may even have been a wiser; he had as great
acuteness; he had more learning and a purer and more perspicuous style;
he had a more charitable temper; he had a more candid mind; and his love
for justice and truth forbade him to reject without due consideration
even the argument of an adversary. He was qualified to preside as a
judge in the forum of theological litigation; yet was he not well fitted
for that which he was called upon to discharge, the office of an
advocate. He saw too much, for he saw both sides of the question; his
very knowledge, acting upon his natural modesty, made him diffident. He
balanced, he reflected, he doubted; and he became, through that very
virtue, a tame sectarian and a feeble partisan.

But his literary talents were of the highest order, and were directed
with great success to almost all the departments of learning. He
composed abridgments of all the branches of philosophy, which continued
long in use among the students of Germany, and purified the liberal arts
from the dross which was mixed up with them. And it was thus that he
would have purified religion; and as he had introduced the one
reformation without violence, so he thought to accomplish the other
without schism. But he comprehended not the character of the Roman
Catholic priesthood, nor could he conceive the tenacity and the passion
with which men, in other respects reasonable and respectable, will cling
to the interests, the prejudices, the abuses, the very vices, which are
associated with their profession. It was an easy matter to him to
confound the superstitious rites and tenets of Rome by his profound
learning and eloquent arguments; but it was another and a far different
task to deal with the offended feelings of an implacable hierarchy. And
thus it is, that while we admire his various acquirements and eminent
literary talents, and praise the moderation of his charitable temper, we
remark the wisdom of that Providence which entrusted the arduous
commencement of the work of reformation to firmer and ruder hands than
his.

Melancthon’s printed works are very numerous. The most complete edition
of them is that of Wittemberg, in 1680,3, in four volumes folio.

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by J. Posselwhite._

  WILLIAM PITT.

  _From a Picture by Hoppner in the possession of the Publisher._

  Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]




[Illustration]

                                 PITT.


The observations made at the beginning of our memoir of Mr. Burke (vol.
iii. p. 33) apply with greater force to Mr. Pitt, on account both of the
more recent date of his death, and of the more important influence which
he exercised over our national welfare. We shall therefore lay before
the reader a very succinct account of this celebrated statesman,
endeavouring not to colour it by the introduction of our own opinions,
and avoiding any statements that can reasonably be controverted. There
can be no doubt as to Mr. Pitt’s title to a place in this work; but it
is not here that those who have their opinion still to form as to his
character and policy should seek for the materials to do so.

William Pitt, the second son of the first Earl of Chatham, was born at
Hayes in Kent, May 28, 1759. He suffered much and frequently from ill
health until he had nearly reached the age of manhood; and his delicacy
of constitution prevented his reading for honours at Pembroke College,
Cambridge, of which he became a resident member at the age of fourteen.
He therefore took the honorary degree of M.A., to which his birth
entitled him, in 1776. His private tutor and biographer, the late Bishop
of Winchester, has borne testimony to Mr. Pitt’s proficiency in
scholarship at the time when he commenced his residence, and to his
diligent study of the ancient languages, of mathematics, and of modern
literature, during the long period of seven years which he spent at
Cambridge. His illustrious father was not slow to perceive and
appreciate this early promise; and the few letters which are extant,
addressed by Lord Chatham to his son, contain a most pleasing picture of
parental affection, confidence, and esteem.

Mr. Pitt was called to the bar June 12, 1780, and went the western
circuit in that year and the following. In January, 1781, he was brought
into parliament by Sir James Lowther, for the borough of Appleby. He
made his maiden speech in support of Mr. Burke’s bill for the reform of
the civil list; and this being in great measure in reply to former
speakers, and therefore evidently not premeditated, produced the greater
effect, and amply satisfied public expectation, which had been highly
raised by his hereditary fame and reputed talents. Young as he was, he
took a leading part in denouncing the impolicy and injustice of the
American war, then drawing to its close, and in effecting the downfall
of Lord North’s administration, which occurred in March, 1782. In the
Rockingham administration, which followed, he bore no office: not that
his talents were held cheap, for he was offered several important
places; but he had already determined, as he declared soon afterwards,
never to accept any office without a seat in the cabinet. He gave his
support, however, to the measures of government; and, with a
determination which he manifested again at a later period, of securing
his independence, he continued, notwithstanding his brilliant prospects
in public life, his professional attendance at Westminster Hall. During
this session he distinguished himself as an advocate of parliamentary
reform by supporting three measures upon the subject: a motion, made by
himself, for a committee to examine into the state of representation of
the Commons; a bill for shortening the duration of parliaments; and a
bill for the prevention of bribery, and the diminution of expense at
elections. These, not being supported by government, were all thrown
out.

The death of the Marquis of Rockingham, July 1, 1782, led to the
appointment of the Earl of Shelburne as prime-minister, and to Mr. Fox’s
retirement from office. Mr. Pitt, at the age of twenty-three, was made
Chancellor of the Exchequer. As a strong opposition was expected in the
next session of parliament, it became desirable to effect a junction, if
possible, with one of the adverse parties. Against acting in concert
with Lord North, Mr. Pitt had formed an unchangeable determination; and
the negotiation with Mr. Fox was stopped in the outset by that
gentleman’s resolution not to act under Lord Shelburne. Thus two of the
three principal parties into which the House of Commons was then divided
were shut out of office during the continuance of the existing
administration; and a strong motive was given them to unite, even
against all probability, considering the virulent hostility which had
long existed between their leaders. Mr. Fox and Lord North however did
form their celebrated Coalition; and, in spite of its unpopularity, had
strength enough to turn out the Shelburne ministry in the spring of
1783. Mr. Pitt, while in office, introduced a bill for promoting
economy, and removing many gross abuses in various departments of the
public service. This, after passing the Commons, was thrown out by the
Lords.

The King, it is well known, was exceedingly averse to the re-admission
of Mr. Fox into office. He pressed the task of forming an administration
upon Mr. Pitt, who, being convinced that no effective support could be
hoped for, at that time, either in parliament or from the expression of
public opinion, steadily refused the offer. The coalition ministry
therefore came into power. In the session of 1783 Mr. Pitt again
introduced the question of parliamentary reform, in the shape of three
resolutions, which provided that one hundred members should be added to
those returned by the counties and the metropolis, and that all boroughs
should be disfranchised where a majority of voters had been proved
guilty of corruption. These resolutions were rejected.

On the meeting of parliament in November, Mr. Fox brought forward his
celebrated India Bill. It was quickly carried through the lower house,
but was thrown out in the upper, partly through the personal influence
exerted by the King; and on the next day, December 18, Mr. Fox and Lord
North received their dismissal. Mr. Pitt did not now hesitate to take
his place at the head of government. He felt himself in a much stronger
position than at the close of the Shelburne administration. He foresaw
that the India Bill would become unpopular, though as yet little outcry
had been made against it, and he resolved, with a courage, ability, and
penetration, which those who condemn his conduct most strongly cannot
deny, to assume office in the teeth of a majority of the House of
Commons, and to hold it in spite of the majorities continually arrayed
against him. Nor, though strongly urged, would he resort to a
dissolution; knowing that such a measure would be fatal unless the new
parliament should prove much more favourable to him than the existing
one, being aware that Mr. Fox’s popularity, though shaken by the
coalition, was not overthrown, and trusting to the growing unpopularity
of the India Bill to dispose the nation more favourably to his own
administration. It was therefore resolved to continue the sitting
parliament; and the house adjourned on the 26th of December to the 12th
of January. During the recess Mr. Pitt gained the applause of all
parties by his disinterestedness in giving the valuable sinecure of
Clerk of the Pells to Colonel Barré, on condition of his resigning a
pension of 3000_l._ a year; thus effecting a saving to the country of
that amount.

On the 12th the new ministry was twice left in a minority, once of
thirty-nine, the second time of fifty-four. This not inducing them to
resign, a series of motions was made to compel them to do so. It was
never ventured however to stop the supplies. Between January 12 and
March 8, fourteen motions, besides those which passed without a
division, were carried against the ministers with various but on the
whole decreasing majorities, the last only by a majority of one. This
ended the struggle. The minister saw that the time was now come when a
dissolution was likely to tell in his favour, and it took place
accordingly, March 25.

He was now returned for the University of Cambridge. In the ensuing
session his attention was principally engaged by the Westminster
scrutiny, the state of the revenue, and the affairs of India. In the
first he took a part which widened the breach between Mr. Fox and
himself; and he had the mortification of being exposed to the charge
that he cherished personal animosity against his illustrious antagonist,
and of being deserted by many of his usual adherents, and finally left
in a minority, March 3, 1785, when the scrutiny was ended by a vote of
the house. Lord Hood and Mr. Fox were then returned. In his financial
measures Mr. Pitt had eminent success. By economy, by resolutely facing
the difficulties of the question, and, no doubt, by the assistance of
that general prosperity, agricultural as well as commercial, which was
beginning to succeed the depression of the American war, the revenue,
which at his accession to office was considerably below the expenditure,
was improved so much as, by the spring of 1786, to afford the promise of
a million surplus. This was devoted to the formation of an effective
sinking-fund. Mr. Pitt prided himself on this more than any other of his
measures, and resisted all temptation to encroach upon it even during
the pressing difficulties of the latter years of his administration. The
merit of having devised the scheme was claimed by Dr. Price: be this as
it may, the principal merit, that of having rigidly carried it into
execution, is Pitt’s. Later authorities have denied the advantage of the
system altogether. The India Bill, the other leading measure of this
session, differed from Mr. Fox’s chiefly in these important points, that
the members of the Board of Control, like other members of
administration, were removable at pleasure, and that nearly all the
patronage of India was left in the hands of the Board of Directors. In
1785, for the last time, Mr. Pitt again brought forward the subject of
parliamentary reform. His plan was to transfer the members of thirty-six
decayed boroughs to the metropolis and to various counties, and as other
boroughs decayed, to give their franchises to populous and increasing
towns. But the boroughs being regarded, in the words of his biographer,
as “a species of valuable property and private inheritance, the
voluntary surrender of their rights was not to be expected without an
adequate consideration.” This was not treated as a government measure,
and was rejected by a large majority.

The other passages of most importance in Mr. Pitt’s political life,
before the French Revolution, were his decided support of the
impeachment of Warren Hastings, though without going the whole length of
Mr. Burke and other opposition members, in 1786, and the conclusion of a
commercial treaty with France on a more liberal footing than had yet
been contemplated by the countries; the successful opposition which he
made to the repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts, in 1787,
notwithstanding the support he had received from the Dissenters a few
years before; his conduct on the Regency Bill, in opposition to the
ill-advised assertion of Mr. Fox, that the Prince of Wales was entitled
as a matter of right to the full possession of the powers of royalty, as
sole Regent, in 1788–9; and his support of the abolition of the Slave
Trade, for which he spoke and voted, but without making it a ministerial
question. Indeed, in consequence of Mr. Wilberforce’s illness, Pitt was
the first to bring that national disgrace and crime under the notice of
the house, and he exerted his best eloquence in favour of its immediate
abolition, and against the temporising course which was adopted.

It does not appear that in the beginning of the French Revolution Mr.
Pitt anticipated any bad consequences to Great Britain, or that he
expected or wished to be led into that protracted war, which, though
ultimately triumphant, involved us in imminent danger, enormous expense,
and a debt still pressing us to the ground. At least, in opening his
budget in 1792, he spoke with more than usual confidence of the
favourable prospects of the revenue, and prognosticated many years of
peace. At the same time he was already impressed with suspicion and fear
of those in England who regarded with complacency the dawning of the
Revolution; and in the same session he declared himself opposed to the
introduction of Mr. Grey’s motion for reform in parliament, on the
express ground that men’s minds were in a state of fermentation, which
rendered any innovation inexpedient and dangerous. But the events of the
summer and autumn changed Mr. Pitt’s views more widely. After the
deposition of Louis XVI., on the 10th of August, the British minister at
Paris was recalled; and as soon as the news of that unhappy sovereign’s
death reached England, the French minister in London was ordered to quit
the kingdom. War was declared by France, February 1, 1793. We do not
attempt to compress the history of that eventful period into these
pages. The policy of our government was to make the sea the scene of our
chief exertions, and our fleets were victorious in every quarter of the
globe. By land the conduct of the war was most unsuccessful. We were
indeed cautious of risking our own troops on the continent; but the
national wealth was profusely spent in subsidizing other nations, in
combining alliances against France, which one after another proved
utterly unable to withstand the energy of the French government and the
talent of the republican generals, and in trifling expeditions,
injurious if they failed, and useless if successful. Meanwhile the
enormous expenditure of the day caused a corresponding increase of the
public burdens, and, as was foreboded, a ruinous accession to the public
debt. A large party, who were far from joining with those that would
willingly have made England the subject of an experiment similar to the
one going on in France, denied both the necessity and the expediency of
the contest in which we were engaged; party spirit reached a frantic
height; and these men, as sincere friends to their country as those who
most strenuously supported the arbitrary measures of government, were
denounced, and confounded with the small minority really hostile to
domestic order. And no doubt the oppressive conduct of the
administration drove many persons to extremes, which, in cooler moments
and under a more equitable policy, they would not have countenanced.
Then came the trials of Muir and Palmer in Scotland, in 1793, of Hardy
and Horne Tooke in 1794, the Alien Bill, the suspension of the Habeas
Corpus Act, and other measures calculated, in the language of the times,
to prevent the spread of revolutionary principles, for which the
minister was hailed by one party as the saviour of his country from
anarchy, and denounced by another as a pillar of despotism, an enemy to
the free constitution of his country, a deserter from the principles of
his youth, and a persecutor of those associates who still adhered to
them. Increased discontent was met by increased severity; and, after the
insults offered to the King’s person as he proceeded to open the session
of parliament in 1796, the famous bills, for the prevention of seditious
meetings and for the better security of his Majesty’s person and
government, commonly called the Pitt and Grenville Acts, were introduced
and carried, not without the utmost indignation and the most determined
opposition by all means short of forcible resistance, both within the
walls of parliament and without.

Mr. Fox and the other chief members of opposition, finding their utmost
efforts unsuccessful, seceded openly from the House of Commons when the
Seditious Meetings Bill went into committee. Meanwhile the country was
beset by the most serious difficulties. The drain of specie produced by
our subsidies to foreign powers, the large advances required from the
Bank by government, and the disposition to hoard money produced by the
fear of invasion and of domestic anarchy, gave reason to apprehend that
the Bank would be unable to meet its engagements; and in 1797 it was
relieved by the Restriction Act from the obligation of paying cash in
exchange for its notes. In the same year the mutiny at the Nore broke
out; and in 1798 the rebellion in Ireland made a most formidable
addition to the dangers and distresses of the nation. Meanwhile our
exertions had been powerless to check the victorious arms of France on
the continent of Europe, and a strong desire for peace was felt by many
who had been Mr. Pitt’s staunch supporters, and advocates of the
revolutionary war. This led to his retirement from office in 1801,
unless that event is rather to be ascribed to the King’s fixed
determination not to grant the Irish Catholics that full relief, which
had been held out as one inducement to procure the consent of Ireland to
the Act of Union. It is to Mr. Pitt that the merit of carrying through
that important measure is due; a measure which would probably have been
attended with much more beneficial results if the policy of its author
with respect to Catholic Emancipation had been adopted. But even the
importance of the object is insufficient to justify, and can only
palliate, the corrupt means which were used in gaining the assent of the
Irish parliament to the Union, which was very unpopular with the Irish
nation.

Mr. Pitt resigned his office in February, 1801, and was succeeded by Mr.
Addington, who concluded the peace of Amiens in 1802, the preliminaries
having been signed the autumn before. Mr. Pitt defended the conditions
of this treaty when attacked in parliament, therein taking a different
part from several of his late colleagues. But his retirement in the
first instance was regarded as not much more than nominal, and he was
generally thought to be the adviser of the ministry after he ceased to
belong to it. This state of affairs however was short-lived. His support
gradually subsided, first into coldness, then into avowed
disapprobation, and finally into hostility not less decided than that of
the regular opposition. In the early part of 1804, after the lapse of
twenty years of violent hostility, Pitt and Fox were again seen speaking
and voting on the same side. A fruitless attempt was made by the
ministry to procure the accession of the former; and as it became clear
that the existing government could not stand, and as the lapse of time
and change in affairs had removed many of the most irreconcileable
grounds of party variance, a strong hope was felt that an
administration, uniting the best talents and most powerful interests of
the country, might be formed by the junction of the three parties
represented by Mr. Pitt, Mr. Fox, and Lord Grenville. This hope appears
to have been defeated by the King’s personal objections to admit Mr. Fox
to office. It is asserted by Mr. Rose that Mr. Pitt used his utmost
endeavours to overcome that prejudice, “conceiving a strong government
as important to the public welfare, and as calculated to call forth the
united talents as well as the utmost resources of the empire; in which
endeavour he persisted till within a few months of his death.”
Unfortunately for his own fame, and probably for the interests of the
country, he did not think fit to make this union of parties a condition
of his own return to office. Lord Grenville, his relation, friend, and
coadjutor, refused to become a member of an exclusive ministry, and Mr.
Pitt took his station at the head of a cabinet singularly deficient in
men of commanding talent, and more than half composed of Mr. Addington’s
colleagues. The disappointment of the nation was great; but the late
period of the session (he was gazetted First Lord of the Treasury May
12) was of material service in enabling him to face the difficulties of
his position; and he employed the autumn in seeking to gain strength by
forming an alliance with some other party. Lord Grenville however proved
firm in his resolution not to accept office while Mr. Fox was excluded;
and the minister, assuredly with deep mortification, was compelled to
make overtures of reconciliation to Mr. Addington, who was created
Viscount Sidmouth, and appointed President of the Council in January,
1805. This alliance after all proved inefficient to strengthen the
government, while it was fruitful in jealousies, which led to Lord
Sidmouth’s speedy retirement from office in July; and in the same
session the dismissal, and ultimately the impeachment, of his old and
valued friend and ablest coadjutor, Mr. Dundas, now created Viscount
Melville, added another and a still more distressing embarrassment to
those by which the minister was already beset.

On his return to office Mr. Pitt had again recourse to his former policy
of raising up continental alliances against France; and he succeeded in
uniting Austria and Russia in the confederacy which was crushed by the
decisive battle of Austerlitz, December 2, 1805. At this time his
constitution was rapidly giving way, exhausted by a life of excessive
labour, which he sought to relieve by the immoderate use of wine, a
habit first induced by the original defects in his constitution. In
December he was ordered by his physicians to Bath, but he received no
benefit from the change of place, and returned to his residence at
Putney by slow stages. He expired January 23, 1805.

In addition to his other offices, Mr. Pitt held the sinecure of Warden
of the Cinque Ports, worth about 3000_l._ per annum, which, unsolicited,
was bestowed on him by the King in 1792, as a mark of personal esteem.
But the pressure of public business left no time for the regulation of
his domestic affairs, and, notwithstanding his large income, he expended
his small patrimonial estate, and died deeply involved in debt. The
parliament was not slow to acknowledge his long services. His remains
were interred at the public expense; a monument was erected to him in
Westminster Abbey; 40,000_l._ were voted to discharge his debts; and, in
conformity to his dying request, a pension of 1500_l._ was conferred on
his nieces, daughters of the Earl of Stanhope.

We abstain, for the reasons already assigned, from attempting to give a
summary of Mr. Pitt’s qualifications and merits as a statesman, but it
is a debt of justice to bear testimony to his unimpeached integrity in
all pecuniary affairs. As a speaker he possessed extraordinary powers;
clear, fluent, and singularly correct in his diction, unimpassioned, and
seldom rising into flights of eloquence, he was always ready to profit
by the indiscretions of an opponent, and his sarcasm was of the most
cutting and effective kind. His argumentative powers were of a high
order, and the clearness and precision of his mind fitted him admirably
for those minute financial statements which formed an important part of
his official duties. His voice, though wanting in variety, was sonorous
and impressive in an extraordinary degree; his action, though awkward
and ungainly at first sight, was not unpleasing, nor unsuited to his
discourse. In the relations of private life his character was
unexceptionable. “With a manner somewhat reserved and distant, in what
might be termed his public deportment, no man was ever better qualified
to gain, or more successful in fixing, the attachment of his friends,
than Mr. Pitt. They saw all the powerful energies of his character
softened into the most perfect complacency and sweetness of disposition
in the circles of private life, the pleasures of which no one more
enjoyed, or more agreeably promoted, where the paramount duties he
conceived himself to owe to the public admitted of his mixing in them;
that indignant severity with which he met and subdued what he considered
unfounded opposition, that keenness of sarcasm with which he repelled
and withered (as it might be said) the powers of most of his assailants
in debate, were exchanged, in the society of his intimate friends, for a
kindness of heart, a gentleness of demeanour, and a playfulness of good
humour, which none ever witnessed without interest, or participated
without delight.” Such is the testimony borne to Mr. Pitt’s social
qualities by his intimate and attached friend, the Hon. George Rose, in
his “Brief Examination into the Increase of the Revenue, &c. of Great
Britain, during Mr. Pitt’s administration.”

[Illustration: [Statue of Mr. Pitt, by Chantrey, in Hanover Square.]]

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by J. Posselwhite._

  WESLEY.

  _From a Print engraved by J. Fittler, after a Miniature Painted by J.
    Barry._

  Under the Superintendence of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]




[Illustration]

                                WESLEY.


Samuel Wesley, whose mother was a niece of Thomas Fuller, the church
historian, was in his earliest years thrown by family circumstances
among the party of the dissenters; but he abandoned them in disgust, and
entered at Exeter College, Oxford, in 1684. He afterwards obtained the
livings of Epworth and Wroote, in Lincolnshire; and at the former of
those places, June 17, 1703, was born his second son John. Six years
afterwards, the house was set on fire by some refractory parishioners,
and the boy was forgotten in the first confusion. He was presently
discovered at a window, and by great exertion rescued at the very moment
which promised to be his last. John Wesley saw the hand of Providence in
this preservation, and made it in after life a subject of reflection and
gratitude.

At the age of seventeen he was removed from the Charterhouse School,
where he had made some proficiency, to Christchurch, Oxford; and the
reputation by which he was then distinguished was that of a skilful
logician and acute disputant. He was destined for the Church; and when
the time for ordination arrived, after some faint scruples which he
professed respecting the damnatory clauses of the Athanasian Creed and
the supposed Calvinistic tendency discoverable in the Articles had been
removed, he entered into orders; and, as the book which had especially
excited him on the most serious meditation to undertake that office was
Jeremy Taylor’s ‘Rules of Holy Living and Dying,’ so was it with the
deepest earnestness that his resolution was taken, and with a fixed
determination to dedicate his life and his death, his whole thoughts,
feelings and energies, to the service of God. Accordingly, in the
selection of his acquaintance, he avoided all who did not embrace his
principles; and having now obtained a fellowship at Lincoln College, he
had the means of assembling round him a little society of religious
friends or disciples, over whom his superior talents and piety gave him
a natural influence. These, through their strict and methodical manner
of living, acquired from their fellow-students the appellation of
Methodists,—a name derived from the schools of ancient science, and thus
destined, through its capricious application by a few thoughtless boys,
to designate a large and vital portion of the Christian world.

About this time Wesley entered upon his parochial duties as his father’s
curate at Epworth[4], and presently afterwards, on the approaching death
of that respectable person, he was strongly urged by his family to
obtain, as he probably might have done, the next presentation for
himself. Had he yielded to their solicitations, he might have passed his
days in humble and peaceful obscurity; but his mind was too large for
the limits of a country parish, and he already felt that he was intended
to serve his Maker in a larger field. So, evading the arguments and
withstanding the entreaties of his friends, he went back to reside for a
while upon his fellowship at Oxford.

Footnote 4:

  It was, strictly speaking, during this his absence from Oxford that
  his little society then (of which the leading member was his younger
  brother Charles) acquired the name of Methodist.

In the year 1735 he engaged in the more public exercise of the ministry
in the character of a missionary. He set sail for the new colony of
Georgia in America; he had the countenance of the civil authorities, and
the object which he principally professed was the conversion of the
Indians. His habits at this period were deeply tinged with ascetism. In
his extreme self-denial and mortification, in respect to diet, clothing,
and the ordinary comforts of life, he affected a more than monastic
austerity, and realized the tales of eremitical fanaticism. He even
declaimed against the study of classical authors, and discouraged, as
sinful, any application to profane literature. And the extravagance of
his zeal took a direction, such indeed as might be expected from his
birth and education, but ill adapted to recommend him to the affections
of the colonists. He adhered, with the obstinacy of a bigot, to the
rubric of the Church; he refused to administer baptism except by
immersion; he withheld the communion from a pious dissenter, unless he
should first consent to be rebaptized; he declined to perform the burial
service over another; and while he was exciting much enmity by this
excessive strictness, he formed an indiscreet, though innocent,
connexion with a young woman named Sophia Causton, which led him into
difficulty, and occasioned, after some ludicrous and some very serious
scenes, his sudden and not very creditable departure from America.

He remained there a year and nine months without making, so far as we
learn, a single attempt to introduce Christianity among the Indians. He
alleged that the Indians had expressed no wish for conversion; and if
his conscience was indeed thus easily satisfied, he was yet very far
removed from Christian perfection. Thus much indeed he certainly appears
to have learnt from this first experiment on his own powers, that he was
not yet qualified for the office of missionary; for he felt that he, who
would have converted others, was not yet converted himself.

