text:
Page:EB1911 - Volume 19.djvu/267

 NASTURTIUM, or Tropaeolum majus, a perennial climber, native of Peru, but in cultivation treated as a hardy annual. It climbs by means of the long stalk of the peltate leaf which is sensitive to contact like a tendril. The irregular flowers have five sepals united at the base, the dorsal one produced into a spurred development of the axis; of the five petals the two upper are slightly different and stand rather apart from the lower three; the eight stamens are unequal and the pistil consists of three carpels which form a fleshy fruit separating into three one-seeded portions. The flowers are sometimes eaten in salads, and the leaves and young green fruits are pickled in vinegar as a substitute for capers. The pungency of the nasturtium officinale, the water-cress, gave it its name nasi-tortium, that which twists the nose. The plant should have a warm situation, and the soil should be light and well enriched; sow thinly early in April, either near a fence or wall, or in an open spot, where it will require stakes 6 to 8 ft. high.

The dwarf form known as Tom Thumb (T. m. nanum), is an excellent bedding or border flower, growing about a foot high. Sow in April in the beds or borders; and again in May for a succession. Other fine annual Tropaeolums are T. Lobbianum with long spurred orange flowers and numerous varieties; and T. minus, a kind of miniature T. majus with yellow, scarlet and crimson varieties.

The genus Tropaeolum, native of South America and Mexico, includes about 35 species of generally climbing annual and perennial herbs with orange, yellow, rarely purple or blue, irregular flowers, T. peregrinum is the well-known canary creeper. The flame nasturtium with brilliant scarlet blossoms is T. speciosum from Chile; it has tuberous roots, as have also such well-known perennials as T. polyphyllum, T. pentaphyllum. Of these T. speciosum should be grown in England in positions facing north; it flourishes in Scotland.  NATAL, a maritime province of the Union of South Africa, situated nearly between 27° and 31° S., 29° and 33° E. It is bounded S.E. by the Indian Ocean, S.W. by the Cape province and Basutoland, N.W. by the Orange Free State province, N. and N.E. by the Transvaal and Portuguese East Africa. It has a coast line of 376 m.; its greatest length N. to S. in a direct line is 247 m.; its greatest breadth E. to W., also in a direct line, 200 m. Natal has an area of 35,371 sq. m., being nearly three-quarters the size of England. (For map see .) The province consists of two great divisions, namely Natal proper and (q.v.). Natal proper has a seaboard of 166 m. and an area of 24,910 sq. m., Zululand, in which is included Amatongaland, a seaboard of 210 m. and an area of 10,461 sq. m. It lies north-east of Natal. In this article the description of the physical features, &c. refers only to Natal proper.

Physical Features.—The terrace formation of the land characteristic of other coast regions of South Africa prevails in Natal. The country may be likened to a steep and gigantic staircase leading to a broad and level land lying beyond its borders. The rocky barrier which shuts off this land is part of the Drakensberg range. From the mountain sides flow many rivers which dash in magnificent waterfalls and through deep gorges to the sea. Falling 8000 or more feet in little over 200 m., these streams are unnavigable. The south-eastern sides of the mountains are in part covered with heavy timber, while the semi-tropical luxuriance of the coast belt has earned for Natal the title of “the garden colony.”

The coast trends, in an almost unbroken line, from S.W. to N.E. It extends from the mouth of the Umtamvuna river (31° 4′ S., 30° 12′ E.), which separates Natal from the Cape, to the mouth of the Tugela (19° 15′ S., 31° 30′ E.), which marks the frontier between Natal and Zululand. The only considerable indentation is at Durban, about two-thirds of the distance from the Umtamvuna to the Tugela, where there is a wide and shallow bay, covering with its islands nearly 8 sq. m. The coast, though low and sandy in places, is for the most part rocky and dangerous. The warm Mozambique current sweeps down from the N.E., setting up a back drift close in shore. The southern entrance to Durban harbour is marked by a bold bluff, the Bluff of Natal, which is 250 ft. high and forested to the water’s edge. Opposite the Bluff a low sandy spit called the Point forms the northern entrance to the harbour. North of Durban the coast belt, hitherto very narrow, widens out and becomes more flat. But the greater part of the coast region, which has an average depth of 15 m., is broken and rugged. Ranges of hills lead to the first plateau, which has an average elevation of 2000 ft. and is of ill-defined extent. Here the land loses its semi-tropical character and resembles more the plains of the Orange Free State and the Transvaal. The second plateau, reached by a steep ascent, has an elevation of from nearly 4000 to fully 5000 ft. It is an undulating plain, grass-covered, but for the most part without trees or bush. It continues to the foot of the Drakensberg range, the mountains rising towards the S.W., with almost perpendicular sides, 6000 to 7000 ft. above the country at their base. Northwest, towards the Transvaal, the mountains are of lower elevation and more rounded contours.

Mountains.—Although the division of the country into terraces separated by ranges of hills is clearly marked in various districts, as for instance between Durban and Colenso, the province is traversed by many secondary chains, as well as by spurs of the Drakensberg. The highest points of that range, and the highest land in Africa south of Kilimanjaro, lie within the borders of Natal. The (q.v.), from Majuba Hill on the N.W. to Bushman’s Nek in the S.W., form the frontier of the province, the crest of the range being generally within Natal. This is the case in the Mont-aux-Sources (11,170 ft.) and Cathkin Peak or Champagne Castle (10,357 ft.); the top of the third great height, Giant’s Castle (9657 ft.), is in Basutoland, but its seaward slopes are in Natal. From Giant’s Castle to Mont-aux-Sources, in which, forsaking their general direction, the Drakensberg run S.E. to N .W., the mountains attain an elevation of 10,000 to 11,000 ft., with few breaks in their face. North of Mont-aux-Sources the mountain ridge sinks to 8000 and less feet, and here are several passes leading into the Orange Free State. Laing’s Nek is a pass into the Transvaal. The chief heights in Natal between Mont-aux-Sources and Laing’s Nek are Tintwa (7500 ft.), Inkwelo (6808 ft.) and the flat-topped Majuba (7000 ft.). Spurs from the Drakensberg, at right angles to the main range, cross the plateaus. The most northern, which runs E. from Majuba to the Lebombo Mountains, coincides roughly with the northern frontier of Natal. It is one of the transverse chains connecting the eastern coast range with the higher terraces and goes under a variety of names, such as Elands Berg and Ingome Mountains. A second range, the Biggarsberg, starts from the Drakensberg near Mount Malani and goes E.S.E. to the junction of Mooi, Buffalo and Tugela rivers. This range contains, in Indumeni (7200 ft.), the highest mountain in Natal outside the main Drakensberg. A third range runs N.E. from Giant’s Castle towards the Biggarsberg. It lies north of the Mooi river, and its most general name is Mooi River Heights. A fourth range also diverges from Giant’s Castle and ramifies in various branches over a large tract of country, one branch running by Pietermaritzburg to the Berea hills overlooking Durban. The chief height in this fourth range is Spion Kop (7037 ft.), about 25 m. S.E. of Giant’s Castle. This is not the Spion Kop rendered famous during the Anglo-Boer War of 1899–1902. That Spion Kop, with Vaal Kranz and Pieter’s Hills, are heights on the northern bank of the upper Tugela.

Secondary ranges with heights of 5000 and more feet are numerous, whilst lofty isolated mountains rise from the plateaus. The greatest of these isolated masses is Mahwaqa (6834 ft.), in the south-west part of the country. Of many flat-topped hills the best known is the Table Mountain east of Pietermaritzburg.

Rivers.—All the rivers of Natal not purely coast streams have their origin in the Drakensberg or its secondary ranges. The largest and longest, the Tugela, with the Buffalo, Mooi, Klip and other tributaries is treated separately. The Tugela basin drains the whole country north of a line drawn in a direct line east from Giant’s Castle. The Umkomaas (“gatherer of waters”) rises in Giant’s Castle and flows in a south-easterly course to the sea. Though it makes no large sweeps it has so tortuous a course that its length (some 200 m.) is twice that of the valley through which it flows. Its banks in its upper course are wild and picturesque, with occasional wide deep valleys, with climate and vegetation resembling the coast belt. The Umzimkulu river rises in Bamboo Castle, in the Drakensberg, and, with bolder curves than the Umkomaas, runs in a course generally parallel with that stream S.E. to the sea, its mouth being about 40 m. south of that of the Umkomaas. The Ingwangwane rises in the Drakensberg south of the Umzimkulu, which it joins after a course of some 50 m. Below the junction the Umzimkulu forms for some distance the frontier between Natal and the Griqualand East division of the Cape. The scenery along the river valley (120 m. long) is very striking, in turns rugged and desolate, verdant and smiling, with patches of dense forest and heights wooded to their summit. Port Shepstone is situated at the mouth of the river, which, like that of all others in Natal, is obstructed by a bar. As a

title: Page:EB1911 - Volume 19.djvu/267


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Nasturtium

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

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Nasturtium


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Natal

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Natal


text:
User talk:212.225.100.238

Hello there, and welcome. I have worked over the bit of Page:Dictionary of National Biography volume 62.djvu/196 you were looking at. You can see the changes in the history. Charles Matthews (talk) 15:01, 27 November 2010 (UTC)

title: User talk:212.225.100.238


text:
Page:Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire vol 1 (1897).djvu/484

 410 which he appears to have entered into with his son Maxentius, the celerity of Constantine defeated all his hopes. On the first news of his perfidy and ingratitude, that prince returned by rapid marches from the Rhine to the Saone, embarked on the last mentioned river at Chalons, and, at Lyons trusting himself to the rapidity of the Rhone, arrived at the gates of Aries, with a military force which it was impossible for Maximian to resist, and which scarcely permitted him to take refuge in the neighbouring city of Marseilles. The narrow neck of land which joined that place to the continent was fortified against the besiegers, whilst the sea was open, either for the escape of Maximian, or for the succours of Maxentius, if the latter should choose to disguise his invasion of Gaul under the honourable pretence of defending a distressed, or, as he might allege, an injured father. Apprehensive of the fatal consequences of delay, Constantine gave orders for an immediate assault; but the scaling ladders were found too short for the height of the walls, and Marseilles might have sustained as long a siege as it formerly did against the arms of Cæsar, if the garrison, conscious either of their fault or of their danger, had not purchased their pardon by delivering up the city and the person of Maximian. A secret but irrevocable sentence of death was pronounced against the usurper; he obtained only the same favour which he had indulged to Severus, and it was published to the world that, oppressed by the remorse of his repeated crimes, he strangled himself with his own hands. After he had lost the assistance, and disdained the moderate counsels, of Diocletian, the second period of his active life was a series of public calamities and personal mortifications, which were terminated, in about three years, by an ignominious death. He deserved his fate; but we should find more reason to applaud the humanity of Constantine, if he had spared an old man, the benefactor of his father, and the father of his wife. During the whole of this melancholy transaction, it appears that Fausta sacrificed the sentiments of nature to her conjugal duties.

