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UNDER THE SUPERINTENDENCE OF THE SOCIETY FOR THE DIFFUSION OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE.

THE
GALLERY OF PORTRAITS:
WITH
MEMOIRS.
VOLUME III.

LONDON:

CHARLES KNIGHT, 22, LUDGATE-STREET.

1834.

[PRICE ONE GUINEA, BOUND IN CLOTH.]

LONDON:

PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES,

Duke-Street, Lambeth.

PORTRAITS, AND BIOGRAPHIES
CONTAINED IN THIS VOLUME.

⁂ It should have been stated in the Life of D’Alembert, that that Life was mostly taken from the Penny Cyclopædia, with some alterations by the Editor of this work.

Engraved by R. Woodman.
ERSKINE.
From the original Picture by Hoppner
in his Majesty’s Collection at Windsor.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

ERSKINE.

The Honourable Thomas Erskine was the third son of David Earl of Buchan, a Scottish peer of ancient family and title, but reduced fortune. He was born in January 1748, and received the rudiments of his education, partly at the High School of Edinburgh, partly at the University of St. Andrews. But the straitened circumstances of his family rendered it necessary for him to embrace some profession at an early age; and he accordingly entered the navy as a midshipman in 1764. Not thinking his prospects of advancement sufficiently favourable to render his continuance in that service expedient, he exchanged it in the year 1768 for that of the army. In 1770 he married his first wife, Frances, the daughter of Daniel Moore, M.P. for Marlow; and soon after went with his regiment to Minorca, where he remained three years. Soon after returning to England he changed his profession again. It has been said that he took this step against his own judgment, and on the pressing entreaties of his mother, a woman of lofty and highly cultivated mind, the sister of Sir James Stewart, whose scientific writings, especially upon political philosophy, have rendered his name so famous, and the daughter of a well known Scotch lawyer and Solicitor-General of the same name. But it is certain that at this time he had acquired considerable celebrity in the circles of London society; and it is hard to suppose that he was not sensible of his own brilliant qualifications for forensic success. Whatever the cause, he commenced his legal life in 1775, in which year he entered himself as a student of Lincoln’s Inn, and also as a fellow commoner of Trinity College, Cambridge; not with a view to university honours or emoluments, but to obtain the honorary degree of M.A., to which he was entitled by his birth, and thereby to shorten the period of probation, previous to his being called to the bar. He gave an earnest, however, of his future eloquence, by gaining the first declamation prize, annually bestowed in his college. The subject which he chose was the Revolution of 1688. His professional education was chiefly carried on in the chambers of Mr. Buller and Mr. Wood, both subsequently raised to the bench. In Trinity term, 1778, he was called to the bar.

Mr. Erskine’s course was as rapid as it was brilliant. In the following term, Captain Baillie, Lieutenant-Governor of Greenwich Hospital, was prosecuted for an alleged libel on other officers of that establishment, contained in a pamphlet written to expose the abuses which existed there, and bearing heavily on the character of the Earl of Sandwich, then First Lord of the Admiralty. It is believed that on this occasion Mr. Erskine made his first appearance in court. His speech was characterized by great warmth and eloquence, and a most fearless assertion of matters not likely to be palatable either to the Court or the Government. And this is the more worthy of notice, because it shows that the boldness which he afterwards displayed in causes more nearly connected with the liberties of England, was not the safe boldness of a man strong in professional reputation, and confident in his experience and past success, but the result of a fixed determination to perform, at all hazards, his whole duty to his client. The best testimony to the effect of this speech is to be found in the anecdote, that thirty briefs were presented to him by attorneys before he left the court.

We must hasten very briefly through the events of Mr. Erskine’s life to make room for speaking at somewhat more length of a very few of his most remarkable performances. He rose at once into first rate junior business in the Court of King’s Bench, and received a patent of precedence in May 1783, having practised only for the short space of five years. He belonged to the Home Circuit in the early part of his professional life; but soon ceased to attend it, or any other, except on special retainers, of which it is said that he received more than any man in his time or since.

In his political life he was a firm adherent of Mr. Fox: but his success in Parliament, which he entered in 1783 as member for Portsmouth, was not commensurate with the expectations which had been raised upon the brilliant powers of oratory which he had displayed at the bar. On attaining his majority in 1783, the Prince of Wales appointed Mr. Erskine, with whom he lived in habits of intimacy, to be his Attorney-General. This office he was called on to resign in 1792, in consequence of his refusing to abandon the defence of Paine, when he was prosecuted for a libel, as author of the ‘Rights of Man:’ and his removal, though not a solitary, is fortunately a rare instance in modern times, of an advocate being punished for the honest discharge of his professional duties. Five years afterwards he conducted the prosecution of the ‘Age of Reason;’ and in 1802 he was appointed Chancellor of the Duchy of Cornwall. On the formation of the Grenville administration, in 1806, he was appointed Chancellor of Great Britain, and raised to the peerage, by the title of Baron Erskine, of Restormel Castle in Cornwall. The short period during which he presided in the Court of Chancery, makes it difficult to estimate how far his extraordinary powers of mind, and in particular the eminently legal understanding which he possessed, would have enabled him to overcome the difficulties of so new a situation. But his judgments have, generally speaking, stood the test of subsequent investigation; and his admirable conduct in the impeachment of 1806, over which he presided as Lord High Steward, uniting the greatest acuteness and readiness with singular firmness of purpose, and all that urbanity which neither in public nor in private life ever quitted him for an instant, may be said to have restored to life a mode of trial essential to our constitution, though discredited by the vexatious procrastination which had characterized the last instance of its use.

On the dissolution of the Grenville ministry, which occurred about a year after its formation, Lord Erskine retired in a great degree from public life. In 1808 he took an active share in opposing the measure of commercial hostility, so well known under the name of the Orders in Council, and still so deeply felt: and his speech against the Jesuits’ Bark Bill, which was not reported, is said to have been worthy of his most celebrated efforts, both for argument and eloquence. In 1809 he introduced into the House of Lords a bill for the prevention of cruelty to animals, which passed that branch of the legislature, but was thrown out by the Commons. The part, too, which he took upon the memorable proceedings of 1820, relative to the Queen’s trial, will long be remembered, marked as it was by all the highest qualities of the judicial character: and his arguments upon the Banbury case a few years before, only leave a regret that he did not devote more of his leisure to the legal business of the House of Lords.

After his retirement, Lord Erskine occupied himself occasionally in literary pursuits. In this period he composed the Preface to Mr. Fox’s Speeches, and the political romance of Armata. His only other written work of importance is a pamphlet, entitled ‘View of the Causes and Consequences of the War with France,’ which appeared in 1797, and ran through the extraordinary number of forty-eight editions. But he is not to be considered as a literary man: on the contrary, it is one of the many singularities in his history, that with a scanty stock of what is usually called literature, he should have been one of our most purely classical speakers and writers. His study was confined to a few of the greatest models; and these he almost knew by heart.

The later years of his life were harassed by pecuniary embarrassment, arising partly from the loss of his large professional income, inadequately replaced by a retiring pension of £4000; and partly from an unfortunate investment of the fruits of his industry in land, which yielded little return when the period of agricultural depression arrived. His first wife died in 1805: and an ill-assorted second marriage, contracted much later in life, is supposed to have increased his domestic disquietudes, as it certainly injured his reputation, and gave pain to his friends. He was seized with an inflammation of the chest while travelling towards Scotland, and died at Almondale, his brother’s seat, near Edinburgh, November 17, 1823. Immediately after his decease, the members of that profession of which he had been at once the ornament and the favourite, caused a statue of him to be executed. When the marble was denied admittance within those walls which had so often been shaken by the thunder of his eloquence, they placed it in the hall of Lincoln’s Inn, where he had presided as chancellor; a lasting monument to those who study the law, that subserviency is not necessary to advancement, and that they will be held in grateful remembrance by their professional brethren, who boldly uphold the liberties of their country.

In speaking, which we can do very briefly, of Lord Erskine’s professional merits, our attention is directed to those of his speeches which bear on two great subjects, the Liberty of the Press, and the doctrine of Constructive Treason, not merely because they embrace his most laboured and most celebrated efforts, nor for the paramount importance of these subjects in a constitutional point of view; but also because we possess a collection of those speeches corrected by himself, while of the numberless arguments and addresses delivered on other subjects during a most active period of twenty-eight years, but very few have been authentically reported. From those which are preserved, the rising generation can form but an inadequate idea of this extraordinary man’s power as an advocate; such is said, by those who yet remember him, to have been the witchery of his voice, eye, and action; such his intuitive perception of that which at the instant was likely to have weight with a jury. His peculiar skill in this respect is thus described by a distinguished writer in the Edinburgh Review, in commenting upon a brilliant passage, which we shall presently have occasion to quote. “As far as relates to the character of Lord Erskine’s eloquence, we would point out as the most remarkable feature in this passage, that in no one sentence is the subject, the business in hand, the case, the client, the verdict, lost sight of; and that the fire of that oratory, or rather of that rhetoric (for it was quite under discipline), which was melting the hearts and dazzling the understandings of his hearers, had not the power to touch for one instant the hard head of the Nisi Prius lawyer, from which it radiated; or to make him swerve, by one hair’s breadth even, from the minuter details most befitting his purpose, and the alternate admissions and disavowals best adapted to put his case in the safest position. This, indeed, was the grand secret of Mr. Erskine’s unparalleled success at the English bar. Without it he might have filled Westminster Hall with his sentences, and obtained a reputation for eloquence, somewhat like the fame of a popular preacher or a distinguished actor: but his fortunes,—aye, and the liberties of his country,—are built on the matchless skill with which he could subdue the genius of a first rate orator to the uses of the most consummate advocate of the age.”—(Edinburgh Review, vol. xvi. p. 116–7, 1810.)

Mr. Erskine’s speeches against the doctrine of Constructive Treason were delivered in behalf of Lord George Gordon, when accused of high treason as the ringleader of the riots in 1780, and in behalf of Messrs. Hardy and Horne Tooke, when attacked by the whole weight of Government in 1794. In the first of these he begins by laying down broadly and distinctly the law of treason, as defined by the celebrated statute of Edward III. He proceeds, carefully avoiding to offend the probable temper of the jury by asserting either the prudence or legality of Lord George Gordon’s conduct, to show the total failure of evidence to bring his intentions within the scope of the act; the utter want of pretence for assuming that he had levied war on the King, the crime charged in the indictment; and the utter want of proof to connect him, or the Protestant Association, of which he was chairman, with the outrages committed by a rabble, insignificant alike in numbers and character. He enters into a minute examination of the crown evidence; lays bare the infamy of one witness; exposes the forced constructions by which alone any legal or moral guilt can be attached to his client; and, warming in his subject, breaks out into an appeal to the jury, the effect of which is said to have been electric. And it has been justly observed, that by such an effect alone could the boldness of the attempt have been justified: failure would have been destruction. The eloquence of this speech is even less remarkable than the exquisite judgment and professional skill by which that eloquence is controlled.

In the State Trials of 1794, the prisoners, it is well known, were proceeded against separately. Hardy’s turn came first. They were charged with compassing the death of the King, the evidence of this intention being a conspiracy to subvert by force the constitution of the country, under pretence of procuring, by legal means, a reform in the House of Commons. It must be evident to every one that this was stretching the doctrine of constructive treason to the utmost: yet Parliament had passed a bill, declaring in the preamble that such a conspiracy did actually exist; and this being asserted on such high authority, and no doubt existing of the prisoners being deeply engaged in the design to procure a reform in Parliament, they came to their trial under the most serious disadvantages. On this occasion, as in defence of Lord George Gordon, Mr. Erskine began by explaining the law of treason, under the statute of Edward III. He showed the strictness with which it had been defined and limited by the most eminent constitutional lawyers; and argued, that granting the intention to hold a general convention, with the view of obtaining by that means a reform in Parliament; granting even that this amounted to a conspiracy to levy war for that purpose, still the offence would not be the high treason charged by the indictment, unless the conspiracy to levy war were directly pointed against the King’s person. And that there was no want of affection for the King himself, appeared fully even from the evidence for the prosecution. He maintained that the clearest evidence should be required of the evil intention, especially when so different from the open and avowed object of the prisoners. He proceeded to show that their ostensible object, so far from necessarily involving any evil designs, was one which had been advocated by the Earl of Chatham, Mr. Burke, Mr. Pitt himself; and that the very measures of reform which it was sought to introduce, had been openly avowed and inculcated by the Duke of Richmond, then holding office in the ministry of which Mr. Pitt was chief. Mr. Hardy, Mr. Tooke, and Mr. Thelwall were severally and successively acquitted, and all men now confess that to the powers and the courage of this matchless advocate in that day of its peril, the preservation of English liberty must be mainly ascribed. The other prosecutions were then abandoned.

Mr. Erskine’s powerful and fearless support of the liberty of the subject on all occasions rendered him especially sought after by all persons accused of political libels; and a large proportion of his most important speeches are on these subjects. The earliest reported, and for their consequences the most remarkable, are the series of speeches which he delivered in behalf of the Dean of St. Asaph, in 1784. Of the merits of the case we have not room to speak: but it is important for the influence which it had in determining the great question, whether in prosecutions for libel, the jury is to judge of fact alone, or of law and fact conjointly. For many years it had been the doctrine of the courts, that juries had no cognizance of the nature of an imputed libel, beyond ascertaining how far the meaning ascribed in the indictment to passages charged as libellous was borne out by evidence; the truth of these, and the fact of the publication being ascertained, it was for the judge to determine whether the matter were libellous or no. This doctrine was controverted by Mr. Erskine in his speech for the Dean of St. Asaph, and maintained by the judge who tried the case; and on the ground of misdirection, Mr. Erskine moved for a new trial. On this occasion he went into an elaborate argument to prove that it was the office of the jury, not of the judges, to pronounce upon the intention and tendency of an alleged libel; and to him is ascribed the honour of having prepared the way for the Libel Bill, introduced by Mr. Fox in 1792, and seconded by himself, in which the rights and province of the jury are clearly defined, and the position established, for which he, in a small minority of his professional brethren, had contended. This was a triumph of which the oldest, and most practised lawyer might have been proud; it is doubly honourable to one young in years, and younger in professional experience.

Equal perhaps to those in importance, for it bore directly on the liberty of the press, and superior in brilliance of execution, is the speech in behalf of Stockdale, the bookseller, who was prosecuted for a libel on the House of Commons, in consequence of having published a pamphlet commenting on the articles of impeachment brought against Mr. Hastings, and containing some passages by no means complimentary to some portion of that honourable body. The fact of the publication being admitted, Mr. Erskine, agreeably to the provisions of the Libel Act, proceeded to address the jury on the merits of the work. It was his argument, that the tenor of the whole, and the intentions of the writer, were to be regarded; and that if these should be found praiseworthy, or innocent, the presence of a few detached passages, which, taken separately, might seem calculated to bring the House of Commons into contempt, were altogether insufficient to justify conviction. This speech may be selected as one of the finest examples of Mr. Erskine’s oratory, whether for the skill displayed in managing the argument, the justness of the principles, the exquisite taste with which they are illustrated and enforced, or the powerful eloquence in which they are embodied; and from this, in conclusion, we would extract one passage as a specimen of his powers. It is sufficient to state in introduction, that the pamphlet in question was a defence of Mr. Hastings, and that, among other topics, it urged the nature of his instructions from his constituents. Commenting on this, the orator proceeds in a strain which few persons, not hardened by long converse in affairs of state, will read without emotion, or without a deep sense of the justice of the sentiments, the gravity of the topics introduced.

“If this be a wilfully false account of the instructions given to Mr. Hastings for his government, and of his conduct under them, the author and publisher of this defence deserve the severest punishment, for a mercenary imposition on the public. But if it be true, that he was directed to ‘make the safety and prosperity of Bengal the first object of his attention,’ and that under his administration it has been safe and prosperous; if it be true that the security and preservation of our possessions and revenues in Asia were marked out to him as the great leading principle of his government, and that those possessions and revenues amidst unexampled dangers have been secured and preserved; then a question may be unaccountably mixed with your consideration, much beyond the consequence of the present prosecution, involving perhaps the merit of the impeachment itself which gave it birth; a question which the Commons, as prosecutors of Mr. Hastings, should in common prudence have avoided; unless, regretting the unwieldy length of their prosecution against him, they wished to afford him the opportunity of this strange anomalous defence. For although I am neither his counsel, nor desire to have any thing to do with his guilt or innocence, yet in the collateral defence of my client I am driven to state matter which may be considered by many as hostile to the impeachment. For if our dependencies have been secured, and their interests promoted, I am driven in the defence of my client to remark, that it is mad and preposterous to bring to the standard of justice and humanity, the exercise of a dominion founded upon violence and terror. It may, and must be true, that Mr. Hastings has repeatedly offended against the rights and privileges of Asiatic government, if he was the faithful deputy of a power which could not maintain itself for an hour without trampling upon both; he may and must have offended against the laws of God and nature, if he was the faithful Viceroy of an empire wrested in blood from the people to whom God and nature had given it; he may and must have preserved that unjust dominion over timorous and abject nations by a terrifying, overbearing, insulting superiority, if he was the faithful administrator of your government, which, having no root in consent or affection, no foundation in similarity of interests, nor support from any one principle which cements men together in society, could only be upheld by alternate stratagem and force. The unhappy people of India, feeble and effeminate as they are from the softness of their climate, and subdued and broken as they have been by the knavery and strength of civilization, still occasionally start up in all the vigour and intelligence of insulted nature. When governed at all, they must be governed with a rod of iron; and our empire in the east would long since have been lost to Great Britain, if civil skill and military prowess had not united their efforts, to support an authority which Heaven never gave, by means which it never can sanction.

“Gentlemen, I think I can observe that you are touched with this way of considering the subject, and I can account for it. I have not been considering it through the cold medium of books, but have been speaking of man and his nature, and of human dominion, from what I have seen of them myself among reluctant nations submitting to our authority. I know what they feel, and how such feelings can alone be repressed. I have heard them in my youth, from a naked savage, in the indignant character of a prince surrounded by his subjects, addressing the Governor of a British colony, holding a bundle of sticks in his hand, as the notes of his unlettered eloquence. ‘Who is it,’ said the jealous ruler over the desert, encroached upon by the restless foot of English adventure; ‘who is it that causes this river to rise in the high mountains, and to empty itself into the ocean? Who is it that causes to blow the loud winds of winter, and that calms them again in the summer? Who is it that rears up the shade of these lofty forests, and blasts them with the quick lightning at his pleasure? The same Being, who gave to you a country on the other side of the waters, and gave ours to us; and by this title we will defend it,’ said the warrior, throwing down his tomahawk on the ground, and raising the war-cry of his nation. These are the feelings of subjugated man all round the globe; and depend upon it, nothing but fear will control, where it is vain to look for affection.

“These reflections are the only antidotes to those anathemas of superhuman eloquence which have lately shaken these walls that surround us; but which it unaccountably falls to my province, whether I will or no, a little to stem the torrent of, by reminding you that you have a mighty sway in Asia which cannot be maintained by the finer sympathies of life, or the practice of its charities and affections. What will they do for you when surrounded by two hundred thousand men with artillery, cavalry, and elephants, calling upon you for their dominions which you have robbed them of? Justice may, no doubt, in such a case forbid the levying of a fine to pay a revolting soldiery; a treaty may stand in the way of increasing a tribute to keep up the very existence of the government; and delicacy for women may forbid all entrance into a zenana for money, whatever may be the necessity for taking it. All these things must ever be occurring. But under the pressure of such constant difficulties, so dangerous to national honour, it might be better perhaps to think of effectually securing it altogether, by recalling our troops and merchants, and abandoning our Oriental empire. Until this be done, neither religion nor philosophy can be pressed very far into the aid of reformation and punishment. If England, from a lust of ambition and dominion, will insist on maintaining despotic rule over distant and hostile nations, beyond all comparison more numerous and extended than herself, and gives commission to her Viceroys to govern them, with no other instructions than to preserve them, and to secure permanently their revenues; with what colour of consistency or reason can she place herself in the moral chair, and affect to be shocked at the execution of her own orders; adverting to the exact measure of wickedness and injustice necessary to their execution, and complaining only of the excess as the immorality; considering her authority as a dispensation for breaking the commands of God, and the breach of them only punishable when contrary to the ordinances of man.

“Such a proceeding, Gentlemen, begets serious reflections. It would be better perhaps for the masters and the servants of all such governments to join in supplication, that the great Author of violated humanity may not confound them together in one common judgment.”

These speeches, on constructive treason, and on subjects relating to the liberty of the press, fill four octavo volumes. A fifth was subsequently published, containing speeches on miscellaneous subjects; among which those in behalf of Hadfield and for Mr. Bingham are especially worthy of attention. The latter is one of the most affecting appeals to the feelings ever uttered. Hadfield is notorious for having discharged a pistol at George III. in Drury Lane Theatre. He was a soldier, who had been dreadfully wounded in the head, and other parts of the body; and no doubt could be entertained but that he was of unsound mind. Whether his insanity was of such a nature, that it could be pleaded in excuse for an attempt to murder, was a harder question to decide; and the speech in his behalf, besides many passages of much power and pathos, contains a masterly exposition of the principles by which a court of law should be guided in examining the moral responsibility of a person labouring under alienation of mind. Hadfield, we need hardly say, was acquitted.

No life of Lord Erskine has yet been written on a scale calculated to do justice to the subject. The fullest which we have seen is contained in the ‘Lives of British Lawyers,’ in Lardner’s Cyclopædia: there is also a scanty memoir in the Annual Biography and Obituary, from which the facts contained in this sketch are principally derived.

Statue of Lord Erskine in Lincoln’s Inn Hall.

DOLLOND.

The parents of this eminent discoverer in optics, to whom we are chiefly indebted for the high perfection of our telescopes, were French Protestants resident in Normandy, whence they were driven by the revocation of the edict of Nantes in 1685. With many others of their class, they took up their residence in Spitalfields, where John Dollond, the subject of this memoir[^[1]], was born, June 10, 1706. It has been supposed, and among others by Lalande, that the name is not French; if we were to hazard a conjecture, we should say that it might have been an English corruption of D’Hollande. While yet very young, John Dollond lost his father; and he was obliged to gain his livelihood by the loom, though his natural disposition led him to devote all his leisure hours to mathematics and natural philosophy. Notwithstanding the cares incumbent upon the father of a family (for he married early) he contrived to find time, not only for the above-mentioned pursuits, but for anatomy, classical literature, and divinity. He continued his quiet course of life until his son, Peter Dollond, was of age to join him in his trade of silk-weaving, and they carried on that business together for several years. The son, however, who was also of a scientific turn, and who had profited by his father’s instructions, quitted the silk trade to commence business as an optician. He was tolerably successful, and after some years his father joined him, in 1752.

[1]. For the details of this life, we are mostly indebted to the Memoir of Dr. Kelly, his son-in-law, from which all the existing accounts of Dollond are taken. This book has become very scarce, and we are indebted for the opportunity of perusing it to the kindness of G. Dollond, Esq.

Engraved by J. Posselwhite.
DOLLOND.
From an original Picture
in the Royal Observatory, Greenwich.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge
London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

The first improvement made by the elder Dollond in the telescope, was the addition of another glass to the eye-piece, making the whole number of glasses in the instrument (the object-glass included) six instead of five. This he communicated to the Royal Society in 1753, through his friend James Short, well known as an optician and astronomer, who also communicated all his succeeding papers. By his new construction, an increase in the field of view was procured, without any corresponding augmentation of the unavoidable defects of the instrument. In May, 1753, Dollond communicated to the Royal Society his improvement of the micrometer. In 1747 Bouguer proposed to measure the distance of two very near objects (the opposite edges of a planet, for example) by viewing them through a conical telescope, the larger end of which had two object-glasses placed side by side, the eye-glass being common to both. The distance of the objects was determined by observing how far it was necessary to separate the centres of the object-glasses, in order that the centre of each might show an image of one of the objects. Mr. Dollond’s improvement consisted in making use of the same object-glass, divided into two semicircular halves sliding on one another, as represented in the diagrams in page [18]; the first of which is an oblique perspective view of the divided glass, and the second a side view of the same, in such a position, that the images of the stars A and B coincide at C.

If the whole of an object-glass were darkened, except one small portion, that portion would form images similarly situated to those formed by the whole glass, but less illuminated. Each half of the object-glass, when separated from the other, forms an image of every object in the field; and the two images of the same object coincide in one of double brightness, when the halves are brought together so as to restore the original form. By placing the divided diameter in the line of two near objects, A and B, whose distance is to be measured, and sliding the glasses until the image of one formed by one half comes exactly into contact with the image of the other formed by the other half, the angular distance of the two objects may be calculated, from observation of the distance between the centres of the two halves. This last distance is measured on a scale attached to the instrument; and when found, is the base of the triangle, the vertex of which is at C, and the equal sides of which are the focal lengths of the glasses. This micrometer Dollond preferred to apply to the reflecting telescope; his son afterwards adapted it to the refracting telescope; and it is now, under the name of the divided object-glass micrometer, one of the most useful instruments for measuring small angles.

But the fame of Dollond principally rests upon his invention of achromatic, or colourless telescopes, in which the surrounding fringe of colours was destroyed, which had rendered indistinct the images formed in all refracting telescopes previously constructed. He was led to this practical result by the discovery of a principle in optics, that the dispersion of light in passing through a refracting medium, that is, the greater or less length through which the coloured spectrum is scattered, is not in proportion to the refraction, or angle through which the rays are bent out of their course. Newton asserted that he had found by experiments, made with water and glass, that if a ray of light be subjected to several refractions, some of which correct the rest, so that it emerges parallel to its first direction, the dispersion into colours will also be corrected, so that the light will be restored to whiteness. This is not generally true: it is true if one substance only be employed, or several which have the same, or nearly the same, dispersive power[^[2]]. Mr. Peter Dollond afterwards satisfactorily explained the reason of Newton’s mistake, by performing the same experiment with Venetian glass, which, in the time of the latter, was commonly used in England; from which he found that the fact stated by Newton was true, as far as regarded that sort of glass. Had Newton used flint glass, he would have discovered that dispersion and refraction are not necessarily corrected together: he would then have been led to the difference between refractive and dispersive power, and would have concluded from his first experiment that Venetian glass and water have their dispersive powers very nearly equal. As it was, he inferred that the refracting telescope could never be entirely divested of colour, without entirely destroying the refraction, that is, rendering the instrument no telescope at all; and, the experiment being granted, the conclusion was inevitable. It is well known that he accordingly turned his attention entirely to the reflecting telescope.

[2]. See Penny Cyclopædia, article Achromatic, for this and other terms employed in this life.

In 1747, Euler, struck by the fact that the human eye is an achromatic combination of lenses, or nearly so, imagined that it might be possible to destroy colour by employing compound object-glasses, such as two lenses with an intermediate space filled with water. In a memoir addressed to the Academy of Berlin, he explained his method of constructing such achromatic glasses, and proposed a new law of refrangibility, different from that of Newton. He could not, however, succeed in procuring a successful result in practice. Dollond, impressed with the idea that Newton’s experiment was conclusive, objected to Euler’s process in a letter to Mr. Short; which the latter persuaded the author to communicate, first to Euler, and then, with his answer, to the Royal Society. Assuming Newton’s law, Dollond shows that Euler’s method would destroy all refraction as well as dispersion. The latter replies, that it is sufficient for his purpose that Newton’s law should be nearly true; that the theory propounded by himself does not differ much from it; and that the structure of the eye convinces him of the possibility of an achromatic combination. Neither party contested the general truth of Newton’s conclusion.