Wesley had sailed to America in the society of some Moravian
missionaries, whose exalted piety had wrought deeply on his feelings,
and given them some influence over his conduct. On his return to
England, while he was already impressed with some sense of his own
unworthiness, he became closely connected with Peter Boehler, a man of
talents and authority, and a Moravian. Through his instructions Wesley
became thoroughly convinced of his own unbelief, and began to pray, with
all the ardour of his enthusiastic soul, for an instantaneous
conversion. It was not long before he believed that this blessing was
vouchsafed to him. On the evening of the 24th of May, 1738, as one of a
society in Aldersgate Street was reading in his presence Luther’s
‘Preface to the Epistle to the Romans,’—“About a quarter before nine,”
says Wesley, “while he was describing the change which God works in the
heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed; I felt
I did trust in Christ, Christ alone, for salvation; and an assurance was
given me that He had taken away _my_ sins, even _mine_, and saved _me_
from the law of sin and death.” Howbeit, when he returned home, he had
still some more struggles with the evil one, and was again buffeted by
temptations; but he was now triumphant through earnest prayer. “And
herein,” he adds, “I found the difference between this and my former
state chiefly to consist. I was striving, yea fighting, with all my
might under the law, as well as under grace; but then I was sometimes,
if not often, conquered; now I am always conqueror.” This is justly
considered as a remarkable day in the history of methodism; and Wesley
himself attached so much importance to the change that had been wrought
in him, that he scrupled not to proclaim, to the great scandal of some
of his unregenerate friends, that he had never been a Christian until
then.

His first act after his conversion was to set out on a visit to the
celebrated Moravian colony, established under the patronage of Count
Zinzendorf, at Herrnhut in Lusatia. There he employed a fortnight in
examining the doctrines and discipline of that sect, and then returned,
as he went, on foot. “I would gladly have spent my life here; but my
Master calling me to labour in another part of the vineyard, I was
constrained to take my leave of this happy place.” Yet he perceived
clearly enough the imperfections in their method; and his intercourse
with their noble patron was not such as to flatter the ambition, or even
the independence, of his character. But he had acquired a knowledge of
their system, and was thus qualified to apply to his own purposes any
part of it which might hereafter serve them.

Wesley returned from his visit to Germany burning with religious
enthusiasm, and presently entered into the path which Whitefield, his
friend and disciple, had opened for him. The latter, who was a few years
younger than Wesley, and like him educated at Oxford, and in orders, had
begun a short time before to address the people in the open air, at
Kingswood near Bristol. Wesley, after some little hesitation, proceeding
from his respect for ecclesiastical practice and discipline, followed
his example, and commenced his field-preaching in the same place. Here
was the first indication of any approach to a separation from the
Church, and thus in fact were laid the foundations of the sect of
Methodists; yet such was not the design, perhaps, of either of its
founders,—certainly not of Wesley. His scheme, if indeed he had then
proposed to himself any fixed scheme, was rather to awaken the spirit of
religion slumbering within the Church,—to revive the dying embers of
vital Christianity,—to infuse into the languid system new life and
energy,—to place before the eyes of the people the essentials of their
faith, and to rouse their religious instructors to a proper view of
their profession and sense of their duty. It was rather an order than a
sect that he designed to found; an order subsidiary to the Church, in
rivalry indeed with the ancient branches of the Establishment, but
filled with no hostile spirit, and having no final object but its
regeneration. Such as were the Mendicants in respect to the Roman
Church; severe in their reproaches against the indolence and degeneracy
of the clergy, whether regular or secular; severe in their own
professions, and for a season in their piety and practice too; making
their earnest appeals to the lower classes, and turning their influence
with them to their own aggrandizement; yet so far removed from schism,
so far from harbouring any ill designs against the papacy, as to be the
warmest zealots of the Vatican, and the most faithful ministers of all
its projects:—such (so far as the change in civil and ecclesiastical
principles would permit) the disciples of Wesley were probably designed
to have become, in respect to the English Church, by the original
intention of their master. At any rate, it was certain that the
emulation, which he could not fail to rouse, would in the end be
serviceable to the interests of true religion; and it is very possible
that, in the depth of his enthusiasm, he held every other consideration
to be entirely subordinate to this.

The first effects of his public preaching have not been surpassed by any
thing that we read in the history of fanaticism. On one occasion, as he
was inculcating the doctrine of universal redemption, “immediately one,
and another, and another, sank to the earth; they dropped down on every
side as thunderstruck.” Sometimes, as he began to preach, numbers of his
believers fell into violent fits and lay struggling in convulsions
around him. At other times his voice was lost amidst the groans and
cries of his distracted hearers. Wesley encouraged the storm which he
had raised; he shared the fanaticism which he imparted; and in these
deplorable spectacles of human imbecility he saw nothing but the hand of
God confirming by miraculous interposition the holiness of his mission.

But however elated the preacher might be by these spiritual triumphs,
however confident in the immediate aid and favour of God, he did not
neglect such human means as occurred to him for securing and advancing
his conquests. At a very early period he divided his followers at
Bristol into male and female _bands_, for purposes of mutual confession
and prayer, in imitation of one part of the Moravian discipline. The
establishment of love feasts was equally early. Presently Friday was set
apart by him for prayer and fasting; and a house was erected (likewise
at Bristol) for the meeting of his disciples. Things were already
advancing towards schism. The directors of the church discouraged the
extravagance of the teacher, and pitied the madness of the people. Many
clergymen, with praiseworthy discretion, refused their pulpits to men
who might turn them to such strange purposes. And this gave a pretext to
Wesley for seeking means of instructing the people independent of the
Church.

In the mean time he discovered that there were differences between
himself and those with whom he had hitherto been most closely
connected—differences the more difficult to reconcile, because they
concerned points of doctrine—the one with the Moravians, the other with
Whitefield and his followers. For the arrangement of the former, Count
Zinzendorf came in person to England, and had some conferences with
Wesley—but he no longer found in him a timid disciple, or obsequious
admirer. Wesley defended fearlessly the opinions which he professed,
concerning Christian perfection and the means of grace; and as no
concession was possible on the other side, the controversy ended in an
entire and final breach between him and the Moravians. The dispute with
Whitefield, occasioned by the predestinarian doctrines now nakedly
advanced by him, was conducted with considerable bitterness, and came to
a similar termination. Not that the separation was in this case so
complete as to preclude a temporary reconciliation, which was effected
some years afterwards; but the difference was clearly proved to be real
and irreconcileable; and the permanent division of methodism may in fact
be dated from the year 1740.

From this time Wesley, having shaken off two connexions which had
embarrassed more than they had strengthened him, became the sole head
and mover of a considerable religious party: and he immediately applied
his talents to give it organization and perpetuity. He divided his
followers into _classes_, each under the direction of a leader. He
caused pecuniary contributions to be collected from the individuals
composing those classes, so as to establish a permanent fund for the
support of his society, bearing an exact proportion to the number of its
members. He appointed itinerant preachers, and instructed them to preach
in the open air, under the plea that they were excluded from the pulpits
of the Church. And lastly and reluctantly,—for he still retained much
affection for that Church, and could not be blind to the consequences of
the measure,—he committed the office of preaching to laymen. In the
first instance, indeed, he conceded to them no more than the privilege
of expounding the Gospel; but seeing how soon they deviated from
exposition into preaching, he thought it wiser at once to acknowledge
the latter as a part of his system, and thus acquire the power of
preventing, as far as might be, its abuse. These men were, for the most
part, humbly born and ill educated. But their zeal supplied, in popular
estimation, the place of learning; and their habits of poverty enabled
them to endure the privations incident to the missionary of a new sect.
Thus were their labours attended with great success; and this was
essentially promoted by a very sage provision of Wesley, that no
confession of faith should be required on admission into his community.
The door was thus open to all mankind. The new member was never called
upon to secede from the body to which he had previously belonged. He
might bear what denomination he chose among the visible members of
Christ’s Church, so long as he renounced his vices and his pleasures,
and engaged with a regenerate heart in the work of his salvation.

At this time (about 1742) Wesley and his disciples attained that degree
of importance, which qualified them to become objects of persecution. It
was among the lower classes that they had thrown the torch of
fanaticism, and it was from the same that the outrages which now
assailed them proceeded. On two or three occasions the person of the
master himself was in some danger from popular fury; and it may perhaps
have been preserved by his singular presence of mind, and the awe which
he knew how to inspire into his fellow creatures. But these violent
eruptions of indignation, as they were founded on no semblance of
reason, and opposed by the civil authorities, were partial and of short
duration; and as the rumours of them were much exaggerated at the time,
their influence, as far as they had any, was probably favorable to the
progress of methodism. Some calumnies that were raised against Wesley
from more respectable quarters, touching his tendency to papacy and his
disaffection to the reigning dynasty, arising from entire
misunderstanding or pure malevolence, were immediately repelled, and
speedily silenced and forgotten.

In the year 1744 Wesley invited his brother Charles, four other
clergymen who co-operated with him, and four of his lay-preachers to a
_Conference_: this was the origin of the assembly or council, which was
afterwards held annually, and became the governing body, for the
regulation of the general affairs of the society. Four years
subsequently, a school was opened at Kingswood, for the education
chiefly of the sons of the preachers. In the extreme severity of some of
the rules which he imposed on this establishment, Wesley seems to have
been guided by an ambitious design to set apart his own people from the
rest of the community, rather than by the common principles of
education, or the common feelings of nature. And so jealous was he of
any other influence being exerted on his children, that they were not
allowed to be absent from the school, not even for a day, from their
first admission till their final removal from it. Notwithstanding
however the peculiarity and, as he thought, the purity of his system, he
met with many difficulties and reverses, in his first attempts to place
it on a permanent foundation.

We may pass over the circumstances of his unfortunate marriage, which
ended, after a few months of discord and vexation, in a hasty but final
separation. His wife, after proving herself his foulest slanderer and
bitterest enemy, presently deserted him. “Non eam reliqui (says
Wesley)—non dimisi—non revocabo.” “I have not left her—I have not put
her away—I will not recall her.” The same calmness of temper and perfect
self-possession, which so remarkably distinguished him in his public
proceedings, seem not to have abandoned him even in the more pressing
severity of his domestic trials.

Neither have we space to notice the controversies which he carried on
with two of the most eminent divines of his time, bishops Lavington and
Warburton; since Wesley, though engaged in dispute with the prelates of
the Church, and very frequent and bitter in the reproaches which he cast
against its ministers, still adhered to its communion, and had yet
committed no act declaratory of absolute independence. But later in life
he advanced farther towards schism. First of all, as he did not assume
for his lay-preachers the power of administering the sacrament, he
caused several to be ordained by one Erasmus, a Greek Bishop of
Arcadia—thus evading the spiritual authority, which he could not
contest, and which he did not yet venture to dispense with. But this was
a feeble resource, unworthy of his courage, and unavailing to his
purposes. A stronger measure followed. His disciples were very numerous
in America, and it was desirable to send out to them a head, invested
with the highest spiritual authority. Dr. Coke, an “evangelical”
clergyman, was selected for that office, and Wesley took upon himself to
invest him with the requisite dignity. These letters of ordination are
dated September 2, 1784, and announce in substance, that Wesley thought
himself providentially called, at that time, to set apart some persons
for the work of the ministry in America; and therefore, under the
protection of Almighty God, and with a single eye to his glory, had that
day set apart, as a superintendent, by the imposition of his hands and
prayer, Thomas Coke, a doctor of civil law, and a presbyter of the
Church of England.

In this affair, it was weak in Wesley to plead (as he did) a seasonable
conviction, that in the true primitive Church the order of bishop and
presbyter were one and the same—for if Wesley exercised as presbyter
episcopal authority, so, under the same plea, might Dr. Coke have
exercised it, without any imposition of Wesley’s hands. This was a
shallow pretence, which could scarcely have deceived himself. The fact
was, that Wesley, now acting as the sole head of a separate religious
party, assumed the prerogatives of the highest ecclesiastical dignity;
and resolved that all the privileges of his ministers should emanate
from himself. This is properly considered as a second important epoch in
the history of methodism.

Wesley was then eighty-one years old, and he lived for seven years
longer, in the perfect enjoyment of his health and exercise of his
faculties, almost to the very end. He died March 2, 1791: leaving no
property, except the copyright and current editions of his works, which
he bequeathed for the use of the connexion. The whole number of his
followers, at the time of his decease, is stated at about 135,000, of
whom more than 57,600 were Americans. In the United Kingdoms, his
principal success had been in some of the large towns in England and in
Ireland. But he complains of the coldness with which his preaching was,
for the most part, received by the agricultural classes generally, and
by the entire Scotch nation—facts which may however be accounted for,
without supposing any religious obduracy either in the one or the other.

Thus did Wesley live to fix and consolidate, by the calmer deliberation
of his later years, the effects, which might otherwise have been
transient, of his early enthusiasm. It required many talents, as well as
many virtues, to accomplish this—and Wesley was abundantly endowed with
both. The natural ardour and eagerness of his character was moderated by
great sagacity and calm judgment, a conciliating and forgiving temper.
If he loved power, he did not covet money; but bestowed all that he had
upon the poor. Doubtless his original object was simply to awaken the
dormant spirit of vital Christianity; and if spiritual ambition,
fomented by the general discouragement which he received from the
clergy, seduced him too readily—though reluctantly and in opposition to
his own professions, and even to his own intentions—into what did in
fact amount to schism; yet the breach is not even now irreparable, if
only his better spirit shall preside in the councils of his disciples,
and be met with a kindred feeling of religious moderation by the
directors of the Established Church.

[Illustration: [Monument to Wesley in the Chapel in the City Road.]]




[Illustration]

                            DR. CARTWRIGHT.


The incident which immediately led to the invention of the power-loom is
best related in the words of the inventor himself. “Happening to be at
Matlock in the summer of 1784, I fell in company with some gentlemen of
Manchester, when the conversation turned on Arkwright’s spinning
machinery. One of the company observed, that as soon as Arkwright’s
patent expired, so many mills would be erected, and so much cotton spun,
that hands never could be found to weave it. To this observation I
replied, that Arkwright must then set his wits to work to invent a
weaving mill. This brought on a conversation on the subject, in which
the Manchester gentlemen unanimously agreed that the thing was
impracticable; and in defence of their opinion, they adduced arguments
which I certainly was incompetent to answer, or even to comprehend,
being totally ignorant of the subject, having never at that time seen a
person weave. I controverted however the impracticability of the thing.”
Looms driven by power had been constructed before, but they had not been
made to answer; and it is probable, from the circumstances of Dr.
Cartwright’s life, that he had never heard of them: at all events the
idea thus suggested to him did not lie dormant. Before the following
April, he had constructed his first power-loom; and he took out his last
weaving patent Aug. 1, 1787. Mechanical spinning therefore was the
parent of mechanical weaving. Without the former, the latter would have
been needless; without the latter, the former would have been
incomplete. Every stage of the cotton manufacture, from the cleaning of
the raw wool to the formation of a perfect web, may be, and in many
establishments is, now carried on under the same roof, and by the moving
power of the same engine. The name of Dr. Cartwright should follow that
of Sir Richard Arkwright in the list of our national benefactors; though
at present it is far less known to the world at large. It was long
indeed before Cartwright’s merits were appreciated, and they failed to
obtain for him the wealth and distinction which the creation of the
factory system secured to Arkwright. The utility of the power-loom is
now acknowledged, and its sphere appears to be rapidly enlarging. But it
is still limited even in the cotton, and much more in the silk and
woollen manufactures; and it is not unreasonable to expect that, as
prejudices give way, and fresh refinements render the machine
susceptible of more general, not to say universal, application, the art
of weaving by mechanism, as formerly of spinning, may give an impulse to
our trade, of which we now see the beginning, but cannot conjecture the
end.

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by J. Thomson._

  D^R. CARTWRIGHT.

  _From a Picture in the possession of Miss Cartwright._

  Under the Superintendance of the Society of the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]

Edmund Cartwright was the fourth son of William Cartwright, Esq., of
Marnham in Nottinghamshire, a gentleman whose family had been long
established in the county, and had suffered considerably in its fortune
by adherence to the cause of Charles I. in the civil war. He was born
April 24, 1743; and at the school of Wakefield, and at University
College, Oxford, received the education usually bestowed upon young men
destined for the clerical profession. At an early age he manifested a
taste for poetic composition; but though he had printed some short
pieces anonymously, his name was not given to the public, until the
appearance, in 1770, of ‘Armenia and Elvira,’ a legendary poem, which
became so popular that it passed through seven editions in little more
than a year. He also published, about the same period, the ‘Prince of
Peace,’ and ‘Sonnets to Eminent Men.’ In 1774 he became a contributor to
the Monthly Review, in which he continued to write for ten years.

We have not ascertained the date of his taking orders, of his election
to a fellowship at Magdalen College, or of his vacating that fellowship
by marriage. The degree of D.D. he took in 1806. For some years after
his marriage he resided, first on his living at Brampton in Derbyshire,
and afterwards at Goadby-Marwood in Leicestershire; where the hours
which were not devoted to the duties of his calling were chiefly
employed in literary pursuits.

Hitherto Mr. Cartwright’s private life had been that of a retired
country clergyman, varied only by his correspondence with literary
friends. From his family connexions, and the esteem in which he was held
by some who had power to advance him, his prospects in the church were
favourable; and he had good reason to believe, that if he had confined
himself to the line of life in which he had been educated, and in which
he was then advancing, he would have attained a more ample provision in
his profession, than it was his lot to acquire by the exercise of his
mechanical talent. The existence of such a talent in his own mind had
been wholly unknown even to himself, until he was upwards of forty years
of age, when the circumstance which has been above narrated called it
into action, and caused a change in the whole tenor of his life. In his
first attempts he had to contend with the difficulties which usually
beset genius without experience. “As I had never before turned my
thoughts to anything mechanical, either in theory or practice, nor had
even seen a loom at work, or knew anything of its construction, you will
readily believe that my first loom was a most rude piece of machinery.
The warp was placed perpendicularly; the reed fell with the weight of at
least half a hundred weight, and the springs which threw the shuttle
were strong enough to have thrown a Congreve rocket. In short, it
required the strength of two powerful men to work the machine at a slow
rate, and only for a short time.” This, as we have seen, was in 1785: he
also applied his talents to effecting the substitution of machinery for
manual labour in combing wool, and took out his first patent on this
subject in April 1790.

The following anecdotes we quote from the ‘Pursuit of Knowledge,’ vol.
ii.; we believe them to rest upon the best authority. “Dr. Cartwright’s
children still remember often seeing their father about this time
walking to and fro apparently in deep meditation, and occasionally
throwing his arms from side to side; on which they used to be told that
he was thinking of weaving and throwing the shuttle. From the moment
indeed when his attention was first turned to the invention of the
power-loom, mechanical contrivance became the grand occupying subject of
his thoughts. With that sanguineness of disposition which seems to be
almost a necessary part of the character of an inventor, he looked on
difficulties, when he met with them in any of his attempts, as only
affording his genius occasion for a more distinguished triumph: nor did
he allow even repeated failures for a moment to dishearten him. Some
time after he had brought his first loom to perfection, a manufacturer,
who had called upon him to see it at work, after expressing his
admiration of the ingenuity displayed in it, remarked, that wonderful as
was Mr. Cartwright’s mechanical skill, there was one thing that would
effectually baffle him, namely the weaving of patterns in checks, or in
other words, the combining in the same web, of a pattern, or fancy
figure, with the crossing colours which constitute the check. Mr.
Cartwright made no reply to this observation at the time; but some weeks
after, on receiving a second visit from the same person, he had the
pleasure of showing him a piece of muslin of the description mentioned,
beautifully executed by machinery. The man is said to have been so much
astonished, that he roundly declared his conviction that some agency
more than human must have been called in on the occasion.”

The prejudices and opposition which Dr. Cartwright’s invention
encountered from the manufacturers, stood greatly in the way of any
general adoption of his loom during the period of his patent rights.
Other causes, however, were concerned in this. A mill, containing five
hundred of his looms, was burnt down almost immediately after its
erection. He engaged in a concern for manufacturing with power-looms at
Doncaster; but this proved unsuccessful. And it is not improbable,
though we have not found it expressly stated, that the machine itself
was not at this time able to compete, in respect of economy and beauty
of workmanship, with hand labour: for during the period of his exclusive
rights, two or three other persons took out patents for power-looms,
without being able to make them answer. But about the year 1801, in
which his patent expired, he had the pleasure of finding that his
invention was coming into use to a very considerable extent; and the
mortification of seeing others reap the fruit of his unrequited
ingenuity. The increased demand during the war for English cotton goods,
with the necessity for working up at home the cotton yarn which had
hitherto been exported to the Continent, had given an impulse to the
manufacture favourable to the introduction of machinery; and at the same
time the power-loom was rendered much more economical by a very
ingenious method, invented by Mr. Radcliffe of Stockport, about 1804, of
dressing or sizing the warp, before it was placed in the loom. A cotton
manufacturer of Stockport, named Horrocks, took out a patent for another
power-loom in 1803. He failed; but his loom, with various modifications,
is that which has now come into general use.

The following estimate, taken from ‘Baines’s History of the Cotton
Manufacture,’ of the number of power-looms in Britain at various
periods, though literal exactness in such a matter is unattainable,
affords probably a tolerably correct measure of the rapid multiplication
of these engines.

              In 1813.                In 1820. In 1829. In 1833.
        Not exceeding 2,400. England    12,150   45,500   85,000
                             Scotland    2,000   10,000   15,000
                                       ———————  ———————  ———————
                                        14,150   55,500  100,000

At the present time, we are told by the same authority, the
machinemakers of Lancashire are making power-looms with the greatest
rapidity, and they cannot be made sufficiently fast to meet the demands
of the manufacturers. This quick increase, notwithstanding the
considerable expense of outfit, which by employing hand-weavers the
manufacturer avoids entirely, may safely be taken as a test of the
advantages and national importance of the power-loom. The following
estimate is given of its productiveness as compared with hand-loom
labour. A very good hand-weaver, twenty-five or thirty years of age,
will weave _two_ pieces of cloth per week, of a certain description,
each twenty-four yards long. In 1833, a steam-loom weaver, from fifteen
to twenty years of age, assisted by a girl about twelve years of age,
attending to four looms, can weave _eighteen_ similar pieces in a week;
some can weave twenty pieces. It appears from the fuller statement given
by Mr. Baines, that the comparative productiveness of steam-looms has
rapidly increased up to the last-mentioned period, and therefore it may
be conjectured not yet to have reached its maximum; and it is also
stated, that in those descriptions of plain goods for which they have
hitherto been chiefly used, “cloth made by these looms, when seen by
those manufacturers who employ hand-weavers, at once, excites
admiration, and a consciousness that their own weavers cannot equal it.”
The set-off against these advantages is the interest on capital
employed, and the expense of supplying power. It is not asserted by the
more intelligent, either among masters or workmen, that the power-loom
has been more than a secondary and minor cause of the lamentable
depression and misery now existing among the hand-weavers; a depression
which it is to be feared will never be removed but by the gradual
relinquishment of that laborious and ill-paid trade.

The hardships of Dr. Cartwright’s case, his merits, and the extent to
which the country was then profiting by his discoveries, had become, by
1807, so manifest to those who were best acquainted with the cotton
trade, that a considerable number of the most respectable and
influential gentlemen of Manchester presented a memorial to government,
praying that some remuneration for his useful inventions might be taken
into consideration. He petitioned the legislature himself to the same
effect; and in 1809 obtained from parliament a grant of £10,000 for “the
good service he had rendered the public by his invention of weaving.”
The compensation thus awarded, though falling far short of the sums he
had expended in perfecting his inventions, as well as in defending his
patent-rights, contributed essentially to place him in comparatively
easy circumstances; and being advanced in life, he was thankful to be
enabled to pass the remainder of his days in tranquil retirement. The
activity of his mind however was unabated. Engaged to the last in
scientific pursuits, with an occasional revival of the poetic spirit of
his youth, he closed his active, useful, and benevolent life at
Hastings, October 30, 1823, in the eighty-first year of his age.

Like many inventors, Dr. Cartwright was negligent of his pecuniary
interests: he possessed another quality less common to that class of
persons, entire freedom from jealousy, and great liberality in
communicating his ideas and assistance to others engaged in pursuits
similar to his own. And we may fairly conjecture that the temper of mind
in which such conduct originated, promoted his happiness much more than
any increase to his fortune, procured by a less frank and generous
spirit, could have done. It is also stated, that whether from absorption
in the pursuits of the moment, or carelessness of their value, he was
remarkably apt to forget his own productions, even when offered to his
notice. Among other instances of this disposition, it is related, that
on examining the model of one of his own machines, he expressed great
admiration, and said that he should have been proud to have been the
inventor of it; nor could he readily be convinced that the merit was
indeed his own.

In this sketch of Dr. Cartwright’s life a limited notice only has been
taken of his productions. He is chiefly known as the inventor of the
power-loom; but the public are also reaping the advantage of several
minor improvements in the arts of life, which emanated from his active
and observing mind. It is sufficient here to state that he obtained ten
patents, either for original inventions, or improvements upon his
earlier mechanical attempts: and in addition to the kindred arts of
weaving, spinning, wool-combing, and rope-making, he had successfully
applied his talents to a variety of subjects unconnected with those
manufactures.

An account of his life, containing a more detailed description of his
various inventions, as well as a relation of the struggles and
difficulties which he encountered, is now, we are informed, in
preparation for the press. The portrait from which our engraving is
taken was copied from one painted by Robert Fulton, when studying the
art under his countryman, Benjamin West.




[Illustration]

                                PORSON.


It is perhaps not easy to invest the memoirs of a verbal critic with the
interest which attaches itself to the lives of men distinguished in
other departments of literature and science: the classical scholar has
little sympathy, in respect of his peculiar vocation, with the world
around him, and the world for the most part repays his indifference with
interest. Nevertheless, it is due to the great reputation of the subject
of this memoir to relate the principal events of his life.

Richard Porson was born December 25, 1759. His father, Mr. Huggin
Porson, was the parish-clerk of East Ruston, near North Walsham, in the
county of Norfolk. Notwithstanding his poverty, Porson had the good
fortune to obtain a first-rate education. Even in his childhood he was
taught by a careful father more than is generally learned by the
children of the rich; and after he had spent a short time at a village
school, to which he was sent at the age of nine, his abilities attracted
the notice of Mr. Hewitt, the vicar of his native place, who kindly
undertook to teach the young prodigy the rudiments of Greek and Latin.
In these elementary studies Porson passed his time till 1774, being also
occasionally employed as a shepherd or a weaver. But his reputation had
reached the ears of Mr. Norris, of Grosvenor Place, who in the summer of
that year undertook the charge of maintaining him at Eton College. His
name soon became favorably known beyond the circle of his admiring
school-fellows. The interest which he excited was fortunate for him, for
on the death of his kind patron Mr. Norris, he would have been unable to
continue at Eton, had it not been for a subscription collected by Sir
George Baker, then President of the Royal College of Physicians, from a
number of gentlemen who had heard of Porson’s talents, and were desirous
of giving him a fair opportunity to cultivate them to the uttermost.
With this subscription, an annuity of 80_l._ for a few years was
purchased for him; and thus he was enabled to finish his course at Eton,
and to proceed thence to Trinity College, Cambridge.