The last years of Galerius were less shameful and unfortunate; and, though he had filled with more glory the subordinate station of Cæsar than the superior rank of Augustus, he preserved, till


text: The American Journal of Sociology/Volume 10/Number 5/The Present Problems of Social Structure


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/585

The problems of social structure we find in a rather confused state at the present moment. In an earlier stage of sociological thinking considerable expectations were attached to the interpretation of social phenomena by means of biological analogies, or what was called the organic theory of society. These expectations may now be said to have been disappointed. The organic theory has almost universally been abandoned. Yet even its severest critics are likely to admit that there is some truth in or behind it, although they seem to be at a loss to explain properly what kind of truth it is.

By a curious coincidence, the three most notable representatives of that doctrine—the Russian, Paul von Lilienfeld, a man of high social standing; the German, Albert Schäffle, with a reputation as a political economist; and the Englishman, Herbert Spencer, whose fame needs not to be emphasized—all departed from life in the year 1903, the two latter in the month of December; all in advanced old age. To these three men sociology owes a debt of gratitude, because, after Comte, they were the first—at least in Europe—to formulate a theory of social life in large outline. From all, but especially from Schäffle and Spencer, we receive, and shall continue to receive, constant and fertile impulses


text:
Translation:Puss in Boots/Act 1/Scene 1

ACT ONE

__________ Scene One A small parlor in a peasant's cottage.

_____

. The tom-cat is lying on a stool by the stove. Lorenz I think that after the death of our father, our little fortune can be divided easily. You know that the deceased has left us only three pieces of property: a horse, an ox, and that cat there. I, as the eldest son, will take the horse; Barthel, the eldest after me, gets the ox; and so the cat of course is left for the youngest of us.

Leutner in the pit For Heaven's sake! Have you ever seen such an exposition! Just look how far the dramatic arts have degenerated!

Müller But I understand everything perfectly well.

Leutner That is precisely the problem: one should give the audience subtle hints, not ram everything down their throats.

Müller But now we know where we are, don't we?

Leutner Yes, but surely we shouldn't be told that so quickly; why, half the fun consists in finding things out little by little.

Schlosser The illusion suffers as a result of it; that is undeniable.

Barthel I trust you too will be satisfied with this division, Gottlieb; unfortunately you are the youngest, and so you must grant us some privileges.

Gottlieb Yes, of course.

Schlosser But why doesn't the court of wards take an interest in the inheritance? It's incomprehensible, not to mention improbable!

Lorenz So we'll be off now, dear Gottlieb. Farewell. Don't let time hang heavy on your hands.

Gottlieb Goodbye.

The brothers leave.

Gottlieb alone. Soliloquy. They have gone and I am left on my own. We each have our lodgings; Lorenz, of course, can till the ground with his horse; Barthel can slaughter and pickle his ox and live on it for a while; but what can a poor wretch like me do with a cat? At best I can make a muff for the winter out of his fur, and even then I think he is casting his hair now. There he lies, sleeping quite comfortably. Poor Hinze! Soon we shall have to part. I am sorry I brought him up, I know him as well as I know myself but he'll just have to accept it, I can't help it, I really must sell him. He's looking at me as though he understands. It's almost enough to make one cry.

He walks up and down, lost in thought.

Müller Well, you see now, don't, you, that it's going to be a touching picture of domestic bliss? The peasant is poor and without money; now, in the direst need, he will sell his faithful pet to some impressionable young lady, and in the end that will be the foundation of his good fortune. It is an imitation of Kotzebue's The Parrot; here the bird is replaced by a cat, but otherwise everthing will turn out the same.

Fischer Now that it's turning out this way, I too am satisfied.

Hinze the tom-cat rises, stretches, arches his back, yawns, then speaks.

Hinze My dear Gottlieb, I have the utmost sympathy for You.

Gottlieb astonished What, Puss, you can speak?

The Critics in the pit The cat can talk? What does that mean, then?

Fischer I'm finding it impossible to achieve the necessary sense of illusion here.

Müller I would rather never see another play in all my life than let myself be disappointed like this again.

Hinze Why shouldn't I be able to speak, Gottlieb?

Gottlieb I would not have suspected it; in all my life I have never heard a cat speak.

Hinze Just because we don't butt into every conversation, You think we are no better than dogs.

Gottlieb I think your only purpose is to catch mice.

Hinze If, in our intercourse with human beings, we had not developed a healthy contempt for speech, we would all speak.

Gottlieb Well, I'll grant you that! But why do you never let anyone become aware of this ability of yours?

Hinze To avoid being burdened with responsibility; once the power of speech is beaten into us so-called dumb brutes, we won't be able to take any pleasure out of life. Look at all the things dogs are compelled to do and learn! And horses, those poor martyred creatures! The foolish animals have revealed their intelligence; they just had to indulge their vanity. We cats, however, are still the freest race because we are clever enough to behave in so clumsy a fashion that human beings have quite given up all ideas of training us.

Gottlieb But why do you reveal all this to me?

Hinze Because You are a good and noble man, one of the few who take no delight in servitude and slavery; so You see, that is why I reveal my true nature to You.

Gottlieb giving him his hand. You're a good friend!

Hinze Human beings labor under the misapprehension that the only remarkable thing about us cats is that strange purring which arises from a certain sense of well-being; for that reason they often stroke us awkwardly, and then we only purr to ward off blows. But if they knew how to manage us in the right way, believe me, they could accustom our good nature to anything, and Michel, Your neighbor's tom-cat, would even at times be pleased to jump through a hoop for the king.

Gottlieb That's very true.

Hinze I love You, Gottlieb, very much. You never stroke me the wrong way, You always let me sleep when I feel like it, and You always object when your brothers want to pick me up and carry me into the dark so that they can see the so-called electric sparks for all this I now want to show You my gratitude.

Gottlieb Generous Hinze! Ah, how unjustly do people speak ill of you and deride you when they doubt your true loyalty and devotion! My eyes are being opened; how my knowledge of human nature is increasing, and so unexpectedly!

Fischer Friends, what has happened to the picture of domestic bliss that we were hoping to get?

Leutner Why, this is almost too absurd.

Schlosser I feel as though I'm dreaming.

Hinze You are a good man, Gottlieb; but and please do not be offended  You are somewhat limited and narrow-minded. To speak freely, Yours is not one of the brightest minds.

Gottlieb Alas, no!

Hinze For example, You don't know now what You want to do.

Gottlieb You read my thoughts perfectly.

Hinze If You had a muff made out of my fur

Gottlieb Do not take it amiss, my friend, that this idea just crossed my mind.

Hinze Of course not; it was an altogether human idea. But can't You think of some other way to make ends meet?

Gottlieb Not a single thing!

Hinze You could carry me around and show me off for money but that is never a reliable way of making a living.

Gottlieb No.

Hinze You could perhaps become a nature poet, but You are too well educated for that; You could contribute something to a journal of aesthetics, but, as I said, Yours is not one of the brightest minds, and that sort of work always requires a good head; and then You would still have to wait ages, because afterwards it is no longer taken so seriously, for only the new broom sweeps clean but it's much too complicated.

Gottlieb Yes, indeed.

Hinze Well, I want to take even better care of You. Rest assured, by the time I'm through You'll be very happy You inherited me.

Gottlieb O best of friends, you generous fellow!

He embraces him tenderly.

Hinze But You must also trust me.

Gottlieb Absolutely, now that I know you have an honest heart.

Hinze Well, then, do me a favor and fetch the shoemaker at once so that he can measure me for a pair of boots.

Gottlieb The shoemaker? Boots?

Hinze You are surprised; but what I intend to do for You will involve so much walking and running that a pair of boots will be absolutely indispensable.

Gottlieb But why not shoes?

Hinze Gottlieb, You do not understand; boots will lend me some dignity, an imposing presence in short, a certain manliness that would be unattainable in mere shoes.

Gottlieb Well, you know best but the shoemaker will be surprised.

Hinze Not at all; we just have to act as though there was nothing remarkable about a cat wanting to wear boots; people can get used to anything.

Gottlieb Yes, indeed; why, my conversation with you has actually become quite natural. But another thing: now that we have become such good friends, do please use the familiar form when you speak to me. Why ever would we still want to stand on ceremony with each other? Does not love abolish all differences of social standing?

Hinze As you like.

Gottlieb Why, there's the shoemaker now. Hey! Pst! Leichdorn, my good friend! Will you please step inside for a moment?

The comes in.

Shoemaker Bless you! What's new?

Gottlieb I haven't given you any business for a long time now

Shoemaker No, my good friend. All in all, I have very little to do nowadays.