A new party to the discussion appeared in the field in the person of M. Klingenstierna, a Swedish astronomer, who advanced some mathematical reasoning against the law of Newton, and some suspicions as to the correctness of his experiment. The latter being thus formally attacked, Mr. Dollond determined to repeat it, with a view of settling the question, and his result was communicated to the Royal Society in 1758. By placing a prism of flint glass inside one of water, confined by glass planes, so that the refractions from the two prisms should be in contrary directions, he found that when their angles were so adjusted, that the refraction of one should entirely destroy that of the other, the colour was far from being destroyed; “for the object, though not at all refracted, was yet as much infested with prismatic colours, as if it had been seen through a glass wedge only, whose refracting angle was near thirty degrees.” It was thus proved that the correction of refraction, and the correction of dispersion, are not necessarily consequent the one on the other. Previously to communicating this result, Dollond had, in 1757, applied it to the construction of achromatic glasses, consisting of spherical lenses with water between them: but finding that the images, though free from colour, were not very distinct, he tried combinations of different kinds of glass; and succeeded at last in forming the achromatic object-glass now used, consisting of a convex lens of crown, and a concave of flint glass. His son afterwards, in 1765, constructed the triple object-glass, having a double concave lens of flint glass in the middle of two double convex lenses of crown glass. The right of Dollond to the invention has been attacked by various foreign writers, but the point seems to have been decided in his favour by the general consent of later times. His conduct certainly appears more philosophical than that of either of his opponents. So long as he believed that Newton’s experiment was correct, he held fast by it, not allowing any mathematical reasoning to shake his belief, and in this respect he was more consistent than Euler, who seems to have thought that an achromatic combination might be made out of the joint belief of an experiment, and of an hypothesis utterly at variance with it. And the manner in which the distinguished philosopher just mentioned received the news of Dollond’s invention, appears singular, considering the side which each had taken in the previous discussion. Euler, who had asserted the possibility of an achromatic lens, against Dollond, who appeared to doubt it, says, “I am not ashamed frankly to avow that the first accounts which were published of it, appeared so suspicious, and even so contrary to the best established principles, that I could not prevail upon myself to give credit to them.” Dollond was the first who actually resorted to experiment, and he thus became the discoverer of a remarkable law of optics; while his tact in the application of his principles, and the selection of his materials, is worthy of admiration. The reputation of Dollond rests upon the discovery of the law, and its application to the case in point; for it has since been proved that he was not absolutely the first who had constructed an achromatic lens. On the occasion of an action brought for the invasion of the patent, the defendant proved that about the year 1750, Dr. Hall, an Essex gentleman, was in the possession of a secret for constructing achromatic telescopes of twenty inches focal length: and a writer in the Gentleman’s Magazine for 1790, has advanced his claim with considerable circumstantial detail. It is difficult to get any account of that trial, as it is not reported in any of the books. At least we presume so, from not finding any reference to it either in the works of Godson or Davis on Patents, though the case is frequently mentioned; or in H. Blackstone’s report of Boulton and Watt v. Bull, in which Dollond’s case forms a prominent feature of the argument. But, from the words of Judge Buller in the case just cited, it is difficult to suppose that the account given by Lalande (Montucla, Histoire des Mathématiques, vol. iii. p. 448, note) can be correct. Lalande asserts that it was proved that Dollond received the invention from a workman who bad been employed by Dr. Hall, and that the latter had shown it to many persons. Judge Buller says, “The objection to Dollond’s patent was, that he was not the inventor of the new method of making object-glasses, but that Dr. Hall had made the same discovery before him. But it was holden that as Dr. Hall had confined it to his closet, and the public were not acquainted with it, Dollond was to be considered as the inventor.” The circumstances connected with the discovery, particularly the previous investigation of the phenomenon on which the result depends, independently of the words of Judge Buller, quoted in italics, appear to us to render the anonymous account very improbable: nor, as far as we know, is there any other authority for it. That Dr. Hall did construct achromatic telescopes is pretty certain; but we are entirely in the dark as to whether he did it on principle, or whether he could even construct more than one sort of lens: and the assertion that he, or any one instructed by him, had communicated with Dollond, is unsupported by any thing worthy the name of evidence. We may add, that the accounts of this discovery, written by Dollond himself, possess a clearness and power of illustration, which can result only from long and minute attention to the subject under consideration.

After this great discovery, for which he received the Copley medal of the Royal Society, Mr. Dollond devoted himself to the improvement of the achromatic telescope, in conjunction with his other pursuits. We are informed by G. Dollond, Esq., that his grandfather, at the latter end of his life, was engaged in calculating almanacs for various parts of the world; one of which, for the meridian of Barbadoes, and the year 1761, is now in his possession.

Mr. Dollond was elected a fellow of the Royal Society in 1761. In the same year, November 30, he was struck with apoplexy, while attentively engaged in reading Clairaut’s Theory of the Moon, which had then just appeared. He died in a few hours afterwards, in the fifty-sixth year of his age. His son Peter Dollond, already mentioned, continued the business in partnership with a younger brother; and it is now most ably carried on by his daughter’s son, who has, by permission, assumed the name of Dollond.

The following extract is from the memoir written by Dr. Kelly, in which we find nothing to regret, except that so few traits of character are related in it. Those who write memoirs of remarkable men from personal knowledge, should remember that details of their habits and conversation will be much more valuable to posterity, than disquisitions upon their scientific labours and discussions, which, coming from the pens of friends or relations, will always be looked upon as ex parte statements. Had the learned author borne this in mind, we should have been able to give a better personal account of Dollond than the following; which is absolutely the only information relative to his private character which we can now obtain. “He was not content with private devotion, as he was always an advocate for social worship; and with his family regularly attended the public service of the French Protestant church, and occasionally heard Benson and Lardner, whom he respected as men, and admired as preachers. In his appearance he was grave, and the strong lines of his face were marked with deep thought and reflection; but in his intercourse with his family and friends he was cheerful and affectionate; and his language and sentiments are distinctly recollected as always making a strong impression on the minds of those with whom he conversed. His memory was extraordinarily retentive, and amidst the variety of his reading he could recollect and quote the most important passages of every book which he had at any time perused.”

Engraved by W. Holl.
JOHN HUNTER..
From a Picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds
in the Royal College of Surgeons, London.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East.

JOHN HUNTER.

A life and character like that of John Hunter has many claims upon the honourable remembrance of society; the more, because, for meritorious members of his profession, there is no other public reward than the general approbation of good men. We look upon him with that interest which genius successfully directed to good ends invariably excites; as one whose active labours in the service of mankind have been attended with useful consequences of great extent; and whose character it is important to describe correctly, as a valuable example to his profession.

John Hunter was the son of a small proprietor in the parish of Kilbride in Lanarkshire, and was born February 13, 1728. His father died while he was a child; his brothers were absent from home; and, being left to the care of his mother and aunt, he was spoiled by indulgence, and remained uneducated, until his natural good sense urged him to redeem himself in some degree from this reproach. When a boy he continued to cry like a child for whatever he wanted. There is a letter extant from an old friend of the family, which has this curious postscript, “Is Johnny aye greeting yet?” presenting an unexpected picture to those who are familiar only with the manly sense, and somewhat caustic manners, of the great physiological and surgical authority. But the influence of feelings and opinions, proceeding from respected persons, and accompanied by offices of affection, is powerful upon the young mind; and the circumstances of Mr. Hunter’s family were calculated to give such feelings their full power over such a character as his. They lived retired, in that state of independence which a small landed property confers on the elder members, while the young men are compelled to seek their fortunes at a distance from home. John Hunter neglected books, but he was not insensible to the pride and gratification expressed by every member of the family on hearing of his elder brother William’s success, and the pleasure which that brother’s letters gave to all around him. These feelings made him ashamed of his idleness, and inclined him to go to London, and become an assistant to Dr. William Hunter in his anatomical inquiries. William consented to this arrangement; and the subject of our memoir quitted his paternal home in 1748; certainly without that preparation of mind which should lead us to expect a very quick proficiency in medical pursuits. At an earlier age he had displayed a turn for mechanics, and a manual dexterity, which led to his being placed with a cabinet-maker in Glasgow to learn the profession: but the failure of his master had obliged him to return home.

Dr. William Hunter had at this time obtained celebrity as a teacher of anatomy. He won his way by very intelligible modes. His upright conduct and high mental cultivation gained him friends; and his professional merits were established by his lectures, which in extent and depth, as well as eloquence, surpassed any that had yet been delivered. There was a peculiar ingenuity in his demonstrations, and he had a happy manner exactly suited to his subject. The vulgar portion of the public saw no marks of genius in the successful exertions of Dr. Hunter; his eminence was easily accounted for, and excited no wonder. They saw John Hunter’s success, without fully comprehending the cause; and it fell in with their notions of great genius that he was somewhat abrupt and uncourtly.

Dr. Hunter immediately set his brother to work upon the dissection of the arm. The young man succeeded in producing an admirable preparation, in which the mechanism of the limb was finely displayed. This at once showed his capacity, and settled the relation between the two brothers. John Hunter became the best practical anatomist of the age, and proved of the greatest use in forming Dr. Hunter’s splendid museum, bequeathed by the owner to the University of Glasgow. He continued to attend his brother’s lectures; was a pupil both at St. Bartholomew’s, and St. George’s Hospitals; and had the farther advantage of attending the celebrated Cheselden, then retired to Chelsea Hospital. And here we must point out the advantage which John Hunter possessed in the situation and character of his elder brother, lest his success should encourage a laxity in the studies of those who think they are following his footsteps. It would indeed have been surprising that his efforts for the advancement of physiology commenced at the precise point where Haller’s stopped, if he had really been ignorant of the state of science at home and abroad. But he could not have been so, unless he had shut his eyes and stopped his ears. In addition to his anatomical collection Dr. Hunter had formed an extensive library, and possessed the finest cabinet of coins in Europe. Students crowded around him from all countries, and every one distinguished in science desired his acquaintance. John Hunter lived in this society, and at the same time had the advantage of being familiar with the complete and systematic course of lectures delivered by his brother. He was thus furnished with full information as to the actual state of physiology and pathology, and knew in what directions to push inquiry, whilst the natural capacity of his fine mind was untrammelled.

In 1755 John Hunter assisted his brother in delivering a course of lectures; but through life the task of public instruction was a painful one to him, and he never attained to fluency and clearness of expression. In 1760 his health seems to have been impaired by his exertions: and in the recollection that one brother had already died under similar circumstances, his friends procured him a situation in the army, as being less intensely laborious than his mode of life. He served as a staff surgeon in Portugal and at the siege of Bellisle. On returning to London he recommenced the teaching of practical anatomy.

In 1767 he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society, having already gained the good opinion of its members by several papers on most interesting subjects. There is this great advantage in the pursuit of science in London, that a man remarkable for success in any branch can usually select associates the best able to assist him by their experience and advice. It was through John Hunter’s influence that a select club was formed out of the fellows of the Royal Society. They met in retirement and read and criticised each others papers before submitting them to the general body. This club originally consisted of Mr. Hunter, Dr. Fordyce, Sir Joseph Banks, Dr. Solander, Dr. Maskelyne, Sir George Shuckburgh, Sir Henry Englefield, Sir Charles Blagden, Mr. Ramsden, and Mr. Watt. To be the associate of such men could not but have a good effect on a mind like Hunter’s, active and vigorous, but deficient in general acquirement, and concentrated upon one pursuit.

At this time, and for many years afterwards, he was employed in the most curious physiological inquiries; and at the same time forming that museum, which remains the most surprising proof both of his genius and perseverance. It is strange that Sir Everard Home should have considered this collection as a proof of the patronage Hunter received. He had many admirers, and many persons were grateful for his professional assistance; but he had no patrons. The extent of his museum is to be attributed solely to his perseverance; a quality which is generally the companion of genius, and which he displayed in every condition of life. Whether under the tuition of his brother, or struggling for independence by privately teaching anatomy, or amidst the enticements to idleness in a mess-room, or as an army surgeon in active service, he never seems to have forgotten that science which was the chief end of his life. Hence the amazing collection which he formed of anatomical preparations; hence too the no less extraordinary accumulation of important pathological facts, on which his principles were raised.

It was only towards the close of life that Hunter’s character was duly appreciated. His professional emoluments were small, until a very few years before his death, when they amounted to £6000 a year. When this neglect is the portion of a man of distinguished merit, it has sometimes an unhappy influence on his profession. Men look for prosperity and splendour as the accompaniments of such merit; and missing it, they turn aside from the worthiest models, to follow those who are gaining riches in the common routine of practice. Dr. Darwin said, that he rejoiced in Hunter’s late success as the concluding act of a life well spent: as poetical justice. But throughout life he spent all his gains in the pursuit of science, and died poor.

His museum was purchased by government for £15,000. It was offered to the keeping of the College of Physicians, which declined the trust. It is now, committed to the College of Surgeons, in Lincoln’s Inn Fields; where it is open to the inspection of the public during the afternoons of Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. The corporation has enlarged the museum, instituted professorships for the illustration of it, and is now forming a library. The most valuable part of the collection is that in the area of the great room, consisting of upwards of 2000 preparations, which were the results of Mr. Hunter’s experiments on the inferior animals, and of his researches in morbid human anatomy. All these were originally arranged as illustrative of his lectures. The first division alone, in support of his theory of inflammation, contains 602 preparations. Those illustrative of specific diseases amount to 1084. There are besides 652 dried specimens, consisting of diseased bones, joints, and arteries. On the floor there is a very fine collection of the skeletons of man and other animals; and if the Council of the College continue to augment this collection with the same liberal spirit which they have hitherto shown, it will be creditable to the nation. The osteological specimens amount to 1936. But the most interesting portion, we might say one of the most interesting exhibitions in Europe to a philosophical and inquiring mind, is that which extends along the whole gallery. Mr. Hunter found it impossible to explain the functions of life by the investigation of human anatomy, unaided by comparison with the simpler organization of brutes; and therefore he undertook the amazing labour of examining and preparing the simplest animals, gradually advancing from the lower to the higher, until, by this process of synthesis, the structure of the human body was demonstrated and explained. Let us take one small compartment in order to understand the effect of this method. Suppose it is wished to learn the importance of the stomach in the animal economy. The first object presented to us is a hydatid, an animal, as it were, all stomach; being a simple sac with an exterior absorbing surface. Then we have the polypus, with a stomach opening by one orifice, and with no superadded organ. Next in order is the leech, in which we see the beginning of a complexity of structure. It possesses the power of locomotion, and has brain, and nerves, and muscles, but as yet the stomach is simple. Then we advance to creatures in which the stomach is complex: we find the simple membraneous digesting stomach; then the stomach with a crop attached to macerate and prepare the food for digestion; then a ruminating stomach with a succession of cavities, and with the gizzard in some animals for grinding the food, and performing the office of teeth; and finally, all the appended organs necessary in the various classes of animals; until we find that all the chylopoietic viscera group round this, as performing the primary and essential office of assimilating new matter to the animal body.

Mr. Hunter’s papers and greater works exhibit an extraordinary mind: he startles the reader by conclusions, the process by which they were reached being scarcely discernible. We attribute this in part to that defective education, which made him fail in explaining his own thoughts, and the course of reasoning by which he had arrived at his conclusions. The depth of his reflective powers may be estimated by the perusal of his papers on the apparently drowned, and on the stomach digested after death by its own fluids. The importance of discovering the possibility of such an occurrence as the last is manifest, when we consider its connexion with medical jurisprudence, and the probability of its giving rise to unfounded suspicions of poisoning. His most important papers were those on the muscularity of arteries; a fine piece of experimental reasoning, the neglect of which by our continental neighbours threw them back an age in the treatment of wounded arteries and aneurisms. But the grand discovery of Mr. Hunter was that of the life of the blood. If this idea surprise our readers, it did no less surprise the whole of the medical profession when it was first promulgated. Yet there is no doubt of the fact. It was demonstrated by the closest inspection of natural phenomena, and a happy suite of experiments, that the coagulation of the blood is an act of life. From this one fact, the pathologist was enabled to comprehend a great variety of phenomena, which, without it, must ever have remained obscure.

Mr. Hunter died of that alarming disease, angina pectoris: alarming, because it comes in paroxysms, accompanied with all the feelings of approaching death. These sensations are brought on by exertion or excitement. In St. George’s Hospital, the conduct of his colleagues had provoked him; he made no observations, but retiring into another room, suddenly expired, October 16, 1793.

After these details no man will deny that John Hunter possessed high genius, and that he employed his talents nobly. He was indeed of a family of genius: his younger brother was cut off early, but not until he had given promise of eminence. Dr. Hunter was, in our opinion, equal in talents to John, the subject of this memoir, though his mind received early a different bias. And in the next generation the celebrated Dr. Baillie, nephew to these brothers, contributed largely to the improvement of pathology, and afforded an instance of the most active benevolence joined to a plainness of manner most becoming in a physician. Joanna Baillie, his sister, still lives, honoured and esteemed, and will survive in her works as one of our most remarkable female writers.

The portrait from which the annexed engraving is made was painted at the suggestion of the celebrated engraver Sharpe, by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and was among his last works. There could not indeed be a more picturesque head, nor one better suited to the burin. The original picture is in the College of Surgeons. It exhibits more mildness than we see in the engraving of Sharpe.

Surgeons’ Hall in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.

Engraved by Rob^t. Hart.
PETRARCH.
From a Print by Raffaelle Morghen,
after a Picture by Tofanelli.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

PETRARCH.

Francesco Petrarca, whose real name is said to have been Petracco, was born at Arezzo, in Tuscany, July 20, 1304. His father was a notary at Florence, who had been employed in the service of the state; but in the civil strife excited by Corso Donati, chief of the faction of the Neri, he, with the rest of the Bianchi, including Dante, whose friend he is recorded to have been, was banished from the Republic in 1302. When the death of the Emperor Henry VII. deprived the exiles of all hope of return, Petracco took his family to Avignon, at that period the seat of the Pontifical Court. The boy Francesco then saw for the first time scenes and objects, with which his destiny was irrevocably connected; and he has left on record the impression which at ten years of age the fountain and wild solitude of Vaucluse had made upon his imagination. He was sent to study the canon law at the University of Montpellier, where he remained four years, devoting his time to Cicero, Virgil, and the Provençal writers, much more than to the doctors of jurisprudence. From Montpellier he went to Bologna; and formed an acquaintance with the celebrated Cino da Pistoia, from whom, although distinguished no less as a jurist than as a poet, Petrarch learned more poetry than law. On his father’s death, which occurred when he was about twenty years old, he returned to Avignon. His mother died soon after; and the moderate patrimony which he inherited was so much diminished by the dishonesty of his guardians, that at the age of twenty-two, he found himself without fortune or profession, and with no resource, but that of entering the church.

Avignon was then the chosen abode of fashion, luxury, and vice. Petrarch mingled in its gay society, without yielding to its corruptions, or withdrawing himself from the philosophical studies which interested him above all other pursuits. A great conformity of tastes, and a common superiority to the low objects of ambition with which they were surrounded, made him the friend of Jacopo Colonna, afterwards Bishop of Lombez. This prelate introduced Petrarch to his brother, the Cardinal Colonna, who resided at Avignon; and in whose palace, in 1331, the poet acquired the friendship of old Stefano Colonna, the illustrious head of that family, and drew from his discourse a stronger love of Italy, of freedom, and of glory. But his affectionate, enthusiastic temper was not to be exhausted even by these objects: soon, without ever being entirely diverted from the interest of friendship or patriotism, he became the vassal of that long and illustrious passion to which he owes the immortality of his name. April 6, 1327, on Easter Monday, in the church of the Nuns of Santa Clara, Petrarch, being then twenty-three years of age, saw for the first time, and loved at sight, Laura de Noves, the bride of Hugo de Sade, a young patrician of Avignon. From this time his life was passed in wandering from place to place, sometimes at the several courts of Italian princes; sometimes in solitary seclusion at Vaucluse; often at Avignon itself, where from the lofty rock on which stands the old Pontifical Palace, he could see Laura walking in the gardens below, which with all the adjacent part of the town belonged to the family of de Sade.

Few subjects have been discussed more largely, with greater minuteness of examination, or with greater licence of conjecture, than the history of the love of Petrarch. Some have chosen to treat with ridicule the idea of a passion, subsisting through a long and eventful life, without gratification, and nearly without hope; others have thought the difficulty obviated by supposing, in defiance of all apparent evidence, that Laura was not so insensible as the laws of morality required. A few have wished to rescue the character of the poet from the imputation of having loved a married woman, and have dragged certain obscure spinsters out of doubtful epitaphs and registers, to dispute the claim of Laura de Sade. A few more, and but a few, although the race is not extinct, have denied the existence of Laura altogether; either considering her as a mere poetical fancy, or still more boldly resolving her into some allegory, political or religious. But none of these theories, maintained at various times, and with various degrees of ingenuity, almost from the age of Petrarch until the present day, have shaken the received opinion on the four main points of the question; namely, that Laura was no creation of the poet’s brain, but a woman; that she was married; that Hugo de Sade was her husband; and that her virtue was proof against the passion of Petrarch. When all the circumstances of the case, including the peculiarities of sentiment which characterize the time, are fairly taken into consideration, there will appear no such miraculous improbability as has been presumed in the duration of Petrarch’s attachment. That it partook of the vehement character of true passion, is evident from many passages in his epistles and philosophical works, where he may be supposed to speak with less disguise than in his Canzoniere; but a natural vanity, the habit of refining his feelings into intellectual notions, and the then prevalent fashion of poetical constancy to a real object, may have contributed more than he could himself be aware to the durability of the sentiment. It is not to be forgotten, however, that at different periods of his life he had two natural children, a son and a daughter: still he maintained that notwithstanding these irregularities, he never loved any one but Laura. The Sonnets and Canzones, which, separately published, now together form the Canzoniere, soon elevated their author to the highest rank among living poets, and gave him in the eyes of his admirers a place beside the “creator della lingua,” the author of the Divina Commedia. Petrarch, however, whose mind was full of veneration for antiquity, and who was ardently desirous to recover all the monuments of classic literature that still preserved a hazardous existence in convents and other receptacles of the little learning of an ignorant age, for a long time, if not to the end of life, prided himself more on his Latin compositions, than on being the founder of a school of poetry in his native language. At one time he had commenced a Latin history of Rome, from the foundation of the city to the reign of Titus. But he was diverted from this work, by conceiving the idea of an epic poem, entitled ‘Africa,’ founded on the events which marked the close of the second Punic war, of which Scipio was the hero. For a year he laboured on it with enthusiasm; and it was received with admiration: but like most works of imagination composed in languages not rendered familiar to the writer in all their delicacy by vernacular and hourly use, and on subjects not consecrated by any feelings of national and domestic interest, they have long since been forgotten by all but the learned.

On one and the same day, August 23, 1340, he received at Vaucluse a letter from the Roman Senate, inviting him to accept the honour of a public coronation in the Capitol, and one from the Chancellor of the University of Paris, offering the same distinction. It has been said, and there is at least negative evidence in favour of the assertion, that this last invitation was unauthorized by any corporate decision of the university: if so, it probably resulted from the personal enthusiasm of the chancellor, Roberto Bardi, who was a Florentine, and a private friend of the poet. Either from a knowledge of this, or from a natural preference of the Imperial City, Petrarch decided at once in favour of Rome; and embarked for Naples, to demand a preliminary examination from Robert of Anjou, the reigning prince, himself devotedly attached to literature. The King and the Poet conferred on poetical and historical subjects: during three days questions were formally proposed, and triumphantly answered; after which Robert pronounced solemnly that Petrarch was worthy of the honour offered to him, and taking off his own royal robe, entreated the poet to wear it at the ceremony of his coronation. On Easter-day, April 8, 1341, Petrarch ascended the stairs of the Capitol, surrounded by the most illustrious citizens of Rome, and preceded by twelve young men chosen from the highest families, who repeated at intervals various passages of his poetry. After a short oration, he received the crown from the hands of the senator, Orso, Count of Anguillara, and recited a sonnet on those heroes of the ancient city, whose triumphal honours, after a cessation of centuries, he first was come to share, and to renew. Then, amidst the acclamations of the multitude, he was conducted to the church of St. Peter’s, where, taking from his head the laurel, he deposited it with religious care on the altar. After this ceremony he returned by land to Avignon, carrying with him letters patent of the King of Naples and of the senate and people of Rome, conferring on him by their joint authorities the full and free power of reading, discussing, and explaining all ancient books, composing new works (especially poems), and wearing on all occasions, as he might prefer, a crown of laurel, of ivy, or of myrtle. Shortly afterwards he was again at Naples, under very different circumstances. Appointed by Clement VI. to urge the claims of the Holy See to the Regency of that state, during the minority of Joanna, the grand-daughter of Robert of Anjou, he was treated with no less distinction and kindness than on the former visit; but, unsuccessful in his mission, and scandalized by the debauchery and cruelty which prevailed in the dissolute court, he soon quitted Naples and Italy for his beloved Vaucluse. There, however, at no great distance of time, a new excitement awaited him. In 1347, Rienzi, the famous demagogue, who began his career so nobly, and closed it with such circumstances of disgrace, obtained his brief and singular dominion. All the hopes of Italian independence, all the reverence for antiquity which had ever animated the spirit of Petrarch, now strongly impelled him to admire the restorer of those ancient names, which he trusted would realize his visions of ancient freedom and majesty. Even the massacre of the Colonna family, which Petrarch heard at Genoa as he was hastening to join the tribune at Rome, did not destroy these feelings, although it materially weakened them. But the fabric of Rienzi’s power was sapped by his own extravagances in less than a year; and nearly at the same time a more severe affliction fell upon Petrarch even than the disappointment of his hopes for the restoration of Italian liberty.

In April, 1348, Laura expired of the dreadful malady which then ravaged Europe, and which is described by Boccaccio in the introduction to the Decameron. The second half of the Canzoniere is the monument of his glorious sorrow; which is however more calmly, and, to the apprehensions of many, more convincingly expressed, in the pathetic note to his own MS. of Virgil, now in the Ambrosian Library at Milan. It would be unjust to him not to relate this event in his own words. “Laura, illustrious for her own virtues, and long celebrated by my verses, was seen by me for the first time in my early manhood, in the year 1327, April 6, at six in the morning, in the church of S. Clara, at Avignon. In the same city, in the same month of April, on the same sixth day, and at the same hour, in 1348, this light was taken from the world, while I was at Verona, alas! ignorant of my unhappy lot. The melancholy news reached me in a letter from my friend Louis: it found me at Parma the same year, May 19, in the morning. That body, so chaste, so fair, was laid in the church of the Minor Friars on the evening of the day of her death. Her soul, I doubt not, is returned, as Seneca says of Scipio Africanus, to heaven, whence it came. To preserve the grievous memory of this loss, I write this with a sort of pleasure mixed with bitterness; and I write by choice upon this book, which often comes before my eyes, that hereafter there may be nothing for me to delight in in this life, and that, my strongest chain being broken, I may be reminded by the frequent sight of these words, and by the just appreciation of a fugitive life, that it is time to go forth from Babylon; which, by the help of God’s grace, will become easy to me by vigorous and bold contemplation of the needless cares, the vain hopes, the unexpected events which have agitated me during the time I have spent on earth.” The authenticity of this note has been contested: to us it bears internal evidence of being genuine, not merely in the unpretending pathos of the conclusion, but in the minuteness of the earlier details. It is the luxury of grief to connect the memory of the dead with our thoughts, and employments, and even abodes at the moment of their death; and the pen of the literary forger is not likely to trace so simple and unpretending a statement.

The jubilee of 1350 led Petrarch again to Rome. When he passed through Arezzo, the principal citizens of the town led him with pride to the house in which he was born; declaring that nothing had been changed there, and that the municipal authorities had enforced this scrupulous respect for the great poet’s birth-place by injunctions to the successive proprietors of the mansion. Not long afterwards, Boccaccio, his friend and his compeer in the great literary triumvirate of Italy, came to him at Padua, to announce in the name of the senate at Florence that he was restored to his rights of citizenship, and to offer him the superintendence of the recently established university. Petrarch did not accept the proposal. Twice in the course of his remaining life his name is found connected with great events. Admitted to the counsels of Gian Visconti, he accepted the mission of reconciling the republic of Genoa, which had yielded to that prince, with the state of Venice, elated by recent victories. But Petrarch was destined to be unsuccessful as a statesman. This embassy had no effect; nor were his subsequent efforts to infuse into the mind of Charles IV. the lessons of magnanimity, when that weak and avaricious emperor entered Italy, more beneficial either to Charles or to his country. Once, however, when employed by Galeazzo Visconti in a subsequent mission to the same prince, he was able to dissuade him from recrossing the Alps: unless we suppose that the distracted state of Germany had more to do with keeping the emperor at home, than the eloquence of the poet, or the skill of the politician. The second plague in 1362 deprived the now aged poet of the few early friends who remained to him, Azo of Correggio, and the two who in his letters are usually denominated Lælius and Socrates, and had, like himself, been intimate with Jacopo Colonna. He was then resident in Venice; where, in 1363, Boccaccio came to visit him in company with Leontius Pilatus of Thessalonica, who had instructed the Florentine novelist in Greek. At a former period Petrarch had commenced the study of that language under a Grecian monk named Barlaam; and though now sixty years of age, he returned to the task with enthusiasm and with perseverance. He was hospitably and honourably received by the republic, to which he presented his valuable collection of manuscripts.

After some more adventures and wanderings the old man fixed his residence at Arquà, a village situated on the Euganean hills, at four leagues distance from Padua. Here he led a life of abstinence and study, reposing from the toilsome vicissitudes to which he had been subjected, but not from his thirst for knowledge and desire of glory. His last years were solaced by his intimacy with Boccaccio, who seemed to supply the place of those numerous and valued early friends whom he had survived, and by the filial attentions of his daughter Francesca. The last important act of his life was his appearance before the Senate of Venice, in behalf of Francesco of Carrara, who had been forced to conclude a humiliating peace with the republic in 1373. It is said that he was so much awed by the majesty of the assembly, that on the first day on which he appeared before it, he was unable to deliver his address. The next day he recovered his spirits, or more probably his strength, and his speech in behalf of Carrara was loudly applauded. He returned to his retirement in a failing state of health, and his complaints were aggravated by imprudence, and disregard of medical advice. July 18, 1374, he was found dead in his library, his head resting on an open book. A stroke of apoplexy had thus suddenly terminated his life. All Padua assisted at his obsequies, and Francesco of Carrara led the funeral pomp. A marble tomb, which still exists, was raised to him before the door of the church of Arquà.