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by B. Holl._

  PORSON.

  _From a Print engraved by W. Sharpe, after a Picture by Hoppner._

  Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]

In the second term of his third year (1781), Porson obtained one of the
Craven University Scholarships, which, being open to the free
competition of the whole body of undergraduates, have always been
regarded among our most honourable academical distinctions. He took the
degree of B. A. in 1782; and, on the mathematical tripos, obtained the
respectable place of third senior optime: but he gained the first of the
medals annually given by the Chancellor of the University to the two
commencing bachelors of arts, under certain restrictions, who pass the
best examination in classical learning. In the following September he
was elected Fellow of Trinity College. He proceeded to the degree of
M.A. in 1785; but being unwilling, from conscientious motives, to
subscribe to the articles of the Established Church, he could not take
orders, and, according to the rules of the College, vacated his
Fellowship in 1791. He was thus for the second time dependant upon the
liberality of his friends. Nor did they neglect him: a subscription was
entered into by Mr. Cracherode and some others, from the proceeds of
which a life annuity of 100_l._ was purchased for him.

In 1792 he was elected Regius Professor of Greek: but, as the salary of
this office is only 40_l._ per annum, he was still a poor man; and not
being able to procure a suitable lecture room, he was prevented from
making the usual addition to his income, by delivering lectures on the
Greek authors. In 1795 he married Mrs. Lunan, the sister of Mr. Perry,
the well-known Editor of the Morning Chronicle. From this union, short
as it proved, Porson derived important benefits. He laid aside, while it
lasted, most of the unseemly and intemperate habits which he had
contracted at College: but unfortunately his wife died of consumption in
1797, and he subsequently relapsed into his former course of life, and,
as is too notorious, sacrificed friends, health and fortune, to his
passion for drinking. After her death the kindness of his brother-in-law
provided him with a home, gave him an opportunity of mixing in good
society, and preserved him from many inconveniences, to which a man of
Porson’s careless habits is always exposed.

About the time of his wife’s death, in 1797, Porson published an edition
of the Hecuba of Euripides; which he intended to form the first portion
of a complete edition of that poet, and which, with very modest
pretensions, was at once acknowledged to be a piece of first-rate
criticism by the scholars not only of England but of all Europe.
However, in 1800, Gottfried Hermann of Leipzig, who has since become
very eminent as a verbal critic, published an edition of the same play,
as a professed attack on Porson’s; and there was something in the tone,
as well as in the matter of his strictures, which more than
counterbalanced the compliment at the commencement of the preface. When,
therefore, Porson republished the ‘Hecuba,’ in 1802, he added to the
preface a long Supplement, in which Hermann was treated rather
superciliously; indeed it appears from a letter which Porson wrote to
Professor Dalzel, of Edinburgh, on the third of September, 1803, that he
entertained a most sincere contempt for his German censor. The
Supplement, however, obtained the applause of the learned in all
countries, and, in its kind, it has rarely been surpassed in learning
and ingenuity. Porson subsequently published the ‘Orestes,’ ‘Phœnissæ,’
and ‘Medea,’ and the four plays, collected into one volume, have gone
through numerous editions.

When the London Institution was established, in 1805, Porson was
appointed Librarian, with a salary of 200_l._ per annum. The situation
however gave him no opportunity of useful exertion. He selected indeed
an excellent classical library, and was tolerably diligent in his
attendance; but he acquired in this monotonous employment a habit of
selfish intemperance, which impaired his faculties and ruined his
health. From the beginning of 1808 he was afflicted with asthma; and
neglecting the usual modes of treating this disease, he endeavoured to
cure it by abstinence. Under this regimen he grew weaker and weaker, and
on Monday, September 19, 1808, he was attacked with apoplexy in the
street. Being unknown, he was carried to a neighbouring workhouse; but
on the following day he was discovered and taken home by his friends,
whose attention had been called to an advertisement describing his
person, and some scraps of Greek writing and algebra, which were found
in his pockets. He recovered so far as to receive a visit from his
friend Dr. Adam Clarke, at the Institution; but the hand of death was
upon him, and he never regained the full use of his faculties. He died
on the night of the following Sunday, just as the clock struck twelve.
His body was conveyed to Cambridge, and buried, with the highest
academical honours, in Trinity College Chapel, near the statue of
Newton, where a monument, with a bust by Chantrey, is erected to his
memory.

A complete list of Porson’s works is given by Dr. Young in the
‘Supplement to the Encyclopædia Britannica.’ The general reader will
perhaps form the best notion of his style from his celebrated ‘Letters
to Archdeacon Travis,’ in which the genuineness of the long-controverted
text, 1 John v. 7, is, we may venture to say, finally refuted. This
work, from its subject, is chiefly interesting to the theologian and
scholar: but its wit, terseness and strength of style, and force of
argument, will well repay even the general reader for perusing it. Of
his posthumous works the Photius requires particular notice. It was
printed in 1822, from Porson’s transcript of the Galean MS. of an
imperfect Lexicon, which is generally attributed to the celebrated
Patriarch of Constantinople. He had transcribed and corrected this
Lexicon with the intention of printing it some years before his death,
but a fire having broken out in Mr. Perry’s house at Merton, and having
consumed, among other papers, this transcript, he began the task again,
and completed another copy in his own handwriting. A collection of his
miscellaneous notes, under the title of ‘Adversaria,’ was published
several years after the author’s death.

As Porson was the champion of English scholarship against the attacks of
continental critics, and the head of a school of verbal criticism in
this country, we must expect to find among his English contemporaries
and successors a sort of reverence for him not altogether justified by
his merits, and among the scholars of Germany, on the other hand, a
corresponding feeling of dislike and desire to disparage him. Hermann
wrote an article a few years since in the ‘Vienna Journal,’ on the
characteristics of English scholarship, in which (vol. liv. p. 236,) the
peculiar features of Porson’s criticism are said to be “great metrical
accuracy in the kinds of verse with which he was acquainted; in others,
sometimes an acquiescent acceptance of what he found, sometimes
uncertain alterations: in his knowledge of the Greek language, great
correctness; a sound judgment in the choice of readings, and considerate
circumspection in conjecture, except where his own rules came in the
way.” On the other hand, it is affirmed that “Porson’s notes are
defective in acute and decisive proofs, and in that criticism which
proceeds from a lively conception of the poetical: and that their
contents are much more indicative of great industry and cool
examination.” This is true enough as far as it goes; but had Hermann in
his old age forgotten the rivalry which subsisted between Porson and
himself in his earlier years, he would not have omitted to add that,
with all these drawbacks, Porson was the greatest verbal critic of
modern times.

It has been stated that Porson could not make himself generally
agreeable; but it is well known that he had a strong turn for the
humorous, and was almost always successful in his strokes of wit, so
that it cannot be doubted that his society was courted even by the
superficial; and we have heard from several of his surviving friends
that, though his coarseness was sometimes offensive, he was often a
welcome guest at the tea-table. He was also very happy in connecting
classical allusions with ludicrous associations; and Professor Dobree,
in his inaugural Prælection, speaks rapturously of the delight which
Porson’s broad vernacular translations from Aristophanes afforded to his
intimates at college. Some of his jeux d’esprit have been printed in the
Classical Journal; the poem called ‘The Devil’s Walk’ was till lately
attributed to him: it is stated in the last edition of Coleridge’s works
to be the joint production of that poet and of Southey.

It may be necessary to say a few words in conclusion on those two
peculiarities for which perhaps Porson is most talked about at the
present day: his extraordinary memory, and his fondness for the manual
labour of writing. The former he attributed in great measure to the
latter. He told a friend, that he recollected nothing which he had not
transcribed three times, or read at least six times; adding the
assurance, that any one who would take the same trouble would acquire
the same powers. We should incline to ascribe the tenacity of his
recollection, so far as it depended on cultivation, in great measure to
the early training of his father, who taught him the rules of arithmetic
without the use of book or pencil; and his proficiency was such, that at
nine years of age he is said to have been able to extract cube roots in
his head. His memory was as indiscriminate as it was retentive and
capacious. Proper names of no importance, foolish ballads, and prosing
tales he could recall as easily, and repeat as accurately, as the
passages of ancient authors which he required for the illustration or
correction of a line of Euripides: he loved to recite, and was equally
ready to repeat, ‘Jack the Giant Killer,’ or half a book of Milton, to
his wearied company. As to his penmanship, it has been objected to him
that he wasted many hours in an employment which would have better
suited a country writing-master than a man of such talents. But it must
be recollected that a reader of Greek MSS. must also be a scribe
himself; and a great deal of the facility with which Porson performed
his collations is to be attributed to his practice as a calligrapher.
And if, as he used to say, his memory was principally formed by repeated
copying, he certainly did not throw away his time; for all that he did
in the way of illustrating Greek authors was mainly owing to his memory.
And the world has at least derived one benefit from the perfection of
Porson’s handwriting, in the adoption by the English University presses
of a set of uniform types, formed after his models, of which even
Hermann has said that they far exceed all attempts made in modern times
to improve the beauty of Greek writing.

[Illustration: [London Institution.]]

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by J. Posselwhite._

  WICLIF.

  _From a Print by G. White, after a Picture in the Collection of the
    Duke of Dorset._

  Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]




[Illustration]

                                WICLIF.


The village of Wiclif, distant about six miles from Richmond in
Yorkshire, had long been the residence of a family of the same name,
when it gave birth, about the year 1324, to its most distinguished
native. The family possessed wealth and consequence; and though the name
of the Reformer is not to be found in the extant records of the
household, it is probable that he belonged to it. Perhaps the spirit of
the times, and zeal for the established hierarchy, may have led it to
disclaim the only person who has saved its name from absolute obscurity.

John Wiclif was first admitted at Queen’s College, Oxford, but speedily
removed to Merton, a society more ancient and distinguished, and adorned
by names of great ecclesiastical eminence. Here he engaged in the
prescribed studies with diligence and success. In scholastic learning he
made such great proficiency as to extort admiration from some who loved
him not; and the direction in which his talents were turned is indicated
by the honourable appellation, which he early acquired, of the Evangelic
or Gospel Doctor. The terms, “profound,” “perspicuous,” “irrefragable,”
were applied to mark the respective peculiarities of Bradwardine, of
Burley, and of Hales; and so we may infer, that the peculiar bent of
Wiclif’s youthful exertions was towards the book on which his subsequent
principles were founded, and that he applied the ambiguous fruits of a
scholastic education, not to enlarge the resources of sophistry, but to
illustrate the treasures of truth. And on the other hand, in the
illustration of those oracles, and in the accomplishment of his other
holy purposes, it was of good and useful service to him that he had
armed himself with the weapons of the age, and could contend with the
most redoubtable adversaries on the only ground of argument which was at
all accessible to them.

In 1356 he put forth a tract on ‘The Last Age of the Church,’ which was
the first of his publications, and is on other accounts worthy of
mention. It would appear that his mind had been deeply affected by
meditation on the various evils which at that period afflicted the
world, especially the pestilence which had laid waste, a few years
before, so large a portion of it. He was disposed to ascribe them to
God’s indignation at the sinfulness of man; and he also believed them to
be mysterious announcements of the approaching consummation of all
things. Through too much study of the book of the Abbot Joachim, he was
infected with the spirit of prophecy; and, not contented to lament past
and present visitations, he ventured to predict others which were yet to
come. All however were to be included in the fourteenth century, which
was to be the last of the world. That Wiclif should have been thus
carried away by the prevalent infatuation, so as to contribute his
portion to the mass of vain and visionary absurdity, was human and
pardonable: but in his manner of treating even this subject, we discover
the spirit and the principles of the Reformer. Among the causes of those
fearful calamities, among the vices which had awakened to so much
fierceness the wrath of the Almighty, he feared not to give the foremost
place to the vices of the clergy, the rapacity which _ate up the people
as it were bread_, the sensuality which infected the earth with its
savour, and “smelt to heaven.” Here was the leaven which perverted and
corrupted the community; here the impure source whence future
visitations should proceed. “Both vengeance of sword, and mischiefs
unknown before, by which men in those days shall be punished, shall
befal them, because of the sins of their priests.” Thus it was that in
this singular work, of which the foundation may have been laid in
superstition, Wiclif developed notwithstanding a free and unprejudiced
mind, and one which dared to avow without compromise, what it felt with
force and truth.

The mendicant orders of friars were introduced into England in the year
1221; and they presently supplanted the antient establishments in the
veneration of the people, and usurped many of the prerogatives, honours,
and profits of the sacerdotal office. As long as they retained their
original character, and practised, to any great extent, the rigid
morality and discipline which they professed, so long did their
influence continue without diminution, and the clamours of the monks and
the priests assailed them in vain: but prosperity soon relaxed their
zeal and soiled their purity, and within a century from the time of
their institution, they became liable to charges as serious as those
which had reduced the authority of their rivals. Accordingly, towards
the middle of the following century, the contest was conducted with
greater success on the part of the original orders; and some of the
leading prelates of the day took part in it against the Mendicants.
Oxford was naturally the field for the closest struggle, and the rising
talents of Wiclif were warmly engaged in it. About the year 1360 he is
generally believed to have first proclaimed his hostility “against the
orders of friars;” and he persisted, to the end of life, in pursuing
them with the keenest argument and the bitterest invective, denouncing
them as the authors of “perturbation in Christiandome, and of all the
evils of this worlde; and these errors shallen never be amended till the
friars be brought to freedom of the Gospel and clean religion of Jesu
Christ.”

In the year 1365 Urban V. renewed the papal claim of sovereignty over
the realm of England, which was founded on the submission rendered by
John to Innocent III. The claim was resisted by Edward III., and the
decision of his parliament confirmed, in the strongest language, the
resolution of the monarch. A zealous advocate of papacy ventured to
vindicate the pretension of the Vatican, and challenged Wiclif to reply
to his arguments. He did so; and his reply has survived the work which
gave it birth. It is not however remarkable for any power of
composition, still less can it be praised for grace or accuracy of
style; but it stands as a rude monument of his principles, and proves
that even then he was imbued with that anti-papal spirit which more
splendidly distinguished his later years. Still, he was not yet
committed as the adversary of Rome; and in a dispute, in which he was
engaged with the Archbishop of Canterbury at this very time, he appealed
from the decision of the Primate to the authority of the Pope.

Seven years afterwards, at the age of forty-eight, Wiclif was raised to
the Theological Chair at Oxford; and from this period we may date the
most memorable of his spiritual achievements. For it is a question
whether, had he died before that time, his name would have come down to
us distinguished by any peculiar characteristic from those of the other
divines and doctors of his age; but when he turned this eminence into a
vantage-ground for assailing the corruptions of his church, and thus
recommended the expressions of truth and justice by the authority of
academical dignity, his language acquired a commanding weight, and his
person a peculiar distinction, which the former would never have
possessed had he remained in an inferior station, nor the latter, had he
not employed his station for the noblest purposes: purposes which,
though they were closely connected with the welfare and stability of the
Roman Catholic communion, were seldom advocated from the pulpits of her
hierarchy, or the chairs of her professors. Had Wiclif been no more than
an eminent and dignified theologian, he would have been admired,
perhaps, and forgotten, like so many others. Had he been only a humble
pleader for the reformation of the church, his voice might never have
been heard, or it might have been extinguished by the hand of
persecution: but his rank removed him above the neglect of his
contemporaries; and his principles, thus acquiring immediate efficacy,
have secured for him the perpetual respect of a more enlightened and
grateful posterity.

At this time the various profitable devices, by which the Vatican turned
into its own channels the wealth and patronage of the church, were come
into full operation. By its provisions and reservations, and other
expedients, it had filled many valuable benefices with foreign
ecclesiastics; these, for the most part, were non-resident, and spent in
other countries the rich revenues which they derived from England. This
system had been vigorously opposed both by kings and people, but with
little effectual success; for the Pope commonly contrived to repair the
losses which he had sustained in the tempest during the interval which
succeeded it. In 1374 Edward III. dispatched an embassy to Avignon to
remonstrate on these subjects with Gregory XI., and procure the
relinquishment of his pretensions. The Bishop of Bangor was at the head
of this commission, and the name of Wiclif stood second on the list. The
negociation was protracted, and ended in no important result; and the
various arts of the Vatican triumphed over the zeal of the Reformer,
and, as some believe, over the honesty of the Bishop. Howbeit, Wiclif
obtained on that occasion a nearer insight into the pontifical
machinery, and beheld with closer eyes the secret springs which moved
it. And if he carried along with him into the presence of the vicar of
Christ no very obsequious regard for his person, or reverence for his
authority, he returned from that mission armed with more decided
principles, and inflamed with a more determined animosity. At the same
time his sovereign rewarded his services at the Papal Court by the
prebend of Aust, in the Collegiate Church of Westbury, in the diocese of
Worcester; and soon afterwards by the rectory of Lutterworth, in
Leicestershire.

After this period, his anti-papal opinions were more boldly declared,
and he became more and more distinguished as an advocate for the
Reformation of the Church. The suspicions of the hierarchy were aroused;
and whatever reasons the Prelates might have had for sometimes siding
with their sovereign against the usurpations of the Pope, they were
ill-disposed to listen to the generous remonstrances of a private
Reformer. Accordingly, at a Convocation held Feb. 3, 1377, they summoned
him to appear at St. Paul’s, to clear himself from the fatal charge of
holding erroneous doctrines. Had Wiclif trusted to no other support than
the holiness of his cause—had he thrown himself, like Huss and Jerome of
Prague, only on the mercy and justice of his ecclesiastical judges—it
might have fared as ill with him as it did with his Bohemian disciples.
But his principles, recommended as it would seem by some private
intercourse, had secured him the patronage of the celebrated John of
Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, under whose protection he presented himself on
the appointed day before the assembled bishops. A tumultuous scene
ensued: and after an undignified and indecent dispute between the Duke
and the Bishop of London, the meeting dispersed without arriving at any
conclusion, or even entering on any inquiry respecting the matter
concerning which it was convened. The process against Wiclif was however
suspended; and this good result was at least obtained, though by means
more in accordance with the violent habits of the age, than with the
holiness of his cause.

In the course of the same year, while the Pope was endeavouring to
re-establish and perpetuate his dominion in fiscal matters over the
English, and the Parliament struggling to throw it off altogether,
Wiclif was again called forth as the advocate of national independence;
and he argued with great force and boldness against the legality of the
papal exactions. In this Treatise, he entered more generally into the
question, as to what were the real foundations, not only of papal but of
spiritual pretensions; he pressed the Gospel of Christ as the last
appeal in all reasonings respecting the Church of Christ; and he
contrasted the worldliness and rapacity of his Vicar with the principles
of the religion, and the character of its Divine founder. The name and
example of Christ were never very pleasing objects of reflection to the
hierarchy of that age; and the argument with which they loved to repel
such ungrateful suggestions was, the personal oppression of those who
ventured to advance them. Accordingly, the storm gathered; and four
Bulls were issued forthwith against the doctrines and person of Wiclif.
“His holiness had been informed that John Wiclif, rector of the church
of Lutterworth, and Professor of the Sacred Page, had broken forth into
a detestable insanity, and had dared to assert opinions utterly
subversive of the Church, and savouring of the perversity and ignorance
of Marsilius of Padua, and John of Ganduno, both of accursed memory.” It
was then ordained that he should be apprehended and imprisoned; and in
an address to Edward III., the arm of the flesh was invoked to
co-operate with the spiritual authorities for the suppression of this
monstrous evil. One of these Bulls was addressed to the University of
Oxford; and what may seem singular, it found there a spirit so far in
advance of the bigotry of the age, that a question was raised whether it
should be received, or indignantly rejected. After long hesitation, it
was received; but still no readiness was shown to comply with its
requisitions, nor were any measures taken to punish or degrade the
Reformer.

Howbeit, in the beginning of the year following, Wiclif presented
himself at Lambeth, before the Tribunal of the Papal Commissioners, to
meet the various charges of heretical pravity. We have no room to doubt
the wishes and intentions of his judges. But on this occasion he was
rescued from them, for the second time, by extraneous circumstances. The
populace of London, among whom his opinions may have made some progress,
and by whom his name was certainly respected, interrupted the meeting
with much clamour and violence, and showed a fierce determination to
save him from oppression. And at the same time, while the delegates were
confounded by this interference, a message was delivered to them from
the Queen Mother, prohibiting any definitive sentence against Wiclif.
Thus unexpectedly assailed, and from such different quarters, the
Prelates immediately softened their expressions, and abandoned their
design; and Wiclif returned once more in safety to the propagation of
his former opinions, and to the expression of others which had not yet
been broached by him.

The sum of those opinions might be given with tolerable accuracy, though
some of them were not perhaps propounded with perfect distinctness, and
others have been made liable to consequences which were disclaimed by
their author. In the first place, he rejected every sort of pretension,
tenet, or authority, which did not rest on the foundation of Scripture:
here he professed to fix the single basis of his whole system.
Accordingly he denounced, with various degrees of severity, many of the
popular observances of his church. He rejected auricular confession; and
declared pardons and indulgences to be no better than antichristian
devices for augmenting the power and wealth of the clergy, at the
expense of the morality of the people. He paid no respect to
excommunications and interdicts; he pronounced confirmation to be an
unnecessary ceremony, invented for the aggrandizement of the episcopal
dignity; he reprobated the celibacy of the clergy, and the imposition of
monastic vows. And in his contempt for the outward ceremonies of the
church, even to the use of Sacred music, he anticipated by more than two
centuries the principles of the Puritans. In like manner, he maintained
that bishops and priests, being one and the same order according to
their original institution, were improperly distinguished; and that the
property claimed by the clergy, being in its origin eleemosynary, was
merely enjoyed by them in trust for the benefit of the people, and was
disposable at the discretion of the secular government.

So long as Wiclif confined himself to the expression of these opinions,
though he ensured the hatred of the hierarchy, he might reckon on a
powerful party both at the Court and among the people. The objects for
which he contended were at least manifest, and his arguments generally
intelligible. But he was not content with this limited field. In his
solicitude to assail all the holds of papacy, and denounce all its
pernicious errors, he entered, in the year 1381, into a controversy
respecting the nature of the Eucharist. His opinion on this mysterious
question seems to have approached very nearly to that of Luther. He
admitted a real presence; but though he did not presume to determine the
manner, he rejected the doctrine of Transubstantiation in the Roman
Catholic sense. This was ground sufficient for a new clamour, louder and
more dangerous than all that had preceded it: not that there was
stronger argument on the side of his opponents, but because the subject,
being more obscure, was more involved in prejudice; it was more closely
connected with the religious feelings and deepest impressions of his
hearers; it affected, not their respect for a sensual and avaricious
hierarchy, but their faith in what they had been taught to consider a
vital doctrine essential to salvation. And thus it proved, not perhaps
that his enemies became more violent, but that his friends began to
waver in their support of him. The lower classes, who had listened with
delight to his anti-sacerdotal declamations, trembled when he began to
tread the consecrated ground of their belief. His noble patrons, if they
were not thus sensibly shocked, perceived at least the impolicy of
contending in that field; and John of Lancaster especially commanded him
to retire from it.

With the sincerity of a zealot he persisted, and in the course of May,
1382, a Synod was held by Courtney, who had been just promoted to the
primacy, and the heresies of Wiclif became, for the third time, the
subject of ecclesiastical consultation. We have no space to pursue the
details of these proceedings. The result was, that he was summoned to
answer, before the Convocation at Oxford, respecting certain erroneous
doctrines, the most prominent of which was that regarding the Eucharist.
He prepared to defend them. And it was then that the Duke of Lancaster,
who had been his faithful protector throughout all his previous
troubles—whether it was that he sincerely differed with Wiclif on that
particular question, or whether he was unwilling to engage in a struggle
with the whole hierarchy, supported by much popular prejudice, for the
sake of an abstract opinion, which might appear to him entirely void of
any practical advantage—withdrew his support, and abandoned the Reformer
to his own resources. Yet not then was his resolution shaken. In two
Confessions of Faith, which he then produced, he asserted his adherence
to his expressed doctrines. And though one of them is so perplexed with
scholastic sophistry, as to have led some to imagine that it was
intended to convey a sort of retractation, yet it was not so interpreted
by his adversaries, six of whom immediately entered the lists against
it. Neither did it persuade his judges of his innocence. He was
condemned—but not, as the annals of that age would have led us to
expect, to death. And whether the praise of this moderation be due to
the Prelates who forbore so far to press their enmity, or to the State,
which might have refused to sanction the vengeance of the Prelates,
Wiclif was merely condemned to banishment from the University of Oxford.
He retired in peace to his rectory at Lutterworth, and there spent the
two remaining years of his life in the pursuit of his theological
studies and the discharge of his pastoral duties.

The greater part of the opinions by which he was distinguished were so
entirely at variance with the principles and prejudices of his age, that
our wonder is not at their imperfect success, but at their escape from
immediate extinction. Having thus escaped, however, and taken root in no
inconsiderable portion of the community, they were such as to secure by
their own strength and boldness their own progress and maturity. Neither
was their author neglectful of the methods proper to ensure their
dissemination. For in the first place, by his translation of the Sacred
Book on which he supposed them to rest, he increased the means of
ascertaining their truth, or at least the spuriousness of the system
which they opposed. In the next, he sent forth numerous missionaries,
whom he called his “Poor Priests,” for the express purpose of
propagating his doctrines; and thus they acquired some footing even in
his own generation. In succeeding years, the sect of Lollards, in a
great measure composed of his disciples, professed and perpetuated his
tenets; and by their undeviating hostility to the abuses of Rome,
prepared the path for the Reformation.

