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 portraits— Tittlebat Titmouse, Oily Gammon, and Mr. Quicksilver (Lord Brougham)—established the book as one of the most popular novels of the century.

In 1847 Warren published, under his name, ‘Now and Then,’ a story of some 125,000 words, which was written, according to its author, between 20 Nov. and 9 Dec. 1847, and was published on 18 Dec. The book rapidly went through three editions, and Warren was ‘inundated with congratulations;’ but it had a success of esteem only. Warren wrote to Blackwood suggesting, with charming ingenuity, the terms in which a review might fittingly be couched (William Blackwood and his Sons, 1897, ii. 238). His sole remaining essay in imaginative literature was ‘The Lily and the Bee: an Apologue of the Crystal Palace,’ written in honour of the Great Exhibition (London, 1851, 8vo). The style suggests comparison with Martin Tupper, but it is more absurd than anything Tupper wrote.

Warren published three more legal manuals of some value: ‘A Manual of the Parliamentary Law of the United Kingdom’ (London, 1852; again 1857), which was followed by ‘A Manual of the Law and Practice of Election Committees’ (London, 1853), and ‘Blackstone's Commentaries, systematically abridged and adapted to the existing State of the Law and Constitution with Great Additions’ (London, 1855 and 1856). He also published several lectures and tracts: ‘The Moral, Social, and Professional Duties of Attorneys and Solicitors’ (London, 1848 and 1852), four lectures delivered before the Incorporated Law Society; ‘The Queen or the Pope: the Question considered in its Political, Legal, and Religious Aspects,’ in a letter to Spencer Walpole (London, 1851; several issues); and ‘Labour: its Rights, Difficulties, Dignity, and Consolations’ (London, 1856, 8vo).

In the meantime Warren's progress at the bar was not rapid, and he consoled himself with the flattering belief that the attorneys were revenging themselves on him for the severe picture which he had drawn of their practices in his account in ‘Ten Thousand a Year’ of the firm of Quirk, Gammon, & Snap. He went the northern circuit regularly until 1851, when he was made a Q.C. and became a bencher of his inn, of which he subsequently acted as treasurer. The return of the conservatives to power in 1852 enabled his friend Spencer Walpole, the home secretary, to confer upon him the recordership of Hull, where shortly after his appointment he delivered an elaborate lecture upon the ‘Intellectual and Moral Development of the Present Age’ (printed in 1853).

On 9 June 1853, on the occasion of Lord Derby's installation as chancellor of the university, Warren (who had been elected F.R.S. on 2 April 1835) was made an honorary D.C.L. of Oxford, along with Macaulay, Lytton, Alison, Aytoun, and other men of letters. He sat in parliament for the borough of Midhurst from February 1856 to April 1859. A staunch upholder of the established church, the protestant interest, and religious education, he signalised himself in July 1858 by his protest against Baron Rothschild taking the oath in the abridged form. He was equally opposed to the extension of the franchise. He vacated his seat with some reluctance in 1859 when a mastership in lunacy (with a salary of 2,000l. a year) was offered him by Lord Chelmsford. The vaticination of Sir George Rose was thus partially fulfilled:

Though envy may sneer at you, Warren, and say, ‘Why, yes, he has talent, but throws it away;’ Take a hint, change the venue, and still persevere, And you'll end as you start with Ten Thousand a year.

A report that he had rejected Lord Chelmsford's offer elicited from Disraeli the remark that a writ de lunatico inquirendo would have to be issued for Mr. Warren (see Newcastle Daily Chronicle, 15 Oct. 1877; cf. Law Times, 20 Oct., where a different version of Rose's epigram is given).

Warren retained his recordership down to 1874, but he wrote no more and devoted himself wholly to his profession. His appointment as master in lunacy was amply justified by the ability with which he fulfilled his functions. The masterly brevity with which he addressed the jury in the Windham inquiry (December 1861) branded as practically irrelevant the mass of the evidence produced at the trial, and prepared the public mind for the third section of the Lunacy Regulation Act of 1862, in which it is laid down that in the case of legal inquiry the question shall be confined to whether or not the alleged lunatic is of unsound mind at the time of such inquiry (, Miscellanies, ii. 254;, Windham Trial, 1862; cf. Encycl. Brit. 9th ed., s.v. ‘Warren’).

Warren died at his house, 16 Manchester Square, London, on 29 July 1877, aged 70. He married, in 1831, a daughter of James Ballinger of Woodford Bridge House, Essex. His eldest son, Samuel Lilchendy Warren, was educated at Eton, became a scholar of Wadham College, Oxford, whence he gra-


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  B.A. in 1859, became rector of Esher (a Wadham living) in 1870, and died in June 1895. He published in 1880 ‘The Prayer-book Version of the Psalms,’ with notes (Times, 7 June 1895).

In his colossal literary vanity Warren resembled Boswell. The stories in which he appears as the butt of Serjeant Murphy and other experienced wags are numerous; but when his literary reputation was not involved he was one of the gentlest, best-hearted, and most reasonable of men. As a writer he produces remarkable effects by the cumulative force of little points well made. In this he resembles Anthony Trollope. He was popular as a bencher of the Inner Temple.