Such was the death and such the life of Francesco Petrarca, than whom few men have exerted more influence over their own times; have contributed more to form and polish the language of their native land; or have given a more decided tone to the literature of succeeding generations. This is not the place to enter into a minute analysis of his merits as a poet. If he did not create the kind of poetry in which he excelled, at least he carried it to perfection: if he could not save his style from being disfigured by feeble imitators, at least he left it in itself a noble work: if he did not avoid the false conceits and strained illustrations, which at the rise of a new literature are almost always found to possess irresistible attractions, he redeemed and even ennobled them by strains of simple passion, imagination, and melody, which will live as long as the language in which they are composed. His Latin writings, on which he wished his reputation to rest, are now much neglected. They are not indeed calculated for general reading; but they are highly valuable as records of the time and of the man. His letters form the most interesting, because the most personal, portion of them. Few men have laid bare their hearts so completely as Petrarch. His vanity, his dependence on the sympathy of others, led him to commit to writing every incident of his life, every turn in the troubled course of his feelings. But he gains rather than loses by this voluntary exposure. His Christian faith and Christian principles of philosophy, however swayed by occasional currents of passion, stand out beautifully amidst the corruptions of that age. It is as impossible to rise from a perusal of Petrarch’s poetry, and even more perhaps of his prose, without a feeling of love for the man, as of admiration for the author.

In early life he was distinguished for beauty, of which he was himself not insensible; for he left, in his ‘Letter to Posterity,’ a description of his own person, which we quote from Ugo Foscolo’s translation. “Without being uncommonly handsome, my person had something agreeable in it in my youth. My complexion was a clear and lively brown; my eyes were animated; my hair had grown grey before twenty-five, and I consoled myself for a defect which I shared in common with many of the great men of antiquity (for Cæsar and Virgil were grey-headed in youth), and I had a venerable air, which I was by no means very proud of.” He was then miserable, Foscolo continues, if a lock of his hair was out of order; he was studious of ornamenting his person with the nicest clothes; and to give a graceful form to his feet, he pinched them in shoes that put his nerves and sinews to the rack. These traits are taken from his own familiar letters.

The life and writings of Petrarch have been repeatedly illustrated at great length. The ‘Petrarcha Redivivus’ of Tomasini; the voluminous ‘Mémoires sur Petrarque’ of the Abbé de Sade, who has taken up the subject as a matter of family history; and the works of Tiraboschi and Baldelli, are among the best authorities for our author’s history. To the English, and indeed to every reader, we must recommend the ‘Essays on Petrarch,’ by Ugo Foscolo; at the end of which there are some exquisite translations by Lady Dacre. The most complete edition of Petrarch’s works is the folio published at Bâsle in 1581. Among the numerous editions of his Italian poems, we may particularize that of Biagioli, 1822, as containing the notes of Alfieri; and that of Marsard, printed at Padua, as distinguished alike for its correctness and beauty of execution.

Tomb of Petrarch at Arquà.

Engraved by C. E. Wagstaff.
BURKE.
From a Picture after Sir Joshua Reynolds
in the possession of T. H. Burke Esq^r.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

BURKE.

The six and thirty years which have elapsed since the death of Edmund Burke are not sufficient to secure a right and impartial sentence on his character. We are still within the heated temperature of the same political agitations in which he lived and struggled. We are not, perhaps our children will not be, qualified to judge him and his contemporaries, with that calmness with which men weigh the merits of things and persons who have exerted no perceptible influence over their own times. It is fortunate, therefore, that the limits of this brief memoir prescribe rather a succinct statement of unquestioned facts, than a disputable adjudication between opposite opinions.

Edmund Burke, son of Richard Burke, an attorney in extensive practice in Dublin, was born in that city, January 1, 1730. Of his early life little is known with certainty. He appears to have distinguished himself at Trinity College, Dublin, by his acquirements and talents, especially by a decided taste and ability for the discussion of subjects relating to English history and politics. His first literary effort of any importance was made before he quitted that university, in some letters directed against a factious writer called Lucas, at that time the popular idol. These are not preserved. In 1750 he came to London, and was entered a student of the Middle Temple. It is singular that the idle rumour, expressly contradicted by himself, of his having completed his education at St. Omer’s, should be still in some degree accredited by the author of the article ‘Burke,’ in the Biographie Universelle. Whether, in 1752 or 1753, he became a candidate for the chair of Logic at Glasgow, is a more doubtful question: the opinions of Dugald Stewart and Adam Smith, who took some pains to ascertain the truth, were in the negative. It is certain, however, that the extraordinary talents of Burke soon began to attract attention: he wrote in many political and literary miscellanies, and formed an acquaintance with some distinguished characters of the time. Among these should be mentioned Lord Charlemont, Gerard Hamilton, Soame Jenyns, and somewhat later, Goldsmith, Reynolds, Dr. Johnson, and Hume. His first avowed work, the ‘Vindication of Natural Society,’ was published in 1756, and excited very general admiration. The imitation of Bolingbroke’s style in this essay was so perfect, that some admirers of the deceased philosopher are said to have overlooked the evident signs of irony, and to have believed it to be a genuine posthumous work. This may appear strange; but it is surely more strange, that forty years afterwards this ‘Vindication’ should have been republished by the French party, with a view of serving democratic interests. Before the close of 1756, appeared the ‘Philosophical Inquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful,’ which added largely to Burke’s reputation, and procured him the valuable friendship of Sir Joshua Reynolds. Shortly afterwards, the public attention being at that time much directed to the American colonies, was published ‘An Account of the European Settlements in America,’ of which Burke was probably not the sole, but the principal author. It was much read, as well on the Continent as in England; and indeed no inconsiderable portion of it has been incorporated into the celebrated work of the Abbé Raynal. About this time Burke married the daughter of Dr. Nugent, an intelligent physician, who had invited him to his house while suffering under an illness, the result of laborious application. This union was a source of uninterrupted comfort to him through life. “Every care vanishes,” he was in the habit of saying, “when I enter my own home.” A confined income, however, rendered literary exertion still more indispensable to him than before: and in 1759 ‘The Annual Register,’ that most useful work, for many years entirely composed by Burke, or under his immediate superintendence, was undertaken by him in conjunction with Dodsley. At length, in 1765, with the first Rockingham administration, he entered on a more extensive sphere of action: being appointed private secretary to the Marquis of Rockingham, through the recommendation of his friend Mr. Fitzherbert.

Coming now into Parliament as member for Wendover in Buckinghamshire, Burke became an eminent supporter of the Whig party. The situation of affairs was critical. Mr. Grenville’s stamp act, a fatal departure from the policy on which the colonies had been previously governed, had excited much discontent in America. A strong party, supported by the evident favour of the court and the general feeling of the country, urged the necessity of perseverance in this coercive policy. Lord Chatham and his adherents no less strenuously denied the right of the Imperial Legislature to impose taxes on America without her own consent. The Rockingham Whigs adopted a middle course between these extremes. They repealed the stamp act, declaring at the same time that the right of taxation resided inalienably in Parliament. Their administration was short-lived. Lord Chatham succeeded them in power, at the head of that “dovetailed” cabinet which Burke has so admirably satirised in his ‘Speech on American Taxation.’ His influence was little more than nominal, and in spite of it, schemes for raising a revenue in America were soon revived. From these measures, the public attention was for a short time diverted by the domestic agitation caused by the proceedings against Wilkes, the disputed election in Middlesex, and the mysterious letters of Junius. The shadow of that name was at the time believed by many to rest on Burke: a supposition long since rejected, and supported by scarce any evidence; though his power as a writer, and his known facility in disguising his style, gave some degree of plausibility to the supposition. In his own name, and without any disguise, he came forward to attack the ministry of the Duke of Grafton, in a political treatise, entitled, ‘Thoughts on the Present Discontents.’ This has been termed the Whig Manual, and certainly contains the ablest exposition ever given of the principles held by that party for a long series of years. Shaken by this and other attacks, the Duke retired, and left the state under the guidance of a minister, whose merits have been overshadowed by the disastrous circumstances in which he was involved. From this time commenced that long and brilliant opposition, which, from a very low condition of numbers and influence, gradually worked its way through the most momentous parliamentary struggles; and by a continued display of powers the most accomplished, and union the most effective, gained an ultimate victory, first over popular prepossessions, and then over royal obstinacy. The court party were so inferior in eloquence and genius, that their arguments are little remembered, while the speeches of the Whigs are in every body’s hands. They felt the importance of the contest deeply, or they would not have been animated to their extraordinary exertions. But the wisest of them could not foresee the prodigious extent of those consequences, which, within the duration of their own lives, resulted from their endeavours. It was much for them to look forward to the independence of America. What would it have been to contemplate the spread of popular principles in Europe, and that mighty revolution which has changed the balance of society? No member of the opposition contributed so largely as Burke to their final triumph. During the latter years of the war, indeed, his fame as a debater was eclipsed by the rising genius of Charles Fox, to whom he willingly yielded the office of leader of the Whig party. But the talents of Fox had been trained and nourished by the wisdom of Burke; and in the speeches published at different periods by the latter, on American taxation [1774], and on conciliation with America [1775], and his Letter to the Sheriffs of Bristol [1777], (written on the occasion of a temporary secession of the Rockingham party from Parliament,) the friends of freedom found a magazine of invaluable weapons. In 1774 Burke was elected member of Parliament for Bristol; but six years afterwards he was unable to procure his reelection for that borough, the people being displeased with his recent votes in favour of Irish trade and of the Roman Catholics. His popularity was in a great measure restored by the famous Bill of Economical Reform, brought forward by him in 1782, when paymaster of the forces under the second Rockingham ministry, after the overthrow of Lord North. The death of the Marquis of Rockingham produced a schism among the Whigs; Lord Shelburne was appointed his successor, and the Rockingham division resigned their places. They soon returned to them, by means of that strange junction of force with Lord North, emphatically termed The Coalition, which raised a general cry of indignation throughout the country. Burke always vindicated this step, both at the time, and when the state of things which led to it had long passed away; but it is generally supposed that he did not counsel it, and was only induced to give in his adhesion by the urgent entreaties of his political friends.

The celebrated East-India Bill, of which Burke is said to have been partly the author, and upon which he pronounced one of his most magnificent orations, was fatal to the coalition. William Pitt, called at the age of twenty-four to occupy the first place in the counsels of his sovereign, fought an arduous but finally victorious fight against the Whig majority in the Commons. A dissolution followed; the new House supported the new Ministers; and a second long period of Whig opposition began, during which Fox was the acknowledged leader of the party, and was warmly supported in that capacity by Burke. The most important event of this second great division of Burke’s parliamentary life is undoubtedly the impeachment of Warren Hastings. Throughout the long debates on the accusations brought against the Governor of India, and afterwards throughout the trial itself, which began in 1788 and was not concluded until 1795, Burke was indefatigable. Never, perhaps, has greater oratorical genius been displayed than by that combination of great men who were appointed managers of the impeachment. Yet all their efforts failed to establish their case on a secure foundation. History still hesitates to decide with confidence on the guilt or innocence of Hastings. It is agreed, however, that the violence of Burke’s proceedings on this trial was often unworthy of the situation he held and the cause he advocated. When with harsh tones and a look more expressive of personal than political hatred he bade Mr. Hastings kneel before the court, it is said that Fox whispered to his friends, “In that moment I would rather have been Hastings than Burke.”

At the latter end of 1788 arose the regency question, on which Burke, with all his party, maintained the opinion that any apparently irreparable incapacity in the sovereign caused a demise of the crown, because, the prerogatives of royalty being given for public benefit, it would be highly dangerous to suspend them for an indefinite period. Burke, however, did some injury to his party by the intemperate and imprudent language he adopted on this occasion, speaking of the King’s situation in the tone of triumph rather than pity, and even using the expression “God has hurled him from his throne.” These constitutional questions, however important, were soon forgotten in a new absorbing interest, which began to occupy the minds of all men. The French Revolution had taken place. That astonishing event was at first hailed with general sympathy and admiration in this country. The supporters of Pitt either joined in the vehement delight of the Fox party, or took no pains to restrain it. Here and there some may have murmured dislike: but in general it was thought unworthy of Englishmen not to rejoice in the acquisition of liberty by a neighbouring people; and not a few looked to this great change as the harbinger of political regeneration to Europe and the world. In this general acclamation one voice was wanting. Burke, from the very first meeting of the States General, did not conceal his aversion to their proceedings and his apprehension of the results. Gradually, as the excesses of popular violence in Paris became more frequent, an Anti-Gallican party began to gather round him. On the 9th of February, 1790, during a debate on the army estimates, Burke took advantage of some expressions which Fox let fall in praise of the French Revolution to open an attack against it, denying that there was any similarity between our revolution of 1688 and the “strange thing” called by the same name in France. Fox in his reply spoke in memorable terms of his obligations to his friend, declaring that all he had ever learnt from other sources was little in comparison with what he had gained from him. Sheridan attacked the speech just made by Burke in no measured terms, describing it as perfectly irreconcilable with the principles hitherto professed by that gentleman. On this, Burke again rose, and in a few words declared that Sheridan and himself were thenceforth “separated in politics.” Before the end of this year came out the celebrated ‘Reflections,’ which at once showed how irreparable was the schism between the author and his former associates. It roused an immediate war of opinion, which gave birth to a war of force throughout Europe. Innumerable pamphlets soon followed upon its publication, some denouncing the work as a specious apology for despotism, others advocating the opinions contained in it with a vehemence which the authors had not dared to show, till they were encouraged by the support of so eloquent and so distinguished a partizan. The most remarkable attempts of the former description were the ‘Rights of Man,’ by Thomas Paine, which soon became the manual of the democratic party; and the ‘Vindiciæ Gallicæ,’ by Mr., afterwards Sir James Mackintosh, the most illustrious, if not the only successor of Burke himself in his peculiar line of philosophical politics. Fox was loud in condemning the book, and although no formal breach of friendship had hitherto taken place, such an event was obviously to be expected. On the 6th May, 1791, during a discussion on a plan for settling the constitution of Canada, this separation actually occurred, with a solemnity worthy of the men and the event. From that hour, during the six remaining years of his life, one idea swayed with exclusive dominion the mind of Burke. Utterly separated from Fox’s party, aloof from the ministry, retired, after a few sessions, from Parliament, he continued to wage unceasing war by speech and writing against the principles and practice of Jacobinism. Soon he was pointed out as a prophet, and the verification of his predictions in characters of blood was much more powerful, because much more palpable, than the vague anticipations of future advantage put forward by his opponents. In 1794, after his retirement from Parliament, he received the grant of a considerable pension for himself and his wife. The democratic party did not scruple to stigmatize his motives, and in answer to an accusation of this sort was written the ‘Letter to a Noble Lord,’ perhaps the most astonishing specimen of his peculiar capacities of style. In this year the death of his son overwhelmed him with affliction. Still he continued his exertions. His views of the war differed widely from those of the ministry; he ceased not to urge that it was a war not against France but Jacobinism, and that it would be a degradation to Britain to treat with any of the Regicides. On this subject are written the two ‘Letters on a Regicide Peace,’ published in 1796, and the others published since his death. On the 8th of July, 1797, this event took place, in the 68th year of his age, at his own house at Beaconsfield, whither, after seeking medical aid elsewhere in vain, he had returned to die.

The mind of this great man may, perhaps, be considered as a fair representative of the general characteristics of English intellect. Its groundwork was solid, practical, and conversant with the details of business, but upon this, and secured by this, arose a superstructure of imagination and moral sentiment. He saw little, because it was painful to him to see any thing, beyond the limits of the national character; with that, and with the constitution which he considered its appropriate expression, all his sympathies were bound up. But he loved them with an intelligent and discriminating love, making it his pains to comprehend thoroughly what it was his delight to serve diligently. His political opinions, springing out of these dispositions, were early fixed in favour of the Whig system of governing by great party connexions. These opinions, however, were swayed in their application by strong impulses of personal feeling. A temper impatient of control, an imagination prone to magnify those classes of facts which impressed him with alarm or hope, a command of language almost unlimited, and a copiousness of imagery misleading nearly as much as it illustrated or enforced; these were qualities which laid him open to many serious accusations. But his admirers have started a philosophic doubt, whether less of passion and prejudice would have been compatible with the peculiar station he was destined to occupy. In an age of revolution, it might be plausibly maintained, his genius was the counteracting force: alone he stood against the impulses communicated to European society by the philosophers of France; their enthusiasm could only be met by enthusiasm; their influence on the imaginations and hearts of men was capable of overbearing either a blind prejudice or a dispassionate logic. But Burke was an orator in all his thoughts, and a sage in all his eloquence; he held the principles of Conservation with the zeal of a Leveller, and tempered lofty ideas of Improvement with the scrupulousness of official routine. As a debater in the House of Commons he was inferior to some otherwise inferior men. Pitt and Fox will be neglected while the speeches of Burke shall still be read. It has been said of Fox by a philosophical panegyrist that he was the most Demosthenean speaker since Demosthenes. Perhaps, of all great orators Burke might be called the least Demosthenean. Probably a hearer of the great Athenian would have felt as extemporaneous and intuitive the slowly-wrought perfections of rhetorical art, while the listeners to Burke may have often set down to elaborate preparation what was really the inspiration of the moment. His conversation, however, seems to have been uniformly delightful. It is a true maxim in one sense, although in another it would often need reversal, that great men are always greater than their works. Much as we possess of Edmund Burke, very much is lost to us of that which formed the admiration of his contemporaries. “The mind of that man,” said Dr. Johnson, “is a perennial stream: no one grudges Burke the first place.” He was acquainted with most subjects of literature, and possessed some knowledge of science. The philosophy of mind owes him one contribution of no inconsiderable value: but the indirect results of his metaphysical studies as seen in the tenor of his practical philosophy are much more extensive. For in all things, while he deeply reverenced principles, he chose to deal with the concrete more than with abstractions: he studied men rather than man. In private life the character of Burke was unsullied even by reproach. A good father, a good husband, a good friend, he was sincerely attached to the Protestant religion of the English church, “not from indifference,” as he said himself of the nation at large, “but from zeal; not because he thought there was less religion in it, but because he knew there was more.” But his attachment was without bigotry; the principles of toleration ever found in him a powerful advocate; and he was ever zealous to remove imperfections, and correct abuses, in the establishment, as the best means of securing its permanent existence.

The works of Burke are collected in sixteen volumes octavo. His speeches are separately published in four volumes octavo. A small volume appeared in 1827, containing the correspondence, hitherto unpublished, between this great statesman and his friend Dr. Laurence. His life has been written soon after his death by Mr. Bisset; and more recently by Mr. Prior. Several other biographical accounts were published about the time of his death, both in the periodical publications and as independent works: we are not aware that any of these are entitled to particular notice.

Engraved by T. Woolnoth.
HENRY IV.
From the original Picture by Porbus
in the Collection of the Musée Royal, Paris.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

HENRY IV.

Henry IV., the most celebrated, the most beloved, and perhaps, in spite of his many faults, the best of the French monarchs, was born at Pau, the capital of Béarn, in 1553. His parents were Antoine de Bourbon, Duke of Vendôme, and, in right of his wife, titular King of Navarre, and Jeanne d’Albret, the heiress of that kingdom. On the paternal side he traced his descent to Robert of Clermont, fifth son of Louis IX., and thus, on the failure of the elder branches, became heir to the crown of France. Educated by a Protestant mother in the Protestant faith, he was for many years the rallying point and leader of the Huguenots. In boyhood the Prince of Béarn displayed sense and spirit above his years. Early inured to war, he was present and exhibited strong proofs of military talent at the battle of Jarnac, and that of Moncontour, both fought in 1569. In the same year he was declared chief of the Protestant League. The treaty of St. Germain, concluded in 1570, guaranteed to the Huguenots the civil rights for which they had been striving: and, in appearance, to cement the union of the two parties, a marriage was proposed between Henry, who, by the death of his mother, had just succeeded to the throne of Navarre, and Margaret of Valois, sister of Charles IX. This match brought Condé, Coligni, and all the leaders of their party, to Paris. The ceremony took place August 17, 1572. On the twenty-second, when the rejoicings were not yet ended, Coligni was fired at in the street, and wounded. Charles visited him, feigned deep sorrow, and promised to punish the assassin. On the night between the twenty-third and twenty-fourth, by express order of the Court, that atrocious scene of murder began, which history has devoted to execration, under the name of the massacre of St. Bartholomew. For three years afterwards Henry, who to save his life had conformed to the established religion, was kept as a kind of state prisoner. He escaped in 1576, and put himself at the head of the Huguenot party. In the war which ensued, with the sagacity and fiery courage of the high-born general, he showed the indifference to hardships of the meanest soldier. Content with the worst fare and meanest lodging, in future times the magnificent monarch of France could recollect when his wardrobe could not furnish him with a change of linen. He shared all fortunes with his followers, and was rewarded by their unbounded devotion.

Upon the extinction of the house of Valois, by the assassination of Henry III. in 1589, Henry of Navarre became the rightful owner of the French throne. But his religion interfered with his claims. The League was strong in force against him: he had few friends, few fortresses, no money, and a small army. But his courage and activity made up for the scantiness of his resources. With five thousand men he withstood the Duc de Mayenne, who was pursuing him with twenty-five thousand, and gained the battle of Arques, in spite of the disparity. This extraordinary result may probably be ascribed in great measure to the contrast of personal character in the two generals. Mayenne was slow and indolent. Of Henry it was said, that he lost less time in bed, than Mayenne lost at table; and that he wore out very little broad-cloth, but a great deal of boot-leather. A person was once extolling the skill and courage of Mayenne in Henry’s presence. “You are right,” said Henry; “he is a great captain, but I have always five hours’ start of him.” Henry got up at four in the morning, and Mayenne about ten.

The battle of Arques was fought in the year of his accession. In the following year, 1590, he gained a splendid victory at Ivri, over the Leaguers, commanded by Mayenne, and a Spanish army superior in numbers. On this occasion he made that celebrated speech to his soldiers before the battle: “If you lose sight of your standards, rally round my white plume: you will always find it in the path of honour and glory.” Nor is his exclamation to his victorious troops less worthy of record: “Spare the French!”

Paris was soon after blockaded; and the hatred of the Leaguers displayed itself with increased violence, in proportion as the King showed himself more worthy of affection. A regiment of Priests and Monks, with cuirasses on their breasts, muskets and crucifixes in their hands, paraded the streets, and heightened the passions of the populace into frenzy. At this period of fanaticism, theologians were the most influential politicians, and the dictators of the public conscience. Accordingly the Sorbonne decided that Henry, as a relapsed and excommunicated heretic, could not be acknowledged, even although he should be absolved from the censures. The Parliament swore on the Gospels, in the presence of the Legate and the Spanish Ambassador, to refuse all proposals of accommodation. The siege was pushed to such extremities, and the famine became so cruel, that bread was made of human bones ground to powder. That Henry did not then master the capital, where two hundred thousand men were maddened with want, was owing to his own lenity. He declared that he had rather lose Paris, than gain possession of it by the death of so many persons. He gave a free passage through his lines to all who were not soldiers, and allowed his own troops to send in refreshments to their friends. By this paternal kindness he lost the fruit of his labours to himself; but he also prolonged the civil war, and the calamities of the kingdom at large.

The approach of the Duke of Parma with a Spanish army obliged Henry to raise the siege of Paris. It was not the policy of the Spanish court to render the Leaguers independent of its assistance, and the Duke, satisfied with having relieved the metropolis, avoided an engagement, and returned to his government in the Low Countries, followed by Henry as far as the frontiers of Picardy. In 1591 Henry received succours from England and Germany, and laid siege to Rouen; but his prey was again snatched from him by the Duke of Parma. Again battle was offered and declined; and the retiring army passed the Seine in the night on a bridge of boats: a retreat the more glorious, as Henry believed it to be impossible. The Duke once said of his adversary, that other generals made war like lions, or wild boars; but that Henry hovered over it like an eagle.

During the siege of Paris, some conferences had been held between the chiefs of the two parties, which ended in a kind of accommodation. The Catholics of the King’s party began to complain of his perseverance in Calvinism; and some influential men who were of the latter persuasion, especially his confidential friend and minister Rosny, represented to him the necessity of a change. Even some of the reformed ministers softened the difficulty, by acknowledging salvation to be possible in the Roman church. In 1593 the ceremony of abjuration was performed at St. Denys, in presence of a multitude of the Parisians. If, as we cannot but suppose, the monarch’s conversion was owing to political motives, the apostacy must be answered for at a higher than any human tribunal: politically viewed, it was perhaps one of the most beneficial steps ever taken towards the pacification and renewal of prosperity of a great kingdom. In the same year he was crowned at Chartres, and in 1594 Paris opened her gates to him. He had but just been received into the capital, where he was conspicuously manifesting his beneficence and zeal for the public good, when he was wounded in the throat by John Châtel, a young fanatic. When the assassin was questioned, he avowed the doctrine of tyrannicide, and quoted the sermons of the Jesuits in his justification. That society therefore was banished by the Parliament, and their librarian was executed on account of some libels against the King, found in his own hand-writing among his papers.

For two years after his ostensible conversion, the King was obliged daily to perform the most humiliating ceremonies, by way of penance; and it was not till 1595 that he was absolved by Clement VIII. The Leaguers then had no further pretext for rebellion, and the League necessarily was dissolved. Its chiefs exacted high terms for their submission; but the civil wars had so exhausted the kingdom, that tranquillity could not be too dearly purchased; and Henry was faithful to all his promises, even after his authority was so firmly established, that he might have broken his word with safety to all but his own conscience and honour. Although the obligations which he had to discharge were most burdensome, he found means to relieve his people, and make his kingdom prosper. The Duc de Mayenne, in Burgundy, and the Duke de Mercœur, in Britanny, were the last to protract an unavailing resistance; but the former was reduced in 1596, and the latter in 1598, and thenceforth France enjoyed almost uninterrupted peace till Henry’s death. But the Protestants gave him almost as much uneasiness as the Catholic Leaguers. He had granted liberty of conscience to the former; a measure which was admitted to be necessary by the prudent even among the latter. Nevertheless, either from vexation at his having abjured their religion, from the violence of party zeal, or disgust at being no longer the objects of royal preference, the Calvinists preferred their demands in so seditious a tone, as stopped little short of a rebellious one. While on the road to Britanny, he determined to avoid greater evils by timely compromise. The edict of Nantes was then promulgated, authorizing the public exercise of their religion in several towns, granting them the right of holding offices, putting them in possession of certain places for eight years, as pledges for their security, and establishing salaries for their ministers. The clergy and preachers demurred, but to no purpose; the Parliament ceased to resist the arguments of the Prince, when he represented to them as magistrates, that the peace of the state and the prosperity of the church must be inseparable. At the same time he endeavoured to convince the bigots among the priesthood on both sides, that the love of country and the performance of civil and political duties may be completely reconciled with difference of worship.

But it would be unjust to attribute these enlightened views to Henry, without noticing that he had a friend as well as minister in Rosny, best known as the Duc de Sully, who probably suggested many of his wisest measures, and at all events superintended their execution, and did his best to prevent or retrieve his sovereign’s errors by uncompromising honesty of advice and remonstrance. The allurements of pleasure were powerful over the enthusiastic and impassioned temperament of Henry: it was love that most frequently prevailed over the claims of duty. The beautiful Gabrielle d’Estrées became the absolute mistress of his heart; and he entertained hopes of obtaining permission from Rome to divorce Margaret de Valois, from whom he had long lived in a state of separation. Had he succeeded time enough, he contemplated the dangerous project of marrying the favourite; but her death saved him both from the hazard and disgrace. It is not by anecdotes of his amours, that we would be prone to illustrate the life of this remarkable sovereign; but the following may deserve notice as highly characteristic. Shortly after the peace with Spain, concluded by the advantageous treaty of Vervins in 1598, Henry, on his return from hunting, in a plain dress as was usual with him, and with only two or three persons about him, had to cross a ferry. He saw that the ferryman did not know him, and asked what people said about the peace. “Faith,” said the man, “I know nothing about this fine peace; every thing is still taxed, even to this wretched boat, by which I can scarcely earn a livelihood.” “Does not the King intend,” said Henry, “to set all this taxation to rights?” “The King is good kind of man enough,” answered the sturdy boatman; “but he has a mistress, who wants so many fine gowns, and so many trumpery trinkets, and we have to pay for all that. Besides, that is not the worst: if she were constant to him, we would not mind; but people do say that the jade has other gallants.” Henry, much amused with this conversation, sent for the ferryman next day, and extorted from him all that he had said the evening before, in presence of the object of his vituperation. The enraged lady insisted on his being hanged forthwith. “How can you be such a fool?” said the King; “this poor devil is put out of humour only by his poverty: for the time to come, he shall pay no tax for his boat, and then he will sing for the rest of his days, Vive Henri, vive Gabrielle.”