Nor were the fruits of his exertions confined to his native country. It
is certain that his works found their way, at a very early period, into
Bohemia, and kindled there the first sparks of resistance to the
established despotism. The venerable Huss proclaimed his adherence to
the principles, and his reverence for the person, of the English
Reformer; and he was wont in his public discourses to pray, that “on his
departure from this life, he might be received into those regions
whither the soul of Wiclif had gone; since he doubted not that he was a
good and holy man, and worthy of a heavenly habitation.” The memory of
Huss is associated by another incident with that of his master. The same
savage Council which consigned the former to the flames, offered to the
other that empty insult, which we may receive as an expression of
malignant regret that he had been permitted to die in peace. It
published an edict, “That the bones and body of Wiclif should be taken
from the ground, and thrown far away from the burial of any church.”
After a long interval of hesitation, this edict was obeyed. Thirty years
after his death, his grave was violated, and his ashes contemptuously
cast into a neighbouring brook. On this indignity, Fuller makes the
following memorable reflection:—“The brook did convey his ashes in Avon;
Avon into Severn; Severn into the narrow seas; they into the main ocean.
And thus the ashes of Wiclif are the emblems of his doctrine, which now
is dispersed all the world over.”

The date of Wiclif’s death renders the authenticity of his portraits in
some degree uncertain, and we are not able to trace the history of any
which exist. But that some memorials were preserved in his features, in
illuminations or otherwise, we may conclude from the general resemblance
which is to be traced in two different pictures of him—that from which
our print is engraved, and that at King’s College, Cambridge, engraved
in ‘Rolt’s Lives of the Reformers,’ and Verheiden, ‘Præstantium
Theologorum Effigies, &c.,’ 1602.

[Illustration: [Lutterworth Church.]]




[Illustration]

                                CORTEZ.


Perhaps no great revolution has ever been effected by means apparently
so inadequate to the end proposed, as in the first establishment of the
Spanish monarchy on the continent of America. The immense importance of
that revolution, and its intimate connexion with the history of
geographical discovery, warrant us in assigning a place in our Gallery
to a representative of the rude and daring men by whom the mighty
conquest was effected. Of these, Fernando Cortez claims the first place.
It is proper to mention, in explanation of what might seem a capital
omission in our work, that no authentic likeness is known to exist of
Columbus: a man raised above those who followed him across the Atlantic,
no less by the purity of his motives, than by the originality of his
daring career.

Columbus, however, did not colonize the American continent: his
settlement was in Hispaniola. But the Spaniards soon took possession of
other islands in the group of the Antilles. In 1511 Diego Velasquez
annexed the most important of them, Cuba, to the Spanish crown, and was
rewarded with the appointment of Governor. Eager to gain fresh wealth
and honour, he equipped a squadron of discovery, in 1518, which tracked
the southern shores of the Gulf of Mexico, and brought home so inviting
a report, that he determined to attempt the conquest of the country. But
he was greatly embarrassed in the choice of a commanding officer. To
conduct the enterprise himself was no part of his scheme: at the same
time he was very desirous to appropriate to himself the advantages
likely to accrue from its successful issue. It was no easy matter to
find a person qualified by talent and courage to assume the command of
such an enterprise; yet so humble in rank, or so devoid of ambition, as
to give no umbrage to the governor’s jealousy. After much hesitation, he
invested Cortez with the chief command as his lieutenant. The early
history and character of this remarkable man are clearly and concisely
told by Dr. Robertson.

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by W. Holl._

  CORTEZ.

  _From a Picture in the Florence Gallery._

  Under the Superintendence of the Society for Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]

“He was born at Medelin, a small town in Estremadura, in the year 1485,
and descended from a family of noble blood, but of very moderate
fortune. Being originally destined by his parents to the study of the
law, as the most likely method of bettering his condition, he was sent
early to the university of Salamanca, where he imbibed some tincture of
learning. But he was soon disgusted with an academic life, which did not
suit his ardent and restless genius, and retired to Medelin, where he
gave himself up entirely to active sports and martial exercises. At this
period of life he was so impetuous, so overbearing, and so dissipated,
that his father was glad to comply with his inclination, and send him
abroad as an adventurer in arms. There were in that age two conspicuous
theatres on which such of the Spanish youth as courted military glory
might display their valour: one in Italy, under the command of the Great
Captain; the other in the New World. Cortez preferred the former, but
was prevented by indisposition from embarking with a reinforcement of
troops sent to Naples. Upon this disappointment he turned his views
towards America, whither he was allured by the prospect of the
advantages which he might derive from the patronage of Ovando, the
Governor of Hispaniola, who was his kinsman. When he landed at St.
Domingo, in 1504, his reception was such as equalled his most sanguine
hopes, and he was employed by the Governor in several honourable and
lucrative stations. These, however, did not satisfy his ambition; and in
the year 1511 he obtained permission to accompany Diego Velasquez in his
expedition to Cuba. In this service he distinguished himself so much,
that, notwithstanding some violent contests with Velasquez, occasioned
by some trivial events, unworthy of remembrance, he was at length taken
into favour, and received an ample concession of lands and of Indians,
the recompense usually bestowed upon adventurers in the New World.

“Though Cortez had not hitherto acted in high command, he had displayed
such qualities in several scenes of difficulty and danger, as raised
universal expectation, and turned the eyes of his countrymen towards
him, as one capable of performing great things. The turbulence of youth,
as soon as he found objects and occupations suited to the ardour of his
mind, gradually subsided, and settled into a habit of regular
indefatigable activity. The impetuosity of his temper, when he came to
act with his equals, insensibly abated, by being kept under restraint,
and mellowed into a cordial soldierly frankness. These qualities were
accompanied with calm prudence in concerting his schemes, with
persevering vigour in executing them, and with what is peculiar to
superior genius, the art of gaining the confidence and governing the
minds of men. To all which were added the inferior accomplishments that
strike the vulgar, and command their respect; a graceful person, a
winning aspect, extraordinary address in martial exercises, and a
constitution of such vigour as to be capable of enduring any fatigue.

“As soon as Cortez was mentioned to Velasquez by his confidants, he
flattered himself that he had at length found what he had hitherto
sought in vain, a man with talents for command, but not an object for
jealousy. Neither the rank, nor the fortune of Cortez, as he imagined,
were such that he could aspire at independence. He had reason to believe
that by his own readiness to bury ancient animosities in oblivion, as
well as his liberality in conferring several recent favours, he had
already gained the good-will of Cortez; and hoped, by this new and
unexpected mark of confidence, that he might attach him for ever to his
interest.”

It is remarkable that Velasquez, actuated by these views, should have
selected for his deputy such a man as is here described. He soon
repented of his confidence, and sought to revoke the commission which he
had bestowed. But Cortez, in addition to the funds provided by the
governor, had spent the whole of his own available means in raising
troops, and making preparations for the enterprise; he was already
embarked at the head of a body of impatient adventurers; and he despised
a mandate which there were no means of enforcing. And one of his first
steps after landing on the Main was to throw off formally all
subordination to Velasquez, and to assume the title of Chief Justice and
Captain General of the intended colony, by virtue of a new commission,
drawn in the king’s name, and purporting to continue in force until the
royal pleasure should be known.

The expedition sailed from Cuba, February 10, 1519, and following the
track of the preceding one, coasted the western side of the peninsula of
Yucatan. At St. Juan de Ulloa some natives came on board, and replied to
the questions put to them through the medium of interpreters, that their
country formed part of a great empire called Mexico, governed by a
powerful monarch, Montezuma. Several interviews followed, in which
Cortez, professing to come as ambassador from his own sovereign,
perseveringly demanded to be led into the presence of Montezuma. This
was peremptorily refused; but the denial, as if to make amends, was
accompanied by presents rich enough to inflame, had that been necessary,
the cupidity of the strangers. Instead of departing, they laid the
foundations of a settlement, named Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz.
Meanwhile, Montezuma acted indecisively and weakly: he neither admitted
his formidable visitors to the friendly intercourse which they
insidiously demanded, nor summoned the strength of his empire to crush
them at once; but let them fortify themselves while he was making vain
requisitions for their immediate departure, and gave time and
opportunity to those who were discontented under his own heavy yoke, to
rally round the standard of the invader. And it was not long before the
Spaniards obtained that native assistance, without which their mere
physical strength must have sunk under the vastness of their enterprise.

The Cacique of Zempoalla, prompted by hatred of Montezuma, was the first
to assist in the ruin of his native land. Supported by a small body of
that chieftain’s troops, and attended by 200 Indians of an inferior
class, who in that country, where the art of breaking animals to the use
of man was unknown, performed the humiliating services of beasts of
burden, Cortez marched from Zempoalla towards the heart of the country,
August 16, with only 500 Europeans, and six cannon. Aware that on the
first reverse of fortune his men might grow disgusted with an enterprise
of such formidable appearance, or from mere inconstancy might be eager
to return to their homes in Cuba, a temper which had been already
manifested by some, he resolved, before quitting the coast, to destroy
the shipping; and it is a remarkable instance of his ascendency over his
followers’ minds, that he procured a general consent to this decisive,
not to say desperate measure, which left small hope of safety but in
success.

His route lay through the country of the Tlascalans, a warlike people,
who spurned his professions of friendship, and attacked the invaders in
a series of battles. The imperfection of their weapons rendered their
efforts fruitless; and having been severely taught the strength of their
enemies, they sued for peace, and became faithful and active allies. The
Spaniards, accompanied by a body of 6000 Tlascalans, then advanced
without resistance to Mexico itself; after punishing an attempt to lead
them into an ambuscade at Cholula by an indiscriminate massacre, in
which 6000 persons are reported to have perished. Montezuma received
them with the semblance of profound respect. He told them of an ancient
tradition, that the ancestors of the Mexicans came originally from a
remote region, and conquered the land: after which their leader went
back to his own country, promising that at some future period his
descendants should return to reform their constitution, and assume the
government; and Montezuma expressed his belief that the Spaniards were
the persons whom his countrymen were thus taught to expect. Another
tradition, which helped to produce that weak and wavering conduct which
gave the Spaniards such advantage, foretold that some great misfortune
should accrue to the native inhabitants from a race of invaders from the
regions of the rising sun. It is remarkable that, according to the
earliest and best Spanish historians, this belief was very prevalent in
the New World.

The Spaniards, with their Indian allies, were quartered in the ample
precincts of a royal palace. But Cortez was uneasy, notwithstanding
these fair appearances. He had advanced with a handful of men into a
populous city, where he might at any time be surrounded and attacked by
multitudes. He was warned by the Tlascalans of Montezuma’s
faithlessness; and the hostile spirit of the Mexicans was made plain, by
intelligence that several Spaniards had been slain in repelling an
attack on the garrison of Vera Cruz. Cortez felt that Montezuma’s
forbearance proceeded only from timidity, and that his own best security
lay in working upon that passion. He conceived the daring resolution to
make the king a prisoner in his own capital; judging that, while
Montezuma lived, the Mexicans would not throw off their allegiance, nor
disobey his mandates, though issued under foreign control. He went,
therefore, as usual, to the palace, attended only by a few picked men;
and being admitted without suspicion to the emperor’s presence, he
complained angrily of the attack on the garrison of Vera Cruz, and
required Montezuma, as a pledge of his good faith, to take up his
residence in the Spanish quarters. Betrayed by his own easiness into the
power of a few strangers, Montezuma complied, under the imminent fear of
personal violence. Cortez next required that the officer who commanded
in the attack complained of should be given up. This was done; and he,
his son, and five others, were publicly burnt on a pile of Mexican
weapons, taken from the public armoury. While this atrocious act of
cruelty and revenge was proceeding, the emperor, apparently to render it
the more impressive, was placed in fetters.

Haughty and tyrannical, but unstable and timid, the spirit of Montezuma
was entirely broken by his misfortunes. He remained passively during six
months in his captivity; and formally acknowledged himself a vassal to
the crown of Castile. Religion was the only point on which he was firm.
Cortez urged him with the blind zeal of a crusader to renounce his false
gods, and embrace Christianity; and not content with these importunate
solicitations, he attempted forcibly to remove the idols from the grand
temple. The resolute interference of priests and people compelled him to
desist from the rash project; but not until it had aroused a spirit of
implacable hostility.

Meanwhile Velasquez’s anger at Cortez’s faithlessness was increased by
the brilliant accounts of his success; and having obtained from the
court of Castile a patent constituting himself governor of New Spain, he
prepared to remove or punish his disobedient officer by force of arms.
He sent 900 men, commanded by Narvaez, a brave and experienced officer,
who immediately opened a correspondence with Montezuma. This raised the
hopes of the Mexicans, by showing that their invaders were not exempt
from internal discord. Cortez perceived and met the dangers of his
position with his usual ability and courage. Having tried in vain to
arrange matters with Narvaez by negotiation, he left a garrison of 150
men in Mexico, and marched with only 250 against an enemy who nearly
quadrupled him in number. His skill, the patience of his soldiers,
inured to the inclemency of a tropical climate, and the too great
security of his adversary, won for him an almost bloodless victory; and
the troops sent out for his destruction enlisted almost to a man under
his standard. Placed against all expectation at the head of near a
thousand men, he hastened back to Mexico, where by that time his
presence was urgently required.

He found the Spanish garrison hemmed in, and reduced to extremities, by
a people who, stimulated by superstition and maddened by a fresh and
atrocious outrage, seemed suddenly to have exchanged timidity for
desperation. The return of Cortez with his formidable reinforcement did
not abate their ferocity. Even the person of Montezuma, who was exposed
on the Spanish rampart, ceased to command respect, and he received three
wounds from stones and arrows, from the effects of which, aggravated by
rage and a deep sense of his degradation, he expired. The Mexicans now
sought to blockade their enemies and reduce them by hunger; and, as
Cortez had not the command of the lake, he found it necessary
immediately to evacuate the city. But he was taken at disadvantage in
traversing by night (July 1, 1520) one of the long causeways which
connect the city with the shores of the lake in which it stands; and on
mustering those who reached the mainland, he found his small battalion
of Europeans reduced by one-half, with the loss of all the horses,
baggage, artillery, and most of the treasure which had been amassed by
individual soldiers. The anniversary of this calamity was long, and may
be still, distinguished in New Spain by the appellation of Noche Triste,
the sad night.

By a circuitous route, and not without cutting their way through an
immense army assembled to intercept them, the Spaniards returned to the
friendly Indians of Tlascala, among whom Cortez meant to recruit his
exhausted companions, and to wait until fresh supplies of men and stores
could be obtained from the West India islands. Some vessels which put
into the harbour of Vera Cruz afforded an unexpected reinforcement of
180 men; and on the 28th of December Cortez began to retrace his march
towards Mexico. At Tezeuco, the second city of the empire, situated on
the banks of the lake, about twenty miles from the capital, he
established his head-quarters for four months, during which the timbers
of twelve small vessels, cut out in the mountains of Tlascala, were put
together. This force ensured the command of the lake, for the Mexicans
had nothing larger than canoes; and just before their completion, a
reinforcement of 200 men, with arms and stores, arrived from Hispaniola.
At the beginning of May, 1521, with about 800 Europeans, Cortez
commenced the siege of Mexico itself.

Guatimozin, a nephew of Montezuma, who had succeeded to the throne, made
a resolute defence; and Cortez, aware of the danger of entangling his
troops in the streets, yet anxious to preserve the buildings as a trophy
of his victory, urged the siege with unusual caution. Each day he pushed
his way as far as possible into the city; but he returned to his
quarters at night, during which the barricades of the causeways were
repaired, and on the morrow a fresh battle was to be fought on the same
ground. Thus matters went until the 3d of July, when Cortez, impatient
of so protracted a resistance, made a desperate attempt to carry every
thing before him in one great assault. Experience improved the Mexicans
in the art of war. When the Spaniards, by the energy of their attack,
had forced a way into the heart of the city, Guatimozin led them still
onwards by a show of slackened resistance, while he detached troops, by
land and water, to beset the breaches in the causeway by which it was
necessary for the enemy to retire. At a given signal, the great drum of
the god of war was struck, and the Mexicans returned to the attack,
their hatred of the invaders stimulated by the ferocity of their
superstition. The Spaniards were compelled to give way, and disorder was
converted into absolute rout by the promiscuous onset of the natives,
when they arrived at the breach. Above sixty Europeans perished, for
those who were taken prisoners were offered as sacrifices on the Mexican
altars. After this reverse Cortez took a surer way to success, and as
fast as his troops made a lodgment, he caused the houses to be levelled
with the ground. When three quarters of the city were thus destroyed,
and those who defended the remainder were exhausted by famine and
disease, Guatimozin yielded to the persuasion of those who urged him to
preserve himself, to renew the war in the remote provinces of the
empire. But he was intercepted and captured with his family, as he
sought to escape across the lake; and on the loss of their sovereign,
the Mexicans ceased to resist. The siege thus ended August 13, 1521.

The victors were greatly disappointed in the amount of the precious
metals which fell into their hands. What remained of the royal treasures
Guatimozin had ordered to be thrown into the lake. Much spoil was
carried off by the Indian auxiliaries, and much probably was lost or
destroyed in the ruins of the city. The whole treasure collected was
inferior in amount to that which the Spaniards had formerly received as
a present from Montezuma; and the adventurers clamorously expressed
their dissatisfaction. Pressed by this spirit of discontent, Cortez gave
way to a passion, as alien to that undefined feeling which we call the
spirit of chivalry, as to the natural laws of charity and justice; and
tried, in vain, to extract by torture from the royal prisoner and one of
his favourite followers a discovery of the treasures which were supposed
to be hidden. Overcome by pain, the latter cast a look on his master,
which seemed to ask permission to reveal what he knew. Guatimozin
indignantly replied to the implied entreaty—“Am I reposing on a bed of
flowers?” and the faithful subject kept silence, and died. The emperor,
with his two principal officers, was afterwards hanged, on a groundless
charge of having excited insurrection.

The provinces were readily overrun after the fall of the capital, and
made subject to Spain; though intolerable oppression often produced
insurrections, which were put down with unrelenting severity. Having
conquered an empire without commission from the monarch in whose name he
made war, Cortez narrowly escaped having to answer as a criminal for the
irregularity of his proceedings. But in 1522 he succeeded in procuring a
royal commission, which constituted him captain-general and governor of
New Spain. Still his actions were watched with an ungenerous though
natural jealousy; and his situation became so critical, that he
resolved, in 1528, to return to Castile, and answer, before no inferior
tribunal, such charges as might be urged against him. He appeared with
the splendour which became one who had unlocked the treasures of the New
World; and his own ample fortune, contrasted with the smallness of the
sum divided among his comrades, gave birth to a belief that he had not
dealt fairly in the partition of the spoil. As his return to Spain put
an end to all fears of his ambition, he was received with the favour
which such brilliant services merited. He was invested with the order of
St. Jago, the highest rank of Spanish knighthood; and the valley of
Guaxaca, with an extensive domain, was erected into a marquisate in his
behalf. But he could not obtain what he most desired, the supreme
direction of affairs in Mexico. He returned thither in 1530 at the head
of the military department, and with authority to prosecute new
discoveries; but the direction of civil affairs was vested in a board,
entitled the Audience of New Spain. Henceforward we may regard Cortez as
a disappointed and unhappy man. Thwarted at home by the double authority
established, he sought to reap new glory by exploring the Pacific Ocean;
and in 1536 he discovered the peninsula of California, and surveyed part
of the gulf which separates it from the American continent. But from
that country neither profit nor honour, unless as a geographical
discoverer, could be gained; and the result of the expedition neither
satisfied the expectations of others, nor repaid the adventurers for the
hardships which they underwent. In 1540, wearied and disgusted, Cortez
returned to Spain, and found his services forgotten, or at least his
person slighted. He served as a volunteer in 1541, in Charles V.’s
expedition against Algiers, and had a horse killed under him. This was
his last military action. After wearying his proud spirit in fruitless
attempts to gain attention from Charles or his ministers to his real or
supposed grievances, he retired into seclusion, and died at Seville,
December 2, 1547, in the sixty-third year of his age.

We have passed rapidly over the shocking cruelties which marked the
progress of the Spanish arms. Some portion of the horror, with which we
naturally regard the actors in such events, may be neutralized by the
consideration, that men’s notions in all things, and perhaps most
especially in matters of international justice, are greatly dependent on
the spirit of the time in which they live; and that it is hardly fair to
judge actions, which won the admiration of contemporaries, according to
the standard of a subsequent age. But even in that age there were not
wanting many to raise an indignant voice against the cruelties practised
on an unoffending people; and after every just allowance has been made,
it is not to be doubted that the treatment of the American aborigines
forms a foul stain on the history of Spain, and loads all who were
concerned in it with an awful responsibility; and we willingly
acknowledge it to have been a just retribution, that of the original
settlers few reaped prosperity, repose, or wealth, as the harvest of
their arms. With their leaders it was eminently otherwise. Scarce one of
those who led the conquerors of Peru escaped a violent death in civil
strife; while Cortez (with whom no one divides the fame of conquering
Mexico) lived to experience the proverbial ingratitude of courts, and
died in that forced obscurity which is most galling to an ambitious
mind.

The noble inscription, composed by Southey for the birth-place of
Cortez’s early companion in arms and rival in fame, needs but the change
of name to render it equally applicable to Cortez himself.

           “Pizarro here was born—a greater name
           The list of Glory boasts not. Toil and Pain,
           Famine, and hostile Elements, and Hosts
           Embattled, failed to check him in his course,
           Not to be wearied, not to be deterred,
           Not to be overcome. A mighty realm
           He overran, and with relentless arm
           Slew or enslaved its unoffending sons,
           And wealth, and power, and fame were his rewards.
           There is another world beyond the grave,
           According to their deeds where men are judged.
           O reader! if thy daily bread be earned
           By daily labour,—yea, however low,
           However wretched be thy lot assigned,
           Thank thou, with deepest gratitude, the God
           Who made thee, that thou art not such as he.”




[Illustration]

                               LEIBNITZ.


The materials for this life of Leibnitz are chiefly taken from the
_éloge_ of his contemporary Fontenelle.

Godfrey William Leibnitz was born at Leipzic, June 23, 1646. His father
was Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of that place: he
died when his son was only six years old. Leibnitz’s education therefore
was left to his mother; and the great variety of his studies is traced
to his free access to a large collection of books which his father left.
He thus became a poet, an orator, an historian, a lawyer, a
metaphysician, a mathematician, and a theologian. In some of these
capacities he would not have escaped oblivion; but every accession to
such a mass of titles becomes interesting, when it is remembered how
conspicuous he became in more than one of them.

At the age of twenty he applied to the University of Leipzic for the
degree of doctor of laws. This was refused, on the plea that he was too
young; and he then went to Altdorf, where he maintained a public
disputation, and was admitted to the degree which he desired, with
unusual distinction. From Altdorf he repaired to Nuremberg, where he
heard of a secret society of chemists, or, which was then the same
thing, of searchers after the philosopher’s stone. Desiring to obtain
some insight into their pursuits, he procured some books on chemistry, a
subject which he had never studied, and picking out the phrases which
seemed hardest, he wrote a letter altogether unintelligible to himself,
which he addressed to them as his certificate of qualification. He was
admitted with great honour, and was even offered the post of secretary,
with a salary; and though he continued his intercourse with them for
some time, he kept up his character as an adept to the last.

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by B. Holl._

  LEIBNITZ.

  _From a Picture in the Florence Gallery._

  Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]

His first work, which appeared when he was twenty-two years old, was a
treatise written under the name of George Vlicorius, recommending the
choice of the Elector Palatine to be King of Poland. In 1670 he
published his first philosophical work, an edition of ‘Marius Nizolius
contra Pseudophilosophos;’ and in the following year two treatises on
abstract and concrete motion, severally dedicated to the French Academy
and the Royal Society.

During his abode at Nuremberg, the Baron de Boinebourg, minister of the
Elector of Mayence, procured a legal appointment for him in that state.
While he held this post he travelled into France and England. After the
death of the Elector, he accepted a similar appointment in the dominions
of the Duke of Brunswick-Lunenberg. At the peace of Nimeguen in 1678 he
wrote upon some disputed ceremonials, under the title of Cesarinus
Furstnerius, and displayed a great extent of reading, and a little of
that speculative spirit which afterwards produced the _pre-established
harmony_. He is said, though a Lutheran, to have argued on the
supposition that Europe was to be considered as a large federation, of
which the Emperor was the temporal, and the Pope the spiritual, head. In
1679 he was engaged by the reigning Duke to write the history of the
House of Brunswick. On this service he went through Germany and Italy in
search of authorities. It is related that, on one occasion, having left
Venice in a small boat, a storm arose, and the boatmen began to discuss
in Italian, which they supposed their passenger did not understand, the
propriety of throwing the heretic overboard. Leibnitz, with great
presence of mind, drew out a rosary, which he had about him _par
précaution_, as Fontenelle supposes, who does not seem to guess that
this anecdote, coupled with what has preceded, makes it at least an even
chance that Leibnitz was really a Catholic. And this is negatively
supported by the fact, that, Lutheran as he was considered, he very
rarely attended the services of his church, in spite of the
publicly-expressed disapprobation of the clergy. But on the other hand,
he positively refused to profess Catholicism, when an advantageous
settlement at Paris was offered on that condition. That he was both a
religious man and a Christian is sufficiently attested by his writings.

He returned from his tour in 1690, and in 1693 published his ‘Codex
Juris Gentium Diplomaticus.’ He had published almost at the same time
with his first work a treatise on the study of jurisprudence. The first
volume of the ‘History of Brunswick’ appeared in 1707, and two others in
1710 and 1711.