Gottlieb I should like to have another pair of boots made

Shoemaker Please take a seat, then. I have my measuring tape with me.

Gottlieb The boots are not for me; they're for my young friend here.

Shoemaker For this fellow here? Very well.

Hinze sits on a chair and holds out his right leg.

Shoemaker Now then, what sort of boots would you like, Monsieur?

Hinze In the first place, they must have good soles; then brown flaps; and above all they must be stiff.

Shoemaker Very well.

He takes the measuring tape.

Shoemaker Will you be so kind as to draw in your claws a little I mean nails? I have already scratched myself.

Hinze And they must be finished quickly.

As his leg is being stroked, he begins to purr involuntarily.

Shoemaker Monsieur is very happy.

Gottlieb Yes, he's a cheerful fellow. He has just come from school. He's what they usually call a sly dog.

Shoemaker Well, goodbye.

Exit Shoemaker.

Gottlieb Wouldn't you perhaps like to have your whiskers trimmed too?

Hinze Certainly not! I look so much more respectable as I am. Surely you know that cats become effeminate and contemptible when their whiskers are clipped. A tomcat without whiskers is just a pitiable creature.

Gottlieb If only I knew what you were planning!

Hinze You'll find out soon enough. Now I would like to take a little walk on the roof; there's a fine, clear view up there and there's always a good chance of catching a pigeon too.

Gottlieb As a good friend, I must warn you not to let them catch you at it; people generally take a dim view of such behaviour.

Hinze Don't worry, I'm no novice. In the meantime, I bid you adieu.

Exit Hinze.

Gottlieb alone Natural history tells us that cats cannot be trusted and that they belong to the same family as lions, of which I am pitifully terrified. It is also said proverbially, false like a cat. Now if a cat had no conscience, he could run off with the boots, on which I must now spend my last penny, and flog them somewhere or other for next to nothing; or it's possible that he wants to endear himself to the shoemaker and then enter his service. But he already has a tomcat. No, Hinze, my brothers have betrayed me, so I'll take my chances with you. He spoke so nobly, he was so touched there he is now, sitting up on the roof, cleaning his whiskers  forgive me, my noble friend, for doubting your magnanimity even for a moment.

Exit Gottlieb.

Fischer What nonsense!

Müller What does the cat need those boots for? To be able to walk better? Rubbish!

Schlosser But it was as though there was an actual cat before our very eyes.

Leutner Quiet! The scene is changing.

title: Translation:Puss in Boots/Act 1/Scene 1


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/586

 or suggestions. But I feel safe in predicting that it will soon be universally acknowledged that the foundations of their theories were not laid firmly enough for permanently supporting those boldly planned structures of thought.

For a long time past I have cherished the opinion that these authors, as well as nearly all their successors and critics, are hampered by a fundamental lack of clearness as to the subject of their inquiries—a subject which they are in the habit of designating by the very indefinite name of “a society,” or, as Schäffle puts it, “the social body.” Confusion of ideas invariably proceeds from a defect of analytical reasoning; that is to say, of proper distinction.

I believe and assert that three distinct conceptions, the common object of which is social life in its broadest sense, are not sufficiently, or not at all, kept apart nor even recognized as being distinct, viz., the biological, the psychological, and the sociological in what I call the exclusive sense, the subject of this third conception only being entirely new, as compared with the subjects of other sciences or departments of philosophy. It seems to me to be our fundamental task as philosophical sociologists to deduce from this last conception, and others implied in it, a system of social structure which shall contain the different notions of collective entities in their mutual dependence and connection; and I firmly trust that out of such a system will be gained a better and more profound insight into the evolution of society at large, and into its historical phases, as the life of these collective entities. It is therefore in the struggles, first, between any of these groups and the individuals composing it; second, between their different forms and kinds—for instance, the struggles between church and empire; between church and cities; between church and state; between cities and other corporations; between the sovereign state and feudal communities, and consequently established orders or estates; between single states and a federal state—it is in these and similar struggles, presupposing the existence of those collective entities, that the growth and decay of higher civilizations exhibit themselves most markedly.


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/587

When we speak of a house, a village, or a city, the idea immediately arising in our minds is that of a visible building, or of larger or smaller groups of buildings; but soon we also recollect the visible contents of these buildings, such as rooms and cellars and their furniture; or, when groups of buildings are concerned, the roads and streets between them. The words “house,” “village,” and “city” are, however, used in a different sense when we have in mind the particular contents of buildings which we call their inhabitants, especially their human occupants. Very often, at least in many languages, people are not only conceived of as the inhabitants of, but as identical with, the buildings. We say, for instance, “the entire house,” “the whole village”—meaning a lot of people the idea of whom is closely connected with the idea of their usual dwelling-place. We think of them as being one with their common habitation. Nevertheless it is still a visible union of individuals which we have in mind. This visible union, however, changes into an invisible one, when it is conceived of as lasting through several generations. Now the house will become identified with a family or perhaps with a clan. In the same manner a village community or a township will be imagined as a collective being, which—although not in all, yet in certain important respects—remains the same in essence, notwithstanding a shifting of matter; that is to say, an incessant elimination of waste portions—men who die—and a constant accretion of fresh elements—born children. Here the analogy with the essential characteristics of an organism is obvious. Vegetable and animal organisms likewise are only represented by such elements as are visible at any time, and the law of life consists in this, that the remaining portions always predominate over the eliminated and the reproduced ones, and that the latter by and by move and fill up the vacant spaces, while the relations of parts—e.g., the co-operation of cells as tissues, or of tissues as organs—do not undergo a substantial change. Thus such an application of biological notions to the social life of mankind—as the organicist theories or methods set out to do—is not to be rejected on principle. We may, in fact, look upon any community of this


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/588

 kind—maintaining itself by receiving its parts—as being a living whole or unity. This view is the more plausible if the renewal itself is merely biological, as indeed is the case in the human family, and, as we think, to a still greater extent—because a family soon disperses itself—in certain larger groups: a tribe, a nation, or a race; although there is involved in this view the question whether there is a sameness of nature—or, as we usually say, of blood—guaranteed, as it should be, by an in-and-in breeding of parents (German, Inzucht). Indeed, this self-conservation of a group is the less to be expected, the smaller the group; and it is well known among breeders that it is necessary for the life of a herd not to continue too long selecting sires of the same breed, but from time to time to refresh the blood by going beyond the limits of a narrow parentage, and crossing the race by mixtures with a different stock.

At any rate, this is what I should call a purely biological aspect of collective human life, in so far as their conception is restricted to the mere existence of a human group, which, so to speak, is self-active in its maintenance of life.

This aspect, however, does not suffice when we consider social units of a local character, which also continue their existence, partly in the same, but partly in a different manner. With reference to them we do not think exclusively of a natural Stoffwechsel, as it is effected by births and deaths of the individuals composing the body, but we also consider the moving to and fro of living men, women, and children, the ratio of which, like the ratio of births and deaths, may cause an increase or a decrease of the whole mass, and must cause one or the other if they do not balance. In consequence of this, we also have less reason to expect a biological identity of the stock of inhabitants at different times, than a lasting connection between a part of space (the place), or rather a piece of the soil, and a certain group of men who dwell in that place and have intercourse with each other, although the place itself grows with the number of its inhabitants, and although even among these inhabitants there be, for instance, not one direct descendant of those who occupied the place, say, a hundred years ago. We may, it is true, take it to be the rule


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/589

 that at least a certain nucleus of direct descendants keeps alive through many generations—a rule so much more certain if it is a large place, a whole region, or even a country that we have in mind. Still we shall not hold this to be a conditio sine qua non for acknowledging the village or the city to be the same; it being in this respect much more relevant that the nucleus of the place, of the “settlement,” has endured and has preserved itself through the ages. Now, since place and region, air and climate, have a very considerable effect upon the intelligence and sentiment of the inhabitants, and seeing that a considerable change may not justly be expected with respect to this, except when the minds as well as the external conditions of the newcomers are totally different from those of the older strata, we may consider the identity of a place, in so far as it is founded upon the social connection of men with a part of the soil, as a psychological identity, and call this aspect of social life a psychological aspect. There can be no doubt that this psychological aspect is in great part dependent upon the biological aspect, and is, as a rule, closely interwoven with it. Yet it needs but little reflection to recognize that both are also to a certain extent separate and independent of each other. The subject-matter of a social psychology is different from the subject-matter of a social biology, though there exist a great many points of contact between them, and though both, apart from the foundations here given to them, may be applied to animal as well as to human societies.

Neither of the above-mentioned conceptions of a continuous unity or whole implies that the essential characteristic of the unity is perceived and recognized by those who belong to it, much less that it is perceived by others, by outsiders. And this is the third idea, by far the most important one for the present consideration—the idea of what I purpose to designate by the name of a corporation, including under it all social units whatever, in so far as they have this trait in common, that the mode of existence of the unity or whole itself is founded upon the consciousness of its existence, and consequently that it perpetuates itself by the conception of its reality being transmitted from one generation to


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/590

 the next one; which will not happen unless it be done on purpose by teaching, and generally in the form of tradition. This evidently presupposes human reason and human will, marking off sharply this third genus from any kind of animal subhuman society.

We are now to give closer attention to this conception. For the most part, though not always, it is the conception of a unity different from the aggregate of members; the idea of a psychical or moral body, capable of willing and of acting like a single human being; the idea of a self or person. This person, of course, is an artificial or fictitious one. It represents indeed, as the former two conceptions did, a unity persisting through the change of its parts, but this unity and identity persisting in the multitude are neither biological nor directly and properly psychological, but must, in distinction from these, be considered as specifically sociological; that is to say, while the second is the social consciousness or social mind itself, this is the product of it, and can be understood only by looking into the human soul, and by perceiving thoughts and wills which not only have a common drift and tendency, but are creators of a common work.