The King’s passions were not buried in the grave of La Belle Gabrielle: she was succeeded by another mistress, Henrietta d’Entragues, a woman of an artful, intriguing, and ambitious spirit, who inflamed his desires by refusals, until she extorted a promise of marriage. Henry showed this promise, ready signed, to Sully: the minister, in a noble fit of indignation, tore it to pieces. “I believe you are mad,” cried the King, in a rage. “It may be so,” answered Sully; “but I wish I was the only madman in France.” The faithful counsellor was in momentary expectation of an angry dismissal from all his appointments; but his monarch’s candour and justice, and long tried friendship, prevailed over his besetting weakness; and as an additional token of his favour, he conferred on Sully the office of Grand Master of the Ordnance. The sentence of divorce, so long solicited, was at length granted; and the King married Mary de Medicis, who bore Louis XIII. to him in 1601. The match, however, contributed little to his domestic happiness.

While France was flourishing under a vigilant and paternal administration, while her strength was beginning to keep pace with her internal happiness, new conspiracies were incessantly formed against the King. D’Entragues could not be his wife, but continued to be his mistress. She not only exasperated the Queen’s peevish humour against him, but was ungrateful enough to combine with her father, the Count d’Auvergne, and the Spanish Court, in a plot which was timely discovered. The criminals were arrested and condemned, but received a pardon. The Duke de Bouillon afterwards stirred up the Calvinists to take Sedan, but it was immediately restored. Spite of the many virtues and conciliatory manners of Henry, the fanatics could never pardon his former attachment to the Protestant cause. He was continually surrounded with traitors and assassins: almost every year produced some attempt on his life, and he fell at last by the weapon of a misguided enthusiast. Meanwhile, from misplaced complaisance to the Pope, he recalled the Jesuits, contrary to the advice of Sully and the Parliament.

Shortly before his untimely end, Henry is said by some historians, to have disclosed a project for forming a Christian republic. The proposal is stated to have been, to divide Europe into fifteen fixed powers, none of which should be allowed to make any new acquisition, but should together form an association for maintaining a mutual balance, and preserving peace. This political reverie, impossible to be realized, is not likely ever to have been actually divulged, even if meditated by Henry, nor is there any trace of it to be found in the history, or among the state papers of England, Venice, or Holland, the supposed co-operators in the scheme. His more rational design in arming went no further than to set bounds to the ambition and power of the house of Austria, both in Germany and Italy. His warlike preparations have, however, been ascribed to his prevailing weakness, in an infatuated passion for the Princess of Condé. Whatever may have been the motive, his means of success were imposing. He was to march into Germany at the head of forty thousand excellent troops. The army, provisions, and every other necessary were in readiness. Money no longer failed; Sully had laid up forty millions of livres in the treasury, which were destined for this war. His alliances were already assured, his generals had been formed by himself, and all seemed to forebode such a storm, as must probably have overwhelmed an emperor devoted to the search after the philosopher’s stone, and a king of Spain under the dominion of the inquisition. Henry was impatient to join his army; but his mind had become harassed with sinister forebodings, and his chagrin was increased by a temporary alienation from his faithful minister. He was in his way to pay a visit of reconciliation to Sully, when his coach was entangled as it passed along a street. His attendants left the carriage to remove the obstruction, and during the delay thus caused he was stabbed to the heart by Francis Ravaillac, a native of Angoulême. This calamitous event took place on May 14, 1610, in the fifty-seventh year of his age. The Spaniards, who had the strongest interest in the catastrophe, were supposed to have been the instigators; but the fear of implicating other powers, and plunging France into greater evils than those from which their hero had rescued them, deterred not only statesmen, but even the judges on Ravaillac’s trial, from pressing for the names of accomplices. Hardouin de Perefixe, in his History of Henry the Great, says, “If it be asked who inspired the monster with the thought? History answers that she does not know; and that in so mysterious an affair, it is not allowable to vent suspicions and conjectures as assured truths; that even the judges who conducted the examinations opened not their mouths, and spoke only with their shoulders.” There were seven courtiers in the coach when the murder took place; and the Marshal d’Estrées, in his History of the Regency of Mary de Medicis, says that the Duke d’Epernon and the Marquis de Verneuil were accused by a female servant of the latter, of having been privy to the design; but that, having failed to verify her charge before the Parliament, she was condemned to perpetual imprisonment between four walls. The circumstance that Ravaillac was of Angoulême, which was the Duke’s government, gave some plausibility to the suspicion. It was further whispered, that the first blow was not mortal; but that the Duke stooped to give facility to the assassin, and that he aimed a second which reached the King’s heart. But these rumours passed off, without fixing any well-grounded and lasting imputation on that eminent person’s character.

The assertions of Ravaillac, as far as they have any weight, discountenance the belief of an extended political conspiracy. The house of Austria, Mary de Medicis his wife, Henrietta d’Entragues his mistress, as well as the Duke d’Epernon, have been subjected to the hateful conjectures of Mazarin and other historians; but he who actually struck the blow invariably affirmed that he had no accomplice, and that he was carried forward by an uncontrollable instinct. If his mind were at all acted on from without, it was probably by the epidemic fanaticism of the times, rather than by personal influence.

Henry left three sons and three daughters by Mary de Medicis.

Of no prince recorded in history, probably, are so many personal anecdotes related, as of Henry IV. These are for the most part well known, and of easy access. The whole tenor of Henry’s life exhibits a lofty, generous, and forgiving temper, the fearless spirit which loves the excitement of danger, and that suavity of feeling and manners, which, above all qualities, wins the affections of those who come within its sphere: it does not exhibit high moral or religious principle. But his weaknesses were those which the world most readily pardons, especially in a great man. If Henry had emulated the pure morals and fervent piety of his noble ancestor Louis IX., he would have been a far better king, as well as a better man; yet we doubt whether in that case, his memory would then have been cherished with such enthusiastic attachment by his countrymen.

Marriage of Henry IV. and Mary de Medicis, from the Picture by Rubens.

Engraved by J. Posselwhite.
BENTLEY.
From a Picture by Hudson,
in Trinity College, Cambridge.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

BENTLEY.

Richard Bentley was the son, not of a low mechanic, as the earlier narratives of his life assert, but of a respectable yeoman, possessed of a small estate. That fact has been established by his latest and most accurate, as well as most copious biographer, Dr. Monk, now Bishop of Gloucester. Bentley was born in Yorkshire, January 27, 1661–2, at Oulton, near Wakefield; and educated at Wakefield school, and St. John’s College, Cambridge, where he pursued his studies with unwearied industry. No fellowship to which he was eligible having fallen vacant, he was appointed Master of Spalding school, in 1682; over which he had presided only one year, when his critical learning recommended him to Dr. Stillingfleet, then Dean of St. Paul’s, as a private tutor for his son. In 1689 he attended his pupil to Wadham College in Oxford, where he was incorporated Master of Arts on the 4th of July in that year, having previously taken that degree in his own university. Soon after the promotion of Stillingfleet to the see of Worcester, Bentley was made domestic chaplain to that learned prelate, with whom he continued on the terms of confidential intimacy incident to that connexion, till his Lordship’s death. Dr. William Lloyd, at that time Bishop of Lichfield, was equally alive to the uncommon merit of this rising scholar; and his two patrons concurrently recommended him as a fit person to open the lectures founded by the celebrated Robert Boyle, in defence of natural and revealed religion. Bentley had before this time embarked largely in literary pursuits. Among these we can only stop to mention his criticisms on the historiographer Malelas, contained in a letter appended to Dr. Mill’s edition of that author, which stamped his reputation as a first-rate scholar, especially among the learned men of the Continent.

The delivery of the first course of Boyle’s Lectures, in 1692, gave Bentley an admirable opportunity of establishing his reputation as a divine; and he taxed his abilities to the utmost to ensure success. Sir Isaac Newton’s Principia had not been published more than six years: the sublime discoveries of the author were little known, and less understood, from the general prejudice against any new theory, and the difficulty of comprehending the deep reasonings on which this one rested. Bentley determined to spare no pains in laying open this new philosophy of the solar system in a popular form, and in displaying to the best advantage the cogent arguments in behalf of the existence of a Deity, furnished by that masterly work. That nothing might be wanting to his design, he applied to the author, and received from him the solution of some difficulties. This gave rise to a curious and important correspondence; and there is a manuscript in Newton’s own hand preserved among Bentley’s papers, containing directions respecting the books to be read as a preparation for the perusal of his Principia. Newton’s four letters on this subject are preserved in Trinity College Library, and have been given to the public in the form of a pamphlet. The lecturer did not neglect, in addition to the popular illustration of the Principia, to corroborate his argument by considerations drawn from Locke’s doctrine, that the notion of a Deity is not innate. The sermons were received with loud and universal applause, and the highest opinion of the preacher’s abilities was entertained by the learned world. Bentley soon reaped the fruits of his high reputation, being appointed to a stall at Worcester in October, 1692, and made Keeper of the King’s Library in the following year. In 1694 he was again appointed to preach Boyle’s lecture. His subject was a defence of Christianity against the objections of infidels. These sermons have never been published; nor have Dr. Monk’s researches enabled him to ascertain where they are now deposited.

Bentley was scarcely settled in his office of librarian, when he became involved in a quarrel with the Hon. Charles Boyle, brother to the Earl of Ossory, who was then in the course of his education at Christ Church in Oxford, and had carried thither a more than ordinary share of classical knowledge, and a decided taste for literary pursuits. Mr. Boyle had been selected by his college to edit a new edition of the Epistles of Phalaris; and for that purpose, not by direct application, but through the medium of a blundering and ill-mannered bookseller, he had procured the use of a manuscript copy of the Epistles from the Library at St. James’s. The responsibility attendant on the custody of manuscripts, and perhaps some disgust at the channel through which the loan was negotiated, occasioned the librarian to demand restitution before the collation was finished. A notion was entertained at Christ Church, that an affront was intended both to the Epistles, which Bentley had already pronounced to be a clumsy forgery of later times, and to the advocates of their genuineness. Tory politics had probably some share in exasperating a quarrel with a scholar in the opposite interest. Be this as it may, the preface to Phalaris contained an offensive sentence, which the editor would not, or perhaps could not cancel, as the copies seem to have been delivered before the real state of the case was explained; and this gave rise to the once celebrated controversy between Boyle and Bentley. It produced a number of pieces written with learning, wit, and spirit, on both sides; but Bentley fought single-handed, while the tracts on the side of Boyle were clubbed by the wits of Christ Church; for the reputed author was attending his parliamentary duty in Ireland, while those enlisted under his colours were sustaining his cause in the English republic of letters. Of the numerous attacks on Bentley published at this period, Swift’s Battle of the Books is the only one which continues to be known by the merit of the writing. The controversy was prolonged to the year 1699, when Bentley’s enlarged dissertation upon Phalaris appeared, and obtained so complete a victory over his opponents, as to constitute an epoch not only in the writer’s life, but in the history of literature. It is avowedly controversial; but it contains a matchless treasure of knowledge, in history, chronology, antiquities, philosophy, and criticism. The preface contains his defence against the charges made on his personal character, his vindication of which is satisfactory and triumphant. So strong, however, are the prejudices of party and fashion, that many persons looked upon the controversy as a field for a grand tournament of wit and learning, exhibiting the prowess of the combatants without deciding the cause in dispute; but all those whose judgment on such questions could be of any value held the triumph of Dr. Bentley to be complete, both as to the sterling merits of the case, and his able management of its discussion. It was not long before the impression created in his favour became manifest; for, in the course of the next year, 1700, Bentley was appointed by the crown to the Mastership of Trinity College, Cambridge. On that high advancement he resigned his stall at Worcester. He was afterwards collated to the Archdeaconry of Ely, in 1781, which, besides conferring rank in the church, was endowed with two livings; and he was appointed Chaplain both to King William and Queen Anne. There is a tradition in Bentley’s family, that Bishop Stillingfleet said, “We must send Bentley to rule the turbulent Fellows of Trinity College: if any one can do it, he is the person; for he has ruled my family ever since he entered it.”

Having thus attained to affluence and honour, he married a lady to whom he had been long attached. The union was eminently happy. Mrs. Bentley’s mind was highly cultivated; she was amiable and pious; and the benevolence of her disposition availed to soften the animosity of opponents at several critical periods of her husband’s life. His new station was calculated to increase rather than to lessen the Master’s taste for critical studies. As he occasionally gave the results of his inquiries to the public, his labours, abounding in erudition and sagacity, by degrees raised him to the reputation of being the first critic of his age. Among the most remarkable of his numerous pieces, we may mention a collection of the Fragments of Callimachus, with notes and emendations, transmitted to Grævius, in whose edition of that poet’s works they appeared in 1697; and three letters on the Plutus and the Clouds of Aristophanes, written to Kuster, and by him dissected into the form of notes, and published in his edition of that author. Copies of two of the original epistles have fortunately been preserved, and given to the world in the Museum Criticum, after more than a century. Kuster had in a great measure destroyed their interest by omissions, and by curtailing their amusing and digressive playfulness. But as they fell from Bentley’s own pen, few of his writings exhibit more acuteness, or more lively perception of the elegancies of the Greek tongue. About the same time he produced one of the ablest and most perfect of his works, his Emendations on the Fragments of Menander and Philemon. That piece indicates rather intimate acquaintance with his subject, and a feeling of security in his positions, than direct and immediate labour or research. He wrote under the assumed name of Phileleutherus Lipsiensis, and sent the work to be printed and published on the Continent. Under the same signature he appeared again in 1713, in his Reply to Collins’s Discourse of Freethinking. His exposure of the sophistry and fallacies pervading that book was judicious and highly effective; and for the eminent service done to the Christian religion, and the clergy of England in this work, by refuting the objections and exposing the ignorance of the writers calling themselves Freethinkers, Dr. Bentley received the public thanks of the University of Cambridge assembled in senate, January 4, 1715. But his edition of Horace is the capital work, which through good and evil report will associate his name with the Latin language so long as it endures. He completed it in 1711. The tone of the preface is arrogant and invidious: the presumption, which is the great blot in his character, both as a man and a critic, is more conspicuous in those few pages than in all his other productions. With respect to the work itself, between seven and eight hundred changes in the common readings were introduced into the text, contrary to the established practice of classical editors. The language of the notes is that of absolute dictatorship, not however without an award of fair credit to some other commentators. His Latinity, although easy and flowing, has been censured as by no means pure. Many of his readings have been confirmed and adopted by the latest and best editors; others are considered as either unnecessary, harsh, or prosaic: but, with all its faults, Bentley’s Horace is a monument of inexhaustible learning; the reader, whether convinced or not, adds to his stock of knowledge; and the very errors of such a critic are instructive.

But Bentley’s haughty temper, thus displayed in his criticisms, burst forth much more injuriously in the government of his college; where he carried himself so loftily, and gave such serious and repeated offence, that several of the Fellows exhibited a complaint against him before the Bishop of Ely, as visitor. Their object was his removal from the headship, in furtherance of which they charged him with embezzlement, in having improperly applied large sums of money to his own use; and with having adopted other unworthy and violent proceedings, to the interruption of peace and harmony in the society. In answer to these imputations he states his own case in a letter to the Bishop, which was published in octavo in 1710, under the title of the Present State of Trinity College. Such was the beginning of a long, inveterate, and mischievous quarrel; which, after a continuance of more than twenty years, ended in the Master’s favour. The Biographia Britannica, and the Life of Bentley by the present Bishop of Gloucester, necessarily give a detailed narrative of this dispute, during the progress of which several books were written, with the most determined animosity on both sides. We cannot in this instance regret the confined space, which prevents our dilating on a quarrel, unfortunate in its origin, virulent in its progress, and, in our opinion, especially discreditable to the Master.

Nor was this the only trial of a spirit sufficiently able to bear up against the storms of opposition, and by obstinate perseverance to triumph over its adversaries. During the course of the former dispute, Bentley had been promoted to the Regius Professorship of Divinity. George I. paid a visit to the university in October, 1717. It is usual on such occasions to name several persons for a doctor’s degree in that faculty by royal mandate; and the principal part of the ceremony consists in what is called the creation, that is, the presentation of the nominees to the Chancellor, if present, or to the Vice-Chancellor in his absence, by the Professor. Bentley claimed a fee of four guineas as due from each of the Doctors whom it was his office to create, in addition to a broad-piece, which had been the ancient and customary compliment. There were two gold coins under that denomination; a Jacobus, worth twenty-five shillings, and a Carolus, passing for twenty-three. Both were called in, and no gold pieces of that value have since been coined. The Professor refused to create any doctor who would not acquiesce in the fee. His arguments in favour of the claim were at least plausible; but it ill became so high a functionary to interrupt solemn proceedings, and sow discord in a learned body for a mercenary and paltry consideration. From this low origin arose a long and warm dispute, in the course of which the Master of Trinity and Regius Professor was suspended from all his degrees, October 3, 1718, and degraded on the seventeenth of that month. Of thirty Doctors present, twenty-three voted for the degradation of their brother; and of ten heads of colleges who attended all but one joined in the sentence. The principal ground for these extraordinary measures will not appear very strong to impartial posterity; it was an alleged contempt in speaking of a regular meeting of the Heads of Houses, as “the Vice-Chancellor and four or five of his friends over a bottle.” From this sentence Bentley petitioned the King for relief: and the affair was referred to a committee of the Privy Council, whence it was carried into the Court of King’s Bench, where the four Judges declared their opinions seriatim against the proceedings of the university; and a peremptory mandamus was issued, February 7, 1724, after more than five years of undignified altercation, charging the Chancellor, Masters, and scholars “to restore Richard Bentley to all his degrees, and to every other right and privilege of which they had deprived him.”

Happily both for himself and the learned world, Bentley was gifted with a natural hardiness of temper, which enabled him to buffet against both these storms; so that he continued to pursue his career of literature, as if the elements had been undisturbed. November 5, 1715, he delivered a sermon on popery from the university pulpit, distinguished by learning and argument, and written in an original style, which compelled the attention of the hearers, unlike those common-place and narcotic declamations usually poured forth on that anniversary. It was printed, and has incurred the strange fate of having been purloined by Sterne, and introduced into Tristram Shandy. Part of it is read by Corporal Trim, whose feelings are so overpowered by the description of the Inquisition, that he declares “he would not read another line of it for all the world.” The sermon had the common lot of Bentley’s publications; it gave birth to a controversy. It was attacked in ‘Remarks’ by Cummins, a Calvinistic dissenter. An answer was put forth with the following title: ‘Reflections on the scandalous Aspersions on the Clergy, by the author of the Remarks.’ It is asserted in more than one life of Bentley, that he was himself the author of these Reflections; but the Bishop of Gloucester says that no one can believe this who reads half a page of the pamphlet. In 1716 Bentley had propounded the plan of a projected edition of the Greek Testament, in a letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury. He brooded over this design for four years, sparing neither labour nor expense to procure the necessary materials. In 1720 he issued proposals for printing it by subscription, together with the Latin version of Jerome; to which proposals a specimen of the execution was annexed. The proposals are printed at length in the Biographia Britannica, and in Dr. Monk’s Life. They were virulently attacked by Dr. Conyers Middleton, at that time a fellow of Trinity, and a leading person in the opposition to the Master, in ‘Remarks’ on Bentley’s proposals. At this time Bentley’s enemies were endeavouring to oust him from his professorship. It was insinuated that his project was a mere pretext, to be abandoned when it had answered his temporary purpose of diverting the public mind from his personal misconduct. To these suspicions he added force by the confession, in excuse for certain marks of haste in a paper drawn up, not as a specimen of his critical powers, but simply as an advertisement, that the proposals were drawn up one evening by candle-light. Middleton followed up his blow by ‘Further Remarks:’ the publication of the Testament was suspended, nor was it ever carried into effect. That it was stopped by Middleton’s pamphlet, is an error countenanced by numerous writers of the time, but denied by Dr. Monk, who says that the discontinuance certainly was not owing to Middleton’s attack. He doubts indeed whether Bentley ever looked into the tract. A speech of his to Bishop Atterbury shortly after its appearance is quite in character: he “scorned to read the rascal’s book; but if his Lordship would send him any part which he thought the strongest; he would undertake to answer it before night.” In 1726, his Terence was published with notes, a dissertation concerning the metres, which he termed Schediasma, and, strangely placed in such a work, his speech at the Cambridge commencement in 1725. The sprightliness and good temper of this short but eloquent oration is in strong contrast with his controversial asperity: it breathes strong affection for the university, from which body a stranger might suppose that he had received the kindest treatment. But even this edition of the polished and amiable comedian was undertaken in a spirit of jealousy and resentment against Dean Hare, a former friend and rival editor, who had in truth deserved his anger, by availing himself of information derived from Bentley in an unauthorized and unhandsome manner. The notes throughout are in caustic and contemptuous language, with unceasing severity against Hare, not indeed in that violent strain of abuse which has so often marked the warfare of critics, but with cool and sneering allusions without the mention of the proper name, under the disparaging designation of Quidam, est qui, or Vir eruditus. Not content with this revenge, Bentley undertook to anticipate Hare in an edition of Phœdrus, which is characterized by Dr. Monk as a “hasty, crude, and unsupported revision” of the text of that author; in which the rashness and presumption of his criticisms were rendered still more offensive by the imperious conciseness in which his decrees were promulgated. Hare, on the contrary, had long been preparing his edition: his materials were provided and arranged, and he retaliated in an Epistola Critica, addressed to Dr. Bland, head-master of Eton. The spirit of the epistle is personal and bitter; and while it undoubtedly had its intended effect in exposing Bentley, it is not creditable either to the temper or to the consistency of its author.

The last of Bentley’s works which we shall notice is his unfortunate edition of Milton’s Paradise Lost, given to the public in 1732. It is a sad instance of utter perversion of judgment in a man of extraordinary talent. Fenton first suggested, that the spots in that sun-like performance might be owing to the misapprehension of the amanuensis, and the ignorant blunders of a poverty-stricken printer. On this foundation Bentley, neither himself a poet, nor possessing much taste or feeling for the higher effusions of even his own favourite authors, the Greek and Latin poets, undertook to revise the language, remedy the blemishes, and reject the supposed interpolations of our national epic. He was peculiarly disqualified for such a task, not only by prosaic temperament and the chill of advanced years, but by his entire ignorance of the Italian poets and romance writers, from whose fables and imagery Milton borrowed his illustrations as freely as from the more familiar stories and modes of expression of the classical authorities. As usual with him, his notes were written hastily, and sent immediately to the press. The public disapprobation was unanimous and just: but even in this performance many acute pieces of criticism are scattered up and down, for which the world, disgusted by his audacity and flippancy, allows him no credit.

We must pass quickly over the ten remaining years of Bentley’s life. They were embittered by a fresh contest for character and station before the supreme tribunal of the kingdom. The case between the Bishop of Ely and Dr. Bentley, respecting the visitatorial jurisdiction over Trinity College in general, and over the Master in particular, was argued first in the Court of King’s Bench, and then carried by appeal to the House of Lords, where it was finally affirmed that the Bishop of Ely was visitor. In his seventy-second year Bentley underwent a second trial at Ely House, and was sentenced to be deprived of his mastership; but he eluded the execution of the sentence, and continued to perform the duties of the office which he held. At length a compromise was effected between him and some of his most active prosecutors, many of whom, as well as himself, were septuagenarians. On his proposed edition of Homer, distinguished by the restoration of the Digamma, we need not enlarge. It appears to have been broken off by a paralytic attack, in the course of 1739. In the following year he sustained the severest loss, by the death of his wife in the fortieth year of their union. His own death took place July 14, 1742, when he had completed his eightieth year. He was buried in the chapel; to which he had been a benefactor by giving £200 towards its repairs, soon after he was appointed to the mastership.

Bentley’s literary character is known in all parts of Europe where learning is known. In his private character he was what Johnson liked, a good hater: there was much of arrogance, and no little obstinacy in his composition; but it must be admitted on the other hand, that he had many high and amiable qualities. Though too prone to encounter hostility by oppression, he was warm and sincere in friendship, an affectionate husband, and a good father. In the exercise of hospitality at his lodge he maintained the dignity of the college, and rivalled the munificence even of the papal priesthood. His benefactions to the college were also liberal: but he exacted from it far more than it was willing to pay, or than any former master had received; and his name would stand fairer if his generosity had been less distinguished, provided that, at the same time, his conduct had been less grasping. We shall only add that the severity of his temper as a critic and controversial writer was exchanged in conversation for a strain of vivacity and pleasantry peculiar to himself.

Bentley had three children: a son called by his own name, and two daughters. The son was bred under his own tuition at Trinity College, where he obtained a fellowship. His contemporaries acknowledge his genius, but lament that his pursuits were so desultory and various as to exclude him from that substantial fame which his talents might have ensured. Dr. Bentley’s eldest daughter, Elizabeth, married Mr. Humphry Ridge, a gentleman of good family in Hampshire, but was left a widow in less than a year, and returned to reside with her father. The youngest, Joanna, married Mr. Denison Cumberland, grandson to the learned Bishop of Peterborough. The first issue of this marriage was the late Richard Cumberland, well known in the republic of letters, and especially as a dramatic writer. In his memoir of his own life Mr. Cumberland gives some amusing anecdotes of his grandfather in his old age. His object seems to have been to paint the domestic character of Bentley in a pleasing light, and to counteract the prevalent opinion of his stern and overbearing manners. The old man’s personal kindness towards himself seems to have produced a deep and well merited feeling of gratitude. His communications however are of little value, for he neglected his opportunities of obtaining accurate and more important information from his mother and other relatives of the great critic.

Engraved by F. Mackenzie.
KEPPLER.
From a Picture in the Collection of
Godefroy Kraenner, Merchant at Ratisbon.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

KEPLER.

The matter contained in this sketch of Kepler’s history, is exclusively derived from the Life published in the Library of Useful Knowledge. To that work we refer all readers who wish to make themselves acquainted with the contents of Kepler’s writings, and with the singular methods by which he was led to his great discoveries: it will be evident, on inspection, that it would be useless to attempt farther compression of the scientific matter therein contained. Our object therefore will be to select such portions as may best illustrate his singular and enthusiastic mind, and to give a short account of his not uneventful life.

John Kepler was born December 21, 1571, Long. 29° 7´, Lat. 48° 54´, as we are carefully informed by his earliest biographer Hantsch. It is well to add that on the spot thus astronomically designated as our astronomer’s birth-place, stands the city of Weil, in the Duchy of Wirtemberg. Kepler was first sent to school at Elmendingen, where his father, a soldier of honourable family, but indigent circumstances, kept a tavern: his education was completed at the monastic school of Maulbronn, and the college of Tubingen, where he took his Master’s degree in 1591. About the same time he was offered the astronomical lectureship at Gratz, in Styria: and he accepted the post by advice, and almost by compulsion, of his tutors, “better furnished,” he says, “with talent than knowledge, and with many protestations that I was not abandoning my claim to be provided for in some other more brilliant profession.” Though well skilled in mathematics, and devoted to the study of philosophy, he had felt hitherto no especial vocation to astronomy, although he had become strongly impressed with the truth of the Copernican system, and had defended it publicly in the schools of Tubingen. He was much engrossed by inquiries of a very different character: and it is fortunate for his fame that circumstances withdrew him from the mystical pursuits to which through life he was more or less addicted; from such profitless toil as the “examination of the nature of heaven, of souls, of genii, of the elements, of the essence of fire, of the cause of fountains, of the ebb and flow of the tide, the shape of the continents and inland seas, and things of this sort,” to which, he says, he had devoted much time. The sort of spirit in which he was likely to enter on the more occult of these inquiries, and the sort of agency to which he was likely to ascribe the natural phenomena of which he speaks, may be estimated from an opinion which he gravely advanced in mature years and established fame, that the earth is an enormous living animal, with passions and affections analogous to those of the creatures which live on its surface. “The earth is not an animal like a dog, ready at every nod; but more like a bull or an elephant, slow to become angry, and so much the more furious when incensed.” “If any one who has climbed the peaks of the highest mountains throw a stone down their very deep clefts, a sound is heard from them; or if he throw it into one of the mountain lakes, which beyond doubt are bottomless, a storm will immediately arise, just as when you thrust a straw into the ear or nose of a ticklish animal, it shakes its head, and runs shuddering away. What so like breathing, especially of those fish who draw water into their mouths, and spout it out again through their gills, as that wonderful tide! For although it is so regulated according to the course of the moon, that in the preface to my ‘Commentaries on Mars’ I have mentioned it as probable that the waters are attracted by the moon, as iron is by the loadstone, yet if any one uphold that the earth regulates its breathing according to the motion of the sun and moon, as animals have daily and nightly alternations of sleep and waking, I shall not think his philosophy unworthy of being listened to; especially if any flexible parts should be discovered in the depths of the earth to supply the functions of lungs or gills.”