In 1700 he induced the Elector of Brandenburg to found the Academy of
Berlin, of which he was appointed perpetual president. He contributed
many valuable papers to its memoirs. His patron, the Duke of
Brunswick-Lunenberg, died in 1678, and was succeeded by Ernest-Augustus,
first Elector of Hanover, on whose issue by the Electress Sophia the
crown of England was settled. Leibnitz continued in the Elector’s
service till his death. This took place from gout, November 14, 1716, at
Hanover. The real life of such a man is in his character and writings.
With regard to the first, the account of Fontenelle is as follows. He
had a strong constitution, ate a good deal, drank little, and never
undiluted liquors. When alone, he always took his meals as his studies
permitted. His chair was frequently his only bed, and in this way he is
said to have sometimes passed whole months. He made notes of all he
read, not to preserve them, but to fix the contents on his memory; for
when once written, they were finally laid aside. He communicated freely
with all classes of men, and could entirely divest himself of his
character of a philosopher. His correspondence was immense; he answered
every one who wrote, however small the pretext for addressing him. He
was of a gay humour, easily excited to anger, and easily appeased. He
lived at great expense, but had preserved and hid two years’ amount of
his salary. The securing of this treasure gave him great uneasiness; and
upon this slight ground he has been charged with avarice. He was never
married: it is said that he contemplated such a connexion at the age of
fifty, but that the lady desired time to consider. “This,” says his
biographer, “gave M. Leibnitz the same opportunity, and he continued
unmarried.”

The number and variety of characters in which Leibnitz is known will not
permit us to say much upon each subject. His public life was that of a
jurist. His ‘History of Brunswick’ was continued by M. Echard; who
supplied Fontenelle with the necessary information for his _éloge_. In
youth he was a poet; and he is said in one day to have made three
hundred Latin verses without a single elision. But the Leibnitz of our
day is either the mathematician or the metaphysician.

In the first of these two characters he is coupled in the mind of the
reader with Newton, as the co-inventor of what was called by himself the
Differential Calculus, and by Newton the Method of Fluxions. Much might
be instanced which was done by him for the pure sciences in other
respects; but this one service, from its magnitude as a discovery, and
its notoriety as the cause of a great controversy, has swallowed up all
the rest.

Leibnitz was in London in 1673, and from that time began to pay
particular attention to mathematics. He was in correspondence with
Newton, Oldenburg, and others, on questions connected with _infinite
series_, and continued so more or less till 1684, when he published his
first ideas on the Differential Calculus in the Leipzic Acts. But it is
certain that Newton had been in possession of the same powers under a
different name, from about 1665. The English philosopher drops various
hints of his being in possession of a new method, but without explaining
what it was, except in one letter of 1672, of which it was afterwards
asserted that a copy had been forwarded to Leibnitz in 1676. Leibnitz
published both on the Differential and Integral Calculus before the
appearance of Newton’s Principia in 1687; and indeed before 1711, the
era of the dispute, this new calculus had been so far extended by
Leibnitz and the Bernoullis, that it began to assume a shape something
like that in which it exists at the present day. In the first edition of
the Principia, Newton expressly avows that he had, ten years before
(namely, about 1677), informed Leibnitz that he had a method of drawing
tangents, finding maxima and minima, &c.; and that Leibnitz had, in
reply, actually communicated his own method, and that he (Newton) found
it only differed from his own in symbols. This passage was, not very
fairly, suppressed in the third edition of the Principia, which appeared
in 1726, alter the dispute; and the space was filled up by an account of
other matters. It was obvious that, on the supposition of plagiarism, it
only gave Leibnitz a year to infer, from a hint or two, his method,
notation, and results.

Some discussion about priority of invention led Dr. Keill to maintain
Newton’s title to be considered the sole inventor of the fluxional
calculus. Leibnitz had asserted that he had been in possession of the
method eight years before he communicated it to Newton. He appealed to
the Royal Society, of which Newton was President, and that body gave
judgment on the question in 1712. Their decision is now worth nothing;
firstly, because it only determined that Newton was the _first_
inventor, which was not the whole point, and left out the question
whether Leibnitz had or had not stolen from Newton; secondly, because
the charge of plagiarism is insinuated in the assertion that a copy of
Newton’s letter, as above mentioned, had been sent to Leibnitz. Now they
neither prove that he had received this letter in time sufficient to
enable him to communicate with Newton as above described, or, if he had
received it, that there was in it a sufficient hint of the method of
fluxions. The decision of posterity is, that Leibnitz fairly invented
his own method; and though English writers give no strong opinion as to
the fairness with which the dispute was carried on, we imagine that
there are few who would now defend the conduct of their predecessors.
Whoever may have had priority of invention, it is clear that to Leibnitz
and the Bernoullis belongs the principal part of the superstructure, by
aid of which their immediate successors were enabled to extend the
theory of Newton; and thus Leibnitz is placed in the highest rank of
mathematical inventors.

The metaphysics of Leibnitz have now become a by-word. He is
pre-eminent, among modern philosophers, for his extraordinary fancies.
His monads, his pre-established harmony, and his best of all possible
worlds, are hardly caricatured in the well-known philosophical novel of
Voltaire. If any thinking monad should find that the pre-established
harmony between his soul and body would make the former desire to see
more of Leibnitz as a metaphysician, and the latter able to second him,
we can inform him that it was necessary, for the best of all possible
universes, that Michael Hansch should in 1728 publish the whole system
at Frankfort and Leipzic, under the title, ‘Leibnitzii Principia
philosophica more geometrico demonstrata;’ and also that M. Tenneman
should give an account of this system, and M. Victor Cousin translate
the same. It is not easy to give any short description of the contents,
nor would it be useful. A school of metaphysicians of the sect of
Leibnitz continued to exist for some time in Germany, but it has long
been extinct.

The mathematical works of Leibnitz were collected and published at
Geneva in 1768. His correspondence with John Bernoulli was also
published in 1745, at Lausanne and Geneva. It is an interesting record,
and exhibits him in an amiable light. He gives his friend a check for
his manner of speaking of Newton, at the time when the partizans of the
latter were attacking his own character, both as a man and a discoverer.
He says (vol. ii. p. 234), “I thank you for the animadversions which you
have sent me on Newton’s works; I wish you had time to examine the
whole, which I know would not be unpleasant even to himself. But in so
beautiful a structure, _non ego paucis offendar maculis_.” He also says
that he has been informed by a friend in England, that hatred of the
Hanoverian connexion had something to do with the bitterness with which
he was assailed; “Non ab omni veri specie abest, eos qui parum Domui
Hanoveranæ favent, etiam me lacerare voluisse; nam amicus Anglus ad me
scribit, videri aliquibus non tam ut mathematicos et Societatis Regiæ
Socios in socium, sed ut _Toryos in Whigium_ quosdam egisse.” (Vol. ii.
p. 321.)

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by C. E. Wagstaff_

  CARDINAL XIMENES.

  _From a Picture in the Florence Gallery._

  Under the Superintendence of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]




[Illustration]

                                XIMENES.


Gonzales Ximenes de Cisneros, Primate and Regent of Spain, was born at
Tordelaguna, in Castile, in 1437. He was descended of an ancient family,
long settled at Cisneros in the kingdom of Leon, and was baptized
Gonzales after an ancestor who was one of the most renowned knights of
his day: the name of Francis, by which he is commonly known, he assumed
in after-life, in honour of the saint whose monastic rule he embraced.
But though he was of honourable descent, neither rank nor wealth were
stepping-stones to his preferment. His father supported a large family
upon the income of his humble office of collector of tenths, payable to
the king by the clergy: but his own studious disposition, and the
facilities then afforded by the universities to poor scholars, raised
him out of the obscurity in which his lot appeared to be cast. At the
schools of Alcala, and at the University of Salamanca, he studied
philosophy, theology, canon and civil law; and his proficiency soon
enabled him to support himself, by teaching others. Having completed his
education he undertook a journey to Rome, hoping there to find a readier
field for the exercise of his talents than at home. Poor and friendless,
he maintained himself by pleading in the Spanish causes which came
before the Court of the Consistory; and he was already rising into
eminence, when, hearing of his father’s death, and the distress of his
family, he abandoned his flattering prospects and returned to Spain.

It appears that he had taken holy orders during his abode at Rome, for
before his departure Sixtus IV. bestowed on him a reversionary grant of
the first benefice which should fall vacant. This proved to be Uceda;
and he immediately produced his letters and took possession. The
Archbishop of Toledo, who had already promised the living, was highly
offended at this exercise of what in truth was a most objectionable
prerogative of the Holy See. He not only dispossessed, but imprisoned
for six years, Ximenes, who remained firm in the assertion of his
rights. At the end of that time the prelate yielded. Ximenes soon
exchanged Uceda for a chaplaincy in the cathedral of Siguenza. Here he
applied himself to the pursuit of theology, and laid the foundation of
that Hebrew and Chaldaic learning which bore such noble fruit in
after-life. He gained the warm friendship of his bishop, the Cardinal
Mendoza, who, in 1483, appointed him grand vicar of the diocese. In that
office he distinguished himself by integrity and talents for business,
as he had before by piety and learning. And the fairest prospect of
advancement was open to him, when all at once he resolved to quit the
world, and to devote himself wholly to religious meditation.

He embraced the strictest rule of the Franciscan order, with a zeal to
which the general example of his brethren gave no countenance. He
retired to the secluded monasteries of Castagnar and Salceda, and in the
forests which surrounded them, devoted himself wholly to prayer, the
study of the Scriptures, and the mortification of the flesh. He thus
gained the reputation of uncommon sanctity, and there seems to be no
reason to think that his asceticism was defiled by any trace of
hypocrisy. But his friend the Cardinal saw that he was fitted for still
better things, and regretting his departure from active life, expressed
a belief that he would ultimately be raised to much higher dignity, to
the great advantage of the Church. And, in truth, the Cardinal, who had
been raised from the see of Siguenza to the primacy of Spain, the
Archbishopric of Toledo, did much to fulfil his own prediction. He
introduced Ximenes to the Queen Isabella, who was then in want of a
confessor, and she readily listened to his recommendation, and appointed
Ximenes to the vacant office. He would fain have declined it, urging
that he had been called to the cloister from active life to attend to
his own salvation; that what was demanded would withdraw him from his
proper vocation; and that a sovereign above all persons needed a
religious guide, not only of good intentions, but of experience and
wisdom. The Queen smiled as she assured him, that if he had formerly
been directed to solitude, he was now summoned to court, and that if he
would take charge of her conscience, she would be answerable for having
chosen him to do so. And he consented, on condition that he should be
required to attend her only when called by the duties of his office.
This was in 1492. The austerity of his life and the wildness of his
aspect caused him, when he appeared, to be compared by the gay
frequenters of the court to an old Egyptian hermit come out from the
desert.

Moved by the hope of advancing the temporal interests of their order,
his monastic brethren now appointed him their provincial. They widely
mistook his character. He accepted the proffered dignity, moved chiefly
by the hope that it would furnish him with an excuse for more frequent
absence from court; and he employed his power in striving to reform the
corruptions which abundant wealth had introduced among them. His own
life was in strict adherence to the self-denial which he recommended to
others. In his visitations he travelled on foot from convent to convent,
accompanied by one brother, Francis Ruyz, whom he had selected for his
constant companion, as uniting the qualifications of a lively temper and
sound health, with learning, modesty, and trustworthiness. For their
sustenance they depended upon alms, and in the trade of begging Ximenes
was very unsuccessful. Ruyz used to remonstrate on the misapplication of
his talents. “Your Reverence will let us die of hunger; you were not
meant for this profession. God gives each of us his talents: do you pray
for me, and I will beg for you. Your Reverence may be made to give, but
certainly not to ask.” Visiting Gibraltar in one of these tours, he was
strongly possessed by the desire of going to preach the gospel in
Africa. On this subject he consulted a female devotee, who had the
reputation of enjoying divine revelations in visions, and was dissuaded
by her from prosecuting the scheme.

The Primate Mendoza died at the end of 1494. In their last interview, he
urged his sovereign not to entrust the vast revenues of his see to any
one connected with the highest nobility, esteeming its power to be even
dangerous to the crown, when knit by family ties to great feudal
influence. Isabella listened to his advice, and after much hesitation
pitched on Ximenes to be his successor. Aware of his feelings, she kept
her intentions secret until letters confirmatory of the appointment
arrived from the Pope. These without preface she put into his hands.
Reading the address, “To our venerable brother Ximenes, Archbishop elect
of Toledo,” “Madam,” he said, “these letters are not for me;” and he
rose abruptly and quitted the royal presence. Six months elapsed before
he was induced to accept the proffered dignity, in virtue of a direct
injunction from the Pope. He was consecrated October 11, 1495.

Rank and wealth made no difference in the manners of the ascetic monk.
He continued to live upon the coarsest fare, to wear the humble dress of
his order, to sleep on the ground, or on a bed as hard, and to travel on
an ass, or on foot. And Pope Alexander VI. thought it necessary to send
a letter to him, with the very unusual exhortation to cultivate the
pomps and vanities of the world a little more, for the sake of the
church of which he was so exalted a member. Ximenes obeyed, and probably
became convinced of the propriety of the counsel, as he became more
engaged in civil government. He assumed even a more gorgeous state than
his predecessors, but he still practised his usual self-denial in
private; he slept and fared as hardly as before, and wore a haircloth
under his episcopal robes. He was exemplary in the discharge of his
public duties; liberal even to an extreme in relieving the daily
necessities of the poor, and in contributing to charitable, useful, and
religious undertakings; diligent in promoting the welfare of the people
to the full extent of his almost regal power, by repressing extortion
and peculation, whether in courts of law, or the collection of the
revenue, by providing for the due administration of justice,
ecclesiastical and civil, and by exercising a strict superintendence
over the conduct of the parochial clergy. To the cry of the wretched his
ears were always open; he hated oppression; and if an injured vassal
complained against the highest noble in the land, he was ready to grant
justice, if the matter lay within his jurisdiction, or, if not, to carry
the complaint before the Queen. And his zeal and energy carried to a
happy conclusion the arduous undertaking of reforming the Franciscan
brotherhood, upon which he succeeded in enforcing a new system of
regulations in 1499, after a most obstinate resistance.

We may here mention with unmixed praise one of the Archbishop’s
charitable undertakings. It was an institution for the education of the
daughters of indigent nobles, on such principles, according to the words
of our authority, as should train them to the fit discharge of their
duties towards their families and towards society. A fund, afterwards
increased by the Spanish monarchs, was set apart to provide them with
marriage portions. We may here trace the original of the celebrated
establishment of St. Cyr.

His principal work was the establishment of a university at Alcala,
where he himself received his early education. The foundation-stone was
laid by himself in 1498; the buildings were completed, and the first
course of lectures given, in 1508. For a model he took the university of
Paris; he endowed it richly, and collected men distinguished for their
learning from all parts of Europe, to fill the professorial chairs. Here
he undertook the great work of publishing the first Polyglot Bible, the
Complutensian, as it is called, from the Latin name of Alcala, where it
was printed, which will exist for ages as a noble specimen of the
Archbishop’s piety, munificence, and zeal for learning. The four first
volumes contain the Old Testament in the Hebrew—the Septuagint version,
with a Latin translation—the Vulgate, as corrected by St. Jerome—and the
Chaldee Paraphrase, with a Latin translation. The fifth and sixth
volumes contain the Greek Testament and the Vulgate. The printing of
this great undertaking commenced in 1502, and was not completed till
1517, shortly before the death of Ximenes, who, when the last volume was
brought to him, is reported by his earliest biographer, after an
ejaculation of pious thanksgiving, to have addressed the bystanders in
these words:—“Many high and difficult undertakings I have carried on in
the service of the State, yet, my friends, there is nothing for which I
more deserve congratulation than for this edition of the Scriptures,
which lays open, in a time of much need, the fountain-head of our holy
religion, whence may be drawn a far purer strain of theology than from
the streams which have been turned off from it.” But owing to a
hesitation at the Court of Rome, how far the criticism of the Scriptures
should be encouraged, the Bible was not given to the world till 1522.
Only about 600 copies were printed. The price fixed on it was six and a
half ducats. The epistle dedicatory to Leo X. is by Ximenes himself: the
preface, according to Dr. Dibdin, is by another hand. The most learned
Hebrew and Greek scholars who could be procured were employed in the
collation of manuscripts; and it may be noted that for seven Hebrew MSS.
the sum of 4000 golden crowns was paid. These with other treasures of
learning, which were deposited with the University of Alcala, about the
middle of the last century were sold to a firework-maker as lumber. The
whole cost of the work, which was defrayed by Ximenes, is said to have
exceeded 50,000 gold crowns.

In 1498 the Archbishop was summoned to Granada by Ferdinand and
Isabella, to deliberate on the means to be used for the conversion of
the Moors. Inflamed by zeal, he had recourse to means which show the
wisdom of the serpent more than the simplicity of the dove. He began
with the priests and doctors of the law, and strove by kindness and
attention, mixed with religious discussion, to dispose them to adopt the
Christian faith. The priests led over the people in such flocks, that,
in one day, the anniversary of which was observed as a festival,
December 18, 1499, upwards of 3000 persons were baptized by aspersion in
Granada. That the Archbishop should have believed in the sincerity of
these wholesale conversions is not credible; he probably thought that a
hypocritical worship of the true God was a less evil than sincere
idolatry. The inquisition was charged with the superintendence of the
souls of these nominal Christians, and the relapse from that faith which
they never embraced was punished according to the mercy of that
irresponsible tribunal. The dread and indignation produced by these
measures led to a revolt, which was quelled, however, under the guidance
of the Archbishop.

The same desire of making Christians any how appears in the measures
adopted on this occasion. The inhabitants of the quarter in which the
tumult broke out were declared guilty of high treason, and offered their
choice of death or conversion. They embraced the latter; and the other
Granadans, to the number of 150,000, followed their example. But these
severities drove the most resolute spirits to that last insurrection,
related with so much interest in Washington Irving’s ‘Chronicles of
Granada;’ which terminated in the expatriation of the remnant who abided
in their national creed. But however unapostolic the Archbishop’s mode
of conversion may have been, his zeal and ability in instructing and
rendering truly Christian those who submitted to the outward forms of
the religion is said to have been admirable.

His conduct towards the unhappy natives of the West Indies was less
exceptionable. He did his utmost not only for their conversion, but to
protect them from the cruel exactions of the Spanish settlers.

The excellent Isabella of Castile died November 26, 1504. According to
the tenor of his beloved mistress’s will, Ximenes steadily maintained
the claim of Ferdinand, her husband, to the regency of the kingdom
during the minority of Charles V. After the death of the Archduke
Philip, September 25, 1506, he renewed his exertions to determine the
Castilians in favour of Ferdinand’s claim to the regency, in preference
to the Emperor Maximilian, Charles V.’s paternal grandfather; being
satisfied that, notwithstanding the ancient jealousy between Castile and
Arragon, the former would be better governed by a prince intimately
acquainted with its circumstances and interests than by a stranger.
Ferdinand, who was then engaged at Naples, owed his success in this
matter to Ximenes; and showed his gratitude by procuring for him the
rank of Cardinal, with the title of Cardinal of Spain, together with the
office of Grand Inquisitor.

In his zeal for spreading the true faith, Ximenes had conceived a scheme
for the conquest of the Holy Land, and indeed had nearly succeeded in
effecting a league for that purpose between Ferdinand, Manuel of
Portugal, and Henry VII. of England. But this hope being defeated, he
was still anxious to employ the power of Spain against Mahometanism, and
used his best endeavours to persuade Ferdinand to invade the coast of
Barbary. The king’s parsimony was not to be overcome, until Ximenes
offered a loan sufficient to equip the proposed armament, and defray its
expenses for two months; and the capture of the town of Marsarquiver, in
the autumn of 1505, was the immediate result. Here the Spanish arms
remained stationary till 1509, when the Cardinal obtained permission to
attempt the siege of Oran at his own expense, on the sole condition,
that if he succeeded, either the patrimony of the church expended in
this secular undertaking was to be repaid, or the domain conquered was
to be annexed to the see of Toledo. He assumed himself the supreme
direction of the expedition, entrusting the command of the army to Peter
Navarre, an able, turbulent, and ambitious soldier. Everything was
unfavourable to the Cardinal. The king was jealous of him; Navarre
impatient of the subjection of the sword to the crozier; and other
officers, corrupt or hostile, and encouraged by the example of their
superiors, stirred the soldiers to mutiny. But the decision of Ximenes
compelled obedience, and the wisdom of his measures ensured success; so
that the surrender of Oran was the almost immediate result of his
descent upon Africa. He would willingly have remained there to pursue
his successes. But finding the disobedience of his lieutenant to be
secretly encouraged by Ferdinand, he determined to return while he could
do so with honour, leaving Navarre in the command of the troops. For
himself or his see he reserved no part of the spoil. That which was not
bestowed upon the soldiers, or consumed in the service, he set apart for
the crown. Yet a fresh disagreement arose when the Cardinal, according
to the compact, demanded payment of the advances made by the see; and
when Ferdinand at last was compelled to acquiesce, it was in the most
ungracious and unbecoming manner.

Ferdinand died January 23, 1516. On his death-bed he appointed Ximenes
Regent of Castile during the minority of Charles V., with expressions
indicative of no personal regard, but bearing strong testimony to his
unbending justice, disinterestedness, and zeal for the public welfare.
The Cardinal’s conduct in this exalted station was consistent with the
tenor of his past life; he was a just ruler, but his authority was
feared and respected rather than loved. If he had one passion
unmortified, it was ambition: he ruled with a single eye to his young
sovereign’s interests; but he evaded that sovereign’s attempts to
circumscribe his powers with as much success as he bore down the
opposition of those turbulent nobles, who hoped, in the weakness of a
minority, to find a fit opportunity for prosecuting their own
aggrandizement, and committing with impunity acts of illegal violence.
For when Charles V. sent some of his confidential Flemish ministers to
be associates in the commission of regency, the Cardinal received them
with respect, and granted them the external distinctions of office; for
the rest they were mere puppets in his hands. Of his internal policy,
the chief scope was to elevate the regal power, and to depress that of
the nobles, even by throwing a greater weight into the hands of the
unprivileged classes: the same policy as had been pursued by the wisest
princes of the age, Ferdinand and Isabella, Henry VII. of England, and
Louis XI. of France. The crown had been reduced to great poverty by
lavish grants, extorted, in disturbed times, by the necessity of
conciliating powerful noblemen, rather than granted by free-will, or out
of real gratitude for services; and it was one of Ximenes’ first objects
to remedy this evil, even by means which showed none of that regard to
vested interests, which belongs to times in which the course of law is
regular and supreme, and consequently the rights of property are rigidly
respected. Such pensions as had been granted in Ferdinand’s reign he cut
off at once, on the plea that the grantor could only have bestowed them
for his own life. The crown lands alienated during the same period were
resumed: even the Cardinal’s boldness did not venture to carry the
inquiry farther back, from the apprehension of driving the whole body of
the nobility into revolt.

These changes, and other important measures, were not carried into
effect without great discontent and considerable open resistance. But
the Cardinal was strong, in the resources of his own powerful mind, in
the general reverence of the people for the sanctity of his character,
in his exalted rank as head of the Spanish church, and in the immense
revenues of his see, which gave him a command of money not enjoyed by
the crown, and enabled him to keep in his own pay a considerable body of
troops. With these he maintained order, and repressed feuds, which the
barons, trusting to the common weakness of a regency, hastened to decide
by the sword; and set at defiance the enmity of the nobility at a later
period, when more decided encroachments on the privileges of the order
had produced a general spirit of discontent. On one occasion a
deputation of the chief grandees of Castile required to be informed,
under what title he presumed to exercise such high authority. The
Cardinal showed the will of Ferdinand, and its confirmation by Charles
V., and finding them still unsatisfied, led them to a window, from which
he pointed out a strong military force under arms. “These,” he said,
“are the powers which I have received from the king. With these I govern
Castile; and with these I will govern it, until the king, your master
and mine, takes possession of his kingdom.”

One of his schemes for strengthening the crown was the erection of a
species of militia, composed of burghers of cities; but that class was
not sufficiently advanced in knowledge to appreciate the immense
accession of importance which would accrue from this measure, which they
regarded solely as a burden. It was therefore unpopular among them, as
well as unpalatable to the barons; and was entirely dropped soon after
the regent’s death.

His foreign policy was nearly confined to the conduct of two wars: the
one to maintain Navarre, which had been usurped by Ferdinand, against
the legitimate monarch John d’Albret; the other, an expedition against
the pirate Barbarossa, King of Algiers, who inflicted a signal and
entire discomfiture on the invading army.

In the administration of the kingdom Ximenes displayed the same
inflexible love of justice, and the same economy, integrity, and order,
as in the management of his own diocese of Toledo; and he brought the
finances into so flourishing a state, that after discharging the crown
debts, and placing the military establishment in a more than commonly
efficient state, he was enabled to remit large sums of money to the
young king in Flanders. And he had something of a title to Charles’s
more immediate and personal gratitude, for having used with success his
own overpowering influence to obtain the recognition of that prince as
king of Castile during the lifetime of his insane mother, against the
usage of the realm, although he had remonstrated with earnestness
against pressing the indecorous and unfilial claim. All these services
however were thrown into the shade by one thing. Ximenes hated the
Flemish ministers whom Charles sent into Spain, and who disgraced their
high station, and corrupted the country by open and abandoned venality.
He never ceased to remonstrate against these abuses, and to importune
Charles to visit his Spanish dominions; and the Flemish favourites saw
that their own ruin was certain if the regent once gained an ascendance
over the king’s mind. They retarded therefore the departure of the
latter as much as possible, and succeeded in prejudicing him against his
most sincere and judicious friend and servant. Convinced at last of the
necessity for his presence, Charles set out for Spain, and landed in the
province of Asturias, September 13, 1517. The Cardinal hastened towards
the coast to meet him, but was stopped at Bos Equillos by a severe
illness, which, as was very usual in past times, was imputed to poison.
He wrote to the king, entreating him to dismiss the train of foreigners
by whom he was attended, and earnestly soliciting a personal interview,
which, from the pressure of illness, he was unable himself to seek. This
favour was not granted, and he was vexed and harassed by a series of
petty slights. At the point of death he received a letter of dismissal
couched in civil but cold terms, permitting him to return to his
diocese, and repose from his labours. Whether the Cardinal retained his
faculties so as to be aware of this final mark of ingratitude is
doubtful; but his end was assuredly hastened by mortification at the
evil return made for his faithful service. He died a few hours after
receiving the dismissal in question, November 8, 1517.