The idea, however, of a body capable of willing and acting is, as said above, not always, and not necessarily, implied in the idea of a sociological unit. There is a conception preceding it, as protoplasm precedes individual bodies; namely, the general idea of a society (or a community, if this important distinction is adverted to), which is not essentially different from our second idea of a psychological unit, except in this one respect, accessory to it, that the idea of this unit be present somehow in the minds of the people who feel or know themselves as belonging to it. This conception is of far-reaching significance, being the basis of all conceptions of a social, as contrasted with a political, corporation. It therefore comprises especially those spheres of social life which are more or less independent of political organization, among which the economical activity of men is the most important, including, as it does, domestic life as well as the most remote international relations between those who are connected exclusively by the ties of commercial interest. But practically it is of little


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/591

 consequence whether this general idea be considered as psychological or as sociological, unless we precisely contemplate men who consciously maintain their own conception of their own social existence, in distinction from other ideas relating to it, chiefly when it is put in contrast to the idea of a political corporation, and the political corporation of highest import is concerned—the state. And it was exactly in these its shifting relations to the state that the idea of society proper—though without recognition of its subjective character—was evolved about fifty years ago by some German theorists—notably Lorenz Stein, Rudolph Gneist, and Robert Mohl—who were more or less strongly under the sway of Hegelian philosophy, seeing that Hegel in his Rechtsphilosophie develops his idea of human corporate existence under the threefold heading of (1) the family, as “thesis,” (2) civil society as “antithesis,” and (3) the state, as “synthesis” of the two former.

But, though I myself lay considerable stress upon this general notion of society, in juxtaposition and opposition to the state or political society, I still regard it as more indispensable to a theory of social structure to inquire into the nature and causes of what may be called, from the present point of view, genuine corporations; that is, those conceived of as being capable of willing and acting like a single individual endowed with reason and self-consciousness. The question arises how a “moral person” may be considered as possessing this power.

Evidently this is an impossibility, unless one single individual, or several together, are willing and acting in the name of that fictitious being. And in order justly to be taken for the volitions and acts of an individual distinct from their own individualities, those volitions and acts must be distinguishable by certain definite marks from the rest of their willing and acting, which they do in their own name; they must be differentiated formally. There must be a tacit or an open understanding, a sort of covenant or convention, that only volitions and acts so differentiated shall be considered as volitions and acts of the said moral person whom that one or those several individuals are supposed to represent. By the way, this question of marks and signs, consensual or


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/592

, by which a thing, physical or moral, not only is recognized as such, but by which its value (or what it is good for) is differentiated from its existence (or what it is), pervades all social life and mind, and may be called the secret of it. It is clear that certain signs may easily be fixed or invented whereby the volitions and acts of a single individual may be differentiated from the rest as being representative. But how if there are more than one, who only occasionally have one will and act together, and who cannot be supposed to agree in their feelings as soon as they are required to represent their moral person? It is well known that these must be “constituted” as an assembly or as a whole capable by its constitution to deliberate and, what is more, to resolve and act. It must be settled by their own or by the will of another person (1) under what conditions, and with respect to what subject-matters, their resolutions shall be considered as representing declarations of will of their own body; and (2) under what conditions, and with respect to what subject-matters, declarations of will of this body shall be valid as declarations of will of the moral person they represent.

It is therefore the constitution of a multitude into a unity which we propose as a fourth mode, and as a necessary consequence of the third one, unless the moral person be represented exclusively by a single man or woman as a natural person. The Many constitute themselves or are constituted as a body, which is, as far as it may be, similar to a natural person in such relations as are essential precisely for the notion of a person. Consequently, this body also is a unity, but a unity conceived a priori as being destined for a definite purpose, viz., the representation of a moral person—the third or sociological kind of unity. And it is different from that third notion by this very relation only, which evidently cannot be inherent in that person himself. That, in consequence of this relation, it has a visible existence apart from its own idea, while the moral person represented is nothing beyond his own idea. We may distinguish, therefore, between five modes of existence in a moral person represented by a body: (1) the ideal existence in the minds of its members; (2) the ideal existence of the body constituted, which represents the moral


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/593

 person, being as well in the minds of the natural persons who compose that body, as in the minds of members of the corporation generally; (3) the visible existence of this body, being the assembly of natural persons, willing and acting under certain forms; (4) the intelligible existence of this assembly, being conditioned by a knowledge, on the part of those who externally or theoretically perceive it, of its constitution and its meaning; (5) the intelligible existence of the moral person or the body represented, being conditioned of a knowledge of the relation between this corporation and the body representing it, implying the structure of the former in the first, and of the latter in the second instance.

The visible existence of an assembly means that members are visible as being assembled, but the assembly as a body can be recognized only by a reflecting spectator who knows what those forms mean, who “realizes” their significance, who thinks the assembly. Of course, a corporation also, apart from its representation, can be perceived only mentally, by outsiders as well as by its own members, and these are different perceptions (distinguished here as ideal and intelligible existence): members perceiving it directly as a product of their own will, and therefore in a way as their property (a thing which they own); and outsiders perceiving it only indirectly, by knowing the person or body that represents it; this being an external perception only, unless it be supplemented by a knowledge of its peculiar mode of being, that is, of its constitution and of the relations which members bear to the whole, and the whole to its members.

But it is, above all, in this respect that great differences exist between different kinds of corporations. The first question is whether individuals feel and think themselves as founders or authors or at least as representative ideal authors of their own corporation. Let us take an obvious example. Suppose a man and a woman contract a marriage (we waive here all questions of church or state regulations for making the marriage tie public). They are said to found a family. Now, the children springing from this union and growing up in this family cannot justly feel and think themselves as the creators or authors of it, as long as


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/594

 they are dependent upon their parents. However, they partake of it more and more consciously, and some day they may take upon themselves the representation of this whole internally and externally, in place of their father and mother. They may learn to feel and to think of themselves as bearers of the personality of this ideal being, playing, so to speak, the parts of the authors and founders, whom they also may survive, and will survive in the normal course of human events; and they may continue the identity of the family beyond the death of their parents. They may maintain the continuity of this identical family, even when new families have sprung from it which may or may not regard themselves as members of the original one. The proposition that it exists still is true at least for those who will its truth, and who act upon this principle; nay, it is by their thought and will that they are creating it anew, as it was made originally by the wills of the first two persons. A different question is whether the existence of this corporation will be recognized and acknowledged by others, who may stand in relations to its members, or may simply be impartial theoretical spectators.

But, further, there is this fundamental difference in the relation of individuals to that ideal entity which they think and will, whether they be its real or merely its representative authors, viz.: (1) they may look upon the corporation, which they have created really or ideally, as upon a thing existing for its own sake, as an end in itself, although it be at the same time a means for other ends; or (2) they may conceive it clearly as a mere tool, as nothing but an instrument for their private ends, which they either naturally have in common, or which accidentally meet in a certain point.

The first case appears in a stronger light, if they consider the social entity as really existing, and especially if they consider their corporation as a living being; for a real thing, and especially a living thing, has always some properties of its own. The latter has even something like a will of its own; it cannot be conceived as being disposable, divisible, applicable, and adaptable at pleasure to any purpose, as a means to any end—this being the notion of pure matter, as it exists only in our imagination; and therefore


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/595

 a thing which has merely a nominal existence would be really nothing but a mass of such imaginary matter, absolutely at one’s disposal, offering no resistance, being stuff in itself, that is to say, potentially anything one may be able to make, to knead, to shape, or to construe out of it (of course, real matter may and will more or less approach to this idea). On the other hand, to think of an ideal thing as being ideal is not the same as to think of it as imaginary matter; but if one aims at a certain object, if one follows out one’s designs, one is constrained by a psychological necessity to break resistances and to subject things as well as wills to one’s own will; one tends to make them all alike, as “wax in one’s hand,” to remove or to oppress their own qualities and their own wills, so as to leave, as far as possible, nothing but a dead and unqualified heap of atoms, a something of which imaginary matter is the prototype. Of course, it is only as a tendency that this dissolving and revolutionary principle is always active, but its activity is manifest everywhere in social life, especially in modern society, and characterizes a considerable portion of the relations of individuals to each other and consequently to their corporations. As long as men think and regard “society”—that is to say, their clan or their polis, their church or their commonwealth—as real and as truly existing; nay, when they even think of it as being alive, as a mystical body, a supernatural person—so long will they not feel themselves as its masters; they will not be likely to attempt using it as a mere tool, as a machine for promoting their own interests; they will look upon it rather with awe and humility than with a sense of their own interest and superiority. And, in consequence of feelings of this kind, they even forget their own authorship—which, as a rule, will indeed be an ideal one only; they will feel and think themselves, not creators, but creatures of their own corporations. This is the same process as that which shows itself in the development of men’s regular behavior toward their gods, and the feeling and thinking just mentioned are always closely related to, or even essentially identical with, religious feeling and thinking. Like the gods themselves, to whom so regularly la cité antique, with its temples and sanctuaries, is dedicated, the city or


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/596

 itself is supposed to be a supernatural eternal being, and consequently existing not only in a real, but in an eminent sense.

But, of course, all feelings of this kind are but to a limited extent liable to retard the progress of a consciousness of individual interests, or, as it is commonly spoken of—with a taint of moral reproach—of selfishness. As a matter of fact, it is the natural ripening of consciousness and thinking itself which makes reflection prevail over sentiment, and which manifests itself, first and foremost, in reflection upon a man’s own personal interest, in the weighing and measuring of costs and results; but, secondly, also in a similar reflection upon some common interest or business which a person, from whatever motive, selfish or not, has made his own affair; and, thirdly, in that unbiased interest in and reflection upon the nature and causes of things and events, of man’s happiness and social existence, which we call scientific or philosophical.

