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1922 Encyclopædia Britannica/Zionism

ZIONISM (see 28.986). The part played by anti-Semitism in the growth of the Zionist movement has often been exaggerated.

Zionism is a natural, indeed an inevitable, outcome of the instinct of self-preservation, which is as strong in the Jewish people as in any other; and the conditions which threaten the continued existence of the Jewish people in modern times are not wholly referable to anti-Semitism in any of its phases. They are equally present in countries in which anti-Semitism does not exist, or, if it exists, does not seriously affect the civic, social or economic position of the Jews. In such countries — which include, broadly speaking, all the countries of the western hemisphere except those of the old Russian and Austrian Empires and Rumania — the rapid assimilation of the Jews to the prevailing modes of life and thought is accompanied by an attenuation of the tie which binds them to their people, with the result that emancipation is a more potent enemy of Jewish solidarity and of Judaism than persecution or the milder forms of anti-Semitism. It follows that from the point of view of the Jews, which of course postulates the desirability of the continued existence of the Jewish people and of Judaism, the substitution of conditions of emancipation for conditions of persecution solves one problem only by creating another. Naturally enough, this was not foreseen by Moses Mendelssohn and the other pioneers of Jewish emancipation in Europe. They took it for granted that the Jew, having emerged from the ghetto and divested himself of the external peculiarities which cut him off from European life, would still be able to maintain his religious separateness, and to carry out a specifically religious and moral mission in the modern world. But experience has shown them to have been wrong. Judaism reduced to a set of religious beliefs and practices, or to a moral code with some superstructure of ritual, has no abiding hold on the Jew. The possibility of the continued existence of the Jewish people and of Judaism stands or falls with recognition of the fact that to be a Jew means primarily to be a member of a particular ethnic group. On that basis it is possible to build attachment to Judaism as religion or as moral teaching; without that basis the Jew is powerless to withstand through successive generations the forces of an environment which is always drawing him away from his own tradition, in its religious, ethical and intellectual aspects even more than in its ceremonial aspect. Hence a reaffirmation of the national idea in Judaism is even more readily intelligible as a reaction against the results of emancipation than against persecution.

It is not surprising, therefore, that, when the case for Jewish nationalism was first presented by a Jew in a European language, it was based on the disintegrating effects of assimilation rather than on the sufferings of the unemancipated Jews. In his Rom und Jerusalem, published in 1862, Moses Hess delivered a trenchant attack on the theory of German “Reform” Judaism, showed that Judaism could not live except on the basis of the national idea, and foretold a spiritual and political rebirth of the Jewish people in Palestine. Fourteen years later Jewish Nationalism was advocated on similar lines by George Eliot in Daniel Deronda. For both writers the essential thing is that the Jewish people should have an opportunity of taking up the broken thread of its history, and of expressing its own spirit and characteristics in a form of life shaped by itself. Considerations based on anti-Semitism are secondary.

Even in Russia, for so long the home of the great masses of Jews and the very temple of governmental anti-Semitism, Zionism was not fundamentally a product of persecution or pogroms. Until well after the middle of the 19th century, the best minds of Russian Jewry saw its hope in emancipation, not in nationalism. They thought that if the Jews of Russia discarded their distinctive language and dress, modified their religious ceremonial so as to make it compatible with European life, and sent their children to Russian schools, they would be admitted to full participation in the life of their country, like the Jews of western Europe, and all would be well. A vigorous propaganda on behalf of Haskalah — “enlightenment” or “modernism” — had been carried on for some decades in the Hebrew language, which was used not because of its national associations, but because the apostles of Haskalah disdained to write in Yiddish, and no European language, was intelligible to

those whom they wished to influence. Haskalah had made considerable headway against the obscurantism of those who opposed any and every change in Jewish life; and in the ’seventies of the 19th century the liberal policy of Alexander II. seemed to promise success to its efforts to modernize Russian Jewry. But already, within the modernist movement itself, another current of thought had set in. Perez Smolenskin, one of its most gifted champions, who spent the best years of his life in Vienna, had had the opportunity of seeing at close quarters what emancipation meant for Judaism. He had seen that in practice the ideal of being “a Jew at home and a man outside” did not work. Hence he became the advocate of a Jewish nationalism based on the “triple cord” of the Land (Palestine), the Law (Torah) and the Language (Hebrew). When, in 1880, the emancipatory tendencies of Alexander II. gave place to a wave of pogroms and a policy of systematic oppression, the seed sown by Smolenskin bore fruit. While the great majority of the Russian Jews who fled from massacre naturally made for the economically developed countries of the West, where they could be readily absorbed, a few, inspired by the ideal of a national revival, found their way to Palestine, and in the face of incredible difficulties laid the foundations of Jewish agricultural colonization. Supported by the Chovevé Zion (Lovers of Zion) in Russia, and later more amply by Baron Edmond de Rothschild, of Paris, these pioneers succeeded in maintaining their footing in Palestine. They were followed by a small but steady stream of immigration, which included many vigorous and self-supporting elements. Innocent of any concern with international politics, these Palestinian settlers accepted the Turkish administration as they found it, and, thanks largely to its very indifference, were able to establish little settlements with complete internal autonomy, to live in their own way, to manage their own affairs, and, not least important, to create a system of Hebrew schools, by means of which the ancient language of the Jews was revived as the speech of the younger generation of Jews in Palestine. This new Palestinian Yishub (settlement), strengthened in the early years of the present century by a number of young men and women who went to Palestine with the ideal of working as labourers on its soil, became the basis of the political success which Zionism achieved during the World War. The historic connexion of the Jews with Palestine would not of itself have availed to secure recognition of Jewish national aspirations, had there not been this concrete evidence of the will and the ability of the Jews to rebuild Palestine and their own national life in Palestine.

Side by side with this practical colonization work, the development of Jewish nationalist theory went on in Hebrew literature. The implications of Smolenskin's idea were worked out more thoroughly, and from a standpoint more in consonance with European thought, by Asher Ginzberg (Achad ha-Am), one of the early leaders of the Chovené Zion, who has made his own the conception of Palestine as destined to be in the immediate future the “spiritual centre” of the Jewish people — that is to say, the home of a corporate Jewish life expressing in all its aspects the true qualities of the Jew, and serving for that reason as a point of attachment and a source of spiritual influence for the Jews of all the world, who will find in their common association with the spiritual centre a new basis of unity and a new bulwark against absorption by assimilation. This conception, though by no means universally accepted as a complete statement of the philosophy of Zionism, has had a profound effect on Zionist thought for the last 30 years, and, though it designedly leaves on one side the political implications of Zionism, has contributed materially to the final shaping of the political claims of the movement.

The reaction against anti-Semitism has, however, played an important port in Zionist history. In 1882, after the terrible outbreak of pogroms in Russia, a Russian Jew, Dr. Leo Pinsker, published a striking pamphlet, in German, under the title of Auto-Emancipation, in which he argued that Judeophobia was an endemic malady among the peoples of the world, analogous to the fear of ghosts, and that the only solution of the “Jewish problem” was to be found in the establishment in some suitable

territory (not necessarily Palestine) of an autonomous commonwealth of Jews. While Pinsker thus took anti-Semitism as his starting point, he yet showed a certain appreciation of the historical and psychological roots of Jewish nationalism; and when his own scheme of large scale emigration to a hypothetical Jewish territory met with no support, he was nationalist enough to throw himself into the Palestinian work of the Chovevé Zion, whose first President he became. The later and more famous brochure of Dr. Theodor Herzl, Der Judenstaat (1896), elaborated independently a scheme similar to that of Pinsker, based entirely on the need of a refuge from anti-Semitism, and disregarding completely the inner springs of Jewish nationalism. Herzl's argument implies throughout that all would be well if only Jews were allowed to assimilate peacefully to their surroundings; and to that extent he stood on the same ground as the assimilationist Jews of western Europe, who had for years been trying — without success — to alleviate the lot of the Jews of Russia and Rumania by bringing about diplomatic intervention with the Governments of those countries. He differed from them only in seeing the futility of their methods and the need for more radical steps. He did, however, assert the unity of the Jewish people (“we are a people, one people”), and the emancipated Jews of western countries, fearful of anything that might seem to cast doubt on their absolute identification with the nations among which they lived, could not accept a scheme based on such promises. With few exceptions, the Jews of the west met Herzl's appeal with indifference or hostility; it was the Chovevé Zion who rallied to his support with enthusiasm, less conscious of the difference between his philosophy and their own than of the value to their movement of his great personality, vision and influence. Thus there came about a fusion between the older Jewish nationalism, rooted in history and attached by its very nature to Palestine, and the newer so-called nationalism which demanded an autonomous territory in Palestine or elsewhere for those Jews who could not or would not assimilate to their European surroundings. The fusion was not effected without tears. At the first Zionist Congress (Basle, 1897) there was a struggle over the crucial question of the mention of Palestine in the programme of the movement. For Herzl's scheme of rapid mass-settlement scarcely any country could have been worse adapted than Palestine, with its restricted area, its neglected soil and its importance in international politics; but the nationalist instinct of the Russian Jews won the day, and the Zionist organization tied itself down to the aim of “establishing for the Jewish people a home in Palestine secured by public law.” The trouble did not end there. For the Chovevé Zion the gradual building up of a Hebrew life in Palestine — Yishub Erez-Israel — was the fundamental nationalist activity. Herzl, on the other hand, deprecated any “infiltration” into Palestine so long as the conditions necessary for full autonomy were not secured. He desired the acquisition by the Jewish people still outside Palestine of a formal charter making Palestine its preserve; immigration on a large scale would follow. The failure of his efforts to secure a charter, and his premature death in 1904, ultimately gave the victory here also to the tendency represented by the Chovevé Zion. Thus Zionism emerged from the seven years of Herzl's brilliant leadership with its pre-Herzlian philosophy and policy substantially unchanged, but with very

considerable gains in organization, in prestige, and in the number and diffusion of its adherents. The movement had become world-wide; it had been recognized by the British Government (in the abortive offer of a territory in E. Africa, 1903) as representing the Jewish people; and it had become a powerful leaven in Jewish life, stimulating interest in Palestine and the revival of the Hebrew language in every Jewish community throughout the world. The Zionist organization, though it could not of itself bring about any serious political change in Palestine, was in a position to secure that, if and when the political future of Palestine became a practical question, the claims of Jewish nationalism should not go unheard.