Though austere in temper, Ximenes was not cruel, and in civil matters
had great reluctance to the shedding of blood. Yet in eleven years, as
Grand Inquisitor, he burnt at the stake 2500 persons, for the glory of
God and the good of the sufferer’s souls. Such miserable self-delusion
in so great and good a man ought to teach humility, as well as to
inspire abhorrence.

Our sketch has necessarily been personal rather than historical: a
fuller account of the public life of Ximenes will be found in
Robertson’s ‘Charles V.,’ as well as in the biographies of Flechier,
Marsollier, and others. Barrett’s ‘Life of Ximenes’ appears to be a
compressed translation from the Life by Flechier. We conclude with the
short and comprehensive praise of Leibnitz, who said, that “If great men
could be bought, Spain would have cheaply purchased such a minister by
the sacrifice of one of her kingdoms.”

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by J. Thomson._

  ADDISON.

  _From a Picture copied by J. Thurston in the Possession of the
    Publisher._

  Under the Superintendence of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]




[Illustration]

                                ADDISON.


Joseph Addison, the second of the six children of Dr. Launcelot Addison
and Jane Gulstone, was born May 1, 1672, at Milston in Wiltshire. The
feebleness of his infancy seems to have impaired his spirit as a boy;
for, in the General Dictionary, Dr. Birch relates, that when at school
in the country, he was so afraid of punishment as to have absconded,
lodging in a hollow tree in the fields, till a hue and cry restored him
to his parents. At the Charter-House was formed that friendship between
him and Sir Richard Steele, which led to their close alliance in a new
kind of literary undertaking. Addison could not but feel his own
superiority; and Spence intimates, that the one was too fond of
displaying, and the other too servile in acknowledging it. Steele
occasionally availed himself not only of his friend’s pen, but of his
purse. Johnson has given currency to the story, that Addison enforced
the repayment of 100_l._ by an execution, and the fact is said to have
been related by Steele himself, with tears in his eyes. Hooke, the Roman
historian, professed to have received it from Pope. The biographer
sarcastically remarks, that the borrower probably had not much purpose
of repayment; but the lender, who “seems to have had other notions of
100_l._, grew impatient of delay.” Now no date is assigned to this
anecdote; and Addison’s finances were so low during the greater part of
his life, that he might have suffered greatly by the disappointment; nor
does it detract from the character of a man in narrow circumstances,
that he entertains serious notions of 100_l._

In 1687 Addison was entered at Queen’s College, Oxford, where he took
the degree of M.A., February 14, 1693. One of his early poetical
attempts was ‘An Account of the greatest English Poets, inscribed to H.
S.;’ initials which have been currently assigned to Dr. Henry
Sacheverell, who is indebted, for no enviable place in history, to his
trial and its consequences. But a college friend of Addison has left it
on record, that the initials were the property of a gentleman bearing
the same name, who died young, after having shown some promise in
writing a history of the Isle of Man, and who bequeathed his papers to
Addison, containing, among other things, the plan of a tragedy 011 the
death of Socrates, which the legatee had some thoughts of working up
himself. In this poem the writer tells his friend that Spenser can no
longer charm an understanding age. Now the judgment of the present age
disclaims this confident decision; nor would it be worth recording, but
for Spence’s assertion, that the critic had never read the ‘Faery
Queene,’ when he drew its character. In after life he spoke of his own
poem as a “poor thing;” but his general level as a versifier was not
high. The ‘Campaign’ is his masterpiece in rhyme.

He was indebted to Congreve for his introduction to Montague, then
Chancellor of the Exchequer. Johnson says, that “he was then learning
the trade of a courtier, and subjoined Montague as a poetical name to
those of Cowley and of Dryden.” In 1695 he wrote a poem to King William,
with an introduction addressed to Lord Somers, who is said by Tickell to
have sent a message to the author to desire his acquaintance.

In 1699, he obtained an annual pension of 300_l._ to enable him to
travel. He passed the first year in preparation at Blois, and then
departed for Italy. That he was duly qualified to appreciate the
attractions of “classic ground,”—his own phrase, sneered at for
affectation by contemporary critics, but since sanctioned by general
adoption,—appears by his ‘Travels,’ and by the letter from Italy to Lord
Halifax. His ‘Dialogues on Medals’ were composed at this time. On the
death of King William, in March, 1702, he became distressed for money by
the stoppage of his pension. This compelled him to become tutor to a
travelling squire. The engagement seems to have been for one year only,
for he was at Rotterdam in June, 1703. In the ‘Gentleman’s Magazine’ for
November, 1835, may be found three very curious, because characteristic,
letters, from the Duke of Somerset, surnamed by his contemporaries the
Proud, to old Jacob Tonson, forwarding a proposal to Addison to
undertake the office of tutor to his son, then going abroad. We
transcribe a passage from the second letter, as a sample of the proud
Duke’s liberality. “I desire he may be more on the account of a
companion in my son’s travels, than as a governor, and as such shall
account him; my meaning is that neither lodging, travelling, nor diet,
shall cost him sixpence, and over and above that, my son shall present
him at the year’s end with a hundred guineas, as long as he is pleased
to continue in that service to my son, by taking great care of him, by
his personal attendance and advice, in what he finds necessary during
his time of travelling.” It appears from the Duke’s quotation of the
answer, in the third letter to Tonson, that Addison had “other notions”
of this offer than the proposer entertained. “I will set down his own
words, which are these:—‘As for the recompense that is proposed to me, I
must confess I can by no means see my account in it,’ &c.” A hundred
guineas and maintenance was, even in those days, a mean appointment from
a Duke to a gentleman.

Addison returned to England at the latter end of 1703. In 1704, at the
request of Lord Godolphin, to whom he was introduced by the Earl of
Halifax, he undertook to celebrate the victory of Blenheim, and composed
the first portion of his poem called the ‘Campaign.’ This proved his
introduction into office. After filling some inferior appointments, he
became, in 1706, Under-Secretary of State. About the same time, he wrote
the comic opera of ‘Rosamond,’ which was neglected by the public, has
been overpraised by Johnson, and is now deservedly forgotten.

Thomas Earl of Wharton was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland,
December 4, 1708, and proceeded to his destination April 10, 1709,
accompanied by Addison as his Secretary. Addison therefore left London
two days before the commencement of the ‘Tatler,’ the first number of
which came out April 12; and his own first contribution appeared May 26.
His last was No. 267, and the work ended with No. 271, January 2,
1710–11. In No. 93 is an article on a ‘Letter from Switzerland, with
Remarks on Travelling,’ and a sly hint that ‘Fools ought not to be
exported,’ in Addison’s happiest style of playful satire. The praise of
original design clearly belongs to the projector of the ‘Tatler.’
Tickell however was justified in saying, that Addison’s aid “did not a
little contribute to advance its reputation;” and Steele candidly
allows, that his coadjutor not only assisted but improved his original
scheme. In his dedication of the comedy of the ‘Drummer,’ he says, “It
was advanced indeed, for it was raised to a greater thing than I
intended it; for the elegance, purity, and correctness, which appeared
in his writings, were not so much to my purpose, as in any intelligible
manner I could, to rally all those singularities of human life, through
the different professions and characters in it, which obstruct any thing
that was truly good and great.”

The first No. of the ‘Spectator’ appeared March 1, 1710–11, and the
paper was discontinued December 6, 1712; No. 555 concluded the seventh
volume, as first collected by the publishers. The work was resumed June
18, 1714, with No. 556, and the eighth volume closed with No. 635. Of
the first forty-five papers of the revived ‘Spectator,’ Addison wrote
twenty-three; more than half: he did not contribute to the last
thirty-five. Notwithstanding the avowed purpose of exclusively treating
general topics, Steele’s Whiggism once burst its bounds, by reprinting
in the ‘Spectator’ a preface of Dr. Fleetwood to some sermons, for the
purpose of attracting the Queen’s notice to it. Had the Number been
published at the usual hour, the household might have devised means for
its suppression, with some plausible excuse for its absence from the
royal breakfast table; but the non-issue until twelve o’clock, the time
fixed for that meal, left no opening for cabal, and her Majesty’s
subjects were, for her sake, deprived of their morning’s speculation
till that hour. In No. 10 Addison states the daily sale at three
thousand: Johnson makes it sixteen hundred and eighty; apparently far
below the real number. The latter number is given on calculation from
the product of the tax; the assertion of the publisher was Addison’s
authority; and he might, in the commencement of the work, have indulged
in the puff oblique. No. 14, composed of Letters from the Lion—from an
Under-Sexton—on the Masquerade—and Puppet Show, is selected by the
annotators, as “meriting the attention of such as pretend to distinguish
with wonderful facility between Addison’s and Steele’s papers.” It is
wholly Steele’s. The ‘Guardian’ was published in the interval, between
the ‘Spectator’s’ being laid down and taken up again. The first Number
came out March 12, 1713; the last, October 1, 1713. Inattention to marks
has sometimes subjected Addison to undeserved censure. Dr. Blair
vindicates Tasso’s description of Sylvia against the ‘Guardian;’ but by
a double inadvertence, he quotes No. 38 for a passage contained in 28,
and ascribes to Addison what was written by Steele. The ‘Whig Examiner,’
and the ‘Freeholder,’ both exclusively Addison’s, have been enabled by
their wit to survive the usual fate of party-writings. The former is so
much more pungent than usual with the author, and excited so much alarm
and jealousy in Swift, that he triumphantly remarks, “it is now down
among the dead men;” part of the burthen of a popular Tory song. The
humour of the latter, Steele thought too gentle for such blustering
times; and is reported to have said, that the ministry made use of a
lute, when they should have called for a trumpet.

On the demise of the other papers, Hughes formed a project of a society
of learned men of various characters, who were to meet and carry on a
conversation on all subjects, empowering their secretary to draw up any
of their discourses, or publish any of their writings, under the title
of Register. Addison, in answer, applauds the specimen, and approves the
title; but adds, “To tell you truly, I have been so taken up with
thoughts of that nature, for these two or three years last past, that I
must now take some time _pour me délasser_, and lay in fuel for a future
work. I am in a thousand troubles for poor Dick, and wish that his zeal
for the public may not be ruinous to himself; but he has sent me word,
that he is determined to go on, and that any advice I can give him, in
this particular, will have no weight with him.”

Tickell says respecting Cato, “He took up a design of writing a play
upon this subject, when he was very young at the university, and even
attempted something in it there, though not a line as it now stands. The
work was performed by him in his travels, and retouched in England,
without any formal design of bringing it on the stage, till his friends
of the first quality and distinction prevailed with him to put the last
finishing to it, at a time when they thought the doctrine of liberty
very seasonable.” Cibber says, that in 1704 he had the pleasure of
reading the first four acts privately with Steele, who told him they
were written in Italy. Oldmixon in his ‘Art of Criticism,’ 1728, talks
about Addison’s reluctance to resume the work, and his request to Hughes
to write the fifth act. According to Pope, the first packed audience was
made to support the ‘Distressed Mother;’ the scheme was tried again for
Cato with triumphant effect. The love-scenes are the weakest in the
play, and are by some supposed to have been foisted on the original
plan, to humour the false taste of the modern stage. When the tragedy
was shown to Pope, he advised the author to print it, without committing
it to the theatre, as thinking it better suited to the closet than
representation.

When Lord Sunderland was sent as lord lieutenant to Ireland in 1714,
Addison was appointed his secretary. This, as well as another step in
his promotion, has been omitted by Johnson. In 1715 he was made a lord
of trade. In 1716 he married the Countess Dowager of Warwick, to whom he
had long paid his addresses. Johnson pleasantly suggests, that his
behaviour might be not very unlike that of Sir Roger to his disdainful
widow, and supposes that the lady might amuse herself by playing with
his passion. Spence dates his first acquaintance with her from his
appointment as tutor to the young earl; but as neither the time of that
appointment is known, nor the footing on which he stood with the family,
the first steps in this affair are left in obscurity. The result is
better known. Mr. Tyers, in an unpublished essay on ‘Addison’s Life and
Writings,’ says, “Holland House is a large mansion, but could not
contain Mr. Addison, the Countess of Warwick, and one guest, peace.” He
became possessed of this house by his marriage, and died in it. His last
and great promotion was to the dignity of Secretary of State in 1717;
but he was unfit for it, and gained no new laurels by it. He carried so
much of the author into the office of the statesman, that he could not
issue an order of mere routine without losing his time in hunting after
unnecessary niceties of language. During his last illness he sent for
Gay, and with a confession of having injured him, promised him a
recompense if he recovered. He did not specify the nature of the injury;
nor could Gay, either then or subsequently, guess at his meaning. Dr.
Young furnished the received account of his interview with Lord Warwick
on his death-bed; but there appears to be no ground for Johnson’s
imputation on the young man’s morals or principles, or for supposing
that it was a last effort on Addison’s part to reclaim him. Young
mentions his lordship as a youth finely accomplished, without a hint of
looseness either in opinions or conduct. Addison died June 17, 1719: his
only child, a daughter, died at Bilton, in Warwickshire, at an advanced
age, in 1797. Not many days before his death he commissioned Mr. Tickell
to collect his writings; a gentleman of whom Swift said that Addison was
a whig, but Tickell, _whigissimus_.

To ascertain the claim of short periodical papers to originality of
design, we must look to the state of newspapers at an earlier date. As
vehicles of information they are often mentioned in plays in the time of
James and Charles the First. Carew, in his ‘Survey of Cornwall,’ first
published in 1602, quotes ‘Mercurius Gallo-Belgicus.’ Till the beginning
of the eighteenth century, the periodical press had been exclusively
political; no class of writers but divines and theoretical reasoners had
administered to the moral wants of society: certain gentlemen,
therefore, of liberal education, and men of the world, combined to
furnish practical instruction in an amusing form, by fictions running
parallel with the political newspaper. Addison announces the design “to
bring philosophy out of closets and libraries, schools and colleges, to
dwell in clubs and assemblies, at tea-tables and in coffee-houses.” In
the character of his fictitious friend the clergyman, he speaks of “the
great use this paper might be of to the public, by reprehending those
vices which are too trivial for the chastisement of the law, and too
fantastical for the cognizance of the pulpit.” Another object was to
allay party-violence by promoting literary taste; in Steele’s figurative
language, to substitute the lute for the trumpet. On this subject
Addison says, “I am amazed that the press should be only made use of in
this way by news-writers, and the zealots of parties; as if it were not
more advantageous to mankind to be instructed in wisdom and virtue than
in politics, and to be made good fathers, husbands, and sons, than
counsellors and statesmen.”

Dr. Beattie, who published an edition of Addison’s works in 1790, with a
Life prefixed, says that he was once informed, but had forgotten on what
authority, that Addison had collected three manuscript volumes of
materials. He might have found this in Tickell’s Life. “It would have
been impossible for Mr. Addison, who made little or no use of letters
sent in by the numerous correspondents of the Spectator, to have
executed his large share of this task in so exquisite a manner, if he
had not ingrafted into it many pieces that had lain by him in little
hints and minutes, which he from time to time collected, and ranged in
order, and moulded into the form in which they now appear. Such are the
essays upon wit, the pleasures of the imagination, the critique upon
Milton, and some others.”

The original delineation of Sir Roger de Coverley, for the management
and keeping of which character Addison has been highly extolled, must
unquestionably be ascribed to Steele. He drew the outlines; Addison
principally worked up the portrait. Johnson not only takes a false view
of the character, but in contradiction to every judgment but his own,
represents the author as sinking under the weight of it. “The
irregularities in Sir Roger’s conduct seem not so much the effects of a
mind deviating from the beaten track of life, by the pressure of some
overwhelming idea, as of habitual rusticity, and that negligence which
solitary grandeur naturally generates. The variable weather of the mind,
the flying vapours of incipient madness, which from time to time cloud
reason, without eclipsing it, it requires so much nicety to exhibit,
that Addison seems to have been deterred from prosecuting his own
design.” This seems to be a mistake from beginning to end. Addison had
no more design to impute incipient madness to Sir Roger, than to his
contrast, Sir Andrew Freeport. Habitual rusticity is not the prevailing
feature in a man who visited the metropolis every season: a main beauty
of the picture is, that Sir Roger is always a gentleman, although an odd
one. Hear Lord Orford on the subject. “Natural humour was the primary
talent of Addison. His character of Sir Roger de Coverley, though
inferior, is only inferior to Shakspeare’s Falstaff.” But however
prejudiced or mistaken Johnson might be in this particular instance,
when he deals in generalities, he traces the peculiar merits of
Addison’s manner with the touch of a master. “He copies with so much
fidelity, that he can be hardly said to invent; yet his exhibitions have
an air so much original, that it is difficult to suppose them not merely
the product of imagination.”

An attempt has been made to compare the humour of Addison with that of
Molière, of whom Lord Chesterfield said that no man ever had so much.
But a parallel between an essayist and a dramatic writer will not run
straight; the construction of the drama gives so much greater latitude
to the display of humour, and allows of so much nearer an approach to
extravagance, that there can be no drawn game between them, and the
essayist will almost always be the loser.

As a critic, Addison’s merit is impartially and ably set forth in the
notes to his Life in Dr. Kippis’s edition of the ‘Biographia
Britannica.’ On that subject Johnson is just and liberal. “Addison is
now despised by some who perhaps would never have seen his defects, but
by the lights which he afforded them.” By some of these arrogant
despisers he has been blamed for deciding by taste rather than by
principles. To this Dr. Warton, who thought him superior to Dryden as a
critic, briefly answers, taste must decide. Addison’s style has been
universally admired and thought a model. Lord Orford says of Addison,
Swift, Bolingbroke, and Dr. Middleton, “Such authors fix a standard by
their writings.” Johnson says he did not wish to be energetic; Dr.
Warton affirms that he is so, and that often. Steele describes his
habits of composition. “This was particular in this writer, that, when
he had taken his resolution, or made his plan for what he designed to
write, he would walk about a room, and dictate it into language with as
much freedom and ease as any one could write it down, and attend to the
coherence and grammar of what he dictated.” Pope says that he wrote with
fluency; but if he had time to correct, did it slowly and cautiously;
but that many of the ‘Spectators’ were written rapidly, and sent to the
press in the instant; and he doubts whether much leisure for revisal
would have led to improvement. “He would alter any thing to please his
friends, before publication, but would not retouch his pieces
afterwards; and I believe not one word in Cato, to which I made an
objection, was suffered to stand.” The last line of Cato was Pope’s; a
substitute for the original.

We have neither room nor willingness to enter on the jealousy between
these two eminent persons. Bowles vindicates Addison’s conduct, and
relates the following fact to the credit of his disposition:—“Though
attacked by Dennis as a critic, he never mentioned his name with
asperity, and refused to give the least countenance to a pamphlet which
Pope had written upon the occasion of Dennis’s stricture on Cato.” The
piece here alluded to is the ‘Narrative of the Madness of John Dennis.’
Pope strangely imputed Addison’s pious compositions to the selfish
motive of an intention to take orders and obtain a bishopric on quitting
administration. Johnson cites this as the only proof that Pope retained
some malignity from their ancient rivalship: with this opinion we cannot
quite agree.

Addison’s defect of animal spirits condemned him to silence in general
company; but his conversation, when set afloat by wine and the presence
of confidential friends, was brilliant and delightful. Steele represents
him as “having all the wit and nature of Terence and Catullus,
heightened with humour more exquisite than any other man ever
possessed.” This high flight is borne out by Pope’s less suspicious
testimony. “Addison’s conversation had something in it more charming
than I have found in any other man.” Tonson and Spence represent him as
demanding to be the first name in modern wit; and with Steele as his
echo, depreciating Dryden, whom Pope and Congreve defended against them.
We close our account with the following summary of his character from
Hutchinson’s ‘History of Cumberland’:—“Addison was modest and mild, a
scholar, a gentleman, a poet, and a Christian.”




[Illustration]

                               BRAMANTE.


The name of Bramante derives a marked distinction from its intimate
connexion with the history of the famous church of St. Peter at Rome,
and is further interesting in its association with the names of Michael
Angelo, of Raphael, and of the pontiff Julius II. Bramante is justly
noted among the _cinquecento_ architects, as a powerful co-operator in
the great work of restoring, under certain modifications, the style of
ancient Rome. The leader of this reformation is universally acknowledged
to have been Brunelleschi; while Palladio is honoured as having effected
its final and permanent establishment. Brunelleschi had evinced his
daring and his taste in projecting the vast dome of Florence cathedral,
the character of which, however, exhibited only a slight advance towards
the regular architecture of antiquity; and it remained for a successor
to emulate at once the majestic elevation of the Florentine cupola, and
the more classic beauty of the Roman Pantheon.

Brunelleschi died in 1444, a circumstance which we mention as giving
additional interest to the fact, that, in 1444, Bramante was born. The
family of the latter, his birth-place, and even his name, are matters of
some obscurity; but there is reason to believe that his parentage was
humble, and that he was born in the territory of Urbino. Whether at
Urbino the capital of the Duchy, or at Castel Durante, at Fermignano, or
at Monte Asdrubale, there are no means of deciding, unless we admit as
evidence in favour of the latter place an existing medal in the Museo
Mazzachelliano, whereon are inscribed the words “Bramantes
Asdruvaldinus.” He is variously called Bramante Lazzari, Lazzaro
Bramante, and is spoken of as “Donato di Urbino, cognominato Bramante.”

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by J. Posselwhite._

  BRAMANTE.

  _From a Portrait by Alessandro D’Este in the Collection of the
    Capitol, at Rome._

  Under the Superintendence of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]

He seems to have evinced, at an early age, a general feeling for poetry
and art; and is said to have first studied painting assisted by the
works of Fra. Bartolomeo Corradini. During a sojourn at Milan he
obtained the friendship of the poet Gaspero Visconti, and in the
capacity of a sonneteer and improvisatore exhibited an unusual facility
of composition. Of his abilities as a painter in distemper and fresco,
examples are to be seen in that city, and at other places in the
Milanese territory. On his subsequent removal to Rome, he was employed
to execute some paintings (which no longer exist) in the church of S.
Giovanni Laterano.

Architecture, however, soon claimed Bramante as more particularly her
own, and he manifested a zealous ardour in the study of classic
examples. It does not appear that he published any volumes on the
subject, but we are credibly informed that he industriously measured the
ancient remains of Rome, and of Adrian’s villa at Tivoli.

The Cardinal Caraffa was among the first to form an estimate of his
merits, and commissioned him to rebuild the cloisters of the Monastery
della Pace at Rome. He also superintended the execution of the
Trastevere Fountain for Pope Alexander VI., and erected great part of
the palace della Cancellaria. The church of S. Lorenzo in Damaso, and
the circular chapel in the cloister of S. Pietro in Montorio (where St.
Peter is said to have been crucified) are also of Bramante’s
architecture; nor should we omit to mention him as the designer of the
palace in the Piazza di Scossacavalli, which for some time belonged to
the English crown, and was presented by Henry VIII. to the Campeggi.
Bramante’s designs for other palaces and churches were numerous. Several
buildings in Milan are attributed to him, as well as an imperial palace
for the Duke of Urbino (never finished), and the church dell’ Incoronata
at Lodi.

The established fame of Bramante now recommended him to Pope Julius II.,
who had formed the idea of uniting the old Vatican palace with the
Belvedere by means of a magnificent court, an engraving of which, as it
was first executed by Bramante, is to be seen in the public library
erected by the Corsini princes. The division of the court by the Vatican
library, subsequently erected by Sixtus V., and other additions and
alterations, have utterly destroyed the effect of Bramante’s design,
though the principal architectural features still remain. Among these,
in a lofty central pile of building, is a vast semicircular headed
niche, the archivolt of which springs from the cornices of two lofty
wing compartments, appearing, it must be confessed, more like the
section of an interior, than an external elevation. It is as if the
opposite walls in the length of a cathedral choir were taken away, the
grand altar recess being alone suffered to remain; and it may be
regarded as a very curious instance of a passion for the spherical
vault, which thus prompted Bramante to turn it, as it were, inside out;
and to take from the cellæ of the temples of Peace, and of Venus and
Rome, the idea of the garden alcove.

Bramante was now high in favour with Julius II.; and, having invented an
ingenious machine for stamping the leaden seals attached to the papal
bulls, was rewarded with the office “_del Piombo_.” He attended the Pope
to Bologna, when that city was united to the states pontifical in 1504,
and served his Holiness in the capacity of military engineer.

Our account of Bramante now resolves itself into the history of St.
Peter’s church, the antecedent progress of which may be thus briefly
stated:—

St. Peter being buried within the site of Nero’s Circus, Constantine
erected (A.D. 324) a magnificent church over the apostle’s remains.
During the lapse of eleven centuries, it fell into decay, and in the
pontificate of Nicholas V. (1450) a new building was commenced from
designs by Alberti. On the death of Nicholas, the works were
discontinued till Paul II. caused them again to proceed: but it must be
understood that the structure then in course of erection was in a great
measure mixed up with Constantine’s church, many remaining parts of
which were to be incorporated in the new building.

The ascent of Julius II. to the papal throne was at that period, when
the revived taste for classical architecture suddenly pervaded Italy,
and left him assured of general support in his boldly formed resolution
of demolishing the old building with all its subsequent amendments, and
of erecting an entirely new structure, that should stand paramount in
the modern world for vastness and splendour. It has been said, that the
idea of the new church originated in a suggestion by San Gallo, that the
gorgeous sepulchral monument which Julius, in honour of himself, had
commissioned Michael Angelo to execute, should be placed in a church of
corresponding grandeur, purposely built to receive it. Be this as it
may, the new St. Peter’s was resolved on: designs were sent in by
various architects, and several were submitted by Bramante, who proved,
as might be expected, the successful competitor. His ideas were as
colossal as the ambition of his patron:—“I will raise,” said the
architect, “the Pantheon on the Temple of Peace!”

Bramante’s plan was a Latin cross. The area of intersection was to be
surrounded with massive piers, having columns between as in the
Pantheon; and the noble dome of the latter edifice, in the august
novelty of its exalted position, was to be freely imitated. A medal
struck in honour of Bramante shows the façade of his design, having two
_campaniles_, or towers, flanking a central compartment. In examining
the practicability of his plans, he failed not to inspect the quarries
of Tivoli, and was confirmed by the discovery that they would yield him
blocks of nine feet in diameter. Into the pecuniary means of
construction he did not however so closely examine. The contributions of
a world would have been necessary to the full realization of his plans,
which were considerably reduced by succeeding architects.