All reflection is, in the first instance, analytical. I have spoken already of the dissolving principle which lies in the pursuing of one’s own personal affairs, of which the chase after profit is but the most characteristic form. But the same individualistic standpoint is the standpoint, or at least the prevailing tendency, of science also. It is nominalism which pervades science and opposes itself to all confused and obscure conceptions, closely connected, as it is, with a striving after distinctness and clearness and mathematical reasoning. This nominalism also penetrates into men’s supposed collective realities (supernatural or not), declaring them to be void and unreal, except in so far as individual and real men have consented to make such an artificial being, to construct it, and to build it up mentally. Knowledge and criticism oppose themselves to faith and intuition, in this as in most other respects, and try to supplant them. To know how a church or a state is created means the downfall of that belief in its supernatural essence and existence which manifestly is so natural to human feeling and intellect. The spirit of science is at the same time the spirit of freedom and of individualistic self-assertion, in contradiction and in opposition to the laws and ties of custom—as well as of religion, so intimately connected and homologous with custom—


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/597

 which seem entirely unnatural and irrational to analytical reasoning. This reasoning always puts the questions: What is it good for? Does it conduce to the welfare of those whom it pretends to bind or to rule? Is it in consonance with right reason that men should impose upon themselves the despotism of those laws and of the beliefs sanctioning them? The classical answer has been given in a startling fashion by one whom Comte called the father of revolutionary philosophy. There is, says Thomas Hobbes, a realm of darkness and misery, founded upon superstition and false philosophy, which is the church; and there is, or there might be, a realm of light and of happiness, founded upon the knowledge of what is right and wrong; that is to say, of the laws of nature, dictated by reason and by experience, to check hostile and warlike individual impulses by a collective will and power; this realm is the true state, that is to say, the idea and model of its purely rational structure, whether it may exist anywhere as yet or not. Hobbesianism is the most elaborate and most consistent system of the doctrine commonly known as that of “natural law” (Naturrecht), including, as it always did, a theory of the state. As a matter of fact, this doctrine has been abandoned almost entirely, especially in Germany, where it had been exerting a very considerable influence in the century which preceded the French Revolution, when even kings and absolutist statesmen were among its open adherents. It has been controverted and abandoned ever since the first quarter of the nineteenth century—a fact which stands in manifest connection with the great reaction and restoration in the political field following the storms of that revolution and of Bonapartist rule in Europe. There is hardly a liberal school left now which dares openly profess that muchderided theory of a “social compact.” This, I believe, is somewhat different in the United States. As far as my knowledge goes, this theory—that is to say, an individualistic construction of society and of the state—is still the ordinary method employed in this country for a deduction of the normal relations between state or society, on the one hand, and individuals, on the other; for, as needs no emphasis, it is not the opinion of an original contract in the historical sense that is to be held in any way as a


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/598

 substantial element of the theory. And yet the obvious criticism of that pseudo-element has been the most powerful argument against the whole theory, which consequently has seldom met with an intelligent and just appreciation in these latter days. And it is in opposition to it that, apart from a revival of theological interpretations, the recent doctrine of society or state as an organism has become so popular for a time. This doctrine, of course, was an old one. Not to speak of the ancients, in the so-called Middle Ages it had preceded the contract theory, as it has supplemented it in more modern times. It was, indeed, coupled with the theological conceptions and religious ideals so universally accepted in those days although it was not dependent upon them. The doctrine of St. Thomas and of Dante, however, contains a theory of the universal state; that is to say, of the empire, not a theory of society, of which the conception had not yet been formed, as we may safely say that a consciousness of it did not exist. This traditional organicism—applied as well to the church, the mystic body, of which Christ was the supposed head—has been transferred of late to “society,” after it had regained fresh authority as a political doctrine. However, the conception of a “society,” as distinguished from political or religious bodies, is much more vague and indefinite. Either it is to be taken in the first and second sense, which I have pointed out as a biological or a psychological aspect of collective life, in which case organic analogies hold, but the whole consideration is not properly sociological; or it may be taken in our third, or sociological, sense, in which case it implies much less than any corporation the idea of what may be called an organization. It is well known that a lively controversy has been aroused about the new organicist theory, as proposed by Mr. Spencer and others, chiefly among those sociologists who center about the Institut international of Paris, where the late lamented M. Tarde played so prominent a part. M. Tarde has been among the foremost combatants against the vague analogies of organicism; and I fully agree with most of his arguments as set forth in the third sociological congress of 1897. I even flatter myself on having anticipated some of them, in an early paper of mine upon Mr. Spencer’s sociological work; which


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/599

 paper, however, did not become known beyond the small public of the Philosophische Monatshefte (1888). I have especially, and to a greater degree than M. Tarde, insisted upon the radical difference between a physiological division of labor and that division which is a cardinal phenomenon of society. I said: If we justly call it a division of labor that England manufactures cotton and China produces tea, and that the two countries exchange their products, then there is not and has not been a common labor or function preceding this division and dividing itself, as in the case of an organism; no state of society being historically known where China and England were one whole, working in harmony upon the spinning-wheel and upon the tea plant. This is far from being true; each had its own historical development, until they met in the mutual want of barter; and even this consideration implies that the countries themselves may justly be said to entertain trade and commerce with each other, though this is hardly more than a  with respect to a country like China. It may be objected that there is a better analogy, if we think of a primitive household, where labor is indeed one and is shifting among members of the community, while at a later stage it splits up into several families, some cultivating the soil, some becoming warriors or priests, or artisans and tradesmen. And in the same way a village community, even an independent township like the ancient or mediaeval city, and a whole territory of which a city is the center, may reasonably be conceived of as one real household, of which all single households form organic parts. They would thus be contrasted with modern society, which is more adequately conceived of as a mere aggregate of individual households, each pursuing its own interest, maybe at the cost of all the others. This is my own objection, and this view is contained in my own theory of Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft, meaning the dualism of that primitive economical condition, surviving in many respects down to our own days, on the one hand, and “commercial” or “capitalistic” society, of which the germs are traceable in any form of what, with an abstract term, may be called communism, on the other. It is the former sense that even modern political economy


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/600

 may be spoken of (as we style it in German) as “national” economy. But even if this be allowed, the organic analogy does not hold other than in a rather indefinite way. Where is the one “social body,” which thus evolves its organs and members, being in its early stage like a single household or a village community, and growing to be a complex ensemble of manors and municipalities and great cities, some of which have their manufactures working for foreign export, some for inland consumption? Is it England that has taken a development of this kind? Or is England and Wales? Or are Scotland, and even poor conquered Ireland, to be included?

The more we should try to follow out the admirable attempt which Herbert Spencer has made in this direction of employing the organicist view as a working hypothesis, the more we should become convinced that our real insight into the lines along which social evolution travels is more hampered than promoted by that method of biological analogies.

But did I not say there was truth in the biological conception of social life? Indeed I did, and I say so again, if social life is considered externally, and if we speak of a group as a living whole, where life is understood in its genuine sense, that is to say, biologically. And from this point of view, as that famous term, “physiological division of labor,” is borrowed from economical fact and theory, we may vice versa apply physiological terms to social life, considered externally. We may speak of organs and functions in a nation or society, or even with respect to mankind at large. We may metaphorically call the civilized nations the “brain” of humanity, and we may say that the United States has become an independent lobe of the cortex in the course of the last forty years. In the same way it was only lately, I understand, that your President spoke of railways as the arteries through which the blood of trade is circulating. The force of this metaphor will, I believe, not be impaired by the fact that several theorists point in more than a figurative sense to money, or credit, as the social fluid into which all substances of


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/601

 are changed, and which nourishes again the social brain and social muscles; that is to say, men and women who perform mental and physical work; in consequence of which analogy banks, and their correspondence by letters and bills and checks, would, more than railways, resemble arteries and veins. Of course, it would be small trouble to adduce a number of similar ambiguities, which make sociological inquiries of this kind appear as a matter of rhetoric and poetry, but not of science.

Is there no other, no philosophical, truth at least in the comparison of a corporation to a living body? If there is, it can, according to the present view, be only in this respect, that a corporation may be thought and felt as an organic whole, upon which the members think and feel themselves dependent in such a way that they consider their own individual existence as subservient to the life of the whole. The question whether a “society” is an organism must be kept apart from the question whether there are “societies” the relations of which to their members are so qualified as to imply thoughts and feelings of that kind on the part of their members. We are well aware that social systems, which have been called by some eminent authors “ancient society,” truly exhibited this characteristic trait. Why is not modern society—and, above all, the modern state—an organism in this peculiar sense?

I believe, indeed, that there is strong reason for controverting the theory in its application to these collective beings as they actually are. We live, as everybody knows, in an individualistic age, and we seek each other’s society chiefly for the benefit that accrues from it; that is to say, in a comparatively small degree from motives of sentiment, and to a comparatively great extent from conscious reflection. It is this which makes us regard the state also as an instrument fit for serving our particular interests, or those we have in common with some or with all of our fellow-citizens, rather than as an organism, ideally pre-existent to ourselves, living its own life, and being entitled to sacrifices of our life and property in its behalf. It is true that in extraordinary times we live up to this view, but then we do not speak so much of society and of the state as of the fatherhood which puts


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/602

 its claim to what we call our patriotism. A feeling of brotherhood and fellowship, of which in ordinary times the traces are as sadly scarce among compatriots as those who are foreigners to each other, rises, in moments of public danger, from the bottoms of our souls in effervescent bubbles. The feeling, to be sure, is more of the nature of an emotion than of a lasting sentiment. Our normal relations toward our present societies and states must not be taken as being accommodated to this extraordinary standard. They are, howsoever men may boast of their patriotism, generally of a calm and calculating character. We look upon the state, represented as it is by its government, as upon a person who stands in contractual rather than in sentimental relations to ourselves. Certainly this view is more or less developed in different countries, under different circumstances, with different individuals. But it is the one that is indorsed by the most advanced and the most conscious members of modern societies, by those powerful individuals who feel themselves as masters of their own social relations. Societies and states are chiefly institutions for the peaceful acquisition, and for the protection, of property. It is therefore the owners of property to whom we must look when we are inquiring into the prevailing and growing conceptions of society and of the state. Now, it cannot be doubted that they do not consider either society or the state as representing that early community which has always been supposed to be the original proprietor of the soil and of all its treasures, since this would imply that their own private property had only a derivative right—derived from the right and law of public property. It is just the opposite which they think and feel: the state has a derivative right of property by their allowance and their contributions; the state is supposed to act as their mandatary. And it is this view which corresponds to the facts. A modern state—it is by no means always the youngest states that are the most characteristic types of it—has little or no power over property.

I cannot refrain from quoting here, as I have done elsewhere, a few sentences of the eminent American sociologist, Mr. Lewis Morgan,


text: Page:The Travels of Ludovico di Varthema (1863).djvu/1


text:
Additional Protocol to the Constitutive Treaty of the Union of South American Nations on Commitment to Democracy

The Republic of Argentina, the Plurinational State of Bolivia, the Federative Republic of Brazil, the Republic of Chile, the Republic of Colombia, the Republic of Ecuador, the Cooperative Republic of Guyana, the Republic of Paraguay, the Republic of Peru, the Republic of Suriname, the Oriental Republic of Uruguay and the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela.

CONSIDERING that the Constitutive Treaty of the Union of South American Nations provides that the full validity of democratic institutions and unwavering respect for human rights are conditions that are essential for building a common future of peace and economic and social prosperity and for developing integration processes among Member States.

UNDERSCORING the importance of the Declaration of Buenos Aires of October 1, 2010 and the regional instruments that affirm democratic commitment.

REITERATING our commitment to the promotion, defence and protection of democratic order, Rule of Law and its institutions, Human Rights and fundamental freedoms, as essential and indispensable conditions for the development of their integration process and a vital requirement for their participation in UNASUR.

AGREE:

ARTICLE 1
This Protocol shall apply in the event of a breach or threat of breach against the democratic order, a violation of the constitutional order or any situation that jeopardises the legitimate exercising of power and the application of the values and principles of democracy.

ARTICLE 2
When one of the situations presented in the previous article arises, the Council of Heads of State and Government or, in its absence, the Council of Ministers of Foreign Affairs shall meet – in an extraordinary session – convened by the Pro Tempore Presidency: ex officio, at the behest of the affected State or at the request of another UNASUR Member State.

ARTICLE 3
The Council of Heads of State and Government or, in its absence, Council of Ministers of Foreign Affairs, meeting in an extraordinary session, shall consider by consensus, the nature and scope of the measures to be applied, taking into account the relevant information gathered based on the provisions of article 4 of this Protocol and respecting the sovereignty and territorial integrity of the affected State.

ARTICLE 4
The Council of Heads of State and Government or, in its absence, the Council of Ministers of Foreign Affairs may establish, in the event of a breach or threat of breach against the democratic order, the measures outlined below, for the purpose of re-establishing the democratic institutional political process. Said measures shall enter into force on the date on which the respective decision is adopted.

 * a.- Suspension of the right to participate in the various bodies and branches of UNASUR, as well as the suspension of the rights and benefits enjoyed under the Constitutive Treaty of UNASUR.
 * b.- Partial or complete closure of land borders, including the suspension and/or limitation of trade, air and maritime traffic, communications and provision of energy, services and supplies.
 * c.- Advocate the suspension of the affected State in the ambit of other regional and international organisations.
 * d.- Promote, with third countries and/or regional blocs, the suspension of the rights and/or benefits enjoyed by the affected State under the co-operation agreements to which it is party.
 * e.- Adoption of additional political and diplomatic sanctions.

ARTICLE 5
Together with the adoption of the measures defined in article 4, the Council of Heads of State and Government, or in its absence, the Council of Ministers of Foreign Affairs shall use its good offices and take diplomatic steps to promote the restoration of democracy in the affected country. Said actions shall be carried out in coordination with those undertaken in applying other international instruments pertaining to the defence of democracy.

ARTICLE 6
When the constitutional government of a Member State believes that there is a threat of breach against or change in the democratic order that would severely affect it, it may consult the Council of Heads of State and Government or the Council of Ministers of Foreign Affairs, through the Pro Tempore Presidency and/or the General Secretariat, in order to notify them of the situation and request concrete concerted co-operation and a pronouncement from UNASUR to defend and preserve its democratic institutionality.

ARTICLE 7
The measures provided in article 4 that are applied to the affected Member State, shall cease from the date on which said State is notified of the agreement reached by the States that adopted such measures, once it has been confirmed that the constitutional democratic order has been completely restored.

ARTICLE 8
This Protocol is an integral part of the Constitutive Treaty of UNASUR. This Protocol shall enter into force thirty days after the date of receipt of its ninth instrument of ratification.

Instruments of ratification shall be deposited with the Government of the Republic of Ecuador, which shall notify the other Member States of the date of deposit, as well as the date of entry into force of this Protocol.

For the Member State that ratifies this Protocol after the ninth instrument of ratification has been deposited, said Protocol shall enter into force thirty days after the date on which that Member State deposited its instrument of ratification.

ARTICLE 9
This Protocol shall be registered with the Secretariat of the United Nations.

Signed in the city of Georgetown, Cooperative Republic of Guyana, on the twenty sixth day of November two thousand and ten, with the original texts being in the Spanish, English, Dutch, and Portuguese languages, all four equally authentic.


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/603

 in which he sums up his reflections upon modern as contrasted with “ancient society:”

Since the advent of civilization the outgrowth of property has been so immense, its forms so diversified, its uses so expanding, and its management so intelligent in the interests of its owners, that it has become, on the part of the people, an unmanageable power. The human mind stands bewildered in the presence of its own creation.

He thinks, it is true, that

the time will come when human intelligence will rise to the mastery over property, and will be able to define the relations of the state to the property it protects, as well as the obligations and the limits of the rights of its owners.

declaring himself unwilling, as he does, to accept “a mere property career” as the final destiny of mankind.

But this outlook into a future far distant—although it was written, I believe, before there were any of the giant trusts established, and ere anybody in these states seemed to realize the dangers of the enormous power of combined capital—does not touch immediately the present question. It is the actual and real relation of the state to individuals which best reflects itself in the lack of power over property, as pointed out by Mr. Morgan, or, in other words, in the subservient position which the governments hold, in all countries more or less, toward the wealth-possessing classes. I do not say—although maybe I think—that this ought to be different; “je ne propose rien, j’expose.” It is merely as a theoretical question that I touch upon this point. But I am not prepared to deny that it is also the great practical problem of social structure—to reconstruct the state upon a new and enlarged foundation; that is to say, to make it, by common and natural effort, a real and independent being, an end in itself, a common wealth (spelled in two words) administered not so much for the benefit of either a minority or a majority, or even of the whole number of its citizens, as for its own perpetual interests, which should include the interests of an indefinite number of future generations—the interests of the race. It cannot be overlooked that there are at present many tendencies at work in this direction, but I believe they are in part more apparent than real. The problem, we should confess, is an overwhelming one;


text:
Page:American Journal of Sociology Volume 10.djvu/604

 and I for one do not feel at all sure that this splendid and transcendent constitution of ours will overcome its difficulties; that there will be sufficient moral power even if intelligence should rise to a sufficient height, for solving in a truly rational way the “social question” as a question of social structure.

To sum up the argument, I put it in the form of a few theses or propositions:

1. The object of sociological theory proper, in distinction from either biological or psychological, though these be never so closely connected with it, is the corporation, for the most part represented, as it is, by a constituted body.

2. Religious faith makes some of the most important corporations appear as real, organic, mystic, and even supernatural beings. Philosophical criticism is right in discovering and explaining that all are creations of man, and that they have no existence except in so far as human intellect and human will are embodied in them.

3. But nominalism is not the last word of a scientific philosophy. The existence of a corporation is fictitious indeed, but still is sometimes more than nominal. The true criterion is whether it be conceived and felt as a mere tool or machine, without a life of its own, or as something organic, superior to its temporary members. The true nature, however, of this conception is legible only from facts.

4. As a matter of fact, modern society and the modern state are prevailingly of a nature to correspond to an individualistic and nominalistic conception and standpoint. This is distinctly perceptible in the relation of the public power to private property.

5. This relation, and the relation dependent upon it, may substantially change in the course of time. An organic commonwealth may spring into existence which, though not sanctioned by any religious idea, and not claiming any supernatural dignity, still, as a product of human reason and conscious will, may be considered to be real in a higher sense than those products, as long as they are conceived as mere instruments serving the interests and objects of private individuals.

.


text: Talk:20,000 Leagues Under the Seas (Walter)/Chapter 1


text:
User talk:71.76.164.200

Hello,

You will find the translation you were looking for here. Is it the right one?

Regards, --Zyephyrus (talk) 22:25, 27 November 2010 (UTC)

title: User talk:71.76.164.200


text:
User talk:193.60.241.33

Welcome
Welcome

Hello, and welcome to Wikisource! Thank you for your contributions. I hope you like the place and decide to stay. Here are a few good links for newcomers:

 * Help pages
 * Style Guide
 * Inclusion policy

You are welcome to continue editing articles without logging in, but you may wish to  [ create an account] . Doing so is free, requires no personal information, and provides several benefits. For one thing, if you continue to edit without a username, your IP address is used to publicly identify you.

In any case, I hope you enjoy donating your time to grow the Wikisource library that is free for everyone to use! In discussions, please sign your comments using four tildes ( ~ ); this will automatically produce your IP address (or username if you're logged in) and the date. If you need help, ask me on my talk page, or ask your question here (click  [ edit] ) and place  before your question. Again, welcome! Zyephyrus (talk) 16:29, 27 November 2010 (UTC)

title: User talk:193.60.241.33


text:
Page:EB1911 - Volume 19.djvu/268

 result of harbour works, however, a channel has been cleared and steamers can ascend the river for 6 m.

The Pongola rises in the Transvaal in high ground N.E. of Wakkerstroom and flows E., forming, for the greater part of its course, the northern frontier of the province. After piercing the Lebombo Mountains, it turns N. and joins the Maputa, a river emptying into Delagoa Bay. The Umgeni, which rises in the Spion Kop hills some 30 m. S.E. of Giant’s Castle, passes through the central part of Natal and reaches the sea 4 m. N. of Durban. It flows alternately through mountainous and pastoral country, and is known for two magnificent waterfalls, both within 12 m. of Pietermaritzburg. The upper fall is close to the village of Howick. Here the Umgeni leaps in a single sheet of water down a precipice over 350 ft. high, more than double the height of Niagara, forming, when the river is swollen by the rains, a spectacle of rare magnificence. Some 12 m. below are the Karkloof or Lower Falls, where in a series of beautiful cascades the water descends to the plain. Other rivers of Natal which rise in the spurs of the Drakensberg or in the higher terraces are the Umvoti, which runs south of the Tugela and gives its name to a county division, the Umlaas (which gives Durban its main water supply, the Illovo, which traverse the country between the Umgeni and Umkomaas, and the Umtamvuna, noteworthy as forming the boundary between Natal and Pondoland. There are also seventeen distinct coast streams in the colony.

[Geology. —The general geological structure of Natal and Zululand is simple. It consists of a series of plateaus formed of sedimentary rocks which mainly belong to three formations of widely separated ages, and which rest on a platform of granitic and metamorphic rocks.

The geological formations represented include:—

Pre-Cape Rocks.—The granites and schists occur in close association. The series covers considerable areas in the lowest parts of the valleys and near the coast. The widest areas are in Zululand. In the Umzimkulu river and in the Tugela river below its junction with the Buffalo, metamorphic limestones are associated with schists, gneisses and granites. A group of highly inclined quartzites, altered conglomerates and jasperoid rocks which crop out on the Umhlatuzi river, between Melmoth and Nkandhla and on the White Umfolosi river above Ulundi Plains, is considered by Anderson to represent some portion of the Lower Witwatersrand series. The conglomerates are true “banket” and are auriferous, but the gold has not been met with in payable quantities.

Table Mountain Sandstone Series.—This rests unconformably on the pre-Cape rocks. Traced northwards, the series becomes thinner and finally dies out. As a rule denudation, which has acted on a magnificent scale, has removed all but a few hundred feet of the basement beds. The maximum thickness of 2000 ft. occurs near Melmoth. The beds are usually thin false-bedded sandstones with an almost complete absence of shales. A conglomerate at the base contains traces of gold. Griesbach mentions the occurrence of some small bivalves in the shales of Greytown, but Anderson failed to find any fossils.

Ecca Glacial Series.—A great unconformity separates the Table Mountain and Ecca series. In the Cape this gap is represented by the Witteberg and Bokkeveld series. The Dwyka conglomerate rarely attains any great thickness though forming wide outcrops. It is usually a hard compact rock containing striated stones. The Umgeni quarries, where the rock is used for road-metal, furnish the best exposures.

Ecca Series.—With the Beaufort series this occupies over two-thirds of the western portion of the province and has wide outcrops in Zululand and in the Vryheid districts. The Ecca shales contain some of the best coals of South Africa, but the seams contain much unmarketable coal. Around Dundee and Newcastle the coals are bituminous. In Zululand they are chiefly anthracitic. The fossils include several species of Glossopteris among them: Glossopteris browniana var indica; ''Bunb. Phyllotheca Zeilleri eth. fil.''; Estheria Greyii, Jones, indicating a Permo-Carboniferous age.

Beaufort Series.—The Ecca series graduates upwards into the highly coloured sandstones and shales of the Beaufort series. Fossil reptilian remains, chiefly Dicynodon, are abundant.

Stormberg Series.—This consists of sandstones and shales with thin seams of coal. The chief outcrops occur around Biggarsberg and along the upper slopes of the Drakensberg. The fossil flora—Thinnfeldia odontopteroides, Morr. and a Pterophyllum—indicate a Rhaetic age. No reptilian remains have been found.

Upper Karroo.—The Red beds and Cave sandstones occur along the eastern flanks of the Drakensberg.

Cretaceous.—Deposits of this age are confined to the littoral. They are exceedingly prolific in fossils which prove them to be of Upper Cretaceous age. A long list of fossils has been obtained from Umkivelane Hill, Zululand. W.G.*]

Climate.—With a rise in level (not reckoning the mountain tops) of 5500 ft. in a distance of 170 m., Natal possesses several varieties of climate but is nowhere unhealthy. The climate is comparable to that of north Italy. The valleys and coast belt, though practically free from malarial fever, are hot and humid, and fires in dwelling houses are seldom required even in the coolest months; the lower plateaus are cool and the air dry; the uplands are bracing and often very cold, with snow on the ground in winter. The year is divided into two seasons, summer, which begins in October and ends in March, and winter, which fills up the rest of the year. Summer is the rainy season, and May, June and July the driest months of the year. The mean temperature at Durban, records taken at 260 ft. above the sea, is 70° F., varying from 42° in winter to 98° in summer. The average summer humidity is 76%, that of winter 74%. At Pietermaritzburg, 41 m. inland and 2200 ft. above the sea, the temperature is about 64°. In the uplands the heat of summer is often greater than on the coast, but the air is less humid and the nights are generally cool. Both the humidity and the temperature are increased by the great mass of water, the Mozambique current, flowing south from the equatorial regions. At Durban the annual rainfall is about 40 in., at Pietermaritzburg 38. The average for the province is believed to be about 30 in. In 1893, the year of highest recorded rainfall, 70 in. fell on the coast districts. Thunderstorms, averaging nearly one hundred in the year, and violent hailstorms, occur in summer, being most severe in the interior. The storms serve to modify the intense heat, though the lightning and hail cause considerable damage. The prevailing winds on the coast are north-east, warm and humid, and south-west, cool and bracing, though in summer the south-west wind brings rain. Inland, chiefly in early summer, a hot dry wind, often accompanied by a dust storm, blows from the north. These winds, which blow on an average twenty-five days in the year, seldom reach the coast and are generally followed by rain. Inhabitants of Natal are practically exempt from chest diseases.

Flora.—Botanically, Natal is divided into three zones: (1) the coast belt, extending from the sea inland to heights of 1500 ft., and in some cases to 1800 and 2000 ft.; (2) the midland region, which rises to 4000 ft.; (3) the upper regions. In these zones the flora varies from sub-tropical to sub-alpine. The heaths and proteads common at the Cape peninsula, in Basutoland and other parts of South Africa, are rare in Natal, but almost any species of the flora of semi-tropical and temperate countries introduced attains perfection. The trees and plants characteristic of each zone are not always confined to that zone, but in several instances, when common to the coast belt and the midlands, their character alters according to the elevation of the land. The dense bush or jungle of evergreen trees, climbers and flowering shrubs, which up to the middle of the 19th century covered the greater part of the coast belt, has largely disappeared. There are still, however, in the coast belt woods of leguminous evergreens bearing bright-coloured flowers. The trees in these woods are generally from 20 to 50 ft. in height and include the knob-thorn, water-boom, kafir-boom (with brilliant scarlet flowers), the Cape chestnut and milk woods (Mimusops). But the most striking of the coast-belt flora are the tropical forms—the palm, mangrove, wild banana (Strelitzia augusta), tree-ferns, tree euphoria, candelabra spurge and Caput medusae. Of palms there are two varieties, the ilala (Hyphaene crinita), found only by the sea shore and a mile or two inland, and the isundu (Phoenix reclinata), more widespread and found at heights up to 2000 ft. or even higher. The amatungulu or Natal plum, found chiefly near the sea, is one of the few wild plants with edible fruit. Its leaves are of a glossy dark green, its flower white and star-shaped and its fruit resembles the plum. Other wild fruits are the so-called Cape gooseberry (not native to Natal) and the kaw apple or Dingaan apricot, which grows on a species of ebony tree.

The midland region is characterized by grass lands (the Natal grasses are long and coarse) and by considerable areas of flat-topped thorn bush mimosa. The bush is not as a rule dense, nor is it of any great height. A tree peculiar to this zone is the Alberta magna. It has dull pink flowers, succeeded by seed vessels, each of which is crowned by two scarlet-coloured leafy lobes. A grass belt separates the thorn bush from the districts carrying heavy timber, found mainly in the upland zone, along the sides of the mountains exposed to the rains and in kloofs. The indigenous timber trees are

title: Page:EB1911 - Volume 19.djvu/268


text:
Page:An Old English Home and Its Dependencies.djvu/33

Rh several districts. At the head of each tribe was the chief. He claimed and was given right to free maintenance by the tribesmen, and he distributed the land among the householders of the tribe. These householders owed no allegiance to any other authority than the chief, on whom they depended for everything and to whom they owed implicit obedience.

Every man who was not a tribesman was an enemy. If the tribe increased beyond what the land could maintain, it fought another tribe and wrested from it the land and drove it away or exterminated it, with complete indifference to the fact that this dispossessed tribe spoke the same tongue, had the same social organism, was of the same blood. The tribal system from which the Celt never freed himself entirely was the curse of the Celtic race, predooming it to ruin. The history of the Welsh, the Irish, the Highlanders, is just the same as that of the Gauls, one of internecine feud, no political cohesion, no capacity for merging private interests, forgetting private grudges for a patriotic cause.


text:
Page:An Old English Home and Its Dependencies.djvu/34

20 And at the bottom of all this lay the absence among the clansmen of the principle of private property. The land was possessed by all in common, subject to allotment by the chief, and among the tribal chiefs there was no link; each coveted the lands of the other. This it was which made the Celt to be everywhere a prey to such races as knew how to put self-interest in the background.

When the Jutes, Angles, Saxons, came to Britain they brought with them another social system altogether. They were possessed with the sense of the importance of private property. So deficient had the Britons been in this that they had not other than the most elementary notions of house building. Timber and wattle sufficed for them, but the Saxon, and afterwards the Norman, had a higher conception of the home, and he began at once to fashion himself a permanent abode, and to make it not solid only but beautiful. And he did more than that, he brought the idea of hedges with him wherewith to enclose the land he chose to consider his own. Saxon, Angle, or Jute put his hand down on


text:
Page:EB1911 - Volume 19.djvu/269

 principally the yellow wood (Podocarpus), sneezewood (Pteroxylon utile), stinkwood (Oreodaphne bullata), black ironwood (Olea laurifolia), white ironwood (Vepris lanceolata), and umtomboti (Exoecaria africana); all are very useful woods, and the yellow wood, sneezewood, stinkwood and ironwood when polished have grain and colour equal to maple, walnut and ebony. The “rooibesje,” red pear and milkwood trees are used for boatbuilding. The Australian Eucalyptus and Casuarina in great variety, and many other imported trees, including syringas, wattles, acacias, willows, pines, cypress, cork and oak all thrive when properly planted and protected from grass fires. The black wattle has been extensively planted and flourishes at elevations of from 1000 to 3000 ft. Its bark forms a valuable article of commerce.

Flowers which bloom in the early spring are abundant, especially on the edges of forests. Among those found throughout the country are the Dierama pendula, the orchid and the “everlasting.” As a rule flowers common to all zones are on the coast smaller and with paler colours than they are in the midlands. Aloes are common; in part of the midland zone they form when in bloom with abundance of orange and scarlet flowers a most picturesque sight. Of Cycadaceae the Stangeria paradoxa is peculiar to Natal. There is but one cactus indigenous to Natal; it is found hanging from perpendicular rocks in the midlands. There are, however, several species of euphorbia of the miscalled cacti. Climbing plants with gorgeous flowers are common, and there are numerous species of Compositae and about a hundred cinchonaceous plants. Bulbous plants are also very numerous. The most common are the Natal lily with pink and white ribbed bells, the fire-lily, with flame-coloured blossoms, ixias, gladiolas, the Ifafa lily, with fuchsia-like clusters, and the arum lily. A conspicuous veld plant is the orange and crimson leonotis, growing 6 ft. high. Geraniums are somewhat scarce. Fern life is abundant; 126 species are indigenous, two being tree-ferns. One of these, Cyathea dregei, found in moist places and open land, has a stem 20 ft. high; the Stem of the other, Hemitelia capensis, sometimes reaches 30 ft. The ferns are most common in the midland zone and in the heavy timber forests. Sixty different species have been identified in one valley not more than 1 m. long and about 100 yds. in breadth. Among fruit trees, besides the wild fruits already mentioned, are the pineapple, mango, papua, guava, grenadilla, rose apple, custard apple, soursop, loquat, naartje, shaddock and citrous fruits.

Fauna.—The larger animals which abounded in Natal in the first half of the 19th century have been exterminated or driven out of the country. This fate has overtaken the elephant, giraffe, the buffalo, quagga, gnu, blesbok, gemsbok and ostrich. If the Vryheid district be excluded, the lion and rhinoceros may be added to this list; and the Vryheid district belongs geographically to Zululand. Hippopotami are still found in the Umgeni river and Crocodiles in several of the coast streams. Leopards and panthers are found in thickly wooded kloofs. Hyenas, jackals, wild pig, polecats and wild dogs (Canis pictus) of different species are still found in or about bush jungles and forest clumps; elands (Antilope oreas) are preserved on some estates, and there are at least ten distinct species of antelope (hartebeest, bushbok, duiker, rietbok, rhebok, rovibok, blauwbok, &c.). In the Vryheid district the kudu, blue wildebeest, waterbuck, reedbuck, impala, steinbok and klipspringer are also found. Several of these species are now preserved. Ant-eaters (Orycteropus capensis), porcupines, weasels, squirrels, rock rabbits, hares and cane rats are common in different localities. Baboons (Cynocephalus porcarius) and monkeys of different kinds frequent the mountains and rocky kloofs and bush and timber lands. The birds of Natal are of many species; some have beautiful plumage, but none of them, with the exception of the canary, are to be considered as songsters Among the larger birds are cranes, herons, the ibis, storks, eagles, vultures, falcons, hawks, kites, owls, the secretary birds, pelicans, flamingoes, wild duck and geese, gulls, and of game birds, the paauw, koraan, pheasant, partridge, guinea fowl and quail. The other birds include parrots, toucans, gaudily coloured cuckoos, lories, swallows, shrikes, sun-birds, kingfishers, Weavers, finches, wild pigeons and crows. The otter is found in some of the rivers, which are also frequented, near their mouths, by turtles. These last are also found in the coast lagoons and sometimes are of great size. Iguanas, 4 and 5 ft. long, are found on the wooded banks of the rivers; small lizards and chameleons are common, and there are several varieties of tortoise.

Of snakes there are about forty distinct species or varieties. The most dreaded by the natives are called “imamba,” of which there are at least eight different kinds; these snakes elevate and throw themselves forward, and have been known to pursue a horseman. One sort of imamba, named by the natives “indhlondhlo,” is crested, and its body is of a bright flame colour. The sluggish puff-adder (Clotho arietans) is common and very dangerous. A hooded snake (Naja haemachates), the imfezi of the natives, is dangerous, and spits or ejects its poison; besides this there are a few other varieties of the cobra species. The largest of the serpent tribe, however, is the python (Hortulia natalensis), called inhlwati by the natives; its usual haunts are by streams amongst rocky boulders and in jungles, and instances are recorded of its strangling and crushing adult natives. It is common in the coast districts, and is sometimes 20 ft. long. Insects abound in great numbers, the most troublesome and destructive being the tick (Ixodes natalensis), which infests the pasturage, and the white ant (Termes mordax). Occasionally vast armies of locusts or caterpillars advance over large tracts of country, devouring all vegetation in their line of march. The fish moth, a steel-grey slimy active fish-shaped insect, is found in every house and is very destructive. Fish of excellent quality and in great quantities abound on the coast. They include shad, rock cod, mackerel, mullet, bream and soles; sharks, stingrays, cuttlefish and the octopus are also common in the waters off the coast of Natal. Prawns, crayfish and oysters are also obtainable, and turtle (Chelonia mydas) are frequently captured. Freshwater scale-fish are mostly full of bones, but fine eels and barbel are plentiful in the rivers. Trout have been introduced into some of the higher reaches of the rivers.

Inhabitants.—At the census of 1904 the population of the province, including Zululand, was 1,108,754. Of this total 8·8%, or 97,109, were Europeans, 9%, or 100,918, Asiatics and the rest natives of South Africa, mainly of Zulu-Kaffir stock. Of the 824,063 natives, 203,373 lived in Zululand. The white and Asiatic population nearly doubled in the thirteen years since the previous census, allowance being made for the Utrecht and Vryheid districts, which in 1891 formed part of the Transvaal. Of the total population 985,167 live in rural areas, the average density for the whole country being 31·34 per sq. m. The white population is divided into 56,758 males and 40,351 females. Of the white inhabitants the great majority are British. Some 12,500 are of Dutch extraction; these live chiefly in the districts of Utrecht and Vryheid. There are also about 4500 Natalians of German extraction, settled mainly in the New Hanover and Umzimkulu districts. The Asiatics at the 1904 census were divided into 63,497 males and 37,421 females. They include a few high caste Indians, Arabs and Chinese, but the great majority are Indian coolies. The Asiatics are mainly congregated in the coast districts between the Umzimkulu and Tugela rivers. In this region (which includes Durban) the Asiatic population was 61,854. In none of the inland districts did the Asiatic inhabitants number 2000. The coolies are employed chiefly on the sugar, coffee, cotton and other plantations, a small proportion being employed in the coal-mines.

The native inhabitants of Natal proper were almost exterminated by the Zulus in the early years of the 19th century. Before that period the natives of what is now Natal proper were estimated to number about 100,000. In 1838 when the Zulu power was first checked the natives had been reduced to about 10,000. The stoppage of intertribal wars by the British, aided by a great influx of refugees from Zululand, led to a rapid increase of the population. With the exception of a few Bushmen, who cling to the slopes of the Drakensberg, all the natives are of Bantu stock. Before the Zulu devastations the natives belonged to the Ama-Xosa branch of the Kaffirs and are said to have been divided into ninety-four different tribes; to-day all the tribes have a large admixture of Zulu blood (see, and ). The Natal natives have preserved their tribal organization to a considerable extent. Nearly 50% live in special reserves or locations, the area set apart for native occupation being about 4000 sq. m. exclusive of Zululand. Most of the remainder are employed on or live upon farms owned by whites, paying annual rents of from £1 to £5 or more. There were, however, in 1904, 69,746 male natives and 10,232 female natives in domestic service. Of the tribes who were in Natal before the Zulu invasion about 1812, the two largest are the Abatembu (who are in five main divisions and number about 30,000) and the Amakwabe (seven divisions and about 20,000 people). Other large tribes are the Amanyuswa (ten divisions—38,000 people), the Amakunu (three divisions—26,000 people), and the Amabomvu (five divisions—25,000 people). The three last tribes are among those which sought refuge in Natal from Zulu persecution, before the establishment of British rule in 1843. The number of half-castes is remarkably small, at the census of 1904 the number of “mixed and others,” which

title: Page:EB1911 - Volume 19.djvu/269