The first fruit of Kepler’s astronomical researches was entitled ‘Prodromus Dissertationis Cosmographicæ,’ the first part of a work to be called ‘Mysterium Cosmographicum,’ of which, however, the sequel was never written. The most remarkable part of the book is a fanciful attempt to show that the orbits of the planets may be represented by spheres circumscribed and inscribed in the five regular solids. Kepler lived to be convinced of the total baselessness of this supposed discovery, in which, however, at the time, he expressed high exultation. In the same work are contained his first inquiries into the proportion between the distances of the planets from the sun and their periods of revolution. He also attempted to account for the motion of the planets, by supposing a moving influence emitted like light from the sun, which swept round those bodies, as the sails of a windmill would carry any thing attached to them: of a genuine central force he had no knowledge, though he had speculated on the existence of an attractive force in the centre of motion, and rejected it on account of difficulties which he could not explain. The ‘Prodromus’ was published in 1596, and the genius and industry displayed in it gained praise from the best astronomers of the age.

In the following year Kepler withdrew from Gratz into Hungary, apprehending danger from the unadvised promulgation of some, apparently religious, opinions. During this retirement he became acquainted with the celebrated Tycho Brahe, at that time retained by the Emperor Rodolph II. as an astrologer and mathematician, and residing at the castle of Benach, near Prague. Kepler, harassed throughout life by poverty, was received by his more fortunate fellow-labourer with cordial kindness. No trace of jealousy is to be found in their intercourse. Tycho placed the observations which he had made with unremitted industry during many years in the hands of Kepler, and used his interest with the Emperor to obtain permission for his brother astronomer to remain at Benach as assistant observer, retaining his salary and professorship at Gratz. Before all was settled, however, Kepler finally threw up that office, and remained, it should seem, entirely dependent on Tycho’s bounty. The Dane was then employed in constructing a new set of astronomical tables, to be called the Rudolphine, intended to supersede those calculated on the Ptolemaic and Copernican systems. He was interrupted in this labour by death, in 1601; and the task of finishing it was intrusted to Kepler, who succeeded him as principal mathematician to the Emperor. A large salary was attached to this office, but to extract any portion of it from a treasury deranged and almost exhausted by a succession of wars, proved next to impossible. He remained for several years, as he himself expresses it, begging his bread from the Emperor at Prague, during which the Rudolphine Tables remained neglected, for want of funds to defray the expenses of continuing them. He published, however, several smaller works; a treatise on Optics, entitled a Supplement to Vitellion, in which he made an unsuccessful attempt to determine the cause and the laws of refraction; a small work on a new star which appeared in Cassiopeia in 1604, and shone for a time with great splendour; another on comets, in which he suggests the possibility of their being planets moving in straight lines. Meanwhile he was continuing his labours on the observations of Tycho, and especially on those relating to the planet Mars: and the result of them appeared in 1609, in his work entitled ‘Astronomia Nova;’ or Commentaries on the motions of Mars. He engaged in these extensive calculations from dissatisfaction with the existing theories, by none of which could the observed and calculated motions of the planets be made to coincide; but without any notion whither the task was about to lead him, or of rejecting the complicated machinery of former astronomers—

the sphere

With centric and eccentric scribbled o’er,

Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb.

His inquiries are remarkable for the patience with which he continued to devise hypotheses, one after another, and the scrupulous fidelity with which he rejected them in succession, as they proved irreconcileable with the unerring test of observation. Not less remarkable is the singular good fortune by which, while groping in the dark among erroneous principles and erroneous assumptions, he was led, by careful observation of Mars, to discover the true form of its orbit, and the true law of its motion, and the motion of all planets, round the sun. These are enunciated in two of the three celebrated theorems known by the name of Kepler’s Laws, beyond comparison the most important discoveries made in astronomy from the time of Copernicus to that of Newton, of which the first is, that the planets move in ellipses, in one of the foci of which the sun is placed the second, that the time of describing any arc is proportional, in the same orbit, to the area comprised by the arc itself, and lines drawn from the sun to the beginning and end of it.

About the year 1613 Kepler quitted Prague, after a residence of eleven years, to assume a professorship in the University of Linz. The year preceding his departure saw him involved in great domestic distress. Want of money, sickness, the occupation of the city by a turbulent army, the death of his wife and of the son whom he best loved, these, he says to a correspondent, “were reasons enough why I should have overlooked not only your letter, but even astronomy itself.” His first marriage, contracted early in life, had not been a happy one: but he resolved on a second venture, and no less than eleven ladies were successively the objects of his thoughts. After rejecting, or being rejected, by the whole number, he at last settled on her who stood fifth in the list; a woman of humble station, but, according to his own account, possessed of qualities likely to wear well in a poor man’s house. He employed the judgment and the mediation of his friends largely in this delicate matter: and in a letter to the Baron Strahlendorf, he has given a full and amusing account of the process of his courtships, and the qualifications of the ladies among whom his judgment wavered. He proposed to one lady whom he had not seen for six years, and was rejected: on paying her a visit soon after, he found, to his great relief, that she had not a single pleasing point about her. Another was too proud of her birth; another too old; another married a more ardent lover, while Kepler was speculating whether he would take her or not; and a fifth punished the indecision which he had shown towards others by alternations of consent and denial, until after a three months’ courtship, the longest in the list, he gave her up in despair.

Kepler did not long hold his professorship at Linz. Some religious opinions relative to the doctrine of transubstantiation gave offence to the Roman Catholic party, and he was excommunicated. In 1617 he received an invitation to fill the chair of mathematics at Bologna: this however he declined, pleading his German origin and predilections, and his German habits of freedom in speech and manners, which he thought likely to expose him to persecution or reproach in Italy. In 1618 he published his Epitome of the Copernican system, a summary of his philosophical opinions, drawn up in the form of question and answer. In 1619 appeared his celebrated work ‘Harmonice Mundi,’ dedicated to King James I. of England; a book strongly illustrative of the peculiarities of Kepler’s mind, combining the accuracy of geometric science with the wildest metaphysical doctrines, and visionary theories of celestial influences. The two first books are almost strictly geometrical; the third treats of music; for the fourth and fifth, we take refuge from explaining their subjects in transcribing the author’s exposition of their contents. “The fourth, metaphysical, psychological, and astrological, on the mental essence of harmonies, and of their kinds in the world, especially on the harmony of rays emanating on the earth from the heavenly bodies, and on their effect in nature, and on the sublunary and human soul; the fifth, astronomical and metaphysical, on the very exquisite harmonies of the celestial motions, and the origin of the eccentricities in harmonious proportions.” This work, however, is remarkable for containing amid the varied extravagances of its two last books, the third of Kepler’s Laws, namely, that the squares of the periods of the planets’ revolution vary as the cubes of their distances from the sun; a discovery in which he exulted with no measured joy. “It is now eighteen months since I got the first glimpse of light, three months since the dawn, very few days since the unveiled sun, most admirable to gaze upon, burst out upon me. Nothing holds me; I will indulge in my sacred fury; I will triumph over mankind by the honest confession that I have stolen the golden vases of the Egyptians, to build up a tabernacle for my God far away from the confines of Egypt. If you forgive me, I rejoice; if you are angry, I can bear it: the die is cast, the book is written; to be read either now or by posterity, I care not which: it may well wait a century for a reader, as God has waited six thousand years for an observer.”

The substance of Kepler’s astrological opinions is contained in this work. It is remarkable that one whose candour and good faith are so conspicuous, one so intent on correcting his various theories by observation and experience, should have given in to this now generally rejected system of imposture and credulity; nay should profess to have been forced to adopt it from direct and positive observations. “A most unfailing experience (as far as can be hoped in natural phenomena), of the excitement of sublunary nature by the conjunctions and aspects of the planets, has instructed and compelled my unwilling belief.” At the same time he professed through life a supreme contempt for the common herd of nativity casters, and claimed to be the creator of a “new and most true philosophy, a tender plant which, like all other novelties, ought to be carefully nursed and cherished.” His plant was rooted in the sand, and it has perished; nor is it important to explain the fine-spun differences by which his own astrological belief was separated from another not more baseless. Poor through life, he relieved his ever recurring wants by astrological calculations: and he enjoyed considerable reputation in this line, and received ample remuneration for his predictions. It was principally as astrologers that both Tycho Brahe and Kepler were valued by the Emperor Rudolph: and it was in the same capacity that the latter was afterwards entertained by Wallenstein. One circumstance may suggest a doubt whether his predictions were always scrupulously honest. From the year 1617 to 1620, he published an annual Ephemeris, concerning which he writes thus: “In order to pay the expense of the Ephemeris for these two years, I have also written a vile prophesying almanac, which is hardly more respectable than begging; unless it be because it saves the Emperor’s credit, who abandons me entirely, and, with all his frequent and recent orders in council, would suffer me to perish with hunger.” Poverty is a hard task-master; yet Kepler should not have condescended to become the Francis Moore of his day.

In 1620, Kepler was strongly urged by Sir Henry Wotton, then ambassador to Venice, to take refuge in England from the difficulties which beset him. This invitation was not open to the objections which had deterred him from accepting an appointment in Italy: but love of his native land prevailed to make him decline it also. He continued to weary the Imperial Government with solicitations for money to defray the expense of the Rudolphine Tables, which were not printed until 1627. These were the first calculated on the supposition of elliptic orbits, and contain, besides tables of the sun and planets, logarithmic and other tables to facilitate calculation, the places of one thousand stars as determined by Tycho, and a table of refractions. Similar tables of the planetary motions had been constructed by Ptolemy, and reproduced with alterations in the thirteenth century under the direction of Alphonso, King of Castile. Others, called the Prussian Tables, had been calculated after the discoveries of Copernicus, by two of that great astronomer’s pupils. All these, however, were superseded in consequence of the observations of Tycho Brahe, observations far more accurate than had ever before been made: and for the publication of the Rudolphine Tables alone, which for a long time continued unsurpassed in exactness, the name of Kepler would deserve honourable remembrance.

Kepler was the first of the Germans to appreciate and use Napier’s invention of logarithms: and he himself calculated and published a series, under the title ‘Chilias Logarithmorum,’ in 1624. Not long after the Rudolphine Tables were printed, he received permission from the Emperor Ferdinand to attach himself to the celebrated Wallenstein, a firm believer in the science of divination by the stars. In him Kepler found a more munificent patron than he had yet enjoyed; and by his influence he was appointed to a professorship at the University of Rostock, in the Duchy of Mecklenburgh. But the niggardliness of the Imperial Court, which kept him starving through life, was in some sense the cause of his death. He had claims on it to the amount of eight thousand crowns, which he took a journey to Ratisbon to enforce, but without success. Fatigue or disappointment brought on a fever which put an end to his life in November, 1630, in his 59th year. A plain stone, with a simple inscription, marked his grave in St. Peter’s church-yard, in that city. Within seventy paces of it, a marble monument has been erected to him in the Botanic Garden, by a late Bishop of Constance. He left a wife and numerous family ill provided for. His voluminous manuscripts are now deposited in the Imperial Library of St. Petersburg. Only one volume of letters, in folio, has been published from them; and out of these the chief materials for his biography have been extracted.

SIR MATTHEW HALE.

Matthew Hale was born on the 1st of November, 1609, at Alderley, a small village situated in Gloucestershire, about two miles from Wotton-under-Edge. His father, Robert Hale, was a barrister of Lincoln’s Inn, and his mother, whose maiden name was Poyntz, belonged to an ancient and respectable family which had resided for several generations at Iron Acton. Hale’s father is represented to have been a man of such scrupulous delicacy of conscience, that he abandoned his profession, because he thought that some things, of ordinary practice in the law, were inconsistent with that literal and precise observance of truth which he conceived to be the duty of a Christian. “He gave over his practice,” says Burnet, in his Life of Hale, “because he could not understand the reason of giving colour in pleadings, which, as he thought, was to tell a lie.”

Engraved by J. W. Cook.
HALE.
From an original Picture in the Library
of Lincolns Inn.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

Hale had the misfortune to lose both his parents very early in life, his mother dying before he was three years old, and his father before he had attained his fifth year. Under the direction of his father’s will he was committed to the care of a near relation, Anthony Kingscote, Esq., of Kingscote in Gloucestershire. This gentleman, being inclined to the religious doctrines and discipline of the Puritans, placed him in a school belonging to that party; and, intending to educate him for a clergyman, entered him in 1626, at Magdalen Hall in Oxford. The strictness and formality of his early education seem to have inclined him to run into the opposite extreme at the university, when he became to a certain extent his own master. He is said to have been very fond at this time of theatrical amusements, and of fencing, and other martial exercises; and giving up the design of becoming a divine, he at one time determined to pass over into the Netherlands, and to enlist as a volunteer in the army of the Prince of Orange. An accidental circumstance diverted him from this resolution. He became involved in a lawsuit with a gentleman in Gloucestershire, who laid claim to part of his paternal estate; and his guardian, being a man of retired habits, was unwilling to undertake the task of personally superintending the proceedings on his behalf. It became necessary therefore that Hale, though then only twenty years old, should leave the university and repair to London for the purpose of arranging his defence. His professional adviser on this occasion was Serjeant Glanville, a learned and distinguished lawyer; who, being struck by the clearness of his young client’s understanding, and by his peculiar aptitude of mind for the study of the law, prevailed upon him to abandon his military project, and to enter himself at one of the Inns of Court with the view of being called to the bar. He accordingly became a member of the society of Lincoln’s Inn in Michaelmas term 1629, and immediately applied himself with unusual assiduity to professional studies. At this period of his life, he is said to have read for several years at the rate of sixteen hours a day.

During his residence as a student in Lincoln’s Inn, an incident occurred which recalled a certain seriousness of demeanour, for which he had been remarkable as a boy, and gave birth to that profound piety which in after-life was a marked feature in his character. Being engaged with several other young students at a tavern in the neighbourhood of London, one of his companions drank to such excess that he fell suddenly from his chair in a kind of fit, and for some time seemed to be dead. After assisting the rest of the party to restore the young man to his senses, in which they at length succeeded, though he still remained in a state of great danger, Hale, who was deeply impressed with the circumstance, retired into another room, and falling upon his knees prayed earnestly to God that his friend’s life might be spared; and solemnly vowed that he would never again be a party to similar excess, nor encourage intemperance by drinking a health again as long as he lived. His companion recovered, and to the end of life Hale scrupulously kept his vow. This was afterwards a source of much inconvenience to him, when the reign of licentiousness commenced, upon the restoration of Charles II.; and drinking the King’s health to intoxication was considered as one of the tests of loyalty in politics, and of orthodoxy in religion.

His rapid proficiency in legal studies not only justified and confirmed the good opinion which had been formed of him by his early friend and patron, Serjeant Glanville, but also introduced him to the favourable notice of several of the most distinguished lawyers of that day. Noy, the Attorney-General, who some years afterwards devised the odious scheme of ship-money, and who, while he is called by Lord Clarendon “a morose and proud man,” is also represented by him as an “able and learned lawyer,” took particular notice of Hale, and advised and assisted him in his studies. At this time also he became intimate with Selden, who, though much older than himself, honoured him with his patronage and friendship. He was induced by the advice and example of this great man to extend his reading beyond the contracted sphere of his professional studies, to enlarge and strengthen his reasoning powers by philosophical inquiries, and to store his mind with a variety of general knowledge. The variety of his pursuits at this period of life was remarkable: anatomy, physiology, and divinity formed part only of his extensive course of reading; and by his subsequent writings it is made manifest that his knowledge of these subjects was by no means superficial.

The exact period at which Hale was called to the bar is not given by any of his biographers; and in consequence of the non-arrangement of the earlier records at Lincoln’s Inn, it cannot be readily ascertained. It is probable however that he commenced the actual practice of his profession about the year 1636. It is plain that he very soon attained considerable reputation in it, from his having been employed in most of the celebrated trials arising out of the troubles consequent on the meeting of Parliament in 1640. His prudence and political moderation, together with his great legal and constitutional knowledge, pointed him out as a valuable advocate for such of the court party as were brought to public trial. Bishop Burnet says that he was assigned as counsel for Lord Strafford, in 1640. This does not appear from the reports of that trial, nor is it on record that he was expressly assigned as Strafford’s counsel by the House of Lords: but he may have been privately retained by that nobleman to assist in preparing his defence. In 1643 however he was expressly appointed by both Houses of Parliament as counsel for Archbishop Laud: and the argument of Mr. Herne, the senior counsel, an elaborate and lucid piece of legal reasoning, is said, but on no certain authority, to have been drawn up by Hale. In 1647 he was appointed one of the counsel for the Eleven members: and he is said to have been afterwards retained for the defence of Charles I. in the High Court of Justice: but as the King refused to own the jurisdiction of the tribunal, his counsel took no public part in the proceedings. He was also retained after the King’s death by the Duke of Hamilton, when brought to trial for treason, in taking up arms against the Parliament. Burnet mentions other instances, but these are enough to prove his high reputation for fidelity and courage, as well as learning.

In the year 1643 Hale took the covenant as prescribed by the Parliament, and appeared more than once with other laymen in the assembly of divines. In 1651 he took the “Engagement to be faithful and true to the Commonwealth without a King and House of Lords,” which, as Mr. Justice Foster observes, “in the sense of those who imposed it, was plainly an engagement for abolishing kingly government, or at least for supporting the abolition of it.” In consequence of his compliance in this respect he was allowed to practise at the bar, and was shortly afterwards appointed a member of the commission for considering of the reformation of the law. The precise part taken by Hale in the deliberations of that body cannot now be ascertained; and indeed there are no records of the mode in which they conducted their inquiries, and, with a few exceptions, no details of the specific measures of reform introduced by them. A comparison, however, of the machinery of courts of justice during the reign of Charles I., and their practice and general conduct during the Commonwealth, and immediately after the Restoration, will afford convincing proofs that during the interregnum improvements of great importance were effected; improvements which must have been devised, matured, and carried into execution by minds of no common wisdom, devoted to the subject with extraordinary industry and reflection.

It was unquestionably with the view of restoring a respect for the administration of justice, which had been wholly lost during the reign of Charles I., and giving popularity and moral strength to his own government, that Cromwell determined to place such men as Hale on the benches of the different courts. Hale however had at first many scruples concerning the propriety of acting under a commission from an usurper; and it was not without much hesitation, that he at length yielded to the importunity of Cromwell and the urgent advice and entreaties of his friends; who, thinking it no small security to the nation to have a man of his integrity and high character on the bench, spared no pains to satisfy his conscientious scruples. He was made a serjeant, and raised to the bench of the Court of Common Pleas in January, 1653–4.

Soon after he became a judge he was returned to Cromwell’s first Parliament of five months, as one of the knights of the shire for the county of Gloucester, but he does not appear to have taken a very active part in the proceedings of that assembly. Burnet says that “he, with a great many others, came to parliaments, more out of a design to hinder mischief than to do much good.” On one occasion, however, he did a service to his country, for which all subsequent generations have reason to be grateful, by opposing the proposition of a party of frantic enthusiasts to destroy the records in the Tower and other depositories, as remnants of feudality and barbarism. Hale displayed the folly, injustice, and mischief of this proposition with such authority and clearness of argument, that he carried the opinions of all reasonable members with him; and in the end those who had introduced the measure were well satisfied to withdraw it. That his political opinions at this time were not republican, is evident from a motion introduced by him, that the legislative authority should be affirmed to be in the Parliament, and an individual with powers limited by the Parliament; but that the military power should for the present remain with the Protector. He had no seat in the second Parliament of the Protectorate, called in 1656; but when a new Parliament was summoned upon the death of Cromwell in January, 1658–9, he represented the University of Oxford.

His judicial conduct during the Commonwealth is represented by contemporaries of all parties as scrupulously just, and nobly independent. Several instances are related of his resolute refusal to submit the free administration of the law to the arbitrary dictation of the Protector. On one occasion of this kind, which occurred on the circuit, a jury had been packed by express directions from Cromwell. Hale discharged the jury on discovering this circumstance, and refused to try the cause. When he returned to London, the Protector severely reprimanded him, telling him that “he was not fit to be a judge;” to which Hale only replied that “it was very true.”

It appears that at this period, he, in common with several other judges, had strong objections to being employed by Cromwell as commissioners on the trial of persons taken in open resistance to his authority. After the suppression of the feeble and ineffectual rebellion in 1655, in which the unfortunate Colonel Penruddock, with many other gentlemen of rank and distinction, appeared in arms for the King in the western counties, a special commission issued for the trial of the offenders at Exeter, in which Hale’s name was inserted. He happened to be spending the Lent vacation at his house at Alderley, to which place an express was sent to require his attendance; but he plainly refused to go, excusing himself on the ground that four terms and two circuits in the year were a sufficient devotion of his time to his judicial duties, and that the intervals were already too small for the arrangement of his private affairs; “but,” says Burnet, “if he had been urged to it, he would not have been afraid of speaking more clearly.”

He continued to occupy his place as a judge of the Common Pleas until the death of the Protector; but when a new commission from Richard Cromwell was offered to him, he declined to receive it: and though strongly urged by other judges, as well as his personal friends, to accept the office on patriotic grounds, he firmly adhered to his first resolution, saying that “he could act no longer under such authority.”

In the year 1660 Hale was again returned by his native county of Gloucester to serve in the Parliament, or Convention, by which Charles II. was recalled. On the discussion of the means by which this event should be brought about, Hale proposed that a committee should be appointed to look into the propositions and concessions offered by Charles I. during the war, particularly at the treaty of Newport, from whence they might form reasonable conditions to be sent over to the King. The motion was successfully opposed by Monk, who urged the danger which might arise, in the present state of the army and the nation, if any delay should occur in the immediate settlement of the government. “This,” says Burnet, “was echoed with such a shout over the House, that the motion was no longer insisted on.” It can hardly be doubted that most of the destructive errors of the reign of Charles II. would have been spared, if express restrictions had been imposed upon him before he was permitted to assume the reins of government. On the other hand it has been justly said, that the time was critical; that at that precise moment the army and the nation, equally weary of the scenes of confusion and misrule which had succeeded to Richard Cromwell’s abdication, agreed upon the proposed scheme; but that if delay had been interposed, and if debates had arisen in Parliament, the dormant spirit of party would in all probability have been awakened, the opportunity would have been lost, and the restoration might after all have been prevented. These arguments, when urged by Monk to those who were suffering under a pressing evil, and had only a prospective and contingent danger before them, were plausible and convincing; but to those in after times who have marked the actual consequences of recalling the King without expressly limiting and defining his authority, as displayed in the miserable and disgraceful events of his “wicked, turbulent, and sanguinary reign,” and in the necessary occurrence of another revolution within thirty years from the Restoration, it will probably appear that our ancestors paid rather too dearly on that occasion for the advantages of an immediate settlement of the nation.

Immediately after the restoration of the King in May, 1668, Lord Clarendon, being appointed Lord Chancellor, sought to give strength and stability to the new government, by carefully providing for the due administration of justice. With this view, he placed men distinguished for their learning and high judicial character upon the benches of the different courts. Amongst other eminent lawyers, who had forsaken their profession during the latter period of the Commonwealth, he determined to recall Hale from his retirement, and offered him the appointment of Lord Chief Baron. But it was not without great difficulty that Hale was induced to return to the labours of public life. A curious original paper containing his “reasons why he desired to be spared from any place of public employment,” was published some years ago by Mr. Hargrave, in the preface to his collection of law tracts. Amongst these reasons, which were stated with the characteristic simplicity of this great man, he urged “the smallness of his estate, being not above £500 per annum, six children unprovided for, and a debt of £1000 lying upon him; that he was not so well able to endure travel and pains as formerly; that his constitution of body required some ease and relaxation; and that he had of late time declined the study of the law, and principally applied himself to other studies, now more easy, grateful, and seasonable for him.” He alludes also to two “infirmities, which make him unfit for that employment, first, an aversion to the pomp and grandeur necessarily incident to it; and secondly, too much pity, clemency, and tenderness in cases of life, which might prove an unserviceable temper.” “But if,” he concludes, “after all this, there must be a necessity of undertaking an employment, I desire that it may be in such a court and way as may be most suitable to my course of studies and education, and that it may be the lowest place that may be, to avoid envy. One of his Majesty’s counsel in ordinary, or at most, the place of a puisne judge in the Common Pleas, would suit me best.” His scruples were however eventually overcome, and on the 7th of November, 1660, he accepted the appointment of Lord Chief Baron: Lord Clarendon saying as he delivered his commission to him that “if the King could have found an honester and fitter man for that employment he would not have advanced him to it; and that he had therefore preferred him, because he knew no other who deserved it so well.” Shortly afterwards he reluctantly received the honour of knighthood.

The trials of the regicides took place in the October immediately preceding his appointment, and his name appears among the commissioners on that occasion. There is however no reason to suppose that he was actually present; his name is not mentioned in any of the reports, either as interfering in the proceedings themselves, or assisting at the previous consultations of the judges; and it can hardly be doubted but that, if he had taken a part in the trials, he would have been included with Sir Orlando Bridgeman and several others in the bitter remarks made by Ludlow on their conduct in this respect. It has been the invariable practice from very early times to the present day, to include the twelve judges in all commissions of Oyer and Terminer, for London and Middlesex; and as, at the time of the trials in question, only eight judges had been appointed, it is probable that Hale and the other three judges elect were named in the commission, though their patents were not made out till the following term, in order to preserve as nearly as possible the ancient form.

Sir Matthew Hale held the office of Lord Chief Baron till the year 1671; and during that period greatly raised the character of the court in which he presided, by his unwearied patience and industry, the mildness of his manners, and the inflexible integrity of his judicial conduct. His impartiality in deciding cases in the Exchequer where the interests of the Crown were concerned, is admitted even by Roger North, who elsewhere charges him with holding “demagogical principles,” and with the “foible of leaning towards the popular.” “I have heard Lord Guilford say,” says this agreeable but partial writer, “that while Hale was Chief Baron of the Exchequer, by means of his great learning, even against his inclination, he did the Crown more justice in that court, than any others in his place had done with all their good-will and less knowledge.”

Whilst he was Chief Baron he was called upon to preside at the trial of two unhappy women who were indicted at the Assizes at Bury St. Edmunds, in the year 1665, for the crime of witchcraft. The Chief Baron is reported to have told the jury that, “he made no doubt at all that there were such creatures as witches,” and the women were found guilty and afterwards executed. The conduct of Hale on this occasion has been the subject of much sarcastic animadversion. It might be said in reply, that the report of the case in the State Trials is of no authority whatever; but supposing it to be accurate, it would be unjust and unreasonable to impute to Sir Matthew Hale as personal superstition or prejudice, a mere participation in the prevailing and almost universal belief of the times in which he lived. The majority of his contemporaries, even among persons of education and refinement, were firm believers in witchcraft; and though Lord Guilford rejected this belief, Roger North admits that he dared not to avow his infidelity in this respect in public, as it would have exposed him to the imputation of irreligion. Numerous instances might be given to show the general prevalence at that time of this stupid and ignorant superstition; and therefore the opinion of Hale on this subject does not appear to be a proof of peculiar weakness or credulity.

On the occurrence of the great fire of London in 1666, an act of parliament passed containing directions and arrangements for rebuilding the city. By a clause in this statute, the judges were authorized to sit singly to decide on the amount of compensation due to persons, whose premises were taken by the corporation in furtherance of the intended improvements. Sir Matthew Hale applied himself with his usual diligence and patience to the discharge of this laborious and extrajudicial duty. “He was,” says Baxter, “the great instrument for rebuilding London; for it was he that was the constant judge, who for nothing followed the work, and by his prudence and justice removed a multitude of great impediments.”

In the year 1671, upon the death of Sir John Kelyng, Chief Justice of the Court of King’s Bench, Sir Matthew Hale was removed from the Exchequer to succeed him. The particular circumstances which caused his elevation to this laborious and responsible situation at a time when his growing infirmities induced him to seek a total retirement from public life, are not recorded by any of his biographers. For four years after he became Chief Justice he regularly attended to the duties of his court, and his name appears in all the reported cases in the Court of King’s Bench, until the close of the year 1675. About that time he was attacked by an inflammation of the diaphragm, a painful and languishing disease, from which he constantly predicted that he should not recover. It produced so entire a prostration of strength, that he was unable to walk up Westminster Hall to his court without being supported by his servants. “He resolved,” says Baxter, “that the place should not be a burden to him, nor he to it,” and therefore made an earnest application to the Lord Keeper Finch for his dismission. This being delayed for some time, and finding himself totally unequal to the toil of business, he at length, in February 1676, tendered the surrender of his patent personally to the King, who received it graciously and kindly, and promised to continue his pension during his life.

On his retirement from office, he occupied at first a house at Acton which he had taken from Richard Baxter, who says “it was one of the meanest houses he had ever lived in; in that house,” he adds, “he liveth contentedly, without any pomp, and without costly or troublesome retinue of visitors, but not without charity to the poor; he continueth the study of mathematics and physics still as his great delight. It is not the least of my pleasure that I have lived some years in his more than ordinary love and friendship, and that we are now waiting which shall be first in heaven; whither he saith he is going with full content and acquiescence in the will of a gracious God, and doubts not but we shall shortly live together.” Not long before his death he removed from Acton to his own house at Alderley, intending to die there; and having a few days before gone to the parish church-yard and chosen his grave, he sunk under a united attack of asthma and dropsy, on Christmas-day, 1676.

The judicial character of Sir Matthew Hale was without reproach. His profound knowledge of the law rendered him an object of universal respect to the profession; whilst his patience, conciliatory manners, and rigid impartiality engaged the good opinion of all classes of men. As a proof of this, it is said that as he successively removed from the Court of Common Pleas to the Exchequer, and from thence to the King’s Bench, the mass of business always followed him; so that the court in which he presided was constantly the favourite one with counsel, attorneys, and parties. Perhaps indeed no judge has ever been so generally and unobjectionably popular. His address was copious and impressive, but at times slow and embarrassed: Baxter says “he was a man of no quick utterance, and often hesitant; but spake with great reason.” This account of his mode of speaking is confirmed by Roger North, who adds, however, that “his stop for a word by the produce always paid for the delay; and on some occasions he would utter sentences heroic.” His reputation as a legal and constitutional writer is in no degree inferior to his character as a judge. From the time it was published to the present day, his history of the Pleas of the Crown has always been considered as a book of the highest authority, and is referred to in courts of justice with as great confidence and respect as the formal records of judicial opinions. His Treatises on the Jurisdiction of the Lords’ House of Parliament, and on Maritime Law, which were first published by Mr. Hargrave more than a century after Sir Matthew Hale’s death, are works of first-rate excellence as legal arguments, and are invaluable as repositories of the learning of centuries, which the industry and research of the author had collected.

After his retirement from public life, he wrote his great work called ‘The primitive Origination of Mankind, considered and examined according to the light of nature.’ Various opinions have been formed upon the merits of this treatise. Roger North depreciates the substance of the book, but commends its style; while Bishop Burnet and Dr. Birch greatly praise its learning and force of reasoning.

Sir Matthew Hale was twice married. By his first wife, who was a daughter of Sir Henry Moore of Faley in Berkshire, he had ten children, most of whom turned out ill. His second wife, according to Roger North, was “his own servant maid;” and Baxter says, “some made it a scandal, but his wisdom chose it for his convenience, that in his age he married a woman of no estate, to be to him as a nurse.” Hale gives her a high character in his will, as “a most dutiful, faithful, and loving wife,” making her one of his executors, and intrusting her with the education of his grand-children. He bequeathed his collection of manuscripts, which he says had cost him much industry and expense, to the Society of Lincoln’s Inn, in whose library they are carefully preserved.

The published biographies of Hale are extremely imperfect, none of them containing a particular account of his personal history and character. Bishop Burnet’s Life is the most generally known, and, though far too panegyrical and partial, is perhaps the most complete; it has been closely followed by most of his subsequent biographers. In Baxter’s Appendix to the Life of Hale, and in his account of his own Life, the reader will find some interesting details respecting his domestic and personal habits; and Roger North’s Life of Lord Guilford contains many amusing, though ill-natured and sarcastic anecdotes of this admirable judge.

View of Alderley Church.

Engraved by J. Thomson.
FRANKLIN.
From an original Picture by J. A. Duplesis in the possession of M. Barnet
Consul General for the United States of America at Paris.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

FRANKLIN.

Benjamin Franklin was born at Boston in New England, January 6, 1706. His father was a non-conformist, who had emigrated in 1682, and followed the trade of a tallow-chandler. Benjamin was one of the youngest of fourteen children, and, being intended for the ministry, was sent for a year to the Boston Grammar School; after which, poverty compelled his father to remove him, at ten years old, to assist in his business. The boy disliked this occupation so much, that he was bound apprentice to an elder brother, who was just established at Boston as a printer. Though but twelve years of age, he soon learnt all his brother could teach him; but the harsh treatment he met with, which he says first inspired him with a hatred for tyranny, made him resolve to emancipate himself on the first opportunity. All his leisure time was spent in reading; and having exhausted his small stock of books, he resorted to a singular expedient to supply himself with more. Having been attracted by a treatise on the advantages of a vegetable diet, he determined to adopt it, and offered to provide for himself, on condition of receiving half the weekly sum expended on his board. His brother willingly consented; and by living entirely on vegetables he contrived to save half his pittance to gratify his voracious appetite for reading. He continued the practice for several years, and attributes to it his habitual temperance and indifference to the delicacies of the table.

Some time before this the elder Franklin had set up a newspaper, the second ever published in America, which eventually gave Benjamin a pretext for breaking through the trammels of his apprenticeship. In consequence of some remarks which gave offence to the provincial authorities, the former was imprisoned under a warrant from the Speaker of the Assembly; and his discharge was accompanied with an order, that “James Franklin should no longer print the New England Courant.” In this dilemma the brothers agreed that it should be printed for the future in Benjamin’s name; and to avoid the censure that might fall on the elder as printing it by his apprentice, the old indenture was cancelled, and a new one signed which was to be kept secret; but fresh disputes arising, Benjamin took advantage of the transaction to assert his freedom, presuming that his brother would not dare to produce the secret articles. Expostulation was vain; but the brother took care to spread such reports as prevented him from getting employment at Boston. He determined therefore to go elsewhere; and, having sold his books to raise a little money, he set off without the knowledge of his friends, and wandered by way of New York to Philadelphia, where he found himself at seventeen with a single dollar in his pocket, friendless and unknown. He succeeded, however, at last in procuring employment with a printer of the name of Keimer, with whom he remained seven months. By some accident he was thrown in the way of the Governor, Sir William Keith, who promised to be of service to him in his business, if he could persuade his father to establish him in Philadelphia. His father, however, refused to advance any money, thinking him too young to be established in a concern of his own. He therefore once more engaged himself with Keimer, and remained with him a year and a half.

The favour of the Governor, who promised him introductions and a letter of credit, led Franklin to undertake a voyage to England, with a view of improving himself in his trade, and procuring a set of types. But he was severely disappointed, when, at the end of the voyage, upon applying to the Captain who carried the Governor’s despatches, he learnt that there were no letters for him, and that Governor Keith was one of that large class of persons who are more ready to excite expectations than to fulfil them. He soon however got employment, and, with frugality, contrived to maintain both himself and his friend Ralph, who had accompanied him to England on a literary speculation, which, after many failures in verse and prose, procured him at last a nook in the Dunciad, and a pension from the Prince of Wales, whose cause he had espoused in print against George II.

During his voyage he attracted the notice of a merchant named Denham, who, again meeting him in London, became fond of him, and engaged his services as a clerk. After remaining a year and a half in London, he returned with Mr. Denham to Philadelphia. During this voyage he drew up a scheme for self-examination, and several prudent rules for the guidance of his future conduct, to which he steadily adhered through life. Indeed the remarkable success of most of his undertakings may be traced in a great measure to this faculty of profiting early by the lessons of experience, and abiding rigorously by a resolution once made.

He had scarcely returned half a year when his patron died, leaving him again on the world at the age of twenty-one. But he had now acquired so much skill in his business, that he was gladly received at advanced wages into Keimer’s printing-house.

About this time he set on foot a club, called “The Junto,” consisting of twelve persons of his own age, most of whom proved eminent men in after-life. This association had much influence on his fortunes, particularly when, having quarrelled with Keimer, he was induced to establish himself in partnership with a fellow-journeyman named Meredith, and needed both interest and money. By 1729 he had saved enough to buy out his partner, and make himself sole proprietor of the printing-house. In the following year he married a young woman named Reade, to whom he had been attached before he went to England.

In 1732 he began to publish ‘Poor Richard’s Almanack.’ It was interspersed with many prudential maxims, which were printed with additions, in a collected form, in 1757, and have been translated into many languages. The annual sale of this Almanack reached 10,000 copies, and, as it was continued for twenty-five years, was very profitable to the author.

In 1736 he was appointed Clerk to the Assembly of Pennsylvania, and obtained their printing. The next year he was made Deputy Postmaster, and introduced so many judicious reforms into his department, that it began to bring in a considerable revenue, though up to that time it had before barely paid its own expenses. He also carried into effect many improvements at Philadelphia, as his credit with his fellow-townsmen increased; invariably taking care to introduce them as “the idea of a few friends,” or “the plan of some public spirited persons,” thus avoiding the odium which attaches to the corrector of abuses, and eventually securing the credit of having made useful suggestions. In these schemes he was well seconded by the “Junto.” Some of them were—Institutions for watching, paving, and lighting the city; the Union Fire Company, still, we believe, in useful operation; a Philosophical Society; an Academy for Education, now grown up into the University of Pennsylvania; and the City Hospital. But many of these improvements were brought forward at a later period; for until 1748, when he took a partner, his time was almost exclusively occupied in his printing-office.

Being now, comparatively, a man of leisure, he devoted more attention to philosophical pursuits and to public business, for which his fellow-citizens began to find his habits and talents exceedingly well suited. He became, in succession, magistrate, alderman, and member of the Assembly; and nothing of importance was transacted without his assistance or advice.

The first public mission in which he was engaged, was to a tribe of Indians in 1750, which was successful. In 1753 he was appointed Postmaster-General, with a salary of £300 a year.

The next year he produced a plan for the union of the American Provinces, for mutual defence against an apprehended invasion by the French from the Canada frontier. This seems to have been the first time that such an idea was broached; and, as he was fond of saying, like all good motions it was kept alive, though not carried into effect at the time.

Pennsylvania was then ruled by an Assembly elected annually, and a Governor appointed by the descendants of William Penn, who resided in England, and were the feudal lords of the soil. This anomalous kind of government naturally led to misunderstandings, which were among the causes that mainly contributed to alienate the affections of the provinces from the mother country. The Proprietaries, as they were called, laid claim to immunity from taxation, upon grounds which the Assembly refused to admit; and the Governor and his officers taking part with the Proprietaries, to whom they were indebted for their appointments, a controversy grew up, which was never entirely disposed of while the connexion with Great Britain subsisted. In this dispute Franklin took an active share, and sided with the opposition, rejecting frequent overtures from the government; with which, however, he continued to keep on good terms, never losing sight of the duty of a citizen, in supporting the authority of the laws, and defending the state against its foreign and domestic enemies by his writings and example. In following this course on various occasions, especially that of the French invasion from Canada, he not only warmly exerted himself in person, but advanced a good deal of money, which, to the disgrace of the British Government, was never wholly repaid.

In 1757 he was appointed to manage the controversy with the Proprietaries in England. Thither he accordingly repaired after some vexatious delays, and proceeded in the object of his mission with his accustomed energy; and though he met with many obstacles, his efforts were at length successful, and the Penns gave up their claim to be exempt from contributing to the burdens of the state. But they still held the power of appointing the Governor, which the Province wished to be transferred to the Crown, and the dispute was afterwards renewed. The conduct of Franklin in this affair gained him so much credit in America, that he received the additional appointments of Agent for Maryland, Massachusetts, and Georgia, each of which provinces had grievances of its own requiring redress.

During this absence in England, Franklin was presented by the Universities of St. Andrew’s and Oxford with the degree of D.C.L., and took his place as Fellow of the Royal Society, which honour, with many similar distinctions, had been conferred upon him some years before for his discoveries in electricity. The chief of these were, the identity of electricity with lightning, and the mode of protecting buildings by pointed metallic conductors. The simplification which he effected in the theory of electricity, by showing how all the phenomena are explicable by the hypothesis of a single electric fluid, forms a remarkable example of philosophical generalization, and a lasting monument of its author’s genius[^[3]]. He was also consulted on American affairs by Lord Chatham, who, by his advice, as it is believed, withdrew a part of the British force then acting with the King of Prussia, and directed it with so much secrecy and success against Canada, that the French had no intelligence of the danger of the province till they heard of its irretrievable loss.

[3]. See the Library of Useful Knowledge—Treatise on Electricity, § 48, &c.

In the summer of 1762 he returned to Philadelphia, where he received public thanks, and a grant of £5000 for his services. His popularity was such, that he had been re-elected annually to the Assembly, and he immediately resumed the active part which he had formerly taken in its proceedings.

Among other projects for reform, that relating to the appointment of Governor, which the Proprietaries seem to have exercised with very little regard to the public interest, gave rise to much stormy discussion during the next two years. Franklin’s share in it procured him many enemies, who succeeded in preventing his election in 1764. Yet, a strong petition to the Crown on the subject having been disregarded, he was a second time appointed agent for enforcing the views of the Assembly upon the authorities in England. When there, he by no means limited his exertions to this narrow point: minor dissensions were now merging in the final struggle for national independence, to which the passing of the Grenville Stamp Act in 1763 gave the immediate impulse. Franklin reprobated this tax as arbitrary and illegal, when it was first reported to the Assembly; and his writings in the papers against it with his examination in Parliament, are thought to have contributed much to its repeal under the Rockingham administration, in 1766.

In this and the three next years he paid several visits to the Continent, where he was received with much distinction. He began already to record his observations upon the part the different powers would be likely to take in case of a rupture between England and her colonies: an event which a thorough knowledge of the temper of both led him, even thus early, to contemplate as by no means improbable. The closure of the port of Boston in 1773, and the quartering of troops in the town, filled up the measure of discontent. Franklin was then agent for three provinces besides Pennsylvania; and their remonstrances, which he lost no opportunity of forcing on the attention of the English public as well as the Government, found in him a most efficient supporter. At length, finding all his efforts to bring about a reconciliation entirely fruitless, and having met with much misconstruction and personal indignity at the hands of successive administrations, he resigned his agencies and set sail for Philadelphia, where he arrived in the spring of 1775, after an absence of eleven years.

In the preceding autumn a Congress of delegates from the Assemblies of all the provinces, the idea of which seems to have originated with Franklin, had met at Philadelphia; and their first act was to sign a Declaration of Rights, which had been transmitted to Franklin and the other agents for presentation. The day after his return he was himself elected to serve in this Congress for Pennsylvania, and was intrusted with the management of several important negotiations. In the mean time collisions had taken place between the troops at Boston and the inhabitants, which led to the actions of Lexington and Bunker’s Hill. These events quickened the deliberations of the Congress; and after one more fruitless petition for redress, the Declaration of Independence was published, July 4, 1776, and warlike preparations were actively commenced. The English Ministry now sent out Lord Howe, with full powers to concede every thing but absolute independence; but as the Commissioners appointed to confer with him, of whom Franklin was one, were instructed to treat upon no other terms, the negotiation abruptly terminated.

After his return from a short but unsuccessful mission to Canada, Dr. Franklin had been appointed President of the Convention for settling the constitution of Pennsylvania; but he had not long held the office before his services were again put in requisition by the Congress, as head of the Commission to the Court of France, with powers to negotiate loans, purchase stores, and grant letters of marque. He consented, with all the alacrity of youth, to undertake this charge, though in his 71st year; and, crossing the Atlantic for the fourth time, arrived in France with his colleagues before the end of 1776, and took up his residence at Passy, a village near Paris. The nation at large received the Commission with open arms, and rendered them much assistance, in which the Government secretly participated. But it was not till the surrender of Burgoyne’s army, in October 1777, that the reluctance of the Court to hazard a war with England was overcome. The treaty of alliance, and recognition of the United States, was signed in February 1778, and war immediately was declared against England.

The principal object of the Commission being thus gained, Franklin still continued in France with the character of plenipotentiary during the seven remaining years of the war, till 1783, when England consented to recognize the independence of her late colonies. The definitive treaty for that purpose was signed by himself, and on the part of England by David Hartley, September 3, 1783.

He had of late years been afflicted with those painful disorders the gout and stone, and at last received permission to return, of which he availed himself the following spring, having just completed his 79th year. He was, as may be supposed, most enthusiastically received at Philadelphia, after an absence of eight years and a half; but the Congress, with an ingratitude which has often been justly laid to the charge of republics, made him no acknowledgment or compensation for his long and arduous services; and he felt the neglect rather keenly.

In a very short time we find him again busily engaged in public employments; first as a member of the Supreme Executive Council, and of the Commission for the settlement of the National Confederacy, and soon afterwards as President of the state of Pennsylvania, which he retained for the full legal period of three years. He was also a leading member in several societies for public and charitable purposes. One of the latter was a Society for the Abolition of Slavery, and his last public act was a memorial to Congress on this subject. He then wholly retired from public employments, after a life spent in labours through which nothing could have supported him but a consciousness of the high responsibilities of a mind gifted like his own, and the magnitude of the cause for which his powerful advocacy was so long engaged. He died about two years after his retirement, at the age of eighty-four, in the full enjoyment of all his faculties. Few men ever possessed such opportunities or talents for contributing to the welfare of mankind; fewer still have used them to better purpose: and it is pleasant to know, on his own authority, that such extensive services were rendered without any sacrifice of his own happiness. In his later correspondence he frequently alludes with complacency to a favourite sentiment which he has also introduced into his Memoirs;—“That he would willingly live over again the same course of life, even though not allowed the privilege of an author, to correct in a second edition the faults of the first.”

His remarkable success in life and in the discharge of his public functions is not to be ascribed to genius, unless the term be extended to that perfection of common sense and intimate knowledge of mankind which almost entitled his sagacity to the name of prescience, and made ‘Franklin’s forebodings’ proverbially ominous among those who knew him. His preeminence appears to have resulted from the habitual cultivation of a mind originally shrewd and observant, and gifted with singular powers of energy and self-control. There was a business-like alacrity about him, with a discretion and integrity which conciliated the respect even of his warmest political foes; a manly straight-forwardness before which no pretension could stand unrebuked; and a cool tenacity of temper and purpose which never forsook him under the most discouraging circumstances, and was no doubt exceedingly provoking to his opponents. Indeed his sturdiness, however useful to his country in time of need, was perhaps carried rather to excess; his enemies called it obstinacy, and accused him of being morose and sullen. No better refutation of such a charge can be wished for than the testimony borne to his disposition by Priestley (Monthly Magazine, 1782), a man whom Franklin was justly proud to call his friend. In private life he was most estimable; two of his most favourite maxims were, never to exalt himself by lowering others, and in society to enjoy and contribute to all innocent amusements without reserve. His friendships were consequently lasting, and chosen at will from among the most amiable as well as the most distinguished of both sexes, wherever his residence happened to be fixed.

His chief claims to philosophical distinction are his experiments and discoveries in electricity; but he has left essays upon various other matters of interest and practical utility; an end of which he never lost sight. Among these are remarks on ship-building and light-houses; on the temperature of the sea at different latitudes and depths, and the phenomena of what is called the Gulf-stream of the Atlantic; on the effect of oil poured upon rough water, and other subjects connected with practical navigation; and on the proper construction of lamps, chimneys, and stoves. His suggestions on these subjects are very valuable. His other writings are numerous; they relate chiefly to politics, or the inculcation of the rules of prudence and morality. Many of them are light and even playful; they are all instructive, and written in an excellent and simple style; but they are not entirely free from the imputation of trifling upon serious subjects. The most valuable of them is probably his autobiography, which is unfortunately but a fragment.

As a speaker he was neither copious nor eloquent; there was even a degree of hesitation and embarrassment in his delivery. Yet as he seldom rose without having something important to say, and always spoke to the purpose, he commanded the attention of his hearers, and generally succeeded in his object.

His religious principles, when disengaged from the scepticism of his youth, appears to have been sincere, and unusually free from sectarian animosity.

Upon the whole, his long and useful life forms an instructive example of the force which arises from the harmonious combination of strong faculties and feelings when so controlled by sense and principle that no one is suffered to predominate to the disparagement of the rest.

An excellent Life, in which his autobiography is included, with a collection of many of his miscellaneous writings, and much of his correspondence, has been published in six octavo volumes, by his grandson Temple Franklin, who accompanied him during his mission to France, and possessed the amplest means of verifying his statements by reference to the original papers.

SCHWARTZ.

It is refreshing to turn from the scenes of war and bloodshed, and frequently of perfidy and oppression, by which our European empire in India was established and consolidated, to watch the progress of a benevolent and peaceful enterprise, the substitution of the Christian faith for the impure, and bloody, and oppressive superstitions of the Hindoos. We augur well of its success, though it is still far from its accomplishment; for, since the first hand was put to it, it has advanced with slow, yet certain and unfaltering steps. Many able and good men have devoted themselves to the cause, and none with more distinguished success than he who has been called the Apostle of the East, Christian Schwartz. The saying of an eminent missionary, who preached to a far different people, the stern and high-minded Indians of North America, is exemplified in his life,—“Prayer and pains, through faith, will do any thing.” For years Schwartz laboured in obscurity, with few scattered and broken rays of encouragement to cheer his way. But his patience, his integrity, his unwearied benevolence, his sincerity and unblemished purity of life, won a hearing for his words of doctrine; and he was rewarded at last by a more extended empire in the hearts of the Hindoos, both heathen and convert, than perhaps any other European has obtained.

Engraved by E. Scriven.
SCHWARTZ.
From an original Picture in the possession of
the Society for promoting Christian Knowledge Lincolns Inn Fields.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

Christian Frederic Schwartz was born at Sonnenburg, in the New Mark, Germany, October 26, 1726. His mother died while he was very young, and, in dying, devoted the child, in the presence of her husband and her spiritual guide, to the service of God, exacting from both of them a promise that they would use every means for the accomplishment of this, her last and earnest wish. Schwartz received his education at the schools of Sonnenburg and Custrin. He grew up a serious and well-disposed boy, much under the influence of religious impressions; and a train of fortunate circumstances deepened those impressions, at a time when the vivacity of youth, and the excitement which he was dedicated. When about twenty years of age he entered the University of Halle, where he obtained the friendship of one of the professors, Herman Francke, a warm and generous supporter of the missionary cause. While resident at Halle, Schwartz, together with another student, was appointed to learn the Tamul or Malabar language, in order to superintend the printing of a Bible in that tongue. His labour was not thrown away, though the proposed edition never was completed; for it led Francke to propose to him that he should go out to India as a missionary. The suggestion suited his ardent and laborious character, and was at once accepted. The appointed scene of his labours was Tranquebar, on the Coromandel coast, the seat of a Danish mission: and, after repairing to Copenhagen for ordination, he embarked from London for India, January 21, 1750, and reached Tranquebar in July.

It is seldom that the life of one employed in advocating the faith of Christ presents much of adventure, except from the fiery trials of persecution; or much of interest, except to those who will enter into the missionary’s chief joy or sorrow, the success or inefficiency of his preaching. From persecution Schwartz’s whole life was free; his difficulties did not proceed from bigoted or interested zeal, but from the apathetic subtlety of his Hindoo hearers, ready to listen, slow to be convinced, enjoying the mental sword-play of hearing, and answering, and being confuted, and renewing the same or similar objections at the next meeting, as if the preacher’s former labours had not been. The latter part of his life was possessed of active interest; for he was no stranger to the court or the camp; and his known probity and truthfulness won for him the confidence of three most dissimilar parties, a suspicious tyrant, an oppressed people, and the martial and diplomatic directors of the British empire in India. But the early years of his abode in India possess interest neither from the marked success of his preaching, nor from his commerce with the busy scenes of conquest and negotiation. For sixteen years he resided chiefly at Tranquebar, a member of the mission to which he was first attached; but at the end of that time, in 1766, he transferred his services to the Society for promoting Christian Knowledge, with which he acted until death, and to which the care of the Danish mission at Tranquebar was soon after transferred. He had already, in 1765, established a church and school at Tritchinopoly, and in that town he now took up his abode, holding the office of chaplain to the garrison, for which he received a salary of £100 yearly. This entire sum he devoted to the service of the mission.

For several years Schwartz resided principally at Tritchinopoly, visiting other places, from time to time, especially Tanjore, where his labours ultimately had no small effect. He was heard with attention, he was everywhere received with respect, for the Hindoos could not but admire the beauty of his life, though it failed to win souls to his preaching. “The fruit,” he said, “will perhaps appear when I am at rest.” He had, however, the pleasure of seeing some portion of it ripen, for in more than one place a small congregation grew gradually up under his care. His toil was lightened and cheered in 1777, when another missionary was sent to his assistance from Tranquebar. Already he had derived help from some of his more advanced converts, who acted as catechists, for the instruction of others. He was sedulous in preparing these men for their important duty. “The catechists,” he says, “require to be daily admonished and stirred up, otherwise they fall into indolence and impurity.” Accordingly he daily assembled all those whose nearness permitted this frequency of intercourse; he taught them to explain the doctrines of their religion; he directed their labours for the day, and he received a report of those labours in the evening.

His visits to Tanjore became more frequent, and he obtained the confidence of the Rajah, or native prince, Tulia Maha, who ruled that city under the protection of the British. In 1779 Schwartz procured permission from him to erect a church in his capital, and, with the sanction of the Madras Government, set immediately to work on this task. His funds failing, he applied at Madras for further aid; but, in reply, he was summoned to the seat of government with all speed, and requested to act as an ambassador, to treat with Hyder Ally for the continuance of peace. It has been said, that Schwartz engaged more deeply than became his calling in the secular affairs of India. The best apology for his interference, if apology be needful, is contained in his own account:—“The novelty of the proposal surprised me at first: I begged some time to consider of it. At last I accepted of the offer, because by so doing I hoped to prevent evil, and to promote the welfare of the country.” The reason for sending him is at least too honourable to him to be omitted: it was the requisition of Hyder himself. “Do not send to me,” he said, “any of your agents; for I do not trust their words or treaties: but if you wish me to listen to your proposals, send to me the missionary of whose character I hear so much from every one; him I will receive and trust.”

In his character of an envoy Schwartz succeeded admirably. He conciliated the crafty, suspicious, and unfeeling despot, without compromising the dignity of those whom he represented, or forgetting the meekness of his calling. He would gladly have rendered his visit to Seringapatam available to higher than temporal interests: but here he met with little encouragement. Indifferent to all religion, Hyder suffered the preacher to speak to him of mercy and of judgment; but in these things his heart had no part. Some few converts Schwartz made during his abode of three months; but on the whole he met with little success. He parted with Hyder upon good terms, and returned with joy to Tanjore. The peace, however, was of no long continuance; and Schwartz complained that the British Government were guilty of the infraction. Hyder invaded the Carnatic, wasting it with fire and sword; and the frightened inhabitants flocked for relief and protection to the towns. Tanjore and Tritchinopoly were filled with famishing multitudes. During the years 1781, 2, and 3, this misery continued. At Tanjore, especially, the scene was dreadful. Numbers perished in the streets of want and disease; corpses lay unburied, because the survivors had not energy or strength to inter them; the bonds of affection were so broken that parents offered their children for sale; and the garrison, though less afflicted than the native population, were enfeebled and depressed by want, and threatened by a powerful army without the walls. There were provisions in the country; but the cultivators, frightened and alienated by the customary exactions and ill-usage, refused to bring it to the fort. They would trust neither the British authorities nor the Rajah: all confidence was destroyed. “At last the Rajah said to one of our principal gentlemen, ‘We all, you and I, have lost our credit: let us try whether the inhabitants will trust Mr. Schwartz.’ Accordingly, he sent me a blank paper, empowering me to make a proper agreement with the people. Here was no time for hesitation. The Sepoys fell down as dead people, being emaciated with hunger; our streets were lined with dead corpses every morning—our condition was deplorable. I sent therefore letters every where round about, promising to pay any one with my own hands, and to pay them for any bullock which might be taken by the enemy. In one or two days I got above a thousand bullocks; and sent one of our catechists, and other Christians, into the country. They went at the risk of their lives, made all possible haste, and brought into the fort, in a very short time, 80,000 kalams of grain. By this means the fort was saved. When all was over, I paid the people, even with some money which belonged to others, made them a small present, and sent them home.”

The letter from which this passage is extracted was written to the Society for promoting Christian Knowledge, in consequence of an attack made by a member of Parliament upon the character of the Hindoo converts, and depreciation of the labours of the missionaries. To boast was not in Schwartz’s nature; but he was not deterred by a false modesty from vindicating his own reputation, when it was expedient for his master’s service: and there has seldom been a more striking tribute paid to virtue, unassisted by power, than in the conduct of the Hindoos, as told in this simple statement. His labours did not cease with this crisis, nor with his personal exertions. He bought a quantity of rice at his own expense, and prevailed on some European merchants to furnish him with a monthly supply; by means of which he preserved many persons from perishing. In 1784 he was again employed by the Company on a mission to Tippoo Saib; but the son of Hyder refused to receive him. About this period his health, hitherto robust, began to fail; and in a letter, dated July, 1784, he speaks of the approach of death, of his comfort in the prospect, and firm belief in the doctrines which he preached. In the same year the increase of his congregation rendered it necessary to build a Malabar church in the suburbs of Tanjore, which was done chiefly at his own expense. In February, 1785, he engaged in a scheme for raising English schools throughout the country, to facilitate the intercourse of the natives with Europeans. Schools were accordingly established at Tanjore and three other places. The pupils were chiefly children of the upper classes—of Bramins and merchants; and the good faith with which Schwartz conducted these establishments deserves to be praised as well as his religious zeal. “Their intention, doubtless, is to learn the English language, with a view to their temporal welfare; but they thereby become better acquainted with good principles. No deceitful methods are used to bring them over to the doctrines of Christ, though the most earnest wishes are felt that they may attain that knowledge which is life eternal.” In a temporal view, these establishments proved very serviceable to many of the pupils: but, contrary to Schwartz’s hopes and wishes, not one of the young men became a missionary.

In January, 1787, Schwartz’s friend, the Rajah of Tanjore, lay at the point of death. Being childless, he had adopted a boy, yet in his minority, as his successor: a practice recognised by the Hindoo law. His brother, Ameer Sing, however, was supported by a strong British party, and it was not likely that he would submit quietly to his exclusion from the throne. In this strait Tulia Maha sent for Schwartz, as the only person to whom he could intrust his adopted son. “This,” he said, “is not my, but your son; into your hands I deliver the child.” Schwartz accepted the charge with reluctance; he represented his inability to protect the orphan, and suggested that Ameer Sing should be named regent and guardian. The advice probably was the best that could be given: but the regent proved false, or at least doubtful in his trust; and the charge proved a source of trouble and anxiety. But by Schwartz’s care, and influence with the Company, the young prince was reared to manhood, and established in possession of his inheritance. Nor were Schwartz’s pains unsuccessful in cultivation of his young pupil’s mind, who is characterized by Heber as an “extraordinary man.” He repaid these fatherly cares with a filial affection, and long after the death of Schwartz testified, both by word and deed, his regard for his memory.

We find little to relate during the latter part of Schwartz’s life, though much might be written, but that the nature of this work forbids us to dilate upon religious subjects. His efforts were unceasing to promote the good, temporal as well as spiritual, of the Indian population. On one occasion he was requested to inspect the watercourses by which the arid lands of the Carnatic are irrigated; and his labours were rewarded by a great increase in the annual produce. Once the inhabitants of the Tanjore country had been so grievously oppressed, that they abandoned their farms, and fled the country. The cultivation which should have begun in June was not commenced even at the beginning of September, and all began to apprehend a famine. Schwartz says in the letter, which we have already quoted, “I entreated the Rajah to remove that shameful oppression, and to recall the inhabitants. He sent them word that justice should be done to them, but they disbelieved his promises. He then desired me to write to them, and to assure them that he, at my intercession, would show kindness to them. I did so. All immediately returned; and first of all the Collaries believed my word, so that 7,000 men came back in one day. The rest of the inhabitants followed their example. When I exhorted them to exert themselves to the utmost, because the time for cultivation was almost lost, they replied in the following manner:—‘As you have showed kindness to us, you shall not have reason to repent of it: we intend to work night and day to show our regard for you.’”

His preaching was rewarded by a slow, but a progressive effect; and the number of missionaries being increased by the Society in England, the growth of the good seed, which he had sown during a residence of forty years, became more rapid and perceptible. In the country villages numerous congregations were formed, and preachers were established at Cuddalore, Vepery, Negapatam, and Palamcotta, as well as at the earlier stations of Tranquebar, Tritchinopoly, and Tanjore, whose chief recreation was the occasional intercourse with each other which their duty afforded them, and who lived in true harmony and union of mind and purpose. The last illness of Schwartz was cheered by the presence of almost all the missionaries in the south of India, who regarded him as a father, and called him by that endearing name. His labours did not diminish as his years increased. From the beginning of January to the middle of October, 1797, we are told by his pupil and assistant, Caspar Kolhoff, he preached every Sunday in the English and Tamul languages by turns; for several successive Wednesdays he gave lectures in their own languages to the Portuguese and German soldiers incorporated in the 51st regiment; during the week he explained the New Testament in his usual order at morning and evening prayer; and he dedicated an hour every day to the instruction of the Malabar school children. In October, he who hitherto had scarce known disease, received the warning of his mortality. He rallied for a while, and his friends hoped that he might yet be spared to them. But a relapse took place, and he expired February 13, 1798, having displayed throughout a long and painful illness a beautiful example of resignation and happiness, and an interest undimmed by pain in the welfare of all for and with whom he had laboured. His funeral, on the day after his death, presented a most affecting scene. It was delayed by the arrival of the Rajah, who wished to behold once more his kind, and faithful, and watchful friend and guardian. The coffin lid was removed; the prince gazed for the last time on the pale and composed features, and burst into tears. The funeral service was interrupted by the cries of a multitude who loved the reliever of their distresses, and honoured the pure life of the preacher, who for near fifty years had dwelt among them, careless alike of pleasure, interest, and ambition, pursuing a difficult and thankless task with unchanging ardour, the friend of princes, yet unsullied even by the suspicion of a bribe, devoting his whole income, beyond a scanty maintenance, to the service of the cause which his life was spent in advocating.

The Rajah continued to cherish Schwartz’s memory. He commissioned Flaxman for a monument erected to him at Tanjore; he placed his picture among those of his own ancestors; he erected more than one costly establishment for charitable purposes in honour of his name; and, though not professing Christianity, he secured to the Christians in his service not only liberty, but full convenience for the performance of their religious duties. Nor were the Directors backward in testifying their gratitude for his services. They sent out a monument by Bacon to be erected in St. Mary’s Church at Madras, with orders to pay every becoming honour to his memory, and especially to permit to the natives, by whom he was so revered, free access to view this memorial of his virtues.

It is to be regretted that no full memoir of the life and labours of this admirable man has been published. It is understood that his correspondence, preserved by the Society for promoting Christian Knowledge, would furnish ample materials for such a work. The facts of this account are taken from the only two memoirs of Schwartz which we know to be in print,—a short one for cheap circulation published by the Religious Tract Society; and a more finished tribute to his memory in Mr. Carne’s ‘Lives of Eminent Missionaries,’ recently published. We conclude in the words of one whose praise carries with it authority, Bishop Heber: “Of Schwartz, and his fifty years’ labour among the heathen, the extraordinary influence and popularity which he acquired, both with Mussulmans, Hindoos, and contending European governments, I need give you no account, except that my idea of him has been raised since I came into the south of India. I used to suspect that, with many admirable qualities, there was too great a mixture of intrigue in his character—that he was too much of a political prophet, and that the veneration which the heathen paid, and still pay him (and which indeed almost regards him as a superior being, putting crowns, and burning lights before his statue), was purchased by some unwarrantable compromise with their prejudices. I find I was quite mistaken. He was really one of the most active and fearless, as he was one of the most successful missionaries, who have appeared since the Apostles. To say that he was disinterested in regard of money, is nothing; he was perfectly careless of power, and renown never seemed to affect him, even so far as to induce an outward show of humility. His temper was perfectly simple, open, and cheerful; and in his political negotiations (employments which he never sought, but which fell in his way) he never pretended to impartiality, but acted as the avowed, though certainly the successful and judicious agent of the orphan prince committed to his care, and from attempting whose conversion to Christianity he seems to have abstained from a feeling of honour[^[4]]. His other converts were between six and seven thousand, being those which his companions and predecessors in the cause had brought over.”

[4]. He probably acted on the same principle as in conducting the English schools above-mentioned, using “no deceitful methods.” That he was earnest in recommending the means of conversion, appears from a dying conversation with his pupil, Serfogee Rajah.

BARROW.

The name of Isaac Barrow stands eminent among the divines and philosophers of the seventeenth century. Of the many good and great men whom it is the glory of Trinity College, Cambridge, to number as her foster-sons, there is none more good, none perhaps, after Bacon and Newton, more distinguished than he: and he has an especial claim to the gratitude of all members of that splendid foundation as the projector of its unequalled library, as well as a liberal benefactor in other respects.

The father of Barrow, a respectable citizen of London, was linen-draper to Charles I., and the son was naturally brought up in royalist principles. The date of his birth is variously assigned by his biographers, but the more probable account fixes it to October, 1630. It is recorded that his childhood was turbulent and quarrelsome; that he was careless of his clothes, disinclined to study, and especially addicted to fighting and promoting quarrels among his school-fellows; and of a temper altogether so unpromising, that his father often expressed a wish, that if any of his children should die, it might be his son Isaac. He was first sent to school at the Charter House, and removed thence to Felstead in Essex. Here his disposition seemed to change: he made great progress in learning, and was entered at Trinity College in 1645, in his fifteenth year, it being then usual to send boys to college about that age. He passed his term as an under graduate with much credit. The time and place were not favourable to the promotion of Royalists; for a royalist master had been ejected to make room for one placed there by the Parliament, and the fellows were chiefly of the same political persuasion. But Barrow’s good conduct and attainments won the favour of his superiors, and in 1649, the year after he took his degree, he was elected fellow. It deserves to be known, for it is honourable to both parties, that he never disguised or compromised his own principles.

Engraved by B. Holl.
BARROW.
From the original Picture by Isaac Whood
at Trinity College, Cambridge.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

His earlier studies were especially turned towards natural philosophy; and, rejecting the antiquated doctrines then taught in the schools, he selected Bacon, Galileo, and Descartes as his favourite authors. He did not commence the study of mathematics until after he had gained his fellowship, and was led to it in a very circuitous way. He was induced to read the Greek astronomers, with a view to solving the difficulties of ancient chronology; and to understand their works a thorough knowledge of geometry was indispensable. He therefore undertook the study of that science; which suited the bent of his genius so well, that he became one of the greatest proficients in it of his age. His first intention was to become a physician, and he made considerable progress in anatomy, chemistry, botany, and other sciences subservient to the profession of medicine; but he changed his mind, and determined to make divinity his chief pursuit. In 1655 he went abroad. His travels extended through France, Italy, and the Levant, to Constantinople; and, after an absence of four years, he returned to England through Germany and Holland. During this period he lost no opportunity of prosecuting his studies; and he sent home several descriptive poems, and some letters, written in Latin, which are printed in his Opuscula, in the fourth volume of the folio edition of his works. In the voyage to Smyrna he gave a proof of the high spirit, which, purified from its childish unruliness and violence, continued to form part of his character through life. The vessel being attacked by an Algerine corsair, Barrow remained on the deck, cheerfully and vigorously fighting, until the assailant sheered off. Being asked afterwards why he did not go into the hold, and leave the defence of the ship to those whom it concerned, he replied, “It concerned no one more than myself. I would rather have died than fallen into the hands of those merciless pirates.” He has described this voyage, and its eventful circumstances, in a poem contained in his Opuscula.

He entered into orders in 1659, and in the following year was made Greek Professor at Cambridge. The numerous offices to which he was appointed about this time, show that his merits were generally and highly esteemed. He was chosen to be Professor of Geometry at Gresham College in 1662; and was one of the first fellows elected into the Royal Society, after the incorporation of that body by charter in 1663; in which year he was also appointed the first mathematical lecturer on the foundation of Mr. Lucas, at Cambridge. Not that he made sinecures of these responsible employments, or thought himself qualified to discharge the duties of all at once: for he resigned the Greek professorship, on being appointed Lucasian Professor, for reasons explained in his introductory oration, which is extant in the Opuscula. The Gresham professorship he also gave up in 1664, intending thenceforth to reside at Cambridge. Finally, in 1669, he resigned the Lucasian chair to his great successor, Newton, intending to devote himself entirely to the study of divinity. Barrow received the degree of D.D. by royal mandate, in 1670; and, in 1672, was raised to the mastership of Trinity College by the King, with the compliment, “that he had given it to the best scholar in England.” In that high station he distinguished himself by liberality: he remitted several allowances which his predecessors had required from the college; he set on foot the scheme for a new library, and contributed in purse, and still more by his personal exertions, to its completion. It should be remarked that his patent of appointment being drawn up, as usual, with a permission to marry, he caused that part to be struck out, conceiving it to be at variance with the statutes. He was cut off by a fever in the prime of life, May 4, 1679, aged 49, during a visit to London. His remains were honourably deposited in Westminster Abbey, among the worthies of the land; and in that noble building a monument was erected to him by the contributions of his friends.

Of Barrow’s mathematical works we must speak briefly. The earliest of them was an edition of Euclid’s Elements, containing all the books, published at Cambridge in 1655, followed by an edition of the Data in 1657. His Lectiones Opticæ, the first lectures delivered on the Lucasian foundation, were printed in 1669, and attracted the following commendation from the eminent mathematician, James Gregory. “Mr. Barrow, in his Optics, shows himself a most subtle geometer, so that I think him superior to any that ever I looked upon. I long exceedingly to see his geometrical lectures, especially because I have some notions on that subject by me.” In this work, (we speak on the authority of Montucla, part iv. viii.), Barrow has applied himself principally to discuss subjects unnoticed or insufficiently explained by preceding authors. Among these was the general problem, to determine the focus of a lens; which, except in a few cases, as where the opposite sides of the lens are similar, and the incident rays of light parallel to the axis, had hitherto been left to the practical skill and experience of the workman. Barrow gave a complete solution of the problem, comprised in an elegant formula which includes all cases, whether of parallel, convergent, or divergent rays. This book, says Montucla, is a mine of curious and interesting propositions in optics, to the solution of which geometry is applied with peculiar elegance.

The Lectiones Geometricæ, full of profound researches into the metaphysics of geometry, the method of tangents, and the properties of curvilinear figures, appeared in the following year, 1670. The vast improvements in our methods of investigation, arising out of the invention of the fluxional or differential calculus, have cast into the shade the labours, and in part the fame, of the early geometricians, and have made that easy, which before was all but impossible. This work, however, is remarkable as containing a way of determining the subtangent of a curve, justly characterized by Montucla as being so intimately connected with the above-named method of analysis, that it is needless to seek in subsequent works the main principle of the differential calculus. The inquiring reader will find a full account of it in Montucla, or in Thomson’s History of the Royal Society, page 275. There is an English translation of the Lectiones Geometricæ by Stone, published in 1735. Barrow also edited the works of Archimedes, the Conics of Apollonius, and the Spherics of Theodosius, in a very compressed form, in 1 vol. 8vo. Lond. 1675. The treatise of Archimedes on the Sphere and Cylinder, and the Mathematicæ Lectiones, a series of Lucasian lectures, read in 1664 and subsequent years, were not printed until 1683, after the author’s death. This work, or at least Kirby’s translation, published about 1734, contains the Oration which he made before the University on his election to the Lucasian chair. For further detail see Ward’s Lives of the Gresham Professors.

It is however as a theologian that Barrow is best known to the present age. Unlike his scientific writings, his theological works never can grow obsolete, for they contain eternal truths set forth with a power of argument, and force of eloquence, which must ever continue to command the admiration of those who are capable of appreciating and relishing the noblest qualities and products of the human mind. The light of revelation shone clearly and steadily then as now; no modern discoveries can increase or diminish its brightness; no new methods of reasoning, no more convenient forms of notation or expression, can supersede the sterling excellences which we have just ascribed to this great divine. Others may rise up (they are yet to come) equal or superior to him in these very excellences; still their fame can never detract from his; and Barrow with his great predecessor, Hooker, will not fail to be classed among the luminaries of the English church, and the standard authors of the English language. Copious and majestic in his style, his sermons were recommended by the great Lord Chatham to his great son, as admirably adapted to imbue the public speaker with the coveted “abundance of words” the knowledge and full command of his native language. He himself neglected not to increase his stores from the models of ancient eloquence; and his manuscripts, preserved in Trinity College Library, bear testimony to the diligence with which he transcribed the finest passages of the Greek and Latin authors, especially Demosthenes and Chrysostom. His sermons were long, too long it was thought by many of his hearers; but they were carefully composed, written and rewritten again and again, and their method, argumentative closeness, and abundant learning, show that he thought no pains too great to bestow on the important duty of public teaching. Warburton said that in reading Barrow’s sermons, he was obliged to think. They are numerous, considering their nature and the comparatively short period of the author’s clerical life. The first edition of his works, by Archbishop Tillotson, to whom, in conjunction with his friend and biographer Mr. Hill, Barrow left his manuscripts, contains seventy-seven sermons on miscellaneous subjects, of which only two were printed, and those not published, during the author’s life; together with a series of thirty-four sermons on the Apostle’s Creed. Mr. Hughes, the late editor of his works, has added to the former collection five more, printed for the first time from the original MSS. in Trinity Library. We quote from the life prefixed to that edition, the eloquent passage in which Mr. Hughes speaks of these admirable works.

“Never, probably, was religion at a lower ebb in the British dominions, than when that profligate Prince Charles II., who sat unawed on a throne formed as it were out of his father’s scaffold, found the people so wearied of puritanical hypocrisy, presbyterian mortifications, and a thousand forms of unintelligible mysticism, that they were ready to plunge into the opposite vices of scepticism or infidelity, and to regard with complacency the dissolute morals of himself and his vile associates. To denounce this wickedness in the most awful terms; to strike at guilt with fearless aim, whether exalted in high places, or lurking in obscure retreats; to delineate the native horrors and sad effects of vice, to develope the charms of virtue, and inspire a love of it in the human heart; in short, to assist in building up the fallen buttresses and broken pillars of God’s church upon earth, was the high and holy duty to which Barrow was called.”

Besides his sermons, Barrow wrote a shorter Exposition of the Creed, an Exposition of the Decalogue, an Exposition of the Lord’s Prayer, and a short account of the doctrine of the Sacraments. These were composed in 1669, the year in which the Lectiones Opticæ were published, in obedience to some college regulation, and, Mr. Hughes conjectures, as exercises for a college preachership. Barrow says, in a letter, that they so took up his thoughts, that he could not easily apply them to any other matter. His great work on the Pope’s Supremacy was not composed till 1676. The pains which he took with it were immense; and we are told by the same authority that “the state of his MS. in Trinity Library shows that probably no piece was ever composed more studiously, digested more carefully, or supported by more numerous and powerful authorities.” Barrow states in this work the several positions, on which the Romanists ground their claim on behalf of the Bishop of Rome, for universal supremacy over the Christian church. These he divides into seven heads, which he proceeds severally and successively to refute. “This treatise,” says Dr. Tillotson, in his preface to it, “he gave to me on his death-bed, with the character that he hoped it was indifferent perfect, though not altogether as he had intended it, if God had granted him longer life. He designed indeed to have transcribed it again, and to have filled up those many spaces which were purposely left in it for the farther confirmation and illustration of several things, by more testimonies and instances which he had in his thoughts. And it would certainly have added much to the beauty and perfection of this work, had it pleased God that he had lived to finish it to his mind, and to have given it his last hand. However, as it is, it is not only a just, but an admirable discourse on this subject, which many others have handled before, but he hath exhausted it; insomuch that no argument of moment, nay, hardly any consideration properly belonging to it, hath escaped his large and comprehensive mind. He hath said enough to silence the controversy for ever, and to deter all wise men of both sides from meddling any further with it.” Appended to this treatise on the Supremacy of the Pope, is a discourse on the Unity of the Church.

We conclude with a few scattered notices of the character and person of this excellent man. His habits, it will readily be supposed, were very laborious. Dr. Pope, in his Life of Bishop Ward, says that during winter Barrow would rise before light, being never without a tinder-box, and that he has known him frequently rise after his first sleep, light and burn out his candle, and then return to bed before day. In pecuniary affairs he was generous in the extreme. Of his liberality to his college we have already spoken. We may add that, being appointed to two ecclesiastical preferments, he bestowed the profits of both in charity, and resigned them as soon as he became master of Trinity. He left no property but books and unpublished manuscripts. Pure in his morals, he was the farthest possible from moroseness; amiable, lively, and witty in his temper and conversation, he was impatient of any looseness, irreverence, or censoriousness of speech, “being of all men,” says Dr. Tillotson, in his Address to the Reader, “I ever had the happiness to know, the clearest of this common guilt, and most free from offending in word; coming as near as it is possible for human frailty to do, to the perfect idea of St. James, his perfect man.”

His figure was low and spare, but of uncommon strength; and his courage, devoid of all alloy of quarrelsomeness, was approved in more than one instance related by the biographers of his peaceful life. It was among his peculiarities that he never would sit for his portrait; but some of his friends found means to have it taken without his knowledge, while they engaged his attention in discourse. There is a full length of him in the hall of Trinity, in fit conjunction with those of Newton and Bacon.

The earliest authority for Barrow’s life is a short memoir by his friend and executor, Mr. Hill, prefixed to the first edition of his works. Mr. Ward added some particulars, in his Lives of the Gresham Professors. The fullest accounts are to be found in the second edition of the Biographia Britannica, and in the life prefixed to Mr. Hughes’s edition of his theological works. In this the editor has given an analysis of the contents of each piece, calculated to assist the student to a thorough understanding of the author’s train of argument.

Monument of Barrow in Westminster Abbey.

Engraved by W. Hopwood.
D’ALEMBERT.
From the original Picture by De la Tour
in the Collection of the Institute of France.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

D’ALEMBERT.

Jean le Rond D’alembert, one of the most distinguished mathematicians of the last century, owed none of his eminence to the accidents of birth or fortune. Even to a name he had no legal title; he derived the one half of that which he bore from the church of St. Jean le Rond in Paris, near which he was exposed; and the other probably from his foster-mother, a glazier’s wife, to whose care he was intrusted by a commissary of police, who found him. It is conjectured that both the exposure and the adoption of the infant were preconcerted; for a short time the father appeared, and settled on him a yearly pension of twelve hundred francs, equivalent to about £50.

Owing to these circumstances the date of D’Alembert’s birth is not exactly known; it is said to have been the 16th or 17th of November, 1717. He commenced his studies at the Collège des Quatre Nations when twelve years old. Mathematics and poetry seem to have been his favourite pursuits, since his instructors, he says, endeavoured to turn him from them; making it a charge against the former, that they dried up the heart, and recommending that his study of the latter should be confined to the poem of St. Prosper upon Grace. He was permitted, however, to study the rudiments of mathematics: and we may infer that he was little indebted either to books or teachers, from the mortification which he felt somewhat later in life, at finding that he had been anticipated in many things which he had believed to be discoveries of his own. He meant, at one time, to follow the profession of the law, and proceeded so far as to be admitted an advocate. Finding this not to his taste, he tried medicine; and, resolute in good intentions, sent his mathematical books to a friend, to be retained till he had taken his doctor’s degree. But he reclaimed book after book on various pretexts, and finally determined to content himself with his annuity of fifty pounds, and liberty to devote his whole time to the scientific pursuits which he loved so much. His mode of life at this period has been described by himself:—“He awoke,” he says, “every morning, thinking with pleasure on the studies of the preceding evening, and on the prospect of continuing them during the day. When his thoughts were called off for a moment, they turned to the satisfaction he should have at the play in the evening, and between the acts of the piece he meditated on the pleasures of the next morning’s study.”

The history of D’Alembert’s life is soon told. Some memoirs written in 1739 and 1740, and some corrections which he made in the Analyse Démontrée of Reynau, a work then much esteemed in France, obtained for him an entrance into the Académie des Sciences in 1741, at the early age of twenty-four. Simple in his habits, careless of his own advancement, or of the favours of great men, he refused several advantageous offers, which would have withdrawn him from the society of Paris, and from the libraries and other literary advantages of that great metropolis. Frederic II. of Prussia sought to tempt him to Berlin in 1752, and again in 1759. The invitation was again repeated and urged upon him in 1759 and 1763; and on the last occasion the King assured D’Alembert that, in rejecting it, he had made the only false calculation of his whole life. In 1762 Catharine of Russia wished him to undertake the education of her son, and endeavoured to overcome his reluctance to leave Paris, by promising him an income of ten thousand francs, and a kind reception to as many of his friends as would accompany him. “I know,” she said, “that your refusal arises from your desire to cultivate your studies and your friendships in quiet. But this is of no consequence: bring all your friends with you, and I promise you that both you and they shall have every accommodation in my power.” But his income had been rendered sufficient for his wants by a pension of twelve hundred francs from the King of Prussia, and an equal sum from the French Government; and he declined to profit by any of these liberal offers.

It is to D’Alembert’s honour that, until the end of her life, he repaid the services of his foster-mother with filial attention and love. It is said that when his name became famous, his mother, Mademoiselle de Tencin, a lady of rank and wit, and known in the literary circles of the day, sent for him, and acquainted him with the relationship which existed between them. His well-merited reply was, “You are only my step-mother, the glazier’s wife is my mother.” He lived unmarried, but the latter years of his life were overcast in consequence of a singular and unfortunate attachment to a M^lle. de l’Espinasse, a young lady of talent, whose society was much courted by the literary men of Paris. She professed to return this attachment; insomuch that when D’Alembert was attacked by a severe illness in 1765, she insisted on becoming his nurse, and after his recovery took up her abode under his roof. The connexion is said to have been purely Platonic; and this, it has been observed, may be believed, because, had the fact been different, there was little reason for concealing it, according to the code of morals which then regulated Parisian society. But the lady proved fickle; and worse than fickle, for she treated D’Alembert, who still retained his affection for her, with contempt and unkindness. Yet this ill usage did not alienate his regard. Upon her death he fell into a state of profound melancholy, from which he never entirely recovered. He died October 29, 1783. Not having conformed, on his death-bed, to the requisitions of the Roman church, some difficulty was experienced in procuring the rites of burial; and in consequence his interment was strictly private.

In his personal character D’Alembert was simple, benevolent, warm in his attachments, a sworn foe to servility and adulation, and no follower of great men. This temper stood in the way of his progress to riches. It was his maxim, that a man should be very careful in his writings, careful enough in his actions, and moderately careful in his words; and the latter clause was probably that which he best observed. In more than one instance his plain drollery gave offence to persons of influence at court, and frustrated the exertions of his friends to improve his fortunes. Fortunately he united simple tastes with an independent, fearless, and benevolent mind; and it is said that he gave away one half of his income, when it did not amount to £350. His own account of his own character, written in the third person, runs in the following terms, and is confirmed by the testimony of his friends:—“Devoted to study and privacy till the age of twenty-five, he entered late into the world, and was never much pleased with it. He could never bend himself to learn its usages and language, and perhaps even indulged a sort of petty vanity in despising them. He is never rude, because he is neither brutal nor severe; but he is sometimes blunt, through inattention or ignorance. Compliments embarrass him, because he never can find a suitable answer immediately; when he says flattering things, it is always because he thinks them. The basis of his character is frankness and truth, often rather blunt, but never disgusting. He is impatient and angry, even to violence, when any thing goes wrong, but it all evaporates in words. He is soon satisfied and easily governed, provided he does not see what you aim at; for his love of independence amounts to fanaticism, so that he often denies himself things which would be agreeable to him, because he is afraid that they would put him under some restraint; which makes some of his friends call him, justly enough, the slave of his liberty.” In his religious opinions D’Alembert was, in the true meaning of the word, a sceptic, and his name has obtained an unenviable notoriety as co-editor, with Diderot, of the celebrated Encyclopédie. His superintendence, however, extended only to the end of the second volume, after which the work was stopped by the French Government; and on its resumption D’Alembert confined himself strictly to the mathematical department. In one respect his conduct may be advantageously contrasted with that of some of his colleagues; he intruded his own opinions on no man, and he took no pleasure in shocking others, by insulting what they hold sacred. “I knew D’Alembert,” says La Harpe, “well enough to say that he was sceptical in every thing but mathematics. He would no more have said positively that there was no religion, than that there was a God; he only thought that the probabilities were in favour of theism, and against revelation. On this subject he tolerated all opinions: and this disposition made him think the intolerant arrogance of the Atheists odious and unbearable. I do not think that he ever printed a sentence, which marks either hatred or contempt of religion.”

We proceed to mention the most remarkable of D’Alembert’s mathematical works. He published in 1743 a treatise on Dynamics, in which he enunciated the law now known under the name of D’Alembert’s principle, one of the most valuable of modern contributions to mechanical science. In the following year appeared a treatise on the Equilibrium and Motion of Fluids; and in 1746, Reflections on the general Causes of Winds, which obtained the prize of the Academy of Berlin. This work is remarkable as the first which contained the general equations of the motion of fluids, as well as the first announcement and use of the calculus of partial differences. We may add to the list of his discoveries, the analytical solutions of the problem of vibrating chords, and the motion of a column of air; of the precession of the equinoxes, and the nutation of the earth’s axis, the phenomenon itself having been recently observed by Bradley. In 1752 he completed his researches into fluids, by an Essay on the Resistance of Fluids. We have to add to the list his Essay on the Problem of Three Bodies, as it is called by astronomers, an investigation of the law by which three bodies mutually gravitating affect each other; and Researches on various points connected with the system of the Universe: the former published in 1747, and the latter in 1754–6. His Opuscules, or minor pieces, were collected in eight volumes, towards the end of his life.

Of his connexion with the Encyclopédie, we have already spoken. He is said to be singularly clear and happy in his expositions of the metaphysical difficulties of abstract science. He is also honourably known in less abstruse departments of literature by his Mélanges de Philosophie, Memoirs of Christina of Sweden, Essay on the Servility of Men of Letters to the Great, Elements of Philosophy, and a work on the Destruction of the Jesuits. On his election to the office of perpetual Secretary to the Academy, he wrote the Eloges of the members deceased from 1700 up to that date. His works and correspondence were collected and published in eighteen volumes 8vo. Paris, 1805, by M. Bastien, to whose first volume we refer the reader for complete information on this subject.

HOGARTH.

“I was born,” says Hogarth in his Memoirs of himself, “in the city of London, November 10, 1697. My father’s pen, like that of many authors, did not enable him to do more than put me in a way of shifting for myself. As I had naturally a good eye, and a fondness for drawing, shows of all sorts gave me uncommon pleasure when an infant; and mimicry, common to all children, was remarkable in me. An early access to a neighbouring painter drew my attention from play; and I was, at every possible opportunity, employed in making drawings. I picked up an acquaintance of the same turn, and soon learnt to draw the alphabet with great correctness. My exercises when at school were more remarkable for the ornaments which adorned them, than for the exercise itself. In the former I soon found that blockheads with better memories could much surpass me; but for the latter I was particularly distinguished.”

To this account of Hogarth’s childhood we have only to add, that his father, an enthusiastic and laborious scholar, who like many of his craft owed little to the favour of fortune, consulted these indications of talent as well as his means would allow, and bound his son apprentice to a silver-plate engraver. But Hogarth aspired after something higher than drawing cyphers and coats-of-arms; and before the expiration of his indentures he had made himself a good draughtsman, and obtained considerable knowledge of colouring. It was his ambition to become distinguished as an artist; and not content with being the mere copier of other men’s productions, he sought to combine the functions of the painter with those of the engraver, and to gain the power of delineating his own ideas, and the fruits of his acute observation. He has himself explained the nature of his views in a passage which is worth attention.

Engraved by J. Mollison.
HOGARTH.
From the original Picture by Himself
in the National Gallery.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

“Many reasons led me to wish that I could find the shorter path,—fix forms and characters in my mind,—and instead of copying the lines try to read the language, and, if possible, find the grammar of the art by bringing into one focus the various observations I had made, and then trying by my power on the canvass how far my plan enabled me to combine and apply them to practice. For this purpose I considered what various ways, and to what different purposes, the memory might be applied; and fell upon one most suitable to my situation and idle disposition; laying it down first as an axiom, that he who could by any means acquire and retain in his memory perfect ideas of the subjects he meant to draw, would have as clear a knowledge of the figure as a man who can write freely hath of the twenty-five letters of the alphabet and their infinite combinations.” Acting on these principles, he improved by constant exercise his natural powers of observation and recollection. In his rambles among the motley scenes of London he was ever on the watch for striking features or incidents; and not trusting entirely to memory, he was accustomed, when any face struck him as peculiarly grotesque or expressive, to sketch it on his thumb-nail, to be treasured up on paper at his return home.

For some time after the expiration of his apprenticeship, Hogarth continued to practise the trade to which he was bred; and his shop-bills, coats-of-arms, engravings upon tankards, &c., have been collected with an eagerness quite disproportionate to their value. Soon he procured employment in furnishing frontispieces and designs for the booksellers. The most remarkable of these are the plates to an edition of Hudibras, published in 1726: but even these are of no distinguished merit. About 1728 he began to seek employment as a portrait painter. Most of his performances were small family pictures, containing several figures, which he calls “Conversation Pieces,” from twelve to fifteen inches high. These for a time were very popular, and his practice was considerable, as his price was low. His life-size portraits are few; the most remarkable are that of Captain Coram in the Foundling Hospital, and that of Garrick as King Richard III. But his practice as a portrait painter was not lucrative, nor his popularity lasting. Although many of his likenesses were strong and characteristic, in the representation of beauty, elegance, and high-breeding, he was little skilled. The nature of the artist was as uncourtly as his pencil; he despised, or affected to despise, what is called embellishment, forgetting that every great painter of portraits has founded his success upon his power of giving to an object the most favourable representation of which it is susceptible. When Hogarth obtained employment and eminence of another sort, he abandoned portrait painting, with a growl at the jealousy of his professional brethren, and the vanity and blindness of the public.

March 23, 1729, Hogarth contracted a stolen marriage with the only daughter of the once fashionable painter, Sir James Thornhill. The father, for some time implacable, relented at last; and the reconciliation, it is said, was much forwarded by his admiration of the “Harlot’s Progress,” a series of six prints, commenced in 1731, and published in 1734. The novelty as well as merit of this series of prints won for them extraordinary popularity; and their success encouraged Hogarth to undertake a similar history of the “Rake’s Progress,” in eight prints, which appeared in 1735. The third, and perhaps the most popular, as it is the least objectionable of these pictorial novels, “Marriage Alamode,” was not engraved till 1745.

The merits of these prints were sufficiently intelligible to the public: their originality and boldness of design, the force and freedom of their execution, rough as it is, won for them an extensive popularity and a rapid and continued sale. The Harlot’s Progress was the most eminently successful, from its novelty rather than from its superior excellence. Twelve hundred subscribers’ names were entered for it; it was dramatized in several forms; and we may note, in illustration of the difference of past and present manners, that fan-mounts were engraved, containing miniature copies of the six plates. The merits of the pictures were less obvious to the few who could afford to spend large sums on works of art; and Hogarth, too proud to let them go for prices much below the value which he put upon them, waited for a long time, and waited in vain, for a purchaser. At last he determined to commit them to public sale; but instead of the common method of auction, he devised a new and complex plan, with the intention of excluding picture-dealers, and obliging men of rank and wealth, who wished to purchase, to judge and bid for themselves. The scheme failed, as might have been expected. Nineteen of Hogarth’s best pictures, the Harlot’s Progress, the Rake’s Progress, the Four Times of the Day, and Strolling Actresses dressing in a Barn, produced only 427l. 7s., not averaging 22l. 10s. each. The Harlot’s Progress was purchased by Mr. Beckford, at the rate of fourteen guineas a picture; five of the series perished in the fire at Fonthill. The Rake’s Progress averaged twenty-two guineas a picture; it has passed into the possession of Sir John Soane, at the advanced price of five hundred and seventy guineas. The same eminent architect became the proprietor of the four pictures of an Election, for the sum of 1732l. Marriage Alamode was disposed of in a similar way in 1750; and on the day of sale one bidder appeared, who became master of the six pictures, together with their frames, for 115l. 10s. Mr. Angerstein purchased them, in 1797, for 1381l., and they now form a striking feature in our National Gallery.

The number and variety of Hogarth’s moral and satiric works preclude our naming any but the more remarkable. To those already mentioned we would add the March to Finchley, Southwark Fair, the Distressed Poet, the Enraged Musician, Modern Midnight Conversation, Gin Lane and Beer Street, the four prints of an Election, and two entitled “The Times,” which would hardly require notice, except for having produced a memorable quarrel between himself on one side, and Wilkes and Churchill on the other. The satire of the first, published in 1762, was directed, not against Wilkes himself, but his political friends, Pitt and Temple; nor is it so biting as to have required Wilkes, in defence of his party, to retaliate upon one with whom he had lived in familiar and friendly intercourse. He did so, however, in a number of the North Briton, containing not only abuse of the artist, but unjust and injurious mention of his wife. Hogarth was deeply wounded by this attack, and he retorted by the well-known portrait—it ought not to be called a caricature—of Wilkes with the cap of liberty. “I wished,” he says, “to return the compliment, and turn it to some advantage. The renowned patriot’s portrait, drawn as like as I could, as to features, and marked with some indications of his mind, answered every purpose. A Brutus, a saviour of his country, with such an aspect, was so arrant a farce, that though it gave rise to much laughter in the lookers-on, it galled both him and his adherents. This was proved by the papers being crammed every day with invectives against the artist, till the town grew sick of thus seeing me always at full length. Churchill, Wilkes’s toad-eater, put the North Briton into verse in an epistle to Hogarth; but as the abuse was precisely the same, except a little poetical heightening, it made no impression, but perhaps effaced or weakened the black strokes of the North Briton. However, having an old plate by me, with some parts ready sunk, as the back-ground and a dog, I began to consider how I could turn so much work laid aside to some account; and so patched up a print of Master Churchill in the character of a bear.” The quarrel was unworthy of the talents either of the painter or poet. “Never,” says Walpole, “did two angry men of their abilities throw dirt with less dexterity.” It is the more to be regretted, because its effects, as he himself intimates, were injurious to Hogarth’s declining health. The summer of 1764 he spent at Chiswick, and the free air and exercise worked a partial renovation of his strength. The amendment, however, was but temporary; and he died suddenly, October 26, the day after his return to his London residence in Leicester Square.

If we have dwelt little upon Hogarth’s merits in his peculiar style of art, it is still less necessary to say much concerning his historical pictures. Of their merits he himself formed a high and most exaggerated estimate, not hesitating to give out that nothing but envy and ignorance prevented his own pictures from commanding as much admiration, and as high prices, as the most esteemed productions of foreign masters. Posterity has confirmed the judgment of his contemporaries, and Hogarth’s serious compositions are very generally forgotten. The only one which merits to be excepted from this observation is his Sigismunda, painted in 1759, in competition with the well-known and beautiful picture, ascribed by some to Correggio, by others to Furino. Our painter’s vanity and plain dealing had raised up a host of enemies against him among painters, picture-dealers, and connoisseurs; and all whose self-love he had wounded, or whose tricks he had denounced, eagerly seized this opportunity to vent their anger in retaliation. The picture is well known, both by engravings and by Walpole’s severe criticism. We abstain from quoting it: we have passed lightly over a great artist’s excellences, and it would be unfair to expatiate on his defects and errors. Besides this, Hogarth’s chief historical works are the Pool of Bethesda and the Good Samaritan, executed in 1736 as a specimen of his powers, and presented to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital; Paul before Felix, painted for the Hall of Lincoln’s Inn, in 1749; and Moses brought before Pharaoh’s daughter, painted in 1752, and presented to the Foundling Hospital.

Hogarth was not a mere painter: he used the pen as well as the pencil, and aspired to teach as well as to exercise his art. He has left a memoir of his own life, which contains some curious and interesting and instructive matter concerning his own modes and motives of thought and action. He wrote verses occasionally in a rough and familiar style, but not without some sparkles of his humorous turn. But his most remarkable performance is the “Analysis of Beauty,” composed with the ambitious view of fixing the principles of taste, and laying down unerring directions for the student of art. Its leading principle is, that the serpentine line is the foundation of all that is beautiful, whether in nature or art. To the universality of this assertion we should be inclined to demur; Nature works by contrast, and loves to unite the abrupt and angular with the flowing and graceful, in one harmonious whole. The work, however, unquestionably contains much that was original and valuable. But when it was found that Hogarth, a man unpolished in conversation, not regularly trained either to the use of the pen or the pencil, and, above all, a profound despiser of academics, of portrait painters, and of almost all things conventionally admired, had written a book professing to teach the principles of art, the storm of criticism which fell upon him was hot and furious. It was discovered that Hogarth was not the author of the book, that the principle was false and ridiculous, and that every body had been in possession of it long before. The last objection, certainly, is so far true, that every one instinctively must feel a line of easy curvature to be more graceful than one of abrupt and angular flexure. But the merit of first enunciating this as a rule of art belongs to Hogarth; and it is recorded to have been the opinion of West, uttered after the author’s death, that the Analysis is a work of the highest value to the student of art, and that, examined after personal enmity and prejudice were laid to sleep, it would be more and more read, studied, and understood. We doubt whether this judgment of the President is altogether sanctioned by the practice of the present day; but time, without altogether establishing the author’s theory, has at least laid asleep the malicious whispers which denied to Hogarth the merit of it, whatever that may be.

In the executive part of his art, either as painter or engraver, Hogarth did not attain to first-rate excellence. His engravings are spirited, but rough; but they have the peculiar merit (one far above mechanical delicacy and correctness of execution) of representing accurately, by a few bold touches, the varied incidents and expression which he was so acute and diligent in observing. A faithful copier, his works are invaluable as records of the costume and spirit of the time; and they preserve a number of minute illustrative circumstances, which his biographers and annotators have laboured to explain, with the precision used by critics in commenting upon Aristophanes. Wit and humour are abundant in all of them, even in accessories apparently insignificant; and they require to be studied before half the matter condensed in them can be perceived and apprehended. “It is worthy of observation,” says Mr. Lamb, “that Hogarth has seldom drawn a mean or insignificant countenance.” This is so far true, that there are few of his faces which do not contribute to the general effect. Mean and insignificant in the common sense of the words they often are, and the fastidious observer will find much to overcome in the general want of pleasing objects in his compositions. But the vacancy or expression, the coarseness or refinement of the countenance, are alike subservient to convey a meaning or a moral; and in this sense it may justly be said, that few of Hogarth’s faces are insignificant. Through the more important of his works, a depth and unity of purpose prevails, which sometimes rises into high tragic effect, the more striking from the total absence of conventional objects of dignity, as in the two last plates of the “Rake’s Progress.” “Gin Lane” has been included by Mr. Lamb in the same praise, and its power cannot be denied; but it contains too much that is purely disgusting, mixed with much that is in the nature of caricature, to be a general favourite.

The nationality of Hogarth’s prints has given to them a more lasting and extensive popularity than any class of engravings has ever enjoyed. Not to mention the large impressions from the original plates, which were touched and retouched again and again, they have been frequently engraved on a smaller scale, accompanied with an historical and descriptive text; and there is scarcely a library of any pretensions which has not a “Hogarth Illustrated,” in some shape or other, upon its shelves. Of these works, the first was Dr. Trusler’s “Hogarth Moralized,” republished lately in a very elegant shape; the most complete is the quarto edition of Hogarth’s works, by Nichols and Stevens. There is a long and valuable memoir of the artist in Rees’s “Cyclopædia,” by Mr. Phillips, R.A., and an extended life by Allan Cunningham in the “Family Library.” The works of Walpole, Gilpin, Hazlitt, and others, will furnish much of acute criticism; and we especially recommend the perusal of an Essay by Charles Lamb on the “Genius and Character of Hogarth,” published originally in the “Reflector,” No. 3. It is chiefly occupied by a minute criticism upon the “Rake’s Progress,” and though, in our opinion, somewhat partial and excessive in praise, is admirably calculated to show the reader in what spirit the moral works of Hogarth should be studied.

Engraved by Rob^t. Hart.
GALILEO.
From a picture by Ramsay
in Trinity College, Cambridge.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

GALILEO.

The great Tuscan astronomer is best known as the first telescopic observer, the fortunate discoverer of the Medicean stars (so Jupiter’s satellites were first named): and what discovery more fitted to immortalize its author, than one which revealed new worlds, and thus gave additional force to the lesson, that the universe, of which we form so small a part, was not created only for our use or pleasure! Those, however, who consider Galileo only as a fortunate observer, form a very inadequate estimate of one of the most meritorious and successful of those great men who have bestowed their time for the advantage of mankind in tracing out the hidden things of nature.

Galileo Galilei was born at Pisa, February 15, 1564. In childhood he displayed considerable mechanical ingenuity, with a decided taste for the accomplishments of music and painting. His father formed a just estimate of his talents, and at some inconvenience entered him, when nineteen years old, at the university of his native town, intending that he should pursue the medical profession. Galileo was then entirely ignorant of mathematics; and he was led to the study of geometry by a desire thoroughly to understand the principles of his favourite arts. This new pursuit proved so congenial to his taste, that from thenceforward his medical books were entirely neglected. The elder Galilei, a man of liberal acquirements and enlarged mind, did not require the devotion of his son’s life to a distasteful pursuit. Fortunately the young man’s talents attracted notice, and in 1589 he was appointed mathematical lecturer in the University of Pisa. There is reason to believe that, at an early period of his studentship, he embraced, upon inquiry and conviction, the doctrines of Copernicus, of which through life he was an ardent supporter.

Galileo and his colleagues did not long remain on good terms. The latter were content with the superstructure which à priori reasoners had raised upon Aristotle, and were by no means desirous of the trouble of learning more. Galileo chose to investigate physical truths for himself; he engaged in experiments to determine the truth of some of Aristotle’s positions, and when he found him in the wrong, he said so, and so taught his pupils. This made the “paper philosophers,” as he calls them, very angry. He repeated his experiments in their presence; but they set aside the evidence of their senses, and quoted Aristotle as much as before. The enmity arising from these disputes rendered his situation so unpleasant, that, in 1592, at the invitation of the Venetian commonwealth, he gladly accepted the professorship of mathematics at Padua. The period of his appointment being only six years, he was re-elected in 1598, and again in 1606, each time with an increase of salary; a strong proof of the esteem in which he was held, even before those astronomical discoveries which have immortalized his name. His lectures at this period were so fully attended, that he was sometimes obliged to adjourn them to the open air. In 1609 he received an invitation to return to his original situation at Pisa. This produced a letter, still extant, from which we quote a catalogue of the undertakings on which he was already employed. “The works which I have to finish are principally two books on the ‘System or Structure of the Universe,’ an immense work, full of philosophy, astronomy, and geometry; three books on ‘Local Motion,’ a science entirely new, no one, either ancient or modern, having discovered any of the very many admirable accidents which I demonstrate in natural and violent motions, so that I may, with very great reason, call it a new science, and invented by me from its very first principles; three books of mechanics, two on the demonstration of principles, and one of problems; and although others have treated this same matter, yet all that has been hitherto written, neither in quantity nor otherwise, is the quarter of what I am writing on it. I have also different treatises on natural subjects—on Sound and Speech, on Light and Colours, on the Tides, on the Composition of Continuous Quantity, on the Motions of Animals, and others besides. I have also an idea of writing some books relating to the military art, giving not only a model of a soldier, but teaching with very exact rules every thing which it is his duty to know, that depends upon mathematics, as the knowledge of castrametation, drawing up of battalions, fortification, assaults, planning, surveying, the knowledge of artillery, the use of instruments, &c.” Out of this comprehensive list, the treatises on the universe, on motion and mechanics, on tides, on fortification, or other works upon the same subjects, have been made known to the world. Many, however, of Galileo’s manuscripts, through fear of the Inquisition, were destroyed, or concealed and lost, after the author’s death.

In the same year, 1609, Galileo heard the report, that a spectacle-maker of Middleburg, in Holland, had made an instrument by which distant objects appeared nearer. He tasked his ingenuity to discover the construction, and soon succeeded in manufacturing a telescope. His telescope, however, seems to have been made on a different construction from that of the Dutch optician. It consisted of a convex and concave glass, distant from each other by the difference of their focal lengths, like a modern opera-glass; while there is reason to believe that the other was made up of two convex lenses, distant by the sum of their focal lengths, the common construction of the astronomical telescope. Galileo’s attention naturally was first turned to the moon. He discovered that her surface, instead of being smooth and perfectly spherical, was rough with mountains, and apparently varied, like the earth, by land and water. He next applied to Jupiter, and was struck by the appearance of three small stars, almost in a straight line, and close to him. At first he did not suspect the nature of these bodies; but careful observation soon convinced him that these three, together with a fourth, which was at first invisible, were in reality four moons revolving round their primary planet. These he named the Medicean stars. They have long ceased to be known by that name; but so highly prized was the distinction thus conferred upon the ducal house of Florence, that Galileo received an intimation, that he would “do a thing just and proper in itself, and at the same time render himself and his family rich and powerful for ever,” if he “named the next star which he should discover after the name of the great star of France, as well as the most brilliant of all the earth,” Henry IV. These discoveries were made known in 1610, in a work entitled “Nuncius Sidereus,” the Newsman of the Stars: in which Galileo farther announced that he had seen many stars invisible to the naked eye, and ascertained that the nebulæ scattered through the heavens consist of assemblages of innumerable small stars. The ignorant and unprejudiced were struck with admiration; indeed, curiosity had been raised so high before the publication of this book, as materially to interfere with the convenience of those who possessed telescopes. Galileo was employed a month in exhibiting his own to the principal persons in Venice; and one unfortunate astronomer was surrounded by a crowd who kept him in durance for several hours, while they passed his glass from one to another. He left Venice the next morning, to pursue his inquiries in some less inquisitive place. But the great bulk of the philosophers of the day were far from joining in the general feeling. They raised an outcry against the impudent fictions of Galileo, and one, a professor of Padua, refused repeatedly to look through the telescope, lest he should be compelled to admit that which he had predetermined to deny. In the midst of this prejudice and envy, Kepler formed a brilliant exception. He received those great discoveries with wonder and delight, though they overturned some cherished theories, and manifested an honest and zealous indignation against the traducers of Galileo’s fame.

In particular his wrath broke out against a protégé of his own, named Horky; who, under the mistaken notion of gaining credit with his patron, wrote a violent attack on Galileo, and asserted, among other things, that he had examined the heavens with Galileo’s own glass, and that no such thing as a satellite existed near Jupiter. The conclusion of the affair is curious and characteristic. Horky begged so hard to be forgiven, that, says Kepler, “I have taken him again into favour, upon this preliminary condition, to which he has agreed,—that I am to show him Jupiter’s satellites, and he is to see them, and to own that they are there.”

It was not long before Galileo had new, and equally important matter to announce. He observed a remarkable appearance in Saturn, as if it were composed of three stars touching each other; his telescope was not sufficiently powerful to resolve into them Saturn and his ring. Within a month he ascertained that Venus exhibits phases like those of the moon,—a discovery of great importance in confirming the Copernican system. The same phenomenon he afterwards detected in Mars. We close the list with the discovery of the revolution of the sun round his axis, in the space of about a lunar month, derived from careful observation of the spots on his surface.

About this time (1610–11) Galileo took up his abode in Tuscany, upon the invitation of the Grand Duke, who offered to him his original situation at Pisa, with a liberal salary, exemption from the necessity of residence, and complete leisure to pursue his studies. In 1612 he published a discourse on Floating Bodies, in which he investigates the theory of buoyancy, and refutes, by a series of beautiful and conclusive experiments, the opinion that the floating or sinking of bodies depends on their shape.

Neither Copernicus nor his immediate followers suffered inconvenience or restraint on account of their astronomical doctrines: nor had Galileo, until this period of his life, incurred ecclesiastical censure for any thing which he had said or written. But the Inquisition now took up the matter as heretical, and contrary to the express words of Scripture; and in 1616, Copernicus’s work ‘De Revolutionibus,’ Kepler’s Epitome, and some of Galileo’s own letters, were placed on the list of prohibited books; and he himself, being then in Rome, received formal notice not to teach that the earth revolves round the sun. He returned to Florence full of indignation; and considering his hasty temper, love of truth, and full belief of the condemned theory, it is rather wonderful that he kept silence so long, than that he incurred at last the censures of the hierarchy. He did, however, restrain himself from any open advocacy of the heretical doctrines, even in composing his great work, the ‘Dialogue on the Ptolemaic and Copernican Systems.’ This was completed in 1630, but not printed till 1632, under licence from officers of the church, both at Rome and Florence. It is a dialogue between Simplicio, an Aristotelian, Salviati, who represents the author, and Sagredo, a half convert to Salviati’s opinions. It professes “indeterminately to propose the philosophical arguments, as well on one side as on the other:” but the neutrality is but ill kept up, and was probably assumed, not with any hope that the court of Rome would be blinded as to the real tendency of the book, but merely that it would accept this nominal submission as a sufficient homage to its authority. If this were so, the author was disappointed; the Inquisition took cognizance of the matter, and summoned him to Rome to undergo a personal examination. Age and infirmity were in vain pleaded as excuses; still, through the urgent and indignant remonstrances of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, he was treated with a consideration rarely shown by that iniquitous tribunal. He was allowed to remain at the Florentine ambassador’s palace, with the exception of a short period, from his arrival in February, until the passing of sentence, June 21, 1633. He was then condemned, in the presence of the Inquisitors, to curse and abjure the “false doctrines,” which his life had been spent in proving; to be confined in the prison of the Holy Office during pleasure, and to recite the seven penitential psalms once a week during three years. The sentence and the abjuration are given at full length in the Life of Galileo, in the ‘Library of Useful Knowledge.’ “It is said,” continues the biographer, “that Galileo, as he rose from his knees, stamped on the ground, and whispered to one of his friends, ‘e pur si muove,’ (it does move though.”)

Galileo’s imprisonment was not long or rigorous; for after four days he was reconducted to the Florentine ambassador’s palace: but he was still kept under strict surveillance. In July he was sent to Sienna, where he remained five months in strict seclusion. He obtained permission in December to return to his villa at Arcetri, near Florence: but there, as at Sienna, he was confined to his own premises, and strictly forbidden to receive his friends. It is painful to contemplate the variety of evils which overcast the evening of this great man’s life. In addition to a distressing chronic complaint, contracted in youth, he was now suffering under a painful infirmity which by some is said to have been produced by torture, applied in the prisons of the Inquisition to extort a recantation. But the arguments brought forward to show that the Inquisitors did resort to this extremity do not amount to anything like direct proof. In April, 1634, Galileo’s afflictions were increased by the death of a favourite, intelligent, and attached daughter. He consoled his solitude, and lightened the hours of sickness, by continuing the observations which he was now forbidden to publish to the world; and the last of his long train of discoveries was the phenomenon known by the name of the moon’s libration. In the course of 1636–7 he lost successively the sight of both his eyes. He mentions this calamity in a tone of pious submission, mingled with a not unpleasing pride. “Alas, your dear friend and servant Galileo has become totally and irreparably blind; so that this heaven, this earth, this universe, which with wonderful observations I had enlarged a hundred and thousand times beyond the belief of by-gone ages, henceforward for me is shrunk into the narrow space which I myself fill in it. So it pleases God: it shall therefore please me also.” In 1638 he obtained leave to visit Florence, still under the same restrictions as to society; but at the end of a few months he was remanded to Arcetri, which he never again quitted. From that time, however, the strictness of his confinement was relaxed, and he was allowed to receive the friends who crowded round him, as well as the many distinguished foreigners who eagerly visited him. Among these we must not forget Milton, whose poems contain several allusions to the celestial wonders observed and published by the Tuscan astronomer. Though blind and nearly deaf, Galileo retained to the last his intellectual powers; and his friend and pupil, the celebrated Torricelli, was employed in arranging his thoughts on the nature of percussion, when he was attacked by his last illness. He died January 8, 1642, aged seventy-eight.

It was disputed, whether, as a prisoner of the Inquisition, Galileo had a right to burial in consecrated ground. The point was conceded; but Pope Urban VIII. himself interfered to prevent the erection of a monument to him in the church of Santa Croce, in Florence, for which a large sum had been subscribed. A splendid monument now covers the spot in which his remains repose with those of his friend and pupil, the eminent mathematician Viviani.

In 1618, Galileo published, through the medium of Mario Guiducci, an Essay on the Nature of Comets. His opinions (which, in fact, were erroneous) were immediately attacked under the feigned signature of Lotario Sarsi. To this antagonist he replied in a work entitled ‘Il Saggiatore,’ the Assayer, which we select for mention, not so much for the value of its contents, though, like the rest of his works, it has many remarkable passages, as for the high reputation which it enjoys among Italian critics as a model of philosophical composition. The “Dialogues on Motion,” the last work of consequence which Galileo published, contain investigations of the simpler branches of dynamics, the motion of bodies falling freely or down inclined planes, and of projectiles; determinations of the strength of beams, and a variety of interesting questions in natural philosophy. The fifth and sixth are unfinished; the latter was intended to comprise the theory of percussion, which, as we have said, was the last subject which occupied the author’s mind. For a full analysis of this and the other treatises here briefly noted, and for an account of Galileo’s application of the pendulum to the mensuration of time; his invention of the thermometer, though in an inaccurate and inconvenient form; his methods of discovering the longitude, and a variety of other points well worth attention, we must refer to the Life of Galileo already quoted. The numerous extracts from Galileo’s works convey a lively notion of the author’s character, and are distinguished by a peculiar tone of quaint humour. For older writers we may refer to the lives of Viviani, Gherardini, and Nelli; and to the English one by Salusbury, of which however the second volume is so rare that the Earl of Macclesfield’s copy is the only one known to exist in England. Venturi has given to the world some unpublished manuscripts, and collected much curious and scattered information in his “Memorie e Lettere de Gal. Galilei.” Of Galileo’s works several editions exist: the most complete are those of Padua, in four volumes quarto, 1744, and of Milan, in thirteen volumes octavo, 1811.

In conclusion, we quote the estimate of Galileo’s character, from the masterly memoir from which this sketch is derived. “The numberless inventions of his acute industry; the use of the telescope, and the brilliant discoveries to which it led; the patient investigation of the laws of weight and motion, must all be looked upon as forming but a part of his real merits, as merely particular demonstrations of the spirit in which he everywhere withstood the despotism of ignorance, and appealed boldly from traditional opinions to the judgment of reason and common sense. He claimed and bequeathed to us the right of exercising our faculties in examining the beautiful creation which surrounds us. Idolised by his friends, he deserved their affection by numberless acts of kindness; by his good humour, his affability, and by the benevolent generosity with which he devoted himself, and a great part of his limited income, to advance their talents and fortunes. If an intense desire of being useful is everywhere worthy of honour; if its value is immeasurably increased when united to genius of the highest order; if we feel for one, who, notwithstanding such titles to regard, is harassed by cruel persecution, then none deserve our sympathy, our admiration, and our gratitude, more than Galileo.”

[Monument to Galileo in the Church of Santa Croce at Florence.]

Engraved by R. Woodman.
REMBRANDT.
From the original Picture by himself
in his Majesty’s Collection.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.