The first stone of the new edifice was laid on the 18th of April, 1506;
and the works proceeded with a rapidity more pleasing perhaps to the
impatient spirit of Julius, than beneficial to the stability of so vast
an edifice. Either to this haste on the part of the pontiff, or to a
want of constructive care on his own part, must be attributed the
failures which occurred to several of Bramante’s buildings; and it is
said, that, in the fear of Michael Angelo’s superior scrutiny, he
industriously sought to compass the removal of that great artist from
Rome.

His jealousy had been excited by the high admiration with which Julius
regarded Michael Angelo’s talent; and he strove to arrest the progress
of the intended monument, by stimulating in the pope a superstitious
dread of constructing his own tomb. He was, perhaps, not more envious of
Michael Angelo as a rival, than of the art of sculpture as compared with
his own; and it may have been with the view of diverting the pope’s mind
from the engrossing subject of the tomb, that he suggested that Michael
Angelo should be employed in painting the vault of the Sistine Chapel.
Julius, adopting the suggestion, ordered Bramante to construct a
scaffold for the painter’s purpose; but it was no sooner done than
Michael Angelo rejected it as totally unfit, and invented one himself.
If the opposition of these celebrated men had been hitherto restrained
within bounds, it now assumed a more decided character of hostility.
Half the painting of the chapel being completed, Bramante was desirous
that Raphael, then rising into eminence, should finish the half
remaining; expecting, no doubt, that the latter, being more exclusively
a painter, would exhibit a superiority over one who had chiefly
practised as a sculptor. At this, the indignation of Michael Angelo was
naturally fired, and he arraigned at once, in the presence of the Pope,
not only the architectural defects of Bramante’s buildings, but likewise
the moral faults of his character. At a former period, however, he had
paid full tribute to his rival’s exalted taste, saying, in his letter to
a friend, “It cannot be denied that Bramante is superior in architecture
to all others since the time of the ancients.”

Among the more pleasing passages of Bramante’s life, is that which
relates to his friendship for the inimitable Raphael, who was his
fellow-countryman, and, as it is reported, his relation. Certain it is
that Raphael was his pupil in architecture, and that he entertained an
affectionate regard for his master, whose portrait he introduced into
his celebrated picture of the “School of Athens,” where Bramante is
represented as describing with his compasses a geometrical figure to
several youths who surround him.

Bramante died in 1514, one year after his patron Julius II., and eight
years after the commencement of the new St. Peter’s. At this period the
great arches over the central piers were turned, and the principal
chapel opposite the entrance erected. Subsequent additions, however, to
his portion of the building, and material deviations from his original
design, have left us to regard the church in its complete state as
deriving little else than its general idea from the genius of its first
architect. His remains were deposited in it with great pomp, being
attended by the Papal court, and the leading professors of art. He is
described as lively and agreeable in manner, and, notwithstanding his
quarrels with Michael Angelo, of a liberal and generous disposition. He
seems rather to have been distinguished by a bold and fertile fancy,
than by any great attainments in the mechanical department of his
profession; and to form a just estimate of his designs, they should be
considered with reference to the progressive state of architectural
taste, and cautiously adopted as examples for imitation.

The best authorities to be consulted on this subject are Vasari,
Tiraboschi, Milizia, and Condivi.

[Illustration: [Great niche of the Belvedere.]]

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by E. Scriven._

  MADAME DE STAEL.

  _From the original Picture by F. Gerard in the possession of M. de
    Broglie, at Paris._

  Under the Superintendence of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]




[Illustration]

                            MADAME DE STAEL.


Anne Louise Germaine Necker, the celebrated daughter of a celebrated
father, was born at Paris, April 22, 1766. In her earliest years she
manifested uncommon vivacity of perception and depth of feeling; and at
the age of eleven, her sprightliness, her self-possession, and the eager
and intelligent interest which she took in all the subjects of
conversation, rendered her the pet and the wonder of the brilliant
circle which frequented her father’s house. Necker himself, though he
delighted in promoting the developement of his daughter’s talents, was a
watchful critic of her faults: “I owe,” she said, “to my father’s
penetration, the frankness of my disposition, and the simplicity of my
mind. He exposed every sort of affectation; and, in his company, I
formed the habit of thinking that my heart lay open to view.” She repaid
his care and tenderness by a passionate and devoted affection, such as
scarcely seems to belong to the relationship which existed between them.
Throughout his life, the desire to minister to his pleasure was her
first object, and his death threw a permanent shade of melancholy over
her spirit.

Madlle. Necker paid the usual price of mental precocity, in its
debilitating effects upon her bodily constitution. At the age of
fourteen, serious apprehensions were entertained for her life; and she
was sent to St. Ouen, in the neighbourhood of Paris, for the benefit of
country air, with orders to abstain from every species of severe study.
Thither her father repaired at every interval of leisure; and being
withdrawn from the strict line of behaviour prescribed by her mother,
who, having done much herself by dint of study, thought that no
accomplishments graces could be worth possessing which were not the
fruit of study, she passed her time in the unrestrained enjoyment of M.
Necker’s society, in the indulgence of her brilliant imagination, and
the spontaneous cultivation of her powerful mind. This course of life
was more favourable to the developement of that poetical, ardent, and
enthusiastic temper, which was the source of so much enjoyment, and so
much distinction, than to the habits of self-control without which such
a temper is almost too dangerous to be called a blessing. Her character
at this period of life is thus described by her relation and biographer,
Mad. Necker de Saussure: “We may figure to ourselves Mad. de Stael, in
her early youth, entering with confidence upon a life, which to her
promised nothing but happiness. Too benevolent to expect hatred from
others, too fond of talent in others to anticipate the envy of her own,
she loved to exalt genius, enthusiasm, and inspiration, and was herself
an example of their power. The love of glory, and of liberty, the
inherent beauty of virtue, the pleasures of affection, each in turn
afforded subjects for her eloquence. Not that she was always in the
clouds: she never lost presence of mind, nor was she run away with by
enthusiasm.” In later life her good taste led her to abstain from this
lofty vein of conversation, especially when it was forced upon her: “I
tramp in the mire with wooden shoes, whenever they would force me to
live always in the clouds.”

Endowed with such qualities, the _effect_ which Madlle. Necker produced
upon her introduction to society was as brilliant as her friends could
desire, though the effervescence of imagination and youthful spirits
sometimes led her to commit breaches of etiquette, which might have been
fatal to the success of a less accomplished debutant. At the age of
twenty, in 1786, she married the Baron de Stael Holstein, ambassador of
Sweden at the court of France. He was much the elder, and the matter
seems to have been arranged by her parents, with her acquiescence
indeed, but without her heart being at all interested in the connexion.
And we trace the effect of her ruling passion, love of her father, in
the Baron de Stael’s engagement not to take her to reside in Sweden,
without her free consent. During a large portion of their married life
they were separated from each other by the baron’s absences from France;
but when age and sickness weighed him down, she hastened to comfort him,
and his last hours (in 1802) were soothed by her presence and watchful
care. By this marriage Mad. de Stael had four children, of whom only a
son and a daughter survived her: the latter became the wife of the Duc
de Broglie; the former inherited his father’s title, and has won for
himself a creditable place in the literature of the age.

At the beginning of the revolution, Mad. de Stael watched the new
prospects opening 011 her country with joyful anticipation: but she was
shocked and disgusted by the ferocious excesses which ensued. Her love
of liberty was too sincere to let her justify the policy, or join the
party of the court, but, with an admirable courage, she used the
powerful influence of her talents and her connexions to save as many as
possible of the victims of that frenzied time. She arranged a plan for
the escape of the royal family from the Tuileries; and after the death
of Louis XVI., she had the boldness (for so it must be called) to
publish her ‘Défense de la Reine.’ It needed all the author’s tact and
ingenuity, as well as eloquence, so to plead the queen’s cause, as, on
the one hand, not to compromise the dignity of her innocence, and, on
the other, not to aggravate the rage of those who clamoured for her
destruction.

Having passed safely through the Reign of Terror, Mad. de Stael hailed
the establishment of the Directory in 1795, as the commencement of a
settled government. Through life she devoted a large portion of her
attention to politics, which she designated as comprehending within
their sphere, morality, religion, and literature; and at this period
especially, while her fame in literature was not yet established, and
the ardent enthusiasm of her temper was unchecked by misfortune, she not
only took an eager interest in the course of affairs, but exerted her
powers to gain some influence in the direction of them. Her brilliant
conversation drew around her the ablest and most accomplished men of the
French capital; and in Paris, where the public opinion of France is
compressed into a narrow space, wit or beauty have always had an
influence unknown to the more sedate nations of the north. To this
period of her life belong the treatises,—more interesting as specimens
of her genius, than important for the truth of her theories—‘De
l’Influence des Passions sur le Bonheur des Individus et des Nations,’
published in 1796, of which only the first part, relating to
individuals, was completed; and ‘De la Littérature considerée dans ses
Rapports avec les Institutions Sociales,’ published in 1800: subjects,
it has been truly said, which demand the observation and study of a
whole life. It is not on these, therefore, that her fame is based. But
the latter has the great merit, according to the testimony of Sir James
Mackintosh, of being the first attempt to treat the philosophy of
literary history upon a bold and comprehensive scale.

But she could not aspire to “direct the storm,” without running some
danger of being caught in it; and it is probable, as indeed she herself
admits, that if she had foreseen the troubles which political influence
was to bring upon her, she would have been well pleased to resign all
pretension to it. At the end of 1799, Bonaparte rose to power on the
ruin of the Directory. That remarkable man inspired Mad. de Stael from
the first with an indescribable fear and dislike, which she has
expressed throughout her very interesting work, entitled ‘Dix Années
d’Exil;’ and as she saw at once the danger to which the cause of
rational liberty was exposed by his ambition, and feared not to express
her sentiments, her house became the focus of discontent. Benjamin
Constant, then one of her intimate associates, having prepared and
communicated to her a speech to expose the dawning tyranny of the First
Consul, warned her that, if spoken, it would necessarily be followed by
the desertion of the brilliant society which she loved, and by which she
was surrounded. She replied, “We must do as we think right.” It was
accordingly pronounced on the following day, on the evening of which her
favourite circle was to assemble at her own house. Before six o’clock
she received ten notes of excuse. “The first and second I bore well
enough, but as one note came after another, they began to disturb me. I
appealed in vain to my conscience, which had bidden me resign the
pleasures which depended on Bonaparte’s favour: so many good sort of
persons blamed me, that I could not hold fast enough by my own view of
the question.” And she says just before, with her usual candour, “If I
had foreseen what I have suffered, dating from that day, I should not
have been resolute enough to decline M. Constant’s offer to abstain from
coming forward, for the sake of not compromising me.” The speech was
followed by an intimation from Fouché, that Mad. de Stael’s retirement
from Paris for a short time would be expedient.

In the spring of 1800, Bonaparte’s absence upon the campaign of Marengo,
and the publication of her work on literature, brought Mad. de Stael
again into fashion. From that time until 1802, she remained undisturbed,
and divided her time chiefly between Paris, and her father’s residence
at Coppet, on the Lake of Geneva. In the latter year (in which she
published ‘Delphine’) her intimacy with Bernadotte caused the First
Consul to regard her with suspicion, though the dread of being banished
from the delights of Parisian society had taught her prudence. “They
pretend,” he said, “that she neither talks politics, nor mentions me;
but I know not how it happens, that people seem to like me less after
visiting her.” Prudence, or the warning of her friends, detained Mad. de
Stael at Coppet during the winter of 1802–3: but when war broke out, and
she thought that Bonaparte’s attention was fully occupied by the
proposed descent upon England, she could not resist the thirst of
conversation which always drew her to Paris. She did not venture to
enter the city; but she had not been long in its neighbourhood, when she
was terribly disconcerted by a peremptory order not to appear within
forty leagues of the metropolis. She candidly avows that “la
conversation Française n’existe qu’à Paris, et la conversation a été,
depuis mon enfance mon plus grand plaisir.” The rest of France,
therefore, had no attraction for her, and she determined to visit
Germany. Weimar was her first place of abode, where she became
acquainted with Goethe, Wieland, and Schiller, and, under their
auspices, commenced her study of the German language and literature. In
1804, she proceeded to Berlin; but she was suddenly recalled to
Switzerland by the illness and death of M. Necker.

To this most painful loss Mad. Necker de Saussure attributes a deep and
beneficial influence on her friend’s character. It inspired a melancholy
which perhaps never was entirely dissipated, it raised her thoughts to a
more exalted strain of meditation, and gave vigour and consistency to
those reverential feelings, which before were perhaps hardly definite
enough to be termed religion. At this time she composed her account of
the private life of M. Necker, of which B. Constant has said, that no
other of her works conveys so good a notion of the author. Shortly after
she visited Italy for the first time. The grand and solemn remains of
antiquity harmonized with the melancholy of her mind; and in this
journey was developed a love of art, and, in a less degree, a taste for
scenery, of which up to this time she seems to have been strangely
deficient. The fruit of her travels appeared in ‘Corinne,’ written after
her return to Coppet in 1805, and published at Paris early in 1807,
which raised her to the first class of living writers. Mad. Necker de
Saussure says, in the strain of high panegyric, “Il n’eut qu’une voix,
qu’un cri d’admiration dans l’Europe lettrée; et ce phénomène fut
partout un événement;” and Sir James Mackintosh, who read it in India,
in a translation, says, “I swallow Corinne slowly, that I may taste
every drop. I prolong my enjoyment, and really dread the termination.”
Dictated by the same leading idea as ‘Delphine,’ but far superior in
depth and truth of sentiment, as well as eloquence, and genuine poetic
ardour, it was also free from the moral objections to the former novel.
Each heroine, according to the lively author first quoted, is a
transcript from the author herself. “‘Corinne’ is the ideal of Mad. de
Stael; ‘Delphine’ is her very self in youth.” A similar idea occurred to
Mackintosh,—“In the character of ‘Corinne,’ Mad. de Stael draws an
imaginary self—what she is, what she had the power of being, and what
she can easily imagine that she might have become. Purity, which her
sentiments and principles teach her to love; talents and
accomplishments, which her energetic genius might easily have acquired;
uncommon scenes, and incidents fitted for her extraordinary mind; and
even beauty, which her fancy contemplates so constantly, that she can
scarcely suppose it to be foreign to herself, and which, in the
enthusiasm of invention, she bestows on this adorned as well as improved
self,—these seem to be the materials out of which she has formed
‘Corinne,’ and the mode in which she reconciled it to her knowledge of
her own character.... The grand defect is the want of repose—too much,
and too ingenious reflection—too uniform an ardour of feeling. The
understanding is fatigued, the heart ceases to feel.”

Before the publication of ‘Corinne.’ Mad. de Stael had ventured into the
neighbourhood of Paris. The book contained nothing hostile to Napoleon;
but the new wreath of fame which the author had woven for herself
revived his spleen, and she soon received a peremptory order to quit
France. This was a bitter mortification. We have mentioned her ruling
love of conversation: and to her Paris was the world; beyond its limits
life was vegetation. “Give me the Rue du Bac,” she said to those who
extolled the Lake of Geneva; “I would prefer living in Paris on a fourth
story, with a hundred louis a year.” The chief studies of her exile were
German literature and metaphysics. In the autumn of 1807 she visited
Vienna, where she spent a year in tranquil enjoyment, soothed by the
respect and admiration, and gratified by the polished manners and
conversation of the exalted circles in which she moved, and undisturbed
by the petty tyranny which, in her stolen visits to France, always hung
over her head. In 1808 she returned to Coppet, to arrange the materials
for her great work on Germany. Having devoted nearly two years to this
task, she went to France in the summer of 1810, the decree of exile
being so far relaxed, that she was permitted, as before, to reside forty
leagues from the capital. Her principal object was to superintend the
printing of her work, which was to be published at Paris. After passing
safely, though with many alterations, through the censorship, the last
proof was corrected, September 23. Scarcely was this done, and 10,000
copies struck off, when the whole impression was seized and destroyed.
Mad. de Stael fortunately was enabled, by timely warning, to secrete the
manuscript. This blow was accompanied by an order to quit France without
delay. America, which she had expressed a desire to visit, and Coppet,
were the only places offered to her choice: an attempt to reach England,
which was her secret wish, would have been followed by immediate arrest.
She chose to return to her paternal home. There the Emperor’s
persecution, and her hatred of him, reached their height; and though not
to be ranked with the graver offences of tyranny, his treatment of her
was of a most irritating character, and unbecoming any but a low-minded
despot. It was intimated that she had better confine her excursions to a
circle of two leagues; her motions were watched, even within her own
house; to be regarded as her friend was equivalent to a sentence of
disgrace or dismissal, to any person dependent on the government; her
sons were forbidden to enter their native country; M. Schlegel, their
domestic tutor, was ordered to quit Coppet; and worst of all, her two
dearest friends, M. de Montmorency and Mad. Recamier, were banished
France for having presumed to visit her. These, and more trifling
delinquencies are set forth with most stinging sarcasm, in her ‘Ten
Years of Exile.’

Harassed beyond endurance, she resolved to make an attempt to escape
from these never-ending vexations. But whither to go? She could not
obtain permission to reside elsewhere; and if Napoleon demanded her, no
continental power, except Russia, could give her an asylum. To obtain a
conveyance to England was impossible, except from some port to the north
of Hamburg; and to reach that distant region, it was necessary to
traverse the whole of Europe, in constant danger of being intercepted
and detained. After eight months of irresolution, she found courage and
opportunity to make the attempt; and quitting Coppet secretly, she
reached Berne in safety, obtained a passport for Vienna, and hastily
traversing Switzerland and the Tyrol, arrived at the Austrian capital,
June 6, 1812. But this was neither a safe nor pleasant resting-place.
The Emperor was in attendance on his son-in-law at Dresden; and the
Austrian police thought fit to pay their court to Napoleon, by following
up the example of annoyance which he had set. Mad. de Stael, therefore,
hastened on her route to Russia, through Moravia and Gallicia, honoured
all the way by the especial attention of the police, on whose happy
combination of “French machiavelism and German clumsiness,” she has
taken ample revenge in her ‘Ten Years of Exile.’ She crossed the Russian
frontier, July 14, and in the joy of having escaped at last from the
wide-spread power of Napoleon, she sees and describes every thing in
Russia with an exuberance of admiration, which the position of the
country at that moment, and the kindness which the writer experienced,
may well excuse. The French armies had already crossed the Vistula, and
the direct route to St. Petersburg being interrupted, she was obliged to
make a circuit by Moscow. After a hasty survey of the wonders of that
city, she continued her route to St. Petersburg, where she was received
with distinction by the Emperor and his consort. But England was still
the object of her desires, and towards the end of September, she quitted
the metropolis of Russia for Stockholm. There, during a winter-residence
of eight months, she composed the journal of her travels, to which we
have so often referred; and in the following summer she arrived in
London.

She was received in the highest circles of our metropolis with an
enthusiastic admiration, which no doubt was rendered in part to the
avowed enemy of Napoleon, as well as to the woman of genius. Sir James
Mackintosh, in his journal, gives a lively description of the manner in
which she was _fêted_. “On my return I found the whole fashionable and
literary world occupied with Mad. de Stael—the most celebrated woman of
this, or perhaps of any age.... She treats me as the person whom she
most delights to honour. I am generally ordered with her to dinner, as
one orders beans and bacon: I have in consequence dined with her at the
houses of almost all the cabinet ministers. She is one of the few
persons who surpass expectation; she has every sort of talent, and would
be universally popular, if in society she were to confine herself to her
inferior talents—pleasantry, anecdote, and literature, which are so much
more suited to conversation than her eloquence and genius.” A very
characteristic observation was made by the late Lord Dudley—“Mad. de
Stael was not a good neighbour; there could be no slumbering near her,
she would instantly detect you.”

The publication of her long-expected work on Germany maintained the
interest which Mad. de Stael had excited, during the period of her
residence in England. It is comprised in four parts,—on the aspect and
manners of Germany,—on literature and the arts, as there existing,—on
philosophy and morals,—and on religion and enthusiasm. For an analysis
of it we may best refer to the elaborate criticism of Mackintosh, in the
Edinburgh Review, No. XLIII, who gives it the high praise of “explaining
the most abstruse metaphysical theories of Germany precisely, yet
perspicuously and agreeably; and combining the eloquence which inspires
exalted sentiments of virtue, with the enviable talent of gently
indicating the defects of men and manners by the skilfully softened
touches of a polite and merciful pleasantry:” and of being “unequalled
for variety of knowledge, flexibility of power, elevation of view, and
comprehension of mind, among the works of women, and in the union of the
graces of society and literature with the genius of philosophy, not
surpassed by many among men.”

After the restoration of the Bourbons, Mad. de Stael returned to France.
She stood high in Louis XVIII.’s favour, who was well qualified to enjoy
and appreciate her powers of conversation; and he gave a substantial
token of his regard by the repayment of two millions of francs, which
the treasury was indebted to her father’s estate. At the return of
Napoleon, she fled precipitately to Coppet. She was too generous to
countenance the gross abuse lavished on the fallen idol; and some sharp
repartees, at the expense of the time-servers of the day, seem to have
inspired Napoleon with a hope that he might work on her vanity to enlist
her in his service. He sent a message, that he had need of her to
inspire the French with constitutional notions: she replied, “He has
done for twelve years without either me or a constitution, and now he
loves one about as little as the other.”

Concerning the last three years of her life, our information is very
scanty. She had contracted a second marriage, with M. Rocca, a young
officer, who, after serving with distinction in the French army in
Spain, had retired, grievously wounded, to Geneva, his native place. For
an account and apology for this much-censured and injudicious connexion,
the date of which we have not found specified, but which should seem to
have been previous to her flight to Coppet, since Rocca accompanied her
on the occasion, we must refer to Mad. Necker de Saussure. It appears by
her statement (and this is a material consideration in estimating the
extent of the lady’s weakness), that though she must have been more than
forty, and the gentleman was twenty years younger, she had inspired
Rocca with a devoted and romantic passion. “Je l’aimerai tellement,” he
said to one of his friends, “qu’elle finira par m’épouser,” and he kept
his word. A less distinguished woman might have contracted a marriage in
which the disparity of years was greater, at a slight expense of
wondering and ridicule; but probably Mad. de Stael felt that the eyes of
the world were upon her, and that any weakness would be eagerly seized
by her enemies; and, perhaps, had a natural dislike to resign a name
which she had rendered illustrious. She judged ill: the secrecy was the
worst part of the affair. The union, though generally believed to exist,
was not avowed until the opening of her will, which authorised her
children to make her marriage known, and acknowledged one son, who was
the fruit of it. The decline of M. Rocca’s health, which never recovered
the effect of his wounds, induced her to take a second journey to Italy
in 1816. At that time, her own constitution was visibly giving way. She
became seriously ill after her return to France, and died, July 14,
1817, the anniversary of two remarkable days of her life. These were,
the commencement of the French revolution, and the day on which, by
entering Russia, she finally escaped from Napoleon. M. Rocca survived
her only half a year. He died in Provence, January 29, 1818.

Mad. de Stael’s last great work, which was published after her death, is
entitled ‘Considérations sur les principaux Événements de la Révolution
Française,’ a book, says Mackintosh, “possessing the highest interest as
the last dying bequest of the most brilliant writer that has appeared in
our days, the greatest writer, of a woman, that any age or country has
produced.” That it was left unfinished is the less to be regretted,
because it is not a regular history of the revolution, but rather a
collection of penetrating observations and curious details, recorded in
the true spirit of historic impartiality, and therefore a most valuable
treasure to the future historian. The scope of the book, in accordance
with her warm admiration through life of the English constitution, is to
show that France requires a free government and a limited monarchy. The
catalogue of her works is closed by the Œuvres Inédites published in
1820, of which the principal is ‘Ten Years of Exile.’ They are collected
in an edition of eighteen volumes 8vo., published at Paris, in 1819–20,
to which the ‘Notice sur le Caractère et les Ecrits de Mad. de Stael,’
by Mad. Necker de Saussure, is prefixed.

The leading feature of Mad. de Stael’s private character was her
inexhaustible kindness of temper; it cost her no trouble to forgive
injuries. There seems not to have been a creature on earth whom she
hated, except Napoleon. “Her friendships were ardent and remarkably
constant; and yet she had a habit of analysing the characters, even of
those to whom she was most attached, with the most unsparing sagacity,
and of drawing out the detail and theory of their faults and
peculiarities, with the most searching and unrelenting rigour; and this
she did to their faces, and in spite of their most earnest
remonstrances. ‘It is impossible for me to do otherwise,’ she would say;
‘if I were on my way to the scaffold, I should be dissecting the
characters of the friends who were to suffer with me upon it.’” Though
the excitement of mixed society was necessary to her happiness, her
conversation in a tête à tête with her intimate friends is said to have
been more delightful than her most brilliant efforts in public. She was
proud of her powers, and loved to display and talk of them: but her
vanity was divested of offensiveness by her candour and ever-present
consideration of others. Of her errors we would speak with forbearance;
but it is due to truth to say that there were passages in her life which
exposed her to serious and well-founded censure. As a daughter and
mother she displayed sedulous devotion, and the warmest affection.
Though never destitute of devotional feeling, her notions of religion in
youth seem to have been very vague and inefficient. But misfortune drove
her sensitive and affectionate temper to seek some stay, which she found
nothing on earth could furnish; and in later years, her religion, if not
deeply learned, was deeply felt. Of this, the latter portion of Mad.
Necker de Saussure’s work will satisfy the candid reader. And though her
testimony to the truth and value of religion was for the most part
indirect, we may reasonably believe that it was not ineffective. “Placed
in many respects in the highest situation to which humanity could
aspire, possessed unquestionably of the highest powers of reasoning,
emancipated in a singular degree from prejudices, and entering with the
keenest relish into all the feelings that seemed to suffice for the
happiness and occupation of philosophers, patriots, and lovers, she has
still testified that without religion there is nothing stable, sublime
or satisfying; and that it alone completes and consummates all to which
reason and affection can aspire. A genius like hers, and so directed,
is, as her biographer has well remarked, the only missionary that can
work any permanent effect upon the upper classes of society in modern
times—upon the vain, the learned, the scornful and argumentative, ‘who
stone the Prophets, while they affect to offer incense to the Muses.’”
(_Ed. Review, No. LXXI._)




[Illustration]

                               PALLADIO.