Meanwhile it had to be content with the up-hill work of Palestinian colonization and the education of the Jewish people in the national idea. The number of Jewish agricultural settlements in Palestine grew from about 25 in 1904 to about 45 in 1914. The Hebrew school system developed rapidly, and the project of a Hebrew university in Jerusalem was definitely launched in 1913. The membership of the organization and the capital of the Jewish National Fund grew from year to year, and unorganized sympathy with the Zionist outlook and aims became more and more widely diffused.

The entry of Turkey into the World War called for a renewal of political activity on the part of the Zionist organization, as it obviously meant that the future of Palestine would before long come up for settlement. At the same time, the position of the organization was extraordinarily difficult. With adherents in all countries, both belligerent and neutral, it could not present a united front in international political questions, and the leaders of its various groups could not even take counsel together. The last biennial Zionist Congress had met in 1913; a Congress in 1915 was obviously impossible. Emergency arrangements were made to secure the existence of the organization, but for practical purposes it had to remain in suspense throughout the unexpectedly long period of hostilities. Meanwhile, the need for obtaining express recognition of Zionist claims became more pressing as a result of the British advance into Palestine in 1917. Relations with the principal Allied Governments had already been established, mainly by Dr. Ch. Weizmann and Mr. N. Sokolow, two of the Zionist leaders. As the outcome of protracted negotiations, in which Sir (then Mr.) Herbert Samuel played an important part, the British Government issued on Nov. 2 1917 the “Balfour Declaration,” stating that they “view with favour the establishment in Palestine of a National Home for the Jewish people, and will use their best endeavours to facilitate the achievement of this object,” and adding provisos to safeguard the rights of existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine and the rights and political status enjoyed by Jews elsewhere. The Allied troops entered Jerusalem soon afterwards (Dec. 9 1917), and in March of the following year the Balfour Declaration had its first practical outcome in the departure for Palestine of a Zionist Commission, which was to “act as an advisory body to the British authorities in all matters relating to Jews or which may affect the establishment of a national home for the Jewish people,” and was charged with certain specific tasks in relation to the Jewish population of Palestine. The Commission remained in Palestine as the representative of the Zionist organization, and there directed such Zionist work as was possible during a period of unsettlement and restricted communications. In July 1918 it laid the foundations of the future Hebrew University on Mount Scopus.

The Turks were finally expelled from Palestine in Sept. 1918, and the Zionist policy of the British Government, which had in the meantime been endorsed by all the Allied Powers and by the President of the United States, had its logical outcome in the incorporation of the Balfour Declaration in the Treaty of Sevres and the acceptance by Great Britain of a Mandate for Palestine on behalf of the League of Nations (San Remo, April 1920). The draft Mandate as printed in a Parliamentary White Paper (Cmd. 1176), recites in its preamble the substance of the Balfour Declaration, whereby “recognition has been given to the historical connexion of the Jewish people with Palestine

and to the grounds for reconstituting their national home in that country,” and provides inter alia that the Mandatory shall be responsible for placing the country under such political administrative and economic conditions as will secure the establishment of the Jewish national home and the development of self-governing institutions (Art. 2); shall recognize an appropriate Jewish agency (provisionally the Zionist organization,) as a public body for the purpose of advising and cooperating with the administration of Palestine in matters affecting the establishment of the Jewish national home (Art. 4); shall appoint a special Commission to study and regulate all questions and claims relating to the different religious communities (Art. 14); shall see that complete freedom of conscience is assured to all (Art. 15); and shall recognize Hebrew along with English and Arabic as an official language (Art. 22).

The frontiers of Palestine were defined in a separate convention between Great Britain and France dated Dec. 23 1920, and published in a White Paper (Cmd. 1195). In 1916, before either Government had come into close contact with Zionism, an Agreement (known as the Sykes-Picot Agreement) was made, dividing Palestine into a British and a French sphere of influence. This agreement needed revision in the light of subsequent developments, with due regard to both Arab and Zionist interests as well as to those of the two Powers concerned. The Convention of 1920 defines the frontiers of Palestine in such a way as to comply with the requirements of the historic phrase “from Dan to Beersheba,” and to include in Palestine all the modern Jewish agricultural settlements, but not to give Palestine control of the sources of water power which are held to be necessary for its full economic development. On the other hand, the Agreement provides that Palestine is to have the use of the waters of the Upper Jordan and the Yarmuk and their tributaries, after satisfaction of the territories under the French mandate.

The draft Mandate for Palestine was attacked from three sides. Certain Palestinian Arabs, professing to speak in the name of the whole Arab population, objected absolutely to its Zionist provisions. A school of Zionists more or less in the line of the original Herzlian tradition complained that the draft Mandate gave too little to the Jewish people, and that the term “National Home” was too vague, and demanded that explicit provision should be made for the development of Palestine into a “Jewish State” within a fixed period. Lastly, some British politicians and newspapers attacked the Mandate on the grounds that it would involve the British taxpayer in expense with no corresponding return, and that it was unjust to impose a Zionist policy on the Arabs of Palestine against their wishes.

Despite these criticisms, there was every sign up to the end of 1921 that the Government intended to proceed in full accord with the spirit and the letter of the Balfour Declaration. Mr. Winston Churchill, the Secretary of State for the colonies, during his visit to Palestine in April 1921, emphatically declared that the Zionist policy of the Government remained unchanged, while assuring the Arabs with equal emphasis that their rights would be fully respected. The First High Commissioner, Sir Herbert Samuel, had won the confidence of all sections of the population by his impartiality.

{{EB1911 Fine Print|{{small-caps|Authorities}}. — Moses Hess, Rom und Jerusalem, 1862 (English translation by Meyer Waxman, 1918); Leo Pinsker, Auto-Emancipation, 1882 (English translation by D. S. Blondheim, 1918); Theodor Herzl, Zionistische Schriften (English translation of Der Judenstaat and of his Congress Addresses published by the Federation of American Zionists, 1917); Achad ha-Am, Selected Essays, translated by Leon Simon (1912); Richard Gottheil, Zionism (1914); Adolf Friedemann, Das Leben Theodor Herds (1914); Kurt Nawratzki, Die Jüdische Colonisation Palastinas (1914); Zionism and the Jewish Future, edited by H. Sacher (2nd ed. 1917: with bibliography); A. M. Hyamson, Palestine: The Rebirth of an Ancient People (1917); H. Sidebotham, England and Palestine (1918); Nahum Sokolow, History of Zionism, 1600-1918 (2 vols. 1919: with bibliography); Norman Bentwich, Palestine of the Jews (1919); Shmarya Levin, Out of Bondage (1919); Leon Simon, Studies in Jewish Nationalism (1920); Zionism (Foreign Office Handbook, No. 162, 1920). There is also a voluminous periodical and pamphlet literature. Zionism and the Future of Palestine by Morris Jastrow, Jr. (1919) puts the “assimilationist” case against Zionism. ({{small-caps|L. Si.}})

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title: 1922 Encyclopædia Britannica/Zionism


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Williamson, William Crawford

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


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106 The line up the valley is a masterpiece of engineering; in places it is carried in cornice along the face of the gorge, now cut out of the rock, and now on a terrace built up on arches. The river enters the Rhone a couple of miles above La Voute, but the junction of the line to Le Cheylard is at this place. La Voute sur Rhone is an ancient town planted at the foot of and scrambling up a rock crowned with the ruins of a castle of the great family of Ventadour. The old town, with its tortuous streets, its venerable but crumbling houses, its steep, ladder-like ascent, is almost deserted, life has run down and settled in modern houses at the foot. But even the new town is death-struck.

The iron mines which made the place prosperous, and in 1870 yielded 60,000 tons of ore, produced but 12,683 tons in 1891, and in the following year only 520; and now, none. Ruin has fallen on La Voute, and it is doubtful if it will ever recover. In the old castle of the Ventadours was set up the bureau of the company that worked the mines. Now the offices are ruinous and deserted, like the halls and towers of the feudal princes.

The fortress was begun in 1319, and enlarged and made splendid in 1582. Ichabod! Its glory is departed. The beautiful Renaissance chapel with its marbles and sculpture is crumbling away. The chapel is vaulted with delicate ribs, and against the walls are carved a Resurrection and statues of the Duke and Duchess of Ventadour. But all, sculptured capitals of pilasters, dainty cornices, figures, have suffered under the hammers of the Revolutionary fanatics.

In the valley of Erieux, where it opens out, vineyards have been staged up the mountain sides, in narrow


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to [q. v.] He died at the end of July 1543, and by his desire was buried in the middle of St. Paul's Cathedral (will in P.C.C. 3,Pynnyng). As 'Richardus Ventanus juridicus' Gwent is eulogised for his virtues and learning in John Leland's 'Encomia.'

[Authorities quoted; Letters, &c., of Reign of Hen. VIII (Brewer and Gairdner); Strype's Life of Cranmer; Newcourt's Repertorium, i. 62, 443; Robert Williams's Eminent Welshmen, 1852, p. 194.]  GWENWYNWYN (d. 1218?), prince of Powys, was the eldest son of Owain Cyveiliog, prince of Powys. In 1186 he is first mentioned as joining with his brother Cadwallon in slaying Owain, son of Madog, by treachery (Brut y Tywysogion, s.a. 1186). In 1196 he was engaged in war with Archbishop Hubert Walter and an army of English and North Welsh. His castle of Trallong Llewelyn (Pool Castle,, Shropshire, x. 358) was besieged and taken by undermining the walls; but the garrison escaped, and before the end of the year Gwenwynwyn again took the castle (Brut y Tywysogion, p. 245). In 1197, after the death of the Lord Rhys of South Wales, Gwenwynwyn took part in the struggle of Maelgwn and Gruffydd [see Gruffydd ab Rhys (d.1201) (DNB00), d. 1201] the sons of Rhys, and actively supported Gruffydd. When Maelgwn took Gruffydd prisoner he handed him over to Gwenwynwyn's custody. But Gwenwynwyn transferred his care to the English. Gwenwynwyn next subdued Arwystli and captured Llewelyn ab Iorwerth, then just beginning his great career. It is hard to believe, however, that he took Davydd ab Owain [see Davydd I (DNB00), d. 1203] prisoner as well, though some manuscripts of the 'Brut' say so.

The death of Owain Cyveiliog in 1197 made Gwenwynwyn prince of Powys. As his father had previously taken the monastic habit at Ystrad Marchell (Strata Marcella), it is likely that he had already practically ruled the district. He now formed great plans for restoring to the Welsh their ancient rights, property, and boundaries; assembled a great army in July, and besieged William de Braose in Maud's Castle (ib. p. 253;, iv. 53, ed. Stubbs). The siege was relieved by the justiciar Geoffry Fitzpeter, who put the Welsh to flight and slew 3,700 with the loss of only one man. King John, however, made friends with him again, and made him grants of land.

In 1202 Gwenwynwyn was fiercely attacked by Llewelyn ab Iorwerth, now lord of Gwynedd, who, says the 'Brut,' 'though near to him in kindred was a foe to him as to deeds,' but the clerks and monks patched up a peace between them. In the next year Gwenwynwyn was much occupied in helping Maelgwn in his war against his brother, [q. v.] In 1203 William de Braose again complained that Gwenwynwyn was destroying his lands (Rot. Lit. Pat. i. 23). Next year Gwenwynwyn received a safe-conduct to meet the king at Woodstock, and the result of the interview apparently proving satisfactory, he received back the lands at Ashford in Derbyshire granted to him by John in 1200 (Rot. Lit. Claus. i. 24 ; Rot. Chartarum, p. 44). He soon quarrelled again with the king, who in 1207 enticed him to Shrewsbury and threw him into prison, Llewelyn ab Iorwerth seizing on all his lands. Next year Gwenwynwyn made a composition with John, took oaths of fealty, and handed over twenty hostages for his fidelity (Fœdera, i. 101). He was restored to his territories, received various gifts from the crown (Rot. Misæ, 111, 141, 154), and in 1210 followed John on his expedition against Llewelyn, but next year he joined Llewelyn in a new revolt from John. Innocent III absolved them and the other Welsh princes from their allegiance to the excommunicated king, and they all levied war against him. In 1215 Gwenwynwyn accompanied Llewelyn in his victorious expedition to the south. King John now deprived him of Ashford, which he granted to Brian de L'Isle (Rot. Lit. Claus. i. 185b). In 1216, however, Gwenwynwyn made peace with King John, to the great indignation of Llewelyn, who speedily overran his dominions, took possession of them all, and drove Gwenwynwyn to take refuge in Cheshire. John restored his lands, and thanked him for his help (Rot. Lit. Pat. i. 175, 189; Rot. Lit. Claus. i. 246b), but he never regained his possessions. On his death, apparently in 1218, Llewelyn agreed to provide a sufficient sum for their revenues to maintain his family, and to give his widow her reasonable dower, but bargained to hold them until his sons came of age (Fœdera, i. 151). Brian de L'Isle was also required to give to the widow her dower from his lands at Holme and Ashford (Rot. Lit. Claus. i. 536b). Gruffydd's wife was Margaret, daughter of Robert Corbet (, Shropshire, vii. 22-3). Their eldest son was Gruffydd [see ]. Gwenwynwyn had other sons named Owain and Madog (Montgomeryshire Collections, i. 21). In the days of his prosperity Gwenwynwyn had been a liberal benefactor to the Cistercians of Ystrad Marchell, or Strata Marcella (ib. v. 114-19). From him the district of


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Rh walled terraces, with infinite labour, and where there are not vines there are chestnuts and cherry trees. At S. Fortunat, the Dunière enters the Erieux, and hence a road leads to Vernoux, the Geneva of the Protestants of Upper Ardèche. It is mainly occupied by descendants of the Huguenots, but there are Catholics as well, living in a separate quarter. The Protestants are much divided among themselves. One sect is that of the Momiens, whose head-quarters are S. Agrève and Vernoux. They represent the original Huguenots far more truly than those who call themselves Evangelicals, for these latter have lapsed into Freethought, Indifference, Agnosticism, and the best are Deists. The Momiens do not attend the "Temples Protestants," but hold their assemblies in the open air, in fact have camp meetings. Every one brings his provisions with him; they have exercises of prayer, psalm-singing, and exhortation, and then all dine peaceably under the chestnut trees. They come into town only on Sundays and market-days, and do not frequent the public-houses. They have the character of being scrupulously honest.

Many of the Evangelicals never attend public worship. Out of eleven thousand inhabitants of Vernoux, about eight thousand are Protestants; they are able, accordingly, to engross all the offices and determine the elections. Conversions one way or the other are most rare, perhaps four or five in thirty years, and these only on account of marriages. The Protestant young men are desirous of getting Catholic wives, as the girls of this latter confession have a better moral character—being more carefully looked after by the clergy and sisters than are the others; but the curés in every way


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108 oppose mixed marriages, which is a mistake, for no more effective missionary can be found than a God-fearing, consistent wife.

Unhappily party feeling runs strong. An old curé of Vernoux named Chifflet, with the help of a M. Demars, who was a large contributor, founded a hospital, and when it was complete handed it over to the town for general use without regard to denomination. At once the town council elected a governing board, from which it excluded the principal donor, M. Demars, because he was a Catholic, and struck off the name of M. Lanthois, the only Protestant in the place who had given a sou towards the hospital.

So when the Calvinist temple wanted rebuilding a rate was imposed on all the citizens, and the Catholics had to contribute as well as the Evangelicals. But when the Catholics desired to erect a church for themselves a rate was refused. If the proportions had been the other way on, without a doubt the Catholics would have acted with precisely the same intolerance.

As a curé said to me the other day: "Live and let live is not a principle we understand in France, and never have. We who are bullied to-day, if we get the upper hand to-morrow would bully in our turn."

Charles IX. could not have made a more grateful present to French Protestantism than the massacre of S. Bartholomew. It is to them a perpetual and cherished grievance. They would not be without it any more than a professional mendicant would be without his sore. The massacre is introduced into every sermon, alluded to in every contingency, thrown in the face of a Catholic in every dispute, flourished even at a wedding-breakfast.


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Rh A Calvinist infant is brought up on it. It is the first historic fact he has to acquire, and often when grown to man's estate is the only historic fact that he remembers. The massacre has been so rubbed into the minds of the Evangelicals that they cannot look in the face of their fellow-citizens of the other persuasion except through blood-red glass.

This temper sometimes produces vexatious results. In a village in the Boutières, where the meeting-house happened to possess a bell, one Sunday an old woman went to sleep during the discourse, and did not wake when the congregation dispersed; and being overlooked, was locked in. When she roused from her slumber, she went to the bell-rope and pulled long and hard. At the sound of the tocsin all the Protestants within hearing were roused. Now at last the long-expected massacre was coming off. Women and children fled to the woods. The men barricaded their houses, loaded their rifles, and prepared to sell their lives dearly. The bell pealed on, every scrap of courage save among the most heroic sank to their stocking-soles, when the old woman, having failed to summon relief, took to relieving herself from her situation by flinging the rope out of a window and crawling down it. Parturiunt montes nascetur ridiculus mus.

In 1885, when at the election for the Legislature the Conservative list passed in its entirety, the Protestants of Les Boutières were so impressed with the revival of Catholic hopes and their successes that one of these panics fell on them. Indeed, they have a name for such, la pourasse.

Before the outbreak of the Revolution there were many little nobles and landed gentry in the country


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110 whose châteaux are now in ruins or turned into farmhouses. They lived sociably, giving dances, meeting for shooting-parties or games of tennis.

One of these was the Monsieur de Cachard. On June 24th, 1786, he gave a dance to his neighbours, but found a difficulty in getting musicians. He applied to the garrison at Valence, and was offered the drummer of the regiment, who could also play the fife, and courteously he extended the invitation to any of the officers who would care to take a part in the entertainment. A young lieutenant accepted, his name was Napoleon Bonaparte, and he brought with him the drummer, Victor Beausoleil. Towards the conclusion of the ball, M. de Cachard went to the musician and asked how he could repay his services. "Only by letting me have a dance with mademoiselle your daughter." "By all means," replied the master of the house, and Beausoleil led out the young lady.

The Revolution came. The family of Cachard was dispersed; some were guillotined, some emigrated. At the Restoration, the head of the family went to Paris to solicit the restitution of some of the confiscated and sold estates. He solicited an audience with Marshal Victor, Duke of Belluno, minister of war. No sooner was he introduced, than the Duke started forward, grasped his hand and said: "Monsieur! we have not met since Midsummer Day, 1786, when I piped, and had the honour to dance with mademoiselle." The minister was, in fact, the drummer from Valence. He interested himself in the case and obtained for M. de Cachard the recovery of the ancient château and a portion of his lands. The Duke was wont to joke over his title. "As a drummer-boy I was Beausoleil. I have lost, not


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Rh itself on. Moreover, it has been finely engineered the whole way. But Le Cheylard itself is not a place of interest, being a modern manufacturing town, created by Lyons speculators calculating on the cheapness and abundance of labour in that part, where agriculture is hampered by the elevation. The château of La Mothe is picturesque, but has had the tops of its towers knocked off and rehatted.

Le Cheylard may be employed as quarters for a visit to Mézenc and the Gerbier de Jonc, if these have not been made an object of pilgrimage from Le Puy, and from this side they present a better appearance than from the other.


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HE attraction of cohesion is one of the mightiest and most active forces in nature. It went towards the formation out of molecules of the terrestrial globe, it acts in the accumulation of large fortunes in the hands of millionaires, and it draws together great masses of human beings to one spot. Even when the heat of summer and the dispersion of schools scatter them to the north and south, east and west, out of cities, they draw together and coagulate in knots. But why one of these centres of concentration should be Vals and not Aubenas is to me a puzzle. Why when engaging a lodging should one select the cellar instead of an upper suite of apartments?


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Cock-A-Doodle-Doo!

OR THE CROWING OF THE NOBLE COCK BENEVENTANO

all parts of the world many high-spirited revolts from rascally despotisms had of late been knocked on the head ; many dreadful casualties, by locomotive and steamer, had likewise knocked hundreds of high-spirited travelers on the head ( I lost a dear friend in one of them) ; my own private affairs were also full of despotisms, casualties, and knockings on the head, when early one morning in spring, being too full of hypoes to sleep, I sallied out to walk on my hillside pasture.

It was a cool and misty, damp, disagreeable air. The country looked underdone, its raw juices squirting out all round. I buttoned out this squitchy air as well as I could with my lean, double-breasted dress-coat—my overcoat being so long-skirted I only used it in my wagon—and spitefully thrusting my crab-stick into the oozy sod, bent my blue form to the steep ascent of the hill. This toiling posture brought my head pretty well earthward, as if I were in the act of butting it against the world. I marked the fact, but only grinned at it with a ghastly grin.

All round me were tokens of a divided empire. The old grass and the new grass were striving together. In the low wet swales the verdure peeped out in vivid green ; beyond, on the mountains, lay light patches of snow, strangely relieved against their russet sides; all the humped hills looked like brindled kine in the shivers. The woods were strewn with dry dead boughs, snapped off by the riotous winds of March, while the young trees skirting the woods were just beginning to show the first yellowish tinge of the nascent spray.

I sat down for a moment on a great rotting log nigh the top of the hill, my back to a heavy grove, my face presented toward a wide sweeping circuit of mountains enclosing a rolling, diversified country. Along the base of one long range of heights ran a lagging, fever-and-agueish river, over which was a duplicate stream of dripping mist, exactly corresponding in every meander with its parent water below. Low down, here and there, shreds of vapor listlessly wandered in the air, like abandoned or helmless nations or ships—or very soaky towels hung on criss-cross clothes-lines to dry. Afar, over a distant village lying in a bay of the plain formed by the mountains, there rested a great flat canopy of haze, like a pall. It was the condensed smoke of the chimneys, with the condensed, exhaled breath of the villagers, prevented from dispersion by the imprisoning hills. It was too heavy and lifeless to mount of itself; so there it lay, between the village and the sky, doubtless hiding many a man with the mumps, and many a queasy child.

My eye ranged over the capacious rolling country, and over the mountains, and over the village, and over a farmhouse here and there, and over woods, groves, streams, rooks, fells and I thought to myself, what a slight mark, after all, does man make on this huge great earth. Yet the earth makes a mark on him. What a horrid accident was that on the Ohio, where my good friend and thirty other good fellows were sloped into eternity at the bidding of a thick-headed engineer, who knew not a valve from a flue. And that crash on the railroad just over yon mountains there, where two infatuate trains ran pell-mell into each other, and climbed and clawed each other's backs ; and one locomotive was found fairly shelled like a chick, inside of a passenger car in the antagonist train; and near a score of noble hearts, a bride and her groom, and an innocent little infant, were all disembarked into the grim hulk of Charon, who ferried them over, all baggage-less, to some clinkered iron-foundry country or other. Yet what's the use of complaining? What justice of the peace will right this matter? Yea, what's the use of bothering the very heavens about it? Don't the heavens themselves ordain these things—else they could not happen?

A miserable world! Who would take the trouble to make a fortune in it, when he knows not how long he can keep it, for the thousand villains and asses who have the management of railroads and steamboats, and innumerable other vital things in the world. If they would make me Dictator in North America awhile I'd string them up ! and hang, draw, and quarter; fry, roast and boil; stew, grill, and devil them like so many turkey-legs—the rascally numskulls of stokers ; I'd set them to stokering in Tartarus—I would!

Great improvements of the age! What! to call the facilitation of death and murder an improvement ! Who wants to travel so fast? My grandfather did not, and he was no fool. Hark ! here comes that old dragon again—that gigantic gadfly of a Moloch—snort! puff! scream!—here he comes straight-bent through these vernal woods, like the Asiatic cholera cantering on a camel. Stand aside! Here he comes, the chartered murderer! the death monopolizer! judge, jury, and hangman all together, whose victims die always without benefit of clergy. For two hundred and fifty miles that iron fiend goes yelling through the land, crying "More ! more ! more !" Would fifty conspiring mountains would fall atop of him! and, while they were about it, would they would also fall atop of that smaller dunning fiend, my creditor, who frightens the life out of me more than any locomotive—a lantern-jawed rascal, who seems to run on a railroad track too, and duns me even on Sunday, all the way to church and back, and comes and sits in the same pew with me, and pretending to be polite and hand me the prayer-book opened at the proper place, pokes his pesky bill under my nose in the very midst of my devotions, and so shoves himself between me and salvation; for how can one keep his temper on such occasions ?

I can't pay this horrid man ; and yet they say money was never so plentiful—a drug on the market ; but blame me if I can get any of the drug, though there never was a sick man more in need of that particular sort of medicine. It's a lie ; money ain't plenty—feel of my pocket. Ha ! here's a powder I was going to send to the sick baby in yonder hovel, where the Irish ditcher lives. That baby has the scarlet fever. They say the measles are rife in the country too, and the varioloid, and the chicken-pox, and it's bad for teething children. And after all, I suppose many of the poor little ones, after going through all this trouble snap off short ; and so they had the measles, mumps, croup, scarlet-fever, chicken-pox, cholera-morbus, summer-complaint, and all else, in vain ! Ah ! there's that twinge of the rheumatics in my right shoulder. I got it one night on the North River, when, in a crowded boat, I gave up my berth to a sick lady, and staid on deck till morning in drizzling weather. There's the thanks one gets for charity! Twinge! Shoot away, ye rheumatics! Ye couldn't lay on worse if I were some villain who had murdered the lady instead of befriending her. Dyspepsia too—I am troubled with that.

Hallo! here come the calves, the two-year-olds, just turned out of the barn into the pasture, after six months of cold victuals. What a miserable-looking set, to be sure! A breaking up of a hard winter, that's certain ; sharp bones sticking out like elbows; all quilted with a strange stuff dried on their flanks like layers of pancakes. Hair worn quite off too, here and there ; and where it ain't pancaked, or worn off, looks like the rubbed sides of mangy old hair-trunks. In fact, they are not six two-year-olds, but six abominable old hair-trunks wandering about here in this pasture.

Hark! By Jove, what's that? See! the very hair-trunks prick their ears at it, and stand and gaze away down into the rolling country yonder. Hark again ! How clear ! how musical ! how prolonged! What a triumphant thanksgiving of a cock-crow ! "Glory be to God in the highest!" It says those very words as plain as ever cock did in this world. Why, why, I began to feel a little in sorts again. It ain't so very misty, after all. The sun yonder is beginning to show himself ; I feel warmer.

Hark ! There again ! Did ever such a blessed cock-crow so ring out over the earth before! Clear, shrill, full of pluck, full of fire, full of fun, full of glee. It plainly says— "Never say die!" My friends, it is extraordinary, is it not?

Unwittingly, I found that I had been addressing the two-year-olds—the calves—in my enthusiasm ; which shows how one's true nature will betray itself at times in the most unconscious way. For what a very two-year-old, and calf, I had been to fall into the sulks, on a hilltop too, when a cock down in the lowlands there, without discourse of reason, and quite penniless in the world, and with death hanging over him at any moment from his hungry master, sends up a cry like a very laureate celebrating the glorious victory of New Orleans.

Hark! there it goes again! My friends, that must be a Shanghai; no domestic-born cock could crow in such prodigious exulting strains. Plainly, my friends, a Shanghai of the Emperor of China's breed.

But my friends the hair-trunks, fairly alarmed at last by such clamorously-victorious tones, were now scampering off, with their tails flirting in the air, and capering with their legs in clumsy enough sort of style, sufficiently evincing that they had not freely flourished them for the six months last past.

Hark! there again! Whose cock is that? Who in this region can afford to buy such an extraordinary Shanghai? Bless me it makes my blood bound—I feel wild. What? jumping on this rotten old log here, to flap my elbows and crow too? And just now in the doleful dumps. And all this from the simple crow of a cock. Marvelous cock! But soft—this fellow now crows most lustily ; but it's only morning; let's see how he'll crow about noon, and towards nightfall. Come to think of it, cocks crow most lustily in the beginning of the day. Their pluck ain't lasting, after all. Yes, yes; even cocks have to succumb to the universal spell of tribulation: jubilant in the beginning, but down in the mouth at the end. . . . "Of fine mornings, We fine lusty cocks begin our crows in gladness; But when the eve does come we don't crow quite so much, For then cometh despondency and madness."

The poet had this very Shanghai in mind when he wrote that. But stop. There he rings out again, ten times richer, fuller, longer, more obstreperously exulting than before! In fact, that bell ought to be taken down, and this Shanghai put in its place. Such a crow would jollify all London, from Mile-End (which is no end) to Primrose Hill (where there ain't any primroses), and scatter the fog.

Well, I have an appetite for my breakfast this morning, if I have not had it for a week before. I meant to have only tea and toast; but I'll have coffee and eggs—no, brown stout and a beefsteak. I want something hearty. Ah, here comes the down-train : white cars, flashing through the trees like a vein of silver. How cheerfully the steam-pipe chirps ! Gay are the passengers. There waves a handkerchief—going down to the city to eat oysters, and see their friends, and drop in at the circus. Look at the mist yonder; what soft curls and undulations round the hills, and the sun weaving his rays among them. See the azure smoke of the village, like the azure tester over a bridal-bed. How bright the country looks there where the river overflowed the meadows. The old grass has to knock under to the new. Well, I feel the better for this walk. Home now, and walk into that steak and crack that bottle of brown stout ; and by the time that's drank—a quart of stout—by that time, I shall feel about as stout as Samson. Come to think of it, that dun may call, though. I'll just visit the woods and cut a club. I'll club him, by Jove, if he duns me this day.

Hark! there goes Shanghai again. Shanghai says, "Bravo!" Shanghai says, "Club him!"

Oh, brave cock!

I felt in rare spirits the whole morning. The dun called about eleven. I had the boy Jake send the dun up. I was reading Tristram Shandy, and could not go down under the circumstances. The lean rascal (a lean farmer, too— think of that!) entered, and found me seated in an armchair, with my feet on the table, and the second bottle of brown stout handy, and the book under eye.

"Sit down," said I, "I'll finish this chapter, and then attend to you. Fine morning. Ha ! ha ! —this is a fine joke about my Uncle Toby and the Widow Wadman! Ha! ha! ha! let me read this to you."

"I have no time ; I've got my noon chores to do."

"To the deuce with your chores!" said I.

"Don't drop your old tobacco about here, or I'll turn you out."

"Sir!"

"Let me read you this about the Widow Wadman. Said the Widow Wadman—"

"There's my bill, sir."

"Very good. Just twist it up, will you—it's about my smoking-time ; and hand a coal, will you, from the hearth yonder!"

"My bill, sir!" said the rascal, turning pale with rage and amazement at my unwonted air (formerly I had always dodged him with a pale face), but too prudent as yet to betray the extremity of his astonishment. "My bill, sir"—and he stiffly poked it at me.

"My friend," said I, "what a charming morning! How sweet the country looks! Pray, did you hear that extraordinary cock-crow this morning? Take a glass of my stout!"

"Yours? First pay your debts before you offer folks your stout !"

"You think, then, that, properly speaking, I have no stout" said I, deliberately rising. "I'll undeceive you. I'll show you stout of a superior brand to Barclay and Perkins."

Without more ado, I seized that insolent dun by the slack of his coat—(and, being a lean, shad-bellied wretch, there was plenty of slack to it)—I seized him that way, tied him with a sailor-knot, and, thrusting his bill between his teeth, introduced him to the open country lying round about my place of abode.

"Jake," said I, "you'll find a sack of blue-nosed potatoes lying under the shed. Drag it here, and pelt this pauper away ; he's been begging pence of me, and I know he can work, but he's lazy. Pelt him away, Jake!"

Bless my stars, what a crow ! Shanghai sent up such a perfect pagan and laudamus—such a trumpet blast of triumph, that my soul fairly snorted in me. Duns !—I could have fought an army of them! Plainly, Shanghai was of the opinion that duns only came into the world to be kicked, hanged, bruised, battered, choked, walloped, hammered, drowned, clubbed!

Returning indoors, when the exultation of my victory over the dun had a little subsided, I fell to musing over the mysterious Shanghai. I had no idea I would hear him so nigh my house. I wondered from what rich gentleman's yard he crowed. Nor had he cut short his crows so easily as I had supposed he would. This Shanghai crowed till midday, at least. Would he keep a-crowing all day? I resolved to learn. Again I ascended the hill. The whole country was now bathed in a rejoicing sunlight. The warm verdure was bursting all round me. Teams were a-field. Birds, newly arrived from the South, were blithely singing in the air. Even the crows cawed with a certain unction, and seemed a shade or two less black than usual.

Hark ! there goes the cock ! How shall I describe the crow of the Shanghai at noontide! His sunrise crow was a whisper to it. It was the loudest, longest and most strangely musical crow that ever amazed mortal man. I had heard plenty of cock-crows before, and many fine ones ;—but this one ! so smooth, and flute-like in its very clamor—so self-possessed in its very rapture of exultation—so vast, mounting, swelling, soaring, as if spurted out from a golden throat, thrown far back. Nor did it sound like the foolish, vain-glorious crow of some young sophomorean cock, who knew not the world, and was beginning life in audacious gay spirits, because in wretched ignorance of what might be to come. It was the crow of a cock who crowed not without advice ; the crow of a cock who knew a thing or two ; the crow of a cock who had fought the world and got the better of it and was resolved to crow, though the earth should heave and the heavens should fall. It was a wise crow; an invincible crow; a philosophic crow; a crow of all crows.

I returned home once more full of reinvigorated spirits, with a dauntless sort of feeling. I thought over my debts and other troubles, and over the unlucky risings of the poor oppressed peoples abroad, and over the railroad and steamboat accidents, and over even the loss of my dear friend, with a calm, good-natured rapture of defiance, which astounded myself. I felt as though I could meet Death, and invite him to dinner, and toast the Catacombs with him, in pure overflow of self-reliance and a sense of universal security.

Toward evening I went up to the hill once more to find whether, indeed, the glorious cock would prove game even from the rising of the sun unto the going down thereof. Talk of Vespers or Curfew!—the evening crow of the cock went out of his mighty throat all over the land and inhabited it, like Xerxes from the East with his double-winged host. It was miraculous. Bless me, what a crow! The cock went game to roost that night, depend upon it, victorious over the entire day, and bequeathing the echoes of his thousand crows to night.

After an unwontedly sound, refreshing sleep I rose early, feeling like a carriage-spring light—elliptical—airy—buoyant as sturgeon- nose—and, like a foot-ball, bounded up the hill. Hark! Shanghai was up before me. The early bird that caught the worm—crowing like a bugle worked by an engine—lusty, loud, all jubilation. From the scattered farmhouses a multitude of other cocks were crowing, and replying to each other's crows. But they were as flageolets to a trombone. Shanghai would suddenly break in, and overwhelm all their crows with his one domineering blast. He seemed to have nothing to do with any other concern. He replied to no other crow, but crowed solely by himself, on his own account, in solitary scorn and independence.

Oh, brave cock!—oh, noble Shanghai!—oh, bird rightly offered up by the invincible Socrates, in testimony of his final victory over life.

As I live, thought I, this blessed day, will I go and seek out the Shanghai, and buy him, if I have to clap another mortgage on my land.

I listened attentively now, striving to mark from what direction the crow came. But it so charged and replenished, and made bountiful and overflowing all the air, that it was impossible to say from what precise point the exultation came. All that I could decide upon was this: the crow came from out of the east, and not from out of the west. I then considered with myself how far a cock-crow might be heard. In this still country, shut in, too, by mountains, sounds were audible at great distances. Besides, the undulations of the land, the abuttings of the mountains into the rolling hill and valley below, produced strange echoes, and reverberations, and multiplications, and accumulations of resonance, very remarkable to hear, and very puzzling to think of. Where lurked this valiant Shanghai—this bird of cheerful Socrates—the game-fowl Greek who died unappalled? Where lurked he? Oh, noble cock, where are you? Crow once more, my Bantam! my princely, my imperial Shanghai ! my bird of the Emperor of China! Brother of the sun! Cousin of great Jove! where are you?—one crow more, and tell me your number !

Hark! like a full orchestra of the cocks of all nations, forth burst the crow. But where from ? There it is; but where? There was no telling, further than it came from out of the east.

After breakfast I took my stick and sallied down the road. There were many gentlemen's seats dotting the neighboring country, and I made no doubt that some of these opulent gentlemen had invested a hundred dollar bill in some royal Shanghai recently imported in the ship Trade Wind, or the ship White Squall, or the ship Sovereign of the Seas; for it must needs have been a brave ship with a brave name which bore the fortunes of so brave a cock. I resolved to walk the entire country, and find this noble foreigner out; but thought it would not be amiss to inquire on the way at the humblest homesteads, whether, peradventure, they had heard of a lately-imported Shanghai belonging to any gentlemen settlers from the city; for it was plain that no poor farmer, no poor man of any sort, could own such an Oriental trophy such a Great Bell of St. Paul's swung in a cock's throat.

I met an old man, plowing, in a field nigh the road-side fence.

"My friend, have you heard an extraordinary cock-crow of late?"

"Well, well," he drawled, "I don't know—the Widow Crowfoot has a cock—and Squire Squaretoes has a cock—and I have a cock, and they all crow. But I don't know of any on 'em with 'straordinary crows."

"Good-morning to you," said I, shortly; "it's plain that you have not heard the crow of the Emperor of China's chanticleer."

Presently I met another old man mending a tumble-down old rail-fence. The rails were rotten, and at every move of the old man's hand they crumbled into yellow ochre. He had much better let the fence alone, or else get him new rails. And here I must say, that one cause of the sad fact why idiocy more prevails among farmers than any other class of people, is owing to their undertaking the mending of rotten rail-fences in warm, relaxing spring weather. The enterprise is a hopeless one. It is a laborious one ; it is a bootless one. It is an enterprise to make the heart break. Vast pains squandered upon a vanity. For how can one make rotten rail-fences stand up on their rotten pins? By what magic put pitch into sticks which have lain freezing and baking through sixty consecutive winters and summers ? This it is, this wretched endeavor to mend rotten rail-fences with their own rotten rails, which drives many farmers into the asylum.

On the face of the old man in question incipient idiocy was plainly marked. For, about sixty rods before him extended one of the most unhappy and desponding broken-hearted Virginia rail-fences I ever saw in my life. While in a field behind, were a set of young steers, possessed as by devils, continually butting at this forlorn old fence, and breaking through it here and there, causing the old man to drop his work and chase them back within bounds. He would chase them with a piece of rail huge as Goliath's beam, but as light as cork. At the first flourish, it crumbled into powder.

"My friend," said I, addressing this woeful mortal, "have you heard an extraordinary cockcrow of late?"

I might as well as have asked him if he had heard the death-tick. He stared at me with a long, bewildered, doleful, and unutterable stare, and without reply resumed his unhappy labors.

What a fool, thought I, to have asked such an uncheerful and uncheerable creature about a cheerful cock !

I walked on. I had now descended the high land where my house stood, and being in a low tract could not hear the crow of the Shanghai, which doubtless overshot me there. Besides, the Shanghai might be at lunch of corn and oats, or taking a nap, and so interrupted his jubilations for a while.

At length, I encountered riding along the road, a portly gentleman nay,—a pursy one— of great wealth, who had recently purchased him some noble acres, and built him a noble mansion, with a goodly fowl-house attached, the fame whereof spread through all the country. Thought I, Here now is the owner of the Shanghai.

"Sir," said I, "excuse me, but I am a countryman of yours, and would ask, if so be you own any Shanghais?"

"Oh, yes; I have ten Shanghais."

"Ten!" exclaimed I, in wonder; "and do they all crow?"

"Most lustily; every soul of them; I wouldn't own a cock that wouldn't crow."

"Will you turn back, and show me those Shanghais?"

"With pleasure: I am proud of them. They cost me, in the lump, six hundred dollars."

As I walked by the side of his horse, I was thinking to myself whether possibly I had not mistaken the harmoniously combined crowings of ten Shanghais in a squad, for the supernatural crow of a single Shanghai by himself.

"Sir," said I, "is there one of your Shanghais which far exceeds all the others in the lustiness, musicalness, and inspiring effects of his crow?"

"They crow pretty much alike, I believe," he courteously replied. "I really don't know that I could tell their crow apart."

I began to think that after all my noble chanticleer might not be in the possession of this wealthy gentleman. However, we went into his fowl-yard, and saw his Shanghais. Let me say that hitherto I had never clapped eye on this species of imported fowl. I had heard what enormous prices were paid for them, and also that they were of an enormous size, and had somehow fancied they must be of a beauty and brilliancy proportioned both to size and price. What was my surprise, then, to see ten carrot-colored monsters, without the smallest pretension to effulgence of plumage. Immediately, I determined that my royal cock was neither among these, nor could possibly be a Shanghai at all ; if these gigantic gallows-bird fowl were fair specimens of the true Shanghai.

I walked all day, dining and resting at a farmhouse, inspecting various fowl-yards, interrogating various owners of fowls, hearkening to various crows, but discovered not the mysterious chanticleer. Indeed, I had wandered so far and deviously, that I could not hear his crow. I began to suspect that this cock was a mere visitor in the country, who had taken his departure by the eleven o'clock train for the South, and was now crowing and jubilating somewhere on the verdant banks of Long Island Sound.

But next morning, again I heard the inspiring blast, again felt my blood bound in me, again felt superior to all the ills of life, again felt like turning my dun out of doors. But displeased with the reception given him at his last visit, the dun stayed away, doubtless being in a huff. Silly fellow that he was to take a harmless joke in earnest.

Several days passed, during which I made sundry excursions in the regions roundabout, but in vain sought the cock. Still, I heard him from the hill, and sometimes from the house, and sometimes in the stillness of the night. If at times I would relapse into my doleful dumps straightway at the sound of the exultant and defiant crow, my soul, too, would turn chanticleer, and clap her wings, and throw back her throat, and breathe forth a cheerful challenge to all the world of woes.

At last, after some weeks I was necessitated to clap another mortgage on my estate, in order to pay certain debts, and among others the one I owed the dun, who of late had commenced a civil-process against me. The way the process was served was a most insulting one. In a private room I had been enjoying myself in the village tavern over a bottle of Philadelphia porter, and some Herkimer cheese, and a roll, and having apprised the landlord, who was a friend of mine, that I would settle with him when I received my next remittances, stepped to the peg where I had hung my hat in the bar-room, to get a choice cigar I had left in the hall, when lo! I found the civil-process enveloping the cigar. When I unrolled the cigar, I unrolled the civil-process, and the constable standing by rolled out, with a thick tongue, "Take notice!" and added, in a whisper, "Put that in your pipe and smoke it!"

I turned short round upon the gentlemen then and there present in that bar-room. Said I, "Gentlemen, is this an honorable nay, is this a lawful way of serving a civil-process? Behold!"

One and all they were of opinion, that it was a highly inelegant act in the constable to take advantage of a gentleman's lunching on cheese and porter, to be so uncivil as to slip a civil-process into his hat. It was ungenerous ; it was cruel ; for the sudden shock of the thing coming instanter upon the lunch, would impair the proper digestion of the cheese, which is proverbially not so easy of digestion as blancmange.

Arrived at home I read the process, and felt a twinge of melancholy. Hard world! hard world! Here I am, as good a fellow as ever lived—hospitable—open-hearted—generous to a fault ; and the Fates forbid that I should possess the fortune to bless the country with my bounteousness. Nay, while many a stingy curmudgeon rolls in idle gold, I, heart of nobleness as I am, I have civil-processes served on me ! I bowed my head, and felt forlorn— unjustly used—abused—unappreciated— in short, miserable.

Hark! like a clarion! yea, like a bolt of thunder with bells to it—came the all-glorious and defiant crow! Ye gods, how it set me up again! Right on my pins! Yes, verily on stilts!

Oh, noble cock !

Plain as cock could speak, it said, "Let the world and all aboard of it go to pot. Do you be jolly, and never say die! What's the world compared to you? What is it, anyhow, but a lump of loam? Do you be jolly!"

Oh, noble cock!

"But my dear and glorious cock," mused I, upon second thought, "one can't so easily send this world to pot; one can't so easily be jolly with civil-processes in his hat or hand."

Hark! the crow again. Plain as cock could speak, it said: "Hang the process, and hang the fellow that sent it! If you have not land or cash, go and thrash the fellow, and tell him you never mean to pay him. Be jolly!"

Now this was the way—through the imperative intimations of the cock—that I came to clap the added mortgage on my estate; paid all my debts by fusing them into this one added bond and mortgage. Thus made at ease again, I renewed my search for the noble cock. But in vain, though I heard him every day. I began to think there was some sort of deception in this mysterious thing: some wonderful ventriloquist prowled around my barns, or in my cellar, or on my roof, and was minded to be gayly mischievous. But no—what ventriloquist could so crow with such an heroic and celestial crow?

At last, one morning there came to me a certain singular man, who had sawed and split my wood in March—some five-and-thirty cords of it—and now he came for his pay. He was a singular man, I say. He was tall and spare, with a long saddish face, yet somehow a latently joyous eye, which offered the strangest contrast. His air seemed staid, but undepressed. He wore a long, gray, shabby coat, and a big battered hat. This man had sawed my wood at so much a cord. He would stand and saw all day in a driving snow-storm, and never wink at it. He never spoke unless spoken to. He only sawed. Saw, saw, saw—snow, snow, snow. The saw and the snow went together like two natural things. The first day this man came, he brought his dinner with him, and volunteered to eat it sitting on his buck in the snow-storm. From my window, where I was reading Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, I saw him in the act. I burst out of doors bareheaded. "Good heavens!" cried I; what are you doing? Come in. This your dinner!"

He had a hunk of stale bread and another hunk of salt beef, wrapped in a wet newspaper, and washed his morsels down by melting a handful of fresh snow in his mouth. I took this rash man indoors, planted him by the fire, gave him a dish of hot pork and beans, and a mug of cider.

"Now," said I, "don't you bring any of your damp dinners here. You work by the job, to be sure; but I'll dine you for all that."

He expressed his acknowledgments in a calm, proud, but not ungrateful way, and dispatched his meal with satisfaction to himself, and me also. It afforded me pleasure to perceive that he quaffed down his mug of cider like a man. I honored him. When I addressed him in the way of business at his buck, I did so in a guardedly respectful and deferential manner. Interested in his singular aspect, struck by his wondrous intensity of application at his saw—a most wearisome and disgustful occupation to most people—I often sought to gather from him who he was, what sort of a life he led, where he was born, and so on. But he was mum. He came to saw my wood, and eat my dinners—if I chose to offer them—but not to gabble. At first, I somewhat resented his sullen silence under the circumstances. But better considering it, I honored him the more. I increased the respectfulness and deferentialness of my address toward him. I concluded within myself that this man had experienced hard times; that he had had many sore rubs in the world ; that he was of a solemn disposition ; that he was of the mind of Solomon; that he lived calmly, decorously, temperately ; and though a very poor man, was, nevertheless, a highly respectable one. At times I imagined that he might even be an elder or deacon of some small country church. I thought it would not be a bad plan to run this excellent man for President of the United States. He would prove a great reformer of abuses.

His name was Merrymusk. I had often thought how jolly a name for so unjolly a wight. I inquired of people whether they knew Merrymusk. But it was some time before I learned much about him. He was by birth a Marylander, it appeared, who had long lived in the country round about ; a wandering man ; until within some ten years ago, a thriftless man, though perfectly innocent of crime; a man who would work hard a month with surprising soberness, and then spend all his wages in one riotous night. In youth he had been a sailor, and run away from his ship at Batavia, where he caught the fever, and came nigh dying. But he rallied, reshipped, landed home, found all his friends dead, and struck for the Northern interior, where he had since tarried. Nine years back he had married a wife, and now had four children. His wife was become a perfect invalid; one child had the white-swelling and the rest were rickety. He and his family lived in a shanty on a lonely barren patch nigh the railroad track, where it passed close to the base of the mountain. He had bought a fine cow to have plenty of wholesome milk for his children ; but the cow died during an accouchement, and he could not afford to buy another. Still, his family never suffered for lack of food. He worked hard and brought it to them.

Now, as I said before, having long previously sawed my wood, this Merrymusk came for his pay.

"My friend," said I, "do you know of any gentleman hereabouts who owns an extraordinary cock?"

The twinkle glittered quite plain in the wood-sawyer's eye.

"I know of no gentleman" he replied, "who has what might well be called an extraordinary cock."

Oh, thought I, this Merrymusk is not the man to enlighten me. I am afraid I shall never discover this extraordinary cock.

Not having the full change to pay Merrymusk, I gave him his due, as nigh as I could make it, and told him that in a day or two I would take a walk and visit his place, and hand to him the remainder. Accordingly one fine morning I sallied forth upon the errand. I had much ado finding the best road to the shanty. No one seemed to know where it was exactly. It lay in a very lonely part of the country, a densely-wooded mountain on one side (which I call October Mountain, on account of its bannered aspect in that month), and a thicketed swamp on the other, the railroad cutting the swamp. Straight as a die the railroad cut it; many times a day tantalizing the wretched shanty with the sight of all the beauty, rank, fashion, health, trunks, silver and gold, drygoods and groceries, brides and grooms, happy wives and husbands, flying by the lonely door —no time to stop—flash! here they are—and there they go ! out of sight at both ends—as if that part of the world were only made to fly over, and not to settle upon. And this was about all the shanty saw of what people call life.

Though puzzled somewhat, yet I knew the general direction where the shanty lay, and on I trudged. As I advanced, I was surprised to hear the mysterious cock crow with more and more distinctness. Is it possible, thought I, that any gentleman owning a Shanghai can dwell in such a lonesome, dreary region? Louder and louder, nigher and nigher, sounded the glorious and defiant clarion. Though somehow I may be out of the track to my wood-sawyer's, I said to myself, yet, thank heaven, I seem to be on the way toward that extraordinary cock. I was delighted with this auspicious accident. On I journeyed; while at intervals the crow sounded most invitingly, and jocundly, and superbly; and the last crow was ever nigher than the former one. At last, emerging from a thicket of elders, straight before me I saw the most resplendent creature that ever blessed the sight of man.

A cock, more like a golden eagle than a cock. A cock, more like a field marshal than a cock. A cock, more like Lord Nelson with all his glittering arms on, standing on the Vanguard's quarter-deck going into battle, than a cock. A cock, more like the Emperor Charlemagne in his robes at Aix la Chapelle, than a cock.

Such a cock!

He was of a haughty size, stood haughtily on his haughty legs. His colors were red, gold, and white. The red was on his crest along, which was a mighty and symmetric crest, like unto Hector's helmet, as delineated on antique shields. His plumage was snowy, traced with gold. He walked in front of the shanty, like a peer of the realm; his crest lifted, his chest heaved out, his embroidered trappings flashing in the light. His pace was wonderful. He looked like some Oriental king in some magnificent Italian opera.

Merrymusk advanced from the door.

"Pray is not that the Signor Beneventano?"

"Sir!"

"That's the cock," said I, a little embarrassed. The truth was, my enthusiasm had betrayed me into a rather silly inadvertence. I had made a somewhat learned sort of allusion in the presence of an unlearned man. Consequently, upon discovering it by his honest stare, I felt foolish; but carried it off by declaring that this was the cock.

Now, during the preceding autumn I had been to the city, and had chanced to be present at a performance of the Italian Opera. In that opera figured in some royal character a certain Signor Beneventano—a man of a tall, imposing person, clad in rich raiment, like to plumage, and with a most remarkable, majestic, scornful stride. The Signor Beneventano seemed on the point of tumbling over backward with exceeding haughtiness. And, for all the world, the proud pace of the cock seemed the very stage-pace of the Signor Beneventano.

Hark! suddenly the cock paused, lifted his head still higher, ruffled his plumes, seemed inspired, and sent forth a lusty crow. October Mountain echoed it; other mountains sent it back; still others rebounded it; it overran the country round. Now I plainly perceived how it was I had chanced to hear the gladdening sound on my distant hill.

"Good heavens ! do you own the cock ? Is that cock yours?"

"Is it my cock!" said Merrymusk, looking slyly gleeful out of the corner of his long, solemn face.

"Where did you get it?"

"It chipped the shell here. I raised it."

"You?"

Hark? Another crow. It might have raised the ghosts of all the pines and hemlocks ever cut down in that country. Marvelous cock! Having crowed, he strode on again, surrounded by a bevy of admiring hens.

"What will you take for Signor Beneventano?"

"Sir?"

"That magic cock—what will you take for him?"

"I won't sell him."

"I will give you fifty dollars."

"Pooh!"

"One hundred!"

"Pish!"

"Five hundred!"

"Bah!"

"And you a poor man."

"No; don't I own that cock, and haven't I refused five hundred dollars for him?"

"True," said I, in profound thought; "that's a fact. You won't sell him, then?"

"No."

"Will you give him?"

"No."

"Will you keep him, then!" I shouted, in a rage.

"Yes."

I stood awhile admiring the cock, and wondering at the man. At last I felt a redoubled admiration of the one, and a redoubled deference for the other.

"Won't you step in?" said Merrymusk.

"But won't the cock be prevailed upon to join us?" said I.

"Yes. Trumpet! hither, boy! hither!"

The cock turned round, and strode up to Merrymusk.

"Come!"

The cock followed us into the shanty.

"Crow!"

The roof jarred.

Oh, noble cock!

I turned in silence upon my entertainer. There he sat on an old battered chest, in his old battered gray coat, with patches at his knees and elbows, and a deplorably bunged hat. I glanced round the room. Bare rafters overhead, but solid junks of jerked beef hanging from them. Earth floor, but a heap of potatoes in one corner, and a sack of Indian meal in another. A blanket was strung across the apartment at the further end, from which came a woman's ailing voice and the voices of ailing children. But somehow in the ailing of these voices there seemed no complaint.

"Mrs. Merrymusk and children?"

"Yes."

I looked at the cock. There he stood majestically in the middle of the room. He looked like a Spanish grandee caught in a shower, and standing under some peasant's shed. There was a strange supernatural look of contrast about him. He irradiated the shanty; he glorified its meanness. He glorified the battered chest, and tattered gray coat, and the bunged hat. He glorified the very voices which came in ailing tones from behind the screen.

"Oh, father," cried a little sickly voice, "let Trumpet sound again."

"Crow," cried Merrymusk.

The cock threw himself into a posture. The roof jarred.

"Does not this disturb Mrs. Merrymusk and the sick children?"

"Crow again, Trumpet."

The roof jarred.

"It does not disturb them, then?"

"Didn't you hear 'em ask for it?"

"How is it, that your sick family like this crowing?" said I. "The cock is a glorious cock, with a glorious voice, but not exactly the sort of thing for a sick chamber, one would suppose. Do they really like it?"

"Don't you like it? Don't it do you good? Ain't it inspiring? Don't it impart pluck? give stuff against despair?"

"All true," said I, removing my hat with profound humility before the brave spirit disguised in the base coat.

"But then," said I, still with some misgivings, "so loud, so wonderfully clamorous a crow, methinks might be amiss to invalids, and retard their convalescence."

"Crow your best now, Trumpet!"

I leaped from my chair. The cock frightened me, like some overpowering angel in the Apocalypse. He seemed crowing over the fall of wicked Babylon, or crowing over the triumph of righteous Joshua in the vale of Askelon. When I regained my composure somewhat, an inquisitive thought occurred to me. I resolved to gratify it.

"Merrymusk, will you present me to your wife and children?"

"Yes. Wife, the gentleman wants to step in."

"He is very welcome," replied a weak voice.

Going behind the curtain, there lay a wasted, but strangely cheerful human face; and that was pretty much all; the body, hid by the counterpane and an old coat, seemed too shrunken to reveal itself through such impediments. At the bedside sat a pale girl, ministering. In another bed lay three children, side by side; three more pale faces.

"Oh, father, we don't mislike the gentleman, but let us see Trumpet too."

At a word, the cock strode behind the screen, and perched himself on the children's bed. All their wasted eyes gazed at him with a wild and spiritual delight. They seemed to sun themselves in the radiant plumage of the cock.

"Better than a 'pothecary, eh," said Merrymusk. "This is Dr. Cock himself."

We retired from the sick ones, and I reseated myself again, lost in thought, over this strange household.

"You seem a glorious independent fellow," said I.

"And I don't think you a fool, and never did. Sir, you are a trump."

"Is there any hope of your wife's recovery?" said I, modestly seeking to turn the conversation.

"Not the least."

"The children?"

"Very little."

"It must be a doleful life, then, for all concerned. This lonely solitude—this shanty—hard work—hard times."

"Haven't I Trumpet? He's the cheerer. He crows through all ; crows at the darkest : Glory to God in the highest ! Continually he crows it."

"Just the import I first ascribed to his crow, Merrymusk, when first I heard it from my hill. I thought some rich nabob owned some costly Shanghai; little weening any such poor man as you owned this lusty cock of a domestic breed."

"Poor man like me? Why call me poor? Don't the cock I own glorify this otherwise inglorious, lean, lantern-jawed land? Didn't my cock encourage you? And I give you all this glorification away gratis. I am a great philanthropist. I am a rich man a very rich man, and a very happy one. Crow, Trumpet."

The roof jarred.

I returned home in a deep mood. I was not wholly at rest concerning the soundness of Merrymusk's views of things, though full of admiration for him. I was thinking on the matter before my door, when I heard the cock crow again. Enough. Merrymusk is right.

Oh, noble cock! oh, noble man!

I did not see Merrymusk for some weeks after this; but hearing the glorious and rejoicing crow, I supposed that all went as usual with him. My own frame of mind remained a rejoicing one. The cock still inspired me. I saw another mortgage piled on my plantation ; but only bought another dozen of stout, and a dozen-dozen of Philadelphia porter. Some of my relatives died; I wore no mourning, but for three days drank stout in preference to porter, stout being of the darker color. I heard the cock crow the instant I received the unwelcome tidings.

"Your health in this stout, oh, noble cock!"

I thought I would call on Merrymusk again, not having seen or heard of him for some time now. Approaching the place, there were no signs of motion about the shanty. I felt a strange misgiving. But the cock crew from within doors, and the boding vanished. I knocked at the door. A feeble voice bade me enter. The curtain was no longer drawn; the whole house was a hospital now. Merrymusk lay on a heap of old clothes ; wife and children were all in their beds. The cock was perched on an old hogshead hoop, swung from the ridge-pole in the middle of the shanty.

"You are sick, Merrymusk," said I mournfully.

"No, I am well," he feebly answered.—

"Crow, Trumpet."

I shrunk. The strong soul in the feeble body appalled me.

But the cock crew.

The roof jarred.

"How is Mrs. Merrymusk?"

"Well."

"And the children?"

"Well. All well."

The last two words he shouted forth in a kind of wild ecstasy of triumph over ill. It was too much. His head fell back. A white napkin seemed dropped upon his face. Merrymusk was dead.

An awful fear seized me.

But the cock crew.

The cock shook his plumage as if each feather were a banner. The cock hung from the shanty roof as erewhile the trophied flags from the dome of St. Paul's. The cock terrified me with exceeding wonder.

I drew nigh the bedsides of the woman and children. They marked my look of strange affright ; they knew what had happened.

"My good man is just dead," breathed the woman lowly. "Tell me true?"

"Dead," said I.

The cock crew.

She fell back, without a sigh, and through long-loving sympathy was dead.

The cock crew.

The cock shook sparkles from his golden plumage. The cock seemed in a rapture of benevolent delight. Leaping from the hoop, he strode up majestically to the pile of old clothes, where the wood-sawyer lay, and planted himself, like an armorial supporter, at his side. Then raised one long, musical, triumphant, and final sort of a crow, with throat heaved far back, as if he meant the blast to waft the woodsawyer's soul sheer up to the seventh heavens. Then he strode, king-like, to the woman's bed. Another upturned and exultant crow, mated to the former.

The pallor of the children was changed to radiance. Their faces shone celestially through grime and dirt. They seemed children of emperors and kings, disguised. The cock sprang upon their bed, shook himself, and crowed, and crowed again, and still and still again. He seemed bent upon crowing the souls of the children out of their wasted bodies. He seemed bent upon rejoining instanter this whole family in the upper air. The children seemed to second his endeavors. Far, deep, intense longings for release transfigured them into spirits before my eyes. I saw angels where they lay.

They were dead.

The cock shook his plumage over them. The cock crew. It was now like a Bravo ! like a Hurrah! like a Three-times-three! hip! hip! He strode out of the shanty. I followed. He flew upon the apex of the dwelling, spread wide his wings, sounded one supernatural note, and dropped at my feet.

The cock was dead.

If now you visit that hilly region, you will see, nigh the railroad track, just beneath October Mountain, on the other side of the swamp —there you will see a gravestone, not with skull and cross-bones, but with a lusty cock in act of crowing, chiseled on it, with the words beneath : "O death, where is thy sting?            grave, where is thy victory?" The wood-sawyer and his family, with the Signor Beneventano, lie in that spot ; and I buried them, and planted the stone, which was a stone made to order ; and never since then have I felt the doleful dumps, but under all circumstances crow late and early with a continual crow.

Cock-a-Doodle-Doo !—oo !—oo !—oo !—oo !

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Upper Powys, over which he had ruled, became known as Powys Gwenwynwyn.

[Brut y Tywysogion (Rolls Ser.); Rotuli Litterarum Clausarum et Patentium, Record Comm.; Fœdera, vol. i., Record ed.; Eyton's Shropshire; Bridgeman's Princes of Upper Powys, in the Montgomeryshire Collections of the Powysland Club, i. 11-19, 104-11.]  GWILT, GEORGE, the elder (1746–1807), architect, was made surveyor to the county of Surrey about 1770. In 1774, on the passing of the Metropolitan Building Act, he became district surveyor for St. George's, Southwark, and about 1777 surveyor to the commissioners of sewers for Surrey, his district extending from East Moulsey to the river Ravensbourne in Kent. In this latter post, which he held for thirty years, he was succeeded by his eldest son; [q. v.] As a young man Gwilt benefited by the patronage of Henry Thrale the brewer, and probably directed some of the improvements made by him at his brewery in Southwark (now Messrs. Barclay, Perkins, & Co.) At his house Gwilt became acquainted with Dr. Johnson, but there was no great cordiality between them. In 1782, when the private bridges at Cobham, Godalming, and Leatherhead were, by act of parliament, handed over to the county and made public, he, as county surveyor, directed the necessary alterations. Cobham bridge (formerly of wood) was entirely rebuilt of brick, with nine semicircular arches, the foundation-stone being laid on 15 July 1782. Godalming bridge (five arches) was also rebuilt, the foundation-stone laid on 22 July 1782, and the bridge opened to the public on 31 Jan. 1783. Leatherhead bridge, being already of stone and flint, was widened. Gwilt superintended the construction of the County Bridewell in St. George's Fields, at the back of the New King's Bench (afterwards Great Suffolk Street), in 1772; of Horsemonger Lane Gaol between 1791 and 1798 (pulled down in September 1878), and of the Sessions House in Newington Causeway, completed in 1799 (pulled down in 1862). In 1800, as architect to the West India Dock Company, he designed six of the large warehouses in the Isle of Dogs. In this work he was assisted by his son George. His two sons, George and Joseph, both separately noticed, were his pupils. He died in Southwark, 9 Dec. 1807, aged 61.

[Redgrave's Dict. of Artists; Dict. of Architecture; Manning and Bray's Surrey, iii. 589, Appendix, pp. xii, xiv, xxxvi; Brayley's Surrey, ii. 403, iii. 405, 406, v. 202; Memoir of Joseph Gwilt by Sebastian Gwilt, read at the Institute of British Architects, 15 Feb. 1864; Neild's State of the Prisons, pp. 547, 548, 551; Gent. Mag. 1807, p. 1181.]  GWILT, GEORGE, the younger (1775–1856), architect, born in Southwark 8 May 1775, was elder son of [q. v.] He was articled to his father, and succeeded him in business as an architect. He was from the first very fully employed, one of his earliest important commissions being the large warehouses erected about 1801 for the West India Dock Company, but he is not known as the author of any original works of artistic character. His tastes led him rather towards the study than the active practice of architecture, and he early devoted himself to archæological pursuits. He wrote many papers for the 'Archæologia' and the 'Vetusta Monumenta' of the Society of Antiquaries, of which he was elected a fellow on 14 Dec. 1815. In 1820 he superintended the rebuilding of the tower and spire of Wren's church of St. Mary-le-Bow,Cheapside, the upperportion of which had to be taken down in consequence of the decay of the iron cramps employed to hold the stones together. The foundations of the building were at the same time repaired, and Norman and even supposed Roman remains discovered. These are noticed in the description of the church in Britton and Pugin's 'Illustrations of the Public Buildings of London,' to which work Gwilt also contributed. He was particularly interested in the antiquities of Southwark, and contributed to the 'Gentleman's Magazine' of 1815 an article on the remains of Winchester Palace there. His most important archæological work was the restoration of the church of St. Mary Overy, Southwark, which was with him a labour of love. The tower and choir were restored 1822-1825 at a cost of 35,000l., and when, through the exertions of Thomas Saunders, F.S.A., the restoration of the lady chapel was proceeded with at a cost of 3,000l., raised by public subscription, Gwilt gave his services gratuitously. He died 26 June 1856 at the age of eighty-one, and was buried, by authority of the secretary of state, in a vault of the choir of St. Saviour's, Southwark.

Gwilt had three sons. The two eldest, George and Charles Edwin, were promising architects, but both died young. The latter contributed a paper on some antiquities of Southwark to the 'Archæologia' (xxv. 604).

[Builder, vol. xiv. (1856); Gent. Mag. 1833, pt. i. p. 254, 1856, ii. 250.]  GWILT, JOSEPH (1784–1863), architect and archæologist, son of [q. v.], and younger brother of [q. v.], was born at


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Rh Vals-les-Bains lies in a hole shut in between steep hills, it commands no view, it trails like an ugly worm along the bank of a petty stream; whereas Aubenas, hard by, accessible by electric tram, is throned on a height, sits as a queen on a platform of rock, and commands such a prospect as is worth going thither from England to see if that were its only attraction.

Are there good hotels in Vals? So there are in Aubenas. Shops? As good in both. Electric illumination, telegraph and telephone? Each is similarly supplied. That which draws a crowd in the season to Vals is the baths. But the baths are a mere excuse. The fashion has set in and the crowd follow the fashion.

The river Ardèche, after having ploughed its way through beds of basaltic lava, runs between the prismatic columns as though sweeping through a forest of petrified bulrushes. It emerges above Aubenas into a broad, luxuriant, and well-peopled valley, where white walls smile and glass windows wink in the sun as far down as the eye can reach, and as far up the sides of the hills as folk choose to climb to their homes.

Moreover, factories stretch their long roofs below the rock of Aubenas and throw up their smoke, but without disfigurement to the scene or vitiation of the limpid air.

Come to Aubenas from the junction at Vogué on a Sunday evening, and you will see something of merry girl-life. The factory-hands from the lower country are returning from their homes to resume their work on Monday morning. They swarm into every carriage, crowding in at every station, each with a basket in one hand and a sack over the shoulder or under the arm. All are chattering, laughing; one wiping away a tear


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 11 Jan. 1784. He was educated at St. Paul's School, and in 1799 entered the office of his father. In 1801 he was a student in architecture of the Royal Academy, and gained a silver medal for the best drawing of the tower and steeple of the church of St. Dunstan's-in-the-East. He early engaged in active practice as an architect, and obtained varied employment, besides holding many professional offices. His best known works are: Lee Church, near Lewisham, now pulled down; the approaches to Southwark Bridge; Markree Castle, Sligo, his most important work in point of size; the church of St. Thomas, in the Byzantine style, at Charlton, near Woolwich; and extensive additions and alterations, including an elegant Italian doorway to the hall of the Grocers' Company to which he was surveyor. He was also architect to the Imperial Insurance Company and the Waxchandlers' Company, and, as surveyor to the county of Surrey from 1807 to 1846 in succession to his father, conspicuously advocated the large sewer as opposed to the pipe system of drainage.

Gwilt's tastes, however, led him chiefly to the literary and antiquarian side of his profession, and it is as a useful and voluminous writer on architectural subjects that his name is chiefly remembered. In 1811 he published a 'Treatise on the Equilibrium of Arches, in which the Theory is demonstrated upon familiar Mathematical Principles,' of which a second edition was published in 1826, and a third in 1839. In 1816 he visited Rome and the chief Italian cities for the purposes of study, and on his return in 1818 took up his abode at 20 Abingdon Street, Westminster, where he prepared the result of his travels for publication in the shape of his 'Notitia Architectonica Italiana, or Concise Notes of the Buildings and Architects of Italy, preceded by a short Essay on Civil Architecture, and an Introductory View of the Ancient Architecture of the Romans,' with tables and plates, 8vo, London, 1818. His next work was a pamphlet entitled Cursory Remarks on the Origin of Caryatides,' printed in 1821, but not published, and afterwards embodied in his introduction to Chambers's 'Civil Architecture,' and in his great work the 'Encyclopædia of Architecture.' In 1822 he first published his well-known work on the projection of shadows, of which the second edition appeared two years later, entitled 'Sciography, or Examples of Shadows, with Rules for their Projection, intended for the use of Architectural Draughtsmen and other Artists,' with plates &c. There was then no English work on the subject, and Gwilt's book, which was based on L'Eveillé's 'Etudes d'Ombre,' to which he acknowledges his obligations, was much appreciated and obtained a ready sale. On 4 March 1823 he read to the Architects and Antiquaries' Club of London an 'Historical, Descriptive, and Critical Account of the Catholic Church of St. Paul's, London,' a paper so much appreciated that it was printed, with some slight additions by Mr. Brayley, for the committee of the club. It was not, however, published, but was afterwards inserted in Britton and Pugin's 'Public Buildings of London.' To the same period of his studies belongs also the sheet engraving, published by him in the following year, giving by transverse sections to the same scale a comparative view of the four principal modern churches in Europe. In 1825 he commenced the publication in monthly parts of Sir William Chambers's 'Treatise on the Decorative part of Civil Architecture,' to which he added notes and illustrations, and an 'Examination of the Elements of Beauty in Grecian Architecture,' containing the first particulars of Parry's investigations in Egypt, with a reproduction of some of his sketches. Gwilt's next literary venture, a translation of Vitruvius, which appeared in 1826, is still the only complete translation of any merit. In the same year he also gave to the world his 'Rudiments of Architecture, Practical and Theoretical,' which suggested the plan and contained much of the material afterwards embodied in his 'Encyclopædia.' It is upon the latter work that his fame mainly rests, and it remains a book of much practical utility, and a standard work of reference even now. First published in 1842 under the title 'An Encyclopædia of Architecture, Historical, Theoretical, and Practical,' 8vo, it is, as its name implies, a complete body of architecture. It ran through three editions in rapid succession between 1851 and 1859, and was re-edited by Mr. Wyatt Papworth in 1876. It has done more than any other work to simplify the study of the art to the professional student, and render it accessible to all. Among Gwilt's minor works may be mentioned his 'Elements of Architectural Criticism for the Use of Students, Amateurs, and Reviewers,' first published in 1837, and reissued with an appendix in the following year. Its purpose was to counteract the influence of the German classic school of architects represented by such works as the Museum at Berlin and the Pinacothek at Munich. He also wrote articles on architecture and music for the 'Encyclopædia Metropolitana' and for Brande's 'Dictionary of Literature, Science, and Art;' 'Rudiments of the Anglo-Saxon


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title: The Yellow Claw/Chapter VII


text: The Yellow Claw/Chapter VIII

title: The Yellow Claw/Chapter VIII