As a young man Warren is stated to have resembled an actor in appearance, with ‘dark expressive eyebrows’ and a pale, restless, mobile face. His portrait, painted by Sir J. W. Gordon, P.R.S.A., was lent to the Victorian Exhibition by William Blackwood (Cat. No. 303).

Warren reprinted his miscellanies, critical, imaginative, and juridical (from ‘Blackwood's Magazine’), in two volumes, London, 1854. They include lengthy reviews of Alison's ‘Marlborough’ and ‘Uncle Tom's Cabin,’ and some interesting ‘Personal Recollections of Christopher North.’ A collective edition of Warren's ‘Works,’ including the novels, the ‘Lily and the Bee,’ and the miscellanies, was issued in five crown octavo volumes during 1854–5. An edition of the novels alone had appeared at Leipzig in the Tauchnitz series between 1844 and 1851, 7 vols. 8vo. The ‘Passages from the Diary of a Late Physician’ first appeared in book form at New York in 1831 (2 vols. 12mo). The first authorised edition appeared at London and Edinburgh in 1832 (2 vols. 8vo; 5th ed. 1838). The completed work was issued in 3 vols. in 1838, again 1841, 1842, 1848, 1853, and in one volume in 1853. An edition with illustrations by Whymper appeared in 1863. A sort of paraphrase appeared in the ‘Revue Britannique’ from the pen of Philarète Chasles, and was reprinted in the ‘Librairie Nouvelle,’ 1854, as ‘Souvenirs d'un Médecin’ (see, Une Question de Litt. Légale, Paris, 1855). ‘Ten Thousand a Year’ appeared in 3 vols. 8vo, London, 1841, and Philadelphia, 1841 (several issues). New editions appeared in 1845, 1849, 1854, 1855, and 1899 (‘Hundred Best Novels’). Translated by Georges Marie Guiffrey as ‘Dix mille livres de Rente,’ it ran through the ‘Journal pour Tous’ with great acceptance, and was translated into several European languages. It was also dramatised with success both in England (by R. B. Peake in 1841) and abroad.

WARREN, THOMAS (1617?–1694), nonconformist divine, was born about 1617. He was educated at Cambridge, and graduated M.A. In 1650 he was presented by parliament to the rectory of Houghton, Hampshire, sequestered from Francis Alexander. On 22 Dec. 1660 he was ordained deacon and priest in Scotland by [q. v.]; he was instituted (1 Feb. 1661) to his rectory by [q. v.], and inducted 7 Feb. He resigned in consequence of the Uniformity Act of 1662. According to his papers, which came into the hands of his grandson, (1711–1785) [q. v.], he was offered a choice of the bishoprics of Salisbury and Winchester. Under the indulgence of 1672 he took out a license (1 July) as a presbyterian preacher in the house of Thomas Burbank at Romsey, Hampshire. He appears to have had doubts about availing himself of James II's declaration for liberty of conscience in 1687. He continued his labours at Romsey for eighteen years. Latterly he became almost blind. He died at Romsey on 27 Jan. 1693–4, aged 77, and was buried in the parish church. His portrait belongs to the independent congregation at Romsey. Besides several sermons, he published, in reply to William Eyre (d. 1670) of Salisbury, ‘Unbeleevers no Subjects of Justification,’ 1654, 4to.

WARREN, WILLIAM (fl. 1581), poet, was author of:
 * 1) ‘A pithie and plesaunt discourse, dialoguewyse, betwene a welthie

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


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  :: citizen and a miserable souldiour; brieflye touching the commodyties and discommodyties of warre and peace. By W. Warren.’ This is licensed to Richard Jones in the ‘Stationers' Register,’ 7 Nov. 1578. No copy is known to exist (, Transcript, ii. 340).
 * 1) ‘A pleasant new Fancie of a fondlings device. Intitled and cald the Nurcerie of Names, wherein is presented (to the order of our Alphabet) the brandishing brightnes of our English Gentlewomen. Contrived and written in this last time of vacation, and now first published and committed to printing this present month of mery May. By Guillam de Warrino. Imprinted at London by Richard Jones, dwelling over against the signe of the Faulcon, neere Holburne Bridge,’ 1581, 4to, b.l.

In the ‘Stationers' Register’ the ‘Nurcerie of Gentlewomans Names’ is ‘tollerated unto’ Richard Jones on 15 April 1581 (ib. ii. 391). The prefatory matter of the volume consists of some short Latin poems and a euphuistic ‘Proæme to the Gentleman Readers,’ signed ‘W. Warren, Gent.,’ as well as an ‘Address to the Gentlewomen of England.’ In the latter Warren speaks of himself as ‘your poor Poet and your olde friend.’ The poems, in fourteen-syllable verse, on women's names are extravagant and conceited, but the versification is unusually true. The poem on Elizabeth is an excellent example of the contemporary style of compliment to the queen. Each page of the poems has a woodcut border. Only two copies are known to exist, one at Britwell and the other in the Huth Library. The interest if not the merit of the volume, which Corser very emphatically insists upon, makes it surprising that it has never been reprinted.

 WARRINGTON,. [See, first earl, 1652-1694; , second earl, 1675-1758.]

WARTER, JOHN WOOD (1806–1878), divine and antiquary, born on 21 Jan. 1806, was the eldest son of Henry de Grey Warter (1770–1853) of Cruck Meole, Shropshire, who married, on 19 March 1805, Emma Sarah Moore (d. 1863), daughter of William Wood of Marsh Hall and Hanwood, Shropshire. Upon leaving Shrewsbury school (under Samuel Butler) Warter matriculated from Christ Church, Oxford, on 14 Oct. 1824, and graduated B.A. 1827, M.A. 1834, B.D. 1841.

Warter was an intimate friend of Robert Southey, whose eldest daughter, Edith May Southey (b. 1 May 1804, d. 25 July 1871), he married at Keswick on 15 Jan. 1834. Many letters from Southey to him, beginning on 18 March 1830, are in the sixth volume of ‘Southey's Life and Correspondence.’ From 1830 to 1833 he was chaplain to the English embassy at Copenhagen, and became an honorary member of the Scandinavian and Icelandic Literary societies. During these years he travelled through Norway and Sweden, was intimate with the leading scholars of Northern Europe, including Professor Rask, and was supplied with books from the royal library of Denmark. By this means he became an expert in ‘Danish and Swedish lore, and in the exquisitely curious Icelandic sagas,’ and read ‘German literature of all sorts, especially theological.’ An interesting letter by him, written at Southey's house on 17 Sept. 1833, is printed in the life of Bishop ‘Samuel Butler’ (ii. 62–3). He was then studying the literature of Spain and Italy and the treatises of the old English divines. In 1834, just before his marriage, he had been appointed by the archbishop of Canterbury to the vicarage of West Tarring and Durrington, Sussex, a peculiar of the archbishopric, to which the chapelries of Heene and Patching were then annexed. He remained the vicar of West Tarring from 1834 until his death. For some years to 31 Dec. 1851 he was the rural dean.

From the date of his appointment to this benefice he devoted his leisure ‘to the pleasant task of rescuing from oblivion every fact that had the remotest bearing upon the history of Tarring’ ( and, Western Sussex, p. 231). The result was the publication of a valuable antiquarian work, ‘Appendicia et Pertinentiæ: Parochial Fragments on the parish of West Tarring and the Chapelries of Heene and Durrington,’ 1853; and two delightful volumes on ‘The Seaboard and the Down; or my parish in the South. By an Old Vicar,’ 1860, describing the social life of its inhabitants. These books displayed his wide reading.

Warter died on 21 Feb. 1878, and was buried with his wife in West Tarring churchyard (the epitaphs are printed in ‘Notes and Queries,’ 6th ser. vii. 306, 517). A window under the tower of the church was erected by Mrs. Warter as a memorial to Southey (, Sussex Handbook, p. 77). Warter was an old-fashioned churchman of the ‘high and dry’ school, and had a perpetual difference with the ecclesiastical commissioners. He published many tracts and sermons. His other more important works included:
 * 1) ‘The Acharnians, Knights, Wasps, and


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  :: Birds of Aristophanes [translated], by a Graduate of Oxford,’ 1830.
 * 1) ‘Teaching of the Prayer-book,’ 1845.
 * 2) ‘The last of the Old Squires: a Sketch by Cedric Oldacre,’ 1854; 2nd ed. by Rev. J. W. Warter, 1861.
 * 3) ‘An Old Shropshire Oak,’ edited by Dr. Richard Garnett, LL.D., vols. i. ii. 1886, vols. iii. iv. 1891. Although the published work represented only selections from Warter's manuscript, it contained great stores of information on Shropshire and on the general history of England.

Warter edited volumes vi. and vii. of Southey's ‘Doctor’ and an edition in one volume of the whole work (London, 1848). There was published by him in vol. xxii. of the ‘Traveller's Library’ a fragment from it which was entitled ‘A Love Story: History of the Courtship and Marriage of Dr. Dove,’ 1853. He also edited the four series of Southey's ‘Commonplace Book,’ 1849–51, and four volumes of ‘Selections from Southey's Letters,’ 1856. A fierce review of the latter work was inserted in the ‘Quarterly Review,’ March 1856, pp. 456–501. It was probably provoked by his statement that he could draw up ‘a most remarkable history’ of that periodical. Mrs. Warter began in 1824 and continued for some time a collection of ‘Wise Saws and Modern Instances: Pithy Sentences in many Languages.’ It was taken up by her husband on 1 May 1850, and finished on 4 Nov., but not published until 1861. Warter also contributed to the ‘English Review.’

WARTON, JOSEPH (1722–1800), critic, elder son of the elder [q. v.], was born at Dunsfold, Surrey, in 1722, at the vicarage of his mother's father, Joseph Richardson, being baptised on 22 April. [q. v.], the historian of English poetry, was his younger brother. He received his earliest instruction at the grammar school of Basingstoke, of which his father was headmaster. Here [q. v.] was a schoolfellow. In 1735 he was elected scholar of Winchester, and formed a lasting friendship with another schoolfellow who afterwards attained distinction, the poet William Collins. Collins, Warton, and a boy named Tomkins wrote verses in rivalry, and a poem by each was published in the ‘Gentleman's Magazine’ in October 1739. A complimentary notice of these efforts appeared in the next number of the magazine, and was assigned by Wooll, Warton's biographer, to Dr. Johnson. Like Collins, Warton failed to obtain election from Winchester to New College, Oxford, and on 16 Jan. 1739–40 he matriculated from Oriel College, Oxford, going into residence in the following September. He graduated B.A. on 13 March 1743–4. Taking holy orders immediately afterwards, he acted as curate to his father at Basingstoke until his father's death on 10 Sept. 1745. Subsequently he served a curacy at Chelsea, but after an attack of small-pox returned to Basingstoke.

In 1744 Warton published a first volume of verse, entitling it ‘Ode on reading West's Pindar.’ It included, with other poems, a long piece in blank verse called ‘The Enthusiast, or the Lover of Nature.’ Here he avowed an unfashionable love of nature and of natural scenery and sentiment. Gray at once commended the poem as ‘all pure description’ (, Works, ed. Gosse, ii. 121). In December 1746 Warton published a second volume of seventeen ‘Odes on various Subjects,’ most of which he had penned while an undergraduate. In the preface he warned his readers against identifying the true subject-matter of poetry with the moral and didactic themes to which, under Pope's sway, writers of verse at the time confined their efforts. Warton's friend Collins issued his volume of odes simultaneously. Gray wrote on 27 Dec. 1746 of the odd coincidence that two unknown men had published at the same instant collections of odes. ‘Each is the half of a considerable man, and one the counterpart of the other. The first [i.e. Warton] has but little invention, very poetical choice of expression, and a good ear. The second [i.e. Collins] a fine fancy, modelled upon the antique, a bad ear, great variety of words, and images with no choice at all. They both deserve to last some years, but will not’ (ib. ii. 160). Warton's work was fairly successful, but Collins's proved a dismal failure. Posterity has reversed the contemporary judgment.

In 1748 Charles Paulet (or Powlett), third duke of Bolton, conferred on Warton the rectory of Winslade, and in April 1751 he accompanied his patron, the Duke of Bolton, on a short tour in the south of France under peculiar and not very creditable circumstances. The duke's wife was believed to be at the point of death, and the duke required the attendance of a chaplain on his travels so that he might be married without loss of time to his mistress, [q. v.], as soon as the duchess had breathed her last. The duchess lingered on beyond expectation, and Warton returned home in September without presiding over


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88 the leaves of Dinneen’s Dictionary.’ Among the examples he gives from Donegal are clupaide, wrinkle in cloth, etc.; Middle Irish culpait; craorac, light red, for caor-dhearg; tligean, vomiting, for teilgean, from teilgim, throw, Scottish Gaelic tilg; ruball, tail, for earball; Cnochar for Conchar, Connor, Middle Irish Conchobar. According to Dinneen comhluadar, conversation, is cluadar in Derry and cruadal in East Ulster and Omagh. Many of the examples are common to Scottish Gaelic also, as éisteacht, listening, Old Irish éitsecht, our éisdeachd; altughadh, grace at meat, Old Irish attlugud, our altachhadh; fuasclaim, release, our fuasgail, Early Irish fuaslaicim; réalt, star, Early Irish rétla, our reul and reult; coisreacadh, consecration, Scottish coisrigeadh, Book of Deer consecrad, Old Irish coisecrad, from Latin consecratio. The Middle Irish comairce, protection, appears in Modern Irish as coimirce, comraighe, and coimrighe, and in Scottish Gaelic as comraich, with coimric, coimirc, etc., in dictionaries. The comparative of fagus, near, Irish fogus, is with us faisge for faigse, in Irish foigse and foisce. The Old Irish foráil is fuláir in Modern Irish and fuilear in Scottish Gaelic except in West Ross and Sutherland; Cha’n fhuilear dhomh, I had better, it is time for me, etc., is in West Ross sometimes and in Sutherland usually Cha’n fhuireal.

Latin axilla, Irish ascall, oscaill, ocsal, Middle Irish ochsal, usually achlais in Scottish Gaelic, is asgaill in Arran and aslaic in Perthshire, while asgall, asgailt, and asgnaill are given in dictionaries and aslaich in the margin of Proverbs xix. 24. Sasunn, England, for old Sagsunn, is in Arran Sasgunn, though the adjective is there Sasunnach. Féile, kilt, in North Argyll éile, is eibhle (bh sounded v) in Arran; Shaw gives ebhladh, and the Highland Society’s Dictionary has éibhleadh from Gillies. Éibhleag, live coal, is eilbheag, and earball, tail, generally urball, but sometimes ulabar, all in Arran. Diordaoin, Thursday, is Di-daoirn in Arran, Islay, and Jura. Aonghas, Angus, is Naoghas in Arran, Kintyre, Islay, and Skye, and seangan, an ant, is sneaghan in Arran, Kintyre (pronounced ‘sneagan’ in those two districts), Islay,


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 the duke's second nuptials, with the result that he lost the chances of preferment that the duke had destined for the parson who performed the ceremony. On settling again in England he worked hard at a new edition of Virgil's works in both Latin and English (4 vols. 1753, 8vo). He himself translated the ‘Eclogues’ and ‘Georgics,’ and he reprinted Christopher Pitt's rendering of the ‘Æneid.’ Warton employed Dryden's heroic metre, and directly challenged comparison with that robust translator. He proved more accurate, but was less vivacious, and his scholarship was far from perfect. Of higher interest were Warton's appended essays on pastoral, didactic, and epic poetry, his life of Virgil, and his notes. The publication greatly extended Warton's reputation in literary circles. On 8 March 1753 Dr. Johnson wrote to invite him to contribute to the ‘Adventurer,’ with the result that Warton sent in the course of the three following years twenty-four essays to that periodical. They dealt chiefly with literary criticism. Five treat with no little insight of Shakespeare's ‘Tempest’ and ‘Lear’ (Nos. 93, 97, 113, 116, and 122). In 1753 he also wrote on ‘Simplicity of Taste’ in the ‘World’ (No. 26). In 1754 he became rector of Tunworth, but next year, despairing of substantial preferment in the church, he entered on a new career, that of schoolmaster.

In 1755 Warton was appointed usher, or second master, at his old school, Winchester College. On 23 June 1759 the university of Oxford conferred on him by diploma the degree of M.A. In 1766 he was promoted to the headmastership of Winchester, and on 15 Jan. 1768 he proceeded at Oxford to the degrees of B.D. and D.D. He remained a schoolmaster for thirty-eight years. As a teacher Warton achieved little success. He was neither an exact scholar nor a disciplinarian. Thrice in his headmastership the boys openly mutinied against him, and inflicted on him ludicrous humiliations. The third insurrection took place in the summer of 1793, and, after ingloriously suppressing it, Warton prudently resigned his post. His easy good nature secured for him the warm affection of many of his pupils, among whom his favourites were William Lisle Bowles [q. v.] and Richard Mant [q. v.] Although the educational fame of the school did not grow during his régime, his social and literary reputation gave his office increased dignity and importance. In 1778 George III visited the college, and Warton's private guests on the occasion included Sir Joshua Reynolds and Garrick (, Wykehamica, pp. 134–153;, Annals of Winchester, pp. 404 seq.; Winchester College, 1393–1893, by Old Wykehamists, 1893, 8vo).

While at Winchester he found little time for literary pursuits. In 1756 he brought out the first volume—dedicated to Dr. Young—of his notable ‘Essay on the Genius and Writings of Pope,’ in which he adversely criticised the classical or ‘correct’ tendencies of contemporary poetry as opposed to the romantic and imaginative tendency of Elizabethan poetry. The volume was favourably noticed by Johnson in the ‘Literary Magazine,’ reached a third edition in 1763, and was translated into German. It had been begun before Warton went to Winchester, and the long interval of twenty-five years elapsed before the second volume of the ‘Essay’ appeared in 1782. Meanwhile Warton had meditated without result a history of the revival of letters in the fifteenth century, based on the correspondence of Politian, Erasmus, Grotius, and others, and in 1784, emulating the example of his brother Thomas, the historian of English poetry, he announced that two quarto volumes of a history of Grecian, Roman, Italian, and French poetry were in the press, but nothing further was heard of that design.

In middle life and old age Warton was a familiar figure in the literary society of the metropolis. For many years he was on terms of more or less intimacy with Dr. Johnson, Burke, Garrick, Reynolds, Lowth, Bishop Percy, and John Nichols. In 1761 he recommended ‘Single-speech’ Hamilton to make Burke his secretary. When Burke and Hamilton parted in 1765, Warton advised Hamilton to let Robert Chambers fill Burke's place. Chambers declined Hamilton's invitation, and Warton seems to have suggested Johnson, who did some literary work for Hamilton in 1765 (, i. 519). Warton was, according to Madame D'Arblay, a voluble and ecstatic talker on all subjects in general society, often hugging his auditors in the heat of his argument (Diary, ii. 236). His rapturous gesticulations were not to the taste of Dr. Johnson, who ‘would take’ them ‘off’ among his closer friends ‘with the strongest humour’ (, Memoirs of Dr. Burney, ii. 82). There was never complete sympathy between Johnson and Warton. About 1766 a quarrel took place between them at Sir Joshua Reynolds's house. Johnson told Warton that he was not used to contradiction, and Warton retorted that it would be better if he were. But although they caused each other frequent irritation, there was no permanent breach in the relations of the two men. In 1773 Warton was elected a member of the Literary Club. In 1776 he


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Warton signed the round-robin asking Johnson to rewrite in English his Latin epitaph on Goldsmith (, iii. 83). Johnson, on seeing Warton's signature, declared his wonder that 'Joe Warton, a scholar by profession, should be such a fool' (ib. p. 84 n.) But by humbler men of letters Warton's opinion was highly valued. was overwhelmed by his approbation. 'The poet,' he wrote, 'who pleases a man like that has nothing left to wish for.'

Some clerical preferment was conferred on Warton while he was still at Winchester. He was appointed by his friend Bishop Lowth prebendary of London in 1782, and Pitt, the prime minister, conferred on him a prebendal stall at Winchester in 1788. In 1783, too, Lowth presented him to the vicarage of Chorley, Hertfordshire, which he soon exchanged for that of Wickham, Hampshire, and in 1790 he was instituted to the rectory of Easton, which he at once exchanged for that of Upham, also in Hampshire. The livings of Upham and Wickham he held for life. To Wickham he retired on leaving Winchester in 1793. There he devoted himself anew to literature. He thought of completing the 'History of English Poetry' of his brother, whose death in 1790 greatly depressed him, but he occupied himself mainly with an edition of Pope's 'Works,' which appeared in 1797 in nine octavo volumes. Warton's remuneration amounted to 500l. (, Lit. Illustr. vii. 30). On the ground that he included two compositions of somewhat flagrant indecency—'the fourteenth chapter of Scriblerus' and the 'Second Satire of Horace'—Warton was castigated with unwarranted severity by Mathias in his 'Pursuits of Literature.' Subsequently he began an edition of the 'Works' of Dryden, which he did not live to finish. He died at Wickham on 23 Feb. 1800, and was buried beside his first wife in the north aisle of Winchester Cathedral. His former pupil, [q.v.], published a pamphlet of verses to his memory.

Warton married twice. In 1748 he married his first wife, Mary Daman of Winslade, who died on 5 Oct. 1772. Next year, in December, he married his second wife, Charlotte, second daughter of William Nicholas, who survived him and died in 1809. Warton had three sons and three daughters by his first wife. He had an only daughter, Harriot Elizabeth, by his second marriage (Bodleian Library MS. Wharton 13, ff. 15–19;, Lit. Illustr. i. 228–9). His sons—Joseph (b. 1750), Thomas (1754–1787), and John (b. 1756)—took holy orders.

A portrait by is in the University Gallery in the Taylorian building at Oxford; a replica is at Winchester College. An engraving by R. Cardon was prepared for Wooll's 'Memoirs' (1806). A monument to Warton's memory by Flaxman was erected, at the expense of Old Wykehamists, in the south aisle of Winchester Cathedral.

Warton deserves remembrance as a learned and sagacious critic. He was a literary, not a philological, scholar. His verse, although it indicates a true appreciation of natural scenery, is artificial and constrained in expression. He was well equipped for the role of literary historian, but his great designs in that field never passed far beyond the stage of preliminary meditation. It was as a leader of the revolution which overtook literary criticism in England in the eighteenth century that his chief work was done. In the preface to his volume of odes of 1746 he made a firm stand against the prevailing tendency of English poetry. He was convinced, he wrote, 'that the fashion of moralising in verse had been carried too far.' The true 'faculties of the poet' were 'invention and imagination.' Warton's 'Essay on the Genius and Writings of Pope' was doubtless suggested by resentment of Warburton's ponderous and polemical notes on Pope's philosophical views. Warton was more sensible than Warburton of the felicities of Pope's style, but his main object was to prove that 'correctness,' which had long been held to be the only test of poetry, was no test at all. The genuine spirit of poetry was to be found not in the moral essays of Pope and his didactic disciples, but in the less finished and less regular productions of writers of the temper of the Elizabethans and the Jacobeans. Spenser was, in his opinion, Pope's superior. From want of force of character, Warton never gained a first place among his contemporaries, but he claims the regard of students of literature for the new direction which he impressed on English poetical criticism. Warton's edition of Pope, produced at the close of his life in 1797, supplies many notes that are superfluous, and almost all of them are needlessly verbose, but the book abounds in personal reminiscence and anecdote as well as in cultured and varied learning. Warton's edition has been superseded by that of Messrs. Elwin and Courthope, but in literary flavour it has not, in the opinion of so good a judge as Mark Pattison, been excelled. After his death some of his notes appeared in an edition of Dryden's poetical works, undertaken by his younger son, John (1811, 4 vols. 8vo). John Warton proposed to follow this by selections


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 OF

EDITED BY

SIDNEY LEE

SUPPLEMENT

VOL. II.

New York


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text:
Translation:The Relative Motion of the Earth and the Aether

Die relative Bewegung der Erde und des Äthers De relatieve beweging van de aarde en den aether


text: Translation talk:The Relative Motion of the Earth and the Aether


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warner, John (1673?-1760)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warner, John (1736-1800)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warner, Joseph


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warner, Mary Amelia


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warner, Richard (1713?-1775)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warner, Richard (1763-1857)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warner, Samuel Alfred


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warner, Thomas


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warner, William


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warre, William


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, Arthur


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, Charles (1767-1828)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, Charles (1798-1866)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, Frederick


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, John (1730-1800)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, John Borlase


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, John Byrne Leicester


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, John Taylor


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, Joseph


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, Lemuel


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, Pelham


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, Peter


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, Ralph


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, Richard (1731-1797)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, Richard Augustus


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, Samuel (1769-1839)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, Samuel (1807-1877)


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 conservative with regard to things which were likely to make talk in the village. They got too much of it at meal times and in bed. It was talk that drove one of them to drink and the dogs after twenty years of sober married life. He was the hopeless village sot. But they were a steady class, and not easily driven, as a rule—except in the case of two husbands who were last heard of in Tasmania and New Zealand. The survivors were adverse to others being driven abroad, because, although it eased the labour market, it made more talk. They preferred extra hardship to extra talk.

Bob didn't talk at all, but was none the more popular for that; you see he "wasn't a woman"—jest a labourer like themselves, and "no better than none of 'em." Bob had been " parculiar "from the little that they remembered of him at school. He was supposed to " have notions." He was supposed to be a come-by-chance, "found under a gooseberry bush"—his father unknown, and his "mother" or "aunt" doubtful in both cases. He was supposed to be the son of some one. He was supposed to be related to ——. He was supposed to be somebody-of-importance's brother, nephew, or something. But, as far as I could hear, he was never supposed to be a shy, sensitive, self and village-tortured child, of higher inherited intelligence than the rest.

Anyway, he was sent or taken to London by his mother, or whatever she was, and forgotten.

Poor little Billy was bursting with secrets, several big, astounding ones, which comforted and held him


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, Thomas


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warren, William


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 up, no doubt, at periods when Bob seemed slighted or extra unpopular. Big secrets about Bob takin' him into a London newspaper buildin', and showing him round the basement. Astounding secret about Bob slipping him in behind the scenes of a theayter one morning. Bob had been probably lumper or messenger, or one of a legion of imps and devils, in one place, and super, or possibly call boy, in another. The secret that Bob had been married was a secret that Billy didn't want, and had no use for. All he knew was that the marriage had been a mess, a bad job all round, and that was sufficient for Billy. Bob had his big, honest sympathy, and it would have been the same had the wife been an angel and Bob a fiend in married life, and Billy had known it. Billy didn't know anything about married life, and never offered an opinion concerning it either one way or the other.

He was bound to keep the other's secrets, because, once out, they would have led to many questions and speculations, and may have made one or two fiendships. And Bob didn't want either talk or appreciation. Billy's was too much, but Bob bore with him, when he couldn't get away from it. Billy was "too good to be hurt or put down."

His leisure life seemed almost a clause of appreciation and attendance round Bob Cleaves, and the others forebore unkind or sarcastic comments for Billy's sake. Besides, they went in fear of Bob's grammar and pronunciation.

Lizzie admitted to Billy, in a nothing-of-consequence tone, that she didn't like Bob at first—couldn't


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warter, John Wood


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Warton, Joseph


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Rh false to his holiest plighted public vow—and the wide world knowing to it! He bears my name—Glendinning. I will disown it; were it like this dress, I would tear my name off from me, and burn it till it shrivelled to a crisp!—Pierre! Pierre! come back, come back, and swear it is not so! It cannot be! Wait: I will ring the bell and see if it be so,'

She rung the bell with violence, and soon heard a responsive knock.

'Come in!—Nay, falter not'; (throwing a shawl over her) 'come in. Stand there and tell me if thou darest, that my son was in this house this morning and met me on the stairs. Darest thou say that?'

Dates looked confounded at her most unwonted aspect.

'Say it! find thy tongue! Or I will root mine out and fling it at thee! Say it!'

'My dear mistress!'

'I am not thy mistress! but thou my master; for, if thou sayest it, thou commandest me to madness.—Oh, vile boy!—Begone from me!'

She locked the door upon him, and swiftly and distractedly walked her chamber. She paused, and tossing down the curtains, shut out the sun from the two windows.

Another, but an unsummoned knock, was at the door. She opened it.

'My mistress, his Reverence is below. I would not call you, but he insisted.'

'Let him come up.'

'Here? Immediately?'

'Didst thou hear me? Let Mr. Falsgrave come up.'

As if suddenly and admonishingly made aware, by Dates, of the ungovernable mood of Mrs. Glendinning, the clergyman entered the open door of her chamber with a most deprecating but honest reluctance, and apprehensiveness of he knew not what.

'Be seated, sir; stay, shut the door and lock it.'

'Madam!'

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 'I will do it. Be seated. Hast thou seen him?'

'Whom, madam?—Master Pierre?'

'Him!—quick!'

'It was to speak of him I came, madam. He made a most extraordinary call upon me last night—midnight.'

'And thou marriedst him?—Damn thee!'

'Nay, nay, nay, madam; there is something here I know not of—I came to tell thee news, but thou hast some o'erwhelming tidings to reveal to me.'

'I beg no pardons; but I may be sorry. Mr. Falsgrave, my son, standing publicly plighted to Lucy Tartan, has privately wedded some other girl—some slut!'

'Impossible!'

'True as thou art there. Thou knowest nothing of it, then?'

'Nothing, nothing—not one grain till now. Who is it he has wedded?'

'Some slut, I tell thee!—I am no lady now, but something deeper,—a woman!—an outraged and pride-poisoned woman!'

She turned from him swiftly, and again paced the room, as frantic and entirely regardless of any presence. Waiting for her to pause, but in vain, Mr. Falsgrave advanced toward her cautiously, and with the profoundest deference, which was almost a cringing, spoke:—

'It is the hour of woe to thee; and I confess my cloth hath no consolation for thee yet awhile. Permit me to withdraw from thee, leaving my best prayers for thee, that thou mayst know some peace, ere this now shut-out sun goes down. Send for me whenever thou desirest me.—May I go now?'

'Begone! and let me not hear thy soft, mincing voice, which is an infamy to a man! Begone, thou helpless, and unhelping one!'

She swiftly paced the room again, swiftly muttering to

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Rh herself. 'Now, now, now, now I see it clearer, clearer—clear now as day! My first dim suspicions pointed right!—too right! Ay—the sewing! it was the sewing!—The shriek!—I saw him gazing rooted at her. He would not speak going home with me. I charged him with his silence; he put me off with lies, lies, lies! Ay, ay, he is married to her, to her;—to her!—perhaps was then. And yet,—and yet,—how can it be?—Lucy, Lucy,—I saw him, after that, look on her as if he would be glad to die for her, and go to hell for her, whither he deserves to go!—Oh! oh! oh! Thus ruthlessly to cut off, at one gross sensual dash, the fair succession of an honourable race! Mixing the choicest wine with filthy water from the plebeian pool, and so turning all to undistinguishable rankness!—Oh viper! had I thee now in me, I would be a suicide and a murderer with one blow!'

A third knock was at the door. She opened it.

'My mistress, I thought it would disturb you,—it is so just overhead,—so I have not removed them yet.'

'Unravel thy gibberish!—what is it?'

'Pardon, my mistress, I somehow thought you knew it, but you cannot.'

'What is that writing crumpling in thy hand? Give it me.'

'I have promised my young master not to, my mistress.'

'I will snatch it, then, and so leave thee blameless.—What? what? what?—He's mad sure!—"Fine old fellow Dates"—what? what?—mad and merry!—chest?—clothes?—trunks?—he wants them?—Tumble them out of his window!—and if he stand right beneath, tumble them out! Dismantle that whole room. Tear up the carpet. I swear, he shall leave no smallest vestige in this house.—Here! this very spot—here, here, where I stand, he may have stood upon;—yes, he tied my shoestring here; it's slippery! Dates!'

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272 'My mistress.'

'Do his bidding. By reflection he has made me infamous to the world; and I will make him infamous to it. Listen, and do not delude thyself that I am crazy. Go up to yonder room' (pointing upward), 'and remove every article in it, and where he bid thee set down the chest and trunks, there set down all the contents of that room.'

''Twas before the house—this house!'

'And if it had not been there, I would not order thee to put them there. Dunce! I would have the world know that I disown and scorn him! Do my bidding!—Stay. Let the room stand; but take him what he asks for.'

'I will, my mistress.'

As Dates left the chamber, Mrs. Glendinning again paced it swiftly, and again swiftly muttered: 'Now, if I were less a strong and haughty woman, the fit would have gone by ere now. But deep volcanoes long burn, ere they burn out.—Oh, that the world were made of such malleable stuff, that we could recklessly do our fieriest heart's-wish before it, and not falter. Accursed be those four syllables of sound which make up that vile word Propriety. It is a chain and bell to drag;—drag? what sound is that? there's dragging—his trunks—the traveller's—dragging out. Oh would I could so drag my heart, as fishers for the drowned do, as that I might drag up my sunken happiness! Boy! boy! worse than brought in dripping drowned to me,—drowned in icy infamy! Oh! oh! oh!'

She threw herself upon the bed, covered her face, and lay motionless. But suddenly rose again, and hurriedly rang the bell.

'Open that desk, and draw the stand to me. Now wait and take this to Miss Lucy.'

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Rh With a pencil she rapidly traced these lines:—

'My heart bleeds for thee, sweet Lucy. I cannot speak—I know it all. Look for me the first hour I regain myself.'

Again she threw herself upon the bed, and lay motionless.

III

Toward sundown that evening, Pierre stood in one of the three bespoken chambers in the Black Swan Inn; the blue chintz-covered chest and the writing-desk before him. His hands were eagerly searching