Palladio is distinguished among the renowned professors of his age as
the chief modifier of the revived style of Roman architecture. The
celebrity however which attaches to his name, though just in regard to
its extent, is not always correctly appreciated: inasmuch as a bigoted
admiration for his precepts and designs, on the ground of their
intrinsic excellence, has too frequently supplanted that more sober
estimate, which results from a consideration of the circumstances under
which those precepts and examples were given to the world. Neither have
succeeding ages been sufficiently discriminating in respect to the
predecessors and contemporaries of Palladio, several of whom either
effected or assisted in effecting much, of which the credit has been
given by the world at large too exclusively to him.

Our less informed readers should therefore be apprised that, for more
than a century before the time of Palladio, the ancient Roman style of
architecture had been in progress of revival. Brunelleschi, who died in
1444, was the first to exhibit, in the upper part of Florence cathedral,
some departure from the Italian Gothic, and an approach towards the more
classic models of old Rome. Alberti, his pupil, published a system of
the Five Orders, and Bramante, Raphael, and San Gallo, successively
advanced the restored style in the famous Basilica of St. Peter, then
erecting. Sansovino, in several costly edifices at Venice, and San
Micheli, in many at Verona, anticipated the best efforts of Palladio,
and Vignola also distinguished himself as a practical architect and
author. Serlio was the first to measure and describe the ancient
examples of Rome; and in 1537, published the first part of his ‘Complete
Treatise on Architecture.’

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by R. Woodman._

  PALLADIO.

  _From a Picture by L. Biglieschi in the Collection of the Capitol at
    Rome._

  Under the Superintendence of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]

Much therefore had been already done to facilitate the operations of a
succeeding candidate for architectural distinction. Materials had been
amassed, and it only remained for a comprehensive genius to analyse them
more closely, to modify them in detail, and to enlarge, by the exercise
of a chastened fancy, the range of their combinations. At this juncture
the subject of our memoir commenced his professional career.

Andrea Palladio was born at Vicenza, November 30, 1518. His parents are
said to have been “in the middle rank of life;” in belief of which,
Temanza discredits the traditionary account that he worked as a common
mason at the Villa di Cricoli, and that the name ‘Palladio’ was bestowed
upon him, as a kind of ennoblement, by his patron Trissino, who is said
to have been his first architectural instructor. It is at least certain
that, if Trissino taught him not, he assisted in stimulating his
professional ardour. Vitruvius and Alberti appear to have been his early
studies, and allusions are made to his proficiency in geometry and
polite literature at the age of twenty-three. The knowledge which he
derived from books, far from satisfying, prompted him to seek a deeper
insight into the details and the principles of his art; and, during
several visits to Rome, he employed himself in delineating from
admeasurement the ancient remains of that city.

Among the earliest testimonies to his growing fame, was the commission
he received to make certain costly additions to the Basilica, or Hall of
Justice, in his native town. The building, before alteration, seems to
have been a dilapidated example of the Italian Gothic style. It was the
opinion of Giulio Romano, who was also consulted on the subject, that
whatever new work might be necessary to afford strength or supply
convenience, the character of the old building should be strictly
preserved; and the appropriate and unprejudiced idea of that architect
merits quite as much praise as the realized design of his more fortunate
competitor. But the romantic rage for the restored architecture of Pagan
antiquity was too prevalent for the common sense of Giulio to find
support; and the Græco-Roman arcades of Palladio were carried round the
Gothic basilica, just as, under the same infatuation, the Corinthian
portico of Inigo Jones was subsequently attached to the old Cathedral of
St. Paul’s in London.

Considering the particular arrangements and present mixed style of this
noted Basilica to have been peremptorily insisted on by the public, we
can then concede to Palladio the merit of an honourable conquest over
difficulties. The adjoined wood-cut represents in simple outline one of
the seven bays or compartments, which form the longitudinal elevation of
the main building. The relative situations of the perpendiculars _a_ to
_b_, as well as their height, were unalterable. The heights _a_ to _c_,
and _c_ to _d_, were also fixed. If, therefore, simple arches had been
adopted, affording the required superficies of aperture, their limited
height must have borne a very disproportioned ratio to their extended
breadth. If columns had been employed alone, the great width of the
interspaces would have been offensively opposed to the laws which govern
that department of architectural design. The application, therefore, of
the smaller columns is here most admirable. By this measure, a central
arch of good proportions is obtained, and a sufficient supply of light
is secured to the interior by the lateral openings under the imposts,
and by the circular apertures above them.

[Illustration]

In 1546 the building of St. Peter’s church was in active progress, when
its third architect, San Gallo, died. Trissino, who was in Rome at the
time, exerted himself to establish Palladio as San Gallo’s successor. It
is well known however that Michael Angelo was appointed to that
important post, and that he remains recorded on the scroll of fame as
the most celebrated of the architects of St. Peter’s.

In 1547 Palladio appears to have finally established himself as the
leading architect of Northern Italy; nor was he less fortunate in
opportunities for professional display, than competent to avail himself
of them. Vicenza is literally a museum of Palladian design. Besides the
Basilica, already noticed, and the Olympic Theatre, which was designed
after ancient models, he constructed the great majority of the private
palaces, the proprietors of which were content to impoverish their
fortunes, that they might vie with each other in giving scope to the
talents of their architect. The churches del Redentore and S. Giorgio,
with other edifices public and private, evince the estimation in which
Palladio was held at Venice; and most of the other cities in the north
of Italy also contain examples of his genius. The country around
exhibits a variety of his designs, among which is the Villa di Capri,
called the Rotunda, which has been imitated by the Earl of Burlington,
at Chiswick, and by other architects in several parts of England. It
stands upon a hill, and commands a beautiful view on every side. This
was the architect’s reason for adopting the four fronts and four
porticoes.

Oppressed (says Scamozzi) by the multiplicity and fatigue of his
studies, and distressed by the loss of his sons (Leonida and Orazio), he
sank under the influence of an epidemic, which terminated his life
August 19, 1580, at the age of sixty-two. The Olympic Theatre had only
been commenced on the 23rd of May preceding his death, and its
completion was intrusted to his surviving son Silla, who, with Leonida,
had studied architecture. The Olympic Academicians attended their
deceased brother to the grave, and gave public testimony of their
feelings by the recital of funeral odes, and by the observance of all
the “pomp and circumstance” consistent with the sepulture of so eminent
a man. He was interred in the church of the Dominicans at Vicenza.

Palladio was no less remarkable for modesty than for professional
eminence. The affability of his conduct won for him the perfect love of
all workmen engaged in his buildings. He was small in stature, but of
admirable presence; and united, to the most respectful bearing, a jocose
and lively manner.

Palladio’s Treatise on Architecture, in four books, published at Venice
in 1570, has been several times reprinted. A magnificent edition in
three volumes, folio, appeared in London in 1715; and another has been
since issued from the Venetian press. He also composed a work on the
Roman Antiquities generally, and left many manuscripts on the subject of
military as well as civil architecture. He illustrated the Commentaries
of Cæsar, by annexing to Badelli’s translation of that work, a preface
on the military system of the Romans, and by supplying numerous copper
plates, designed for the most part by his sons Leonida and Orazio. He
also studied Polybius, and dedicated a (yet imprinted) work on the
subject to the Grand Duke of Tuscany. His manuscripts, having been left
to the senator Contarini, were subsequently dispersed, and the Earl of
Burlington became possessed of many of them. The latter nobleman in 1732
published the fruits of Palladio’s researches concerning the Roman
baths; and, some time after, appeared a truly beautiful work, intitled
‘Le Fabbriche ei Disegni di Andrea Palladio, raccolti ed illustrati da
Ottavio Bertotti Scamozzi.’ The latter is by far the most interesting
book connected with the name of Palladio. It enables us, at once,
critically to examine his numerous designs, and to estimate them by a
standard far superior to that which is merely founded on Vitruvian
precept and Roman example. Our present acquaintance with all that
Palladio had the means of knowing, and with very much more of which he
was entirely ignorant, gives us a power and a right of censorship which
the bigot alone will oppose and deny. Since the day of this celebrated
architect, the Roman remains have been measured with more minute
accuracy, and examined with a more philosophical regard to the
principles which regulated the arrangement of their component parts. The
volume of Greek art, compared with which that of Rome was but a debasing
translation, has since that time been opened to the world; and, however
we may continue to admire the industry by which Palladio obtained his
then extended knowledge, the fancy and pictorial beauty which pervade
many of his designs, and the worth of the architect himself as a man of
genius, taste, and letters, it is yet our duty to direct the
architectural student to look much farther than Vicenza for examples of
pure design, and for principles of essential value.

The authorities for the life of Palladio, in addition to those already
referred to, are the works of Vasari, Tiraboschi, and Milizia.

[Illustration: [Villa di Capri.]]

[Illustration:

  _Engraved by W. Holl._

  ELIZABETH.

  _From a Picture in His Majesty’s collection at St. James’s Palace._

  Under the Superintendence of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
    Knowledge.

  _London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]




[Illustration]

                               ELIZABETH.


Elizabeth, queen of England, daughter of Henry VIII. by his second wife,
Anne Boleyn, was born September 7, 1533. Her religious principles were
early fixed on the side of the Reformation by Dr. Parker, her mother’s
chaplain, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, to whose care Anne
Boleyn, not long before her violent death, recommended this her only
child, with the charge that she should not want his wise and pious
counsel. She passed her early days happily, in the seclusion of private
life, uninitiated in the dissipation of the court, and unmolested by its
intrigues; but a few months after the accession of her sister Mary, she
was arrested on suspicion of being concerned in Wyat’s insurrection, of
which it was the object to oppose the marriage of Mary with the Archduke
Philip, and to raise the princess Elizabeth to the throne. Her life was
placed in imminent danger, by her removal from her abode at Ashridge in
Buckinghamshire to London during a severe illness, in compliance with an
order to bring her, “quick or dead.” She was committed to the Tower, and
exposed to a capital charge of high treason. Two councils were held,
before which she defended herself with entire presence of mind, and
great boldness. Several councillors voted for her death, but it was
ultimately decided that she could be convicted only of misprision of
treason, which was no longer a capital offence. She owed her life,
therefore, to the saving power of the law; not, as has often been
stated, to the intercession of Philip: who did, however, stand forward
afterwards in her behalf so as to obtain a mitigation of the severity of
her imprisonment, which was continued after her acquittal on the capital
charge. It may seem inconsistent in a bigot to the Catholic religion to
interfere in behalf of a person on whom the hopes of the Protestants
were known to depend: but Philip’s hatred against France was greater
than his or even his wife’s zeal in the cause of popery; and the
political motives of his conduct are obvious. In the event of Mary dying
without issue, the Queen of Scotland, who was actually betrothed, and
soon after married to the Dauphin, stood next in succession to
Elizabeth. Supposing the intermediate link in the chain to be broken,
the crown of England, united to that of France, would give a fatal
preponderance to the already formidable rival of the Spanish monarchy.
Philip, therefore, had a direct interest both in preserving the life and
conciliating the good will of the princess: he foresaw that the demise
of his queen must take place before long, and he had formed the scheme
of espousing her sister and successor, for which a dispensation would
readily have been obtained from the pope.

The reign of Elizabeth began November 17, 1558, when she was twenty-five
years of age. Her person was graceful, her stature majestic, and her
mien noble. Her features were not regular; but her eyes were lively and
sparkling, and her complexion fair. Her spirit was high; and her strong
natural capacity had been improved by the most enlarged education
attainable in those days. She wrote letters in Italian before she was
fourteen; and at the age of seventeen she had acquired the Latin, Greek,
and French languages. In addition to these studies she had ventured on
the high and various departments of philosophy, rhetoric, history,
divinity, poetry, and music. As soon as she was fixed on the throne, her
interest and her principles engaged her in plans for the restoration of
the Protestant religion. For although Pope Pius IV. promised, on her
submission to the papal supremacy, “to establish and confirm her royal
dignity by his authority,” yet she must have felt, that with the avowal
of popery would be coupled the virtual admission that her father’s
divorce from Catherine of Arragon was null and void; and, consequently,
that Anne Boleyn was not a wife but a concubine, and her own pretensions
to the crown downright usurpation. It was only by rejecting the Pope as
her judge that she could maintain her mother’s fair fame and her own
legitimate descent. Many writers, Bayle among others, have attempted to
prove that she was at heart little more of a Protestant than her father;
and her determination to retain episcopacy was sufficient to raise that
suspicion in the minds of the adherents to the presbyterian system of
church government.

While she was princess she received a private proposal of marriage from
Sweden; but she declared, “she could not change her condition.” On her
becoming queen, her brother-in-law, Philip II. of Spain, addressed her;
but this match also she declined. In the first parliament of her reign,
the house of commons represented it as necessary to the welfare of the
nation “to move her grace to marriage.” She answered, that by the
ceremony of her inauguration she was married to her people, and her
subjects were to her instead of children; that they would not want a
successor when she died; adding, “And in the end, this shall be for me
sufficient, that a marble stone shall declare, that a queen having
reigned such a time, lived and died a virgin.” Several great personages
proposed a matrimonial union with this illustrious princess; but she
maintained her celibacy to the last. The Duke of Anjou seems to have
been the most acceptable of her suitors. On his visit to England in
1581, not only was he received with much public parade, but she
vouchsafed him strong tokens of personal attachment, and even suffered
the marriage articles to be drawn up. But the strong remonstrances of
her ministers and favourites finally prevailed, and the intended
marriage was broken off.

The compilers of memoirs have racked their brains for some plausible
explanation of Elizabeth’s repugnance to matrimony. When overtures were
first made to her she was young, and had a good person, which she spared
no art in setting off to advantage: she was notoriously fond of
admiration, and was no less jealous of the personal beauty of Mary,
Queen of Scots, than of her competition as a rival sovereign, or as a
claimant of the crown of England. Neither prudery nor coldness could be
imputed to her. Her gaiety extorted a sarcastic exclamation from an
ambassador: “I have seen the head of the English church dancing!” She
chose her favourites, Leicester, Essex, Raleigh, and others, from among
the most comely, as well as the most valiant and accomplished of her
subjects. Melvil, who had been sent by Mary of Scotland to the court of
Elizabeth, relates in his Memoirs, that on creating Lord Robert Dudley
Earl of Leicester and Baron of Denbigh, at Westminster, with much
solemnity, the queen assisted at the ceremonial, and he knelt before her
with great gravity: “but,” he says, “she could not refrain from putting
her hand to his neck, smilingly tickling him, the French ambassador and
I standing by.” In relating his diplomatic transactions, he furnishes
other proofs of the queen’s partiality for the Earl of Leicester. He had
occasion to name before her “my Lord of Bedford and my Lord Robert
Dudley. She answered, it appeared I made but small account of my Lord
Robert, seeing I named the Earl of Bedford before him; but that ere long
she would make him a far greater Earl; and that I should see it done
before my return home. For she esteemed him as her brother and best
friend, whom she would have herself married, had she ever intended to
have taken a husband. But being determined to end her life in virginity,
she wished the queen her sister might marry him.” It is no wonder that
her propensity to gallantry should have been stigmatized by popish
writers, or that they should even have ventured to assail her character
for chastity: even those of the reformed religion were somewhat
scandalized by the levities of their ecclesiastical governess. Her
foreign biographer, Gregorio Leti, in his ‘Histoire d’Elizabeth,’ says,
“I do not know whether she was so chaste as is reported; for, after all,
she was a queen, she was beautiful, young, full of wit, delighted in
magnificent dress, loved entertainments, balls, pleasures, and to have
the handsomest men in her kingdom for her favourites. This is all I can
say of her to the reader.”

The charge of personal depravity in so illustrious a sovereign deserves
a fuller examination than is admissible within our limits. But it is in
a great measure discredited by the circumstance that it originated with
those Romish and political enemies, who perseveringly strove to destroy
the queen, as the main prop of that fabric they were moving every engine
to overthrow. Dr. Sanders and Cardinal Allen, the popes, the Spanish
writers and their partisans, make statements, some of them manifestly
untrue, others unsupported by respectable testimony. Among her own
subjects, the popular scandal turned chiefly on Leicester, Hatton, and
Essex; but without a single criminating fact as to either. Bacon states
the case candidly, and probably puts it on its true ground: “She
suffered herself to be honoured, and caressed, and celebrated, and
extolled with the name of love, and wished it and continued it beyond
the suitability of her age. If you take these things more softly, they
may not even be without some admiration, because such things are
commonly found in our fabulous narratives, of a queen in the islands of
Bliss, with her hall and institutes, who receives the administration of
love, but prohibits its licentiousness. If you judge them more severely,
still they have this admirable circumstance, that the gratifications of
this sort did not much hurt her reputation, and not at all her majesty,
nor even relaxed her government, nor were any notable impediment to her
state affairs.” Some writers of secret history have assigned the danger
to which it was thought she would be exposed in bearing children as the
real reason for her perseverance in celibacy.

We do not propose to relate the events of the reign of Elizabeth,
inasmuch as our object does not extend beyond a sketch of her personal
character. It is perhaps the most brilliant period in English history;
it called into action some of the most able statesmen and greatest
warriors of whom this country could ever boast. Leti tells us that Pope
Sixtus V. was her ardent admirer, and placed her among the only three
persons who, in his estimation, deserved to reign: the other two members
of this curious triumvirate were Henry IV. of France and himself. He
once said to an Englishman, “Your queen is born fortunate: she governs
her kingdom with great happiness; she wants only to be married to me, to
give the world a second Alexander.” The same author, in his life of
Sixtus, records a secret correspondence of that pope with Elizabeth;
among other particulars of which he relates the following anecdote.
Anthony Babington, a gentleman of Derbyshire, with other English
<DW7>s, had engaged in a conspiracy against the queen. Their project
was, after having assassinated her, to deliver Mary of Scotland from
prison, and to place her on the throne. Babington and three of his
accomplices armed themselves against the possible failure of their
enterprise, by applying to the pope for prospective absolution, to take
effect at the time of their last agonies. His Holiness complied with
their demand; but is said instantly to have despatched due warning to
the queen.

This conspiracy was the preliminary to an event, which has been justly
characterized as the stain of deepest dye on the fair fame of
Elizabeth,—the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots, in 1586. It would be
foreign to the subject, to relate the circumstances which led that
princess to take refuge in England, trusting to Elizabeth’s promises of
protection and kindness. Her reception at first was as favourable as was
perhaps consistent with due attention to the public safety, considering
that the Roman Catholic portion of British subjects held her to be the
rightful sovereign, and Elizabeth an illegitimate and heretical usurper.
But feelings of habitual enmity, enforced perhaps by the arguments of
her political advisers, overpowered the sympathy of the first moments,
and suggested the advantages to be taken of a defenceless competitor.
Elizabeth, therefore, after having in the first instance ordered her to
be treated like a queen, afterwards committed her to close prison. On
the discovery of Babington’s plot, in which Mary was deeply implicated,
the queen of Scots was arraigned of high treason before commissioners
specially appointed by the crown. By that solemn tribunal, she was tried
and found guilty, and by Elizabeth was delivered over to execution. Even
Bohun, in his character of Elizabeth, though in general her panegyrist,
says on this occasion, “By this action, she tainted her reign with the
innocent blood of a princess, whom she had received into her dominions,
and to whom she had given sanctuary.” If the sentence was executed, not
in vindication of the offended laws, but as a sacrifice to personal
revenge, Elizabeth’s guilt was greatly aggravated by her extreme
dissimulation in the management of the affair. She no sooner received
intelligence of Mary’s decapitation, than she abandoned herself to
misery and almost despair: she put on deep mourning; her council were
severely rebuked; her ministers, and even Burleigh, were driven from her
presence with furious reproaches. Her secretary Davison was subjected to
a process in the Star-Chamber for a twofold contempt, in having revealed
her Majesty’s counsels to others of her ministers, and having given up
to them the warrant which she had committed to him in special trust and
secrecy, to be reserved for a case of sudden emergency. But Davison’s
apology, an extract from which was inserted by Camden in his Annals, has
since been found entire among the original papers of Sir Amias Paulet.
From this authentic source it appears, that Davison was made her
unconscious agent and instrument. Those who have endeavoured to
extenuate the apparent treachery of Elizabeth, have alleged that the
queen of Scots kept the queen of England in continual dread of
dethronement; and that if the necessity existed to take the life of the
queen of Scots, it was equally necessary that it should be done with a
show of reluctance, and the least possible odium to the queen of
England. Such has been the defence, both of the act itself, and of the
subsequent dissimulation. But it would be difficult to apologize for her
proceedings against Davison, an able and honest servant, whom she
disgraced and ruined, for the purpose of impressing the belief that Mary
was executed without her knowledge and contrary to her intentions. Right
and wrong must be differently estimated in sovereigns and ordinary
persons, if the sacrifice of such a victim to the shade of Mary or the
indignation of her son can be justified.

The reign of Elizabeth lasted forty-four years, four months, and six
days. It was distinguished by great actions; it raised the British name
to a high and glorious rank in the scale of nations: and we of the
present times are indebted to it for some of our greatest advantages.
But the sovereign herself closed her long and eventful life in a state
of deep melancholy. Her kinsman, Sir Robert Cary, relates, with the
quaintness of the time, the circumstances of his visit to her on her
death-bed. “She took me by the hand, and wrung it hard, and said that
her heart had been sad and heavy for ten or twelve days; and in her
discourse she fetched not so few as forty or fifty great sighs. I was
grieved at first to see her in this plight; for in all my lifetime I
never knew her fetch a sigh, but when the Queen of Scots was beheaded.”
She died March 24, 1603, in her seventieth year. Few as are the
particulars of her life which we have been able to admit into our
narrative, they have perhaps been sufficient to give an outline, however
faint, of her character. It has been drawn out in form, and with
fairness, by Lord Bolingbroke, in the following passage from his Idea of
a Patriot King. “Our Elizabeth was queen in a limited monarchy, and
reigned over a people at all times more easily led than driven; and at
that time capable of being attached to their prince and their country by
a more generous principle than any of those which prevail in our days,
by affection. There was a strong prerogative then in being, and the
crown was in possession of greater legal power. Popularity was however
then, as it is now, and as it must always be in mixed government, the
sole foundation of that sufficient authority and influence which other
constitutions give the prince gratis and independently of the people,
but which a king of this nation must acquire. The wise queen saw it; and
she saw too how much popularity depends on those appearances that depend
on the decorum, the decency, the grace, and the propriety of behaviour
of which we are speaking. A warm concern for the interest and honour of
the nation, a tenderness for her people and a confidence in their
affections, were appearances that ran through her whole public conduct,
and gave life and colour to it. She did great things; and she knew how
to set them off according to their true value, by her manner of doing
them. In her private behaviour she showed great affability, she
descended even to familiarity; but her familiarity was such as could not
be imputed to her weakness, and was therefore most justly ascribed to
her goodness. Though a woman, she hid all that was womanish about her;
and if a few equivocal marks of coquetry appeared on some occasions,
they passed like flashes of lightning, vanished as soon as they were
discovered, and imprinted no blot on her character. She had private
friendships, she had favourites: but she never suffered her friends to
forget that she was their queen; and when her favourites did, she made
them feel that she was so.”

Our delineation of Elizabeth has been rather that of a very great
personage, than of a good woman; but it must be admitted on all hands,
that the poison of calumny has been largely administered, in proportion
to the invidiousness of her position. This general lot of greatness fell
the heavier on her, in consequence of the severe laws which she was
compelled to enact and execute against the <DW7>s. The libels against
Elizabeth’s good fame were put forth mostly by persons of that
proscribed sect, who have represented her, not as indulging the
frailties from which her most strenuous advocates cannot exonerate her,
but as a monster of cruelty, avarice, and lust. It is but justice to
place in contrast with so hateful a picture the noble character ascribed
to her even by a Jesuit, in a book published in the Catholic metropolis
of France. Père d’Orleans, in his ‘Histoire des Revolutions
d’Angleterre,’ speaks thus: “Elizabeth was a person whose name
immediately imprints in our minds such a noble idea, that it is
impossible well to express it by any description whatsoever. Never did a
crowned head better understand the art of government, and commit fewer
errors in it, during a long reign. The friends of Charles V. could
reckon his faults: Elizabeth’s enemies have been reduced narrowly to
search after hers; and they, whose greatest concern it was to cast an
odium upon her conduct, have admired her. So that in her was fulfilled
this sentence of the Gospel, that the children of this world are often
wiser in their views and designs than the children of light. Elizabeth’s
aim was to reign, to govern, to be mistress, to keep her people in
submission, neither affecting to weaken her subjects, nor to make
conquests in foreign countries; but yet not suffering any person to
encroach in the least upon the sovereign power, which she knew perfectly
well how to maintain, both by policy and by force. For no person in her
time had more wit, more skill, more judgment than she had. She was not a
warlike princess; but she knew so well how to train up warriors, that
England had not for a long time seen a greater number of them, nor more
experienced.”

[Illustration: [View of the Old Palace, Greenwich.]]

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES


 1. Changed “Majolica” to “Maiolica” on p. 37.
 2. Changed “and same other” to “and some other” on p. 48.
 3. The “Z” was reversed in “CORTEZ” on p. 122 and in “LEIBNITZ” on p.
      132.
 4. Changed “Evénemens” to “Événements” on p. 170.
 5. Changed “ed i” to “ei” on p. 176.
 6. Did not correct the variant spellings of “Raphael”.
 7. Silently corrected typographical errors.
 8. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.
 9. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
10. Superscripts are denoted by a carat before a single superscript
      character or a series of superscripted characters enclosed in
      curly braces, e.g. M^r. or M^{ister}.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gallery of Portraits: with
Memoirs. Vol 6 (of 7), by Anonymous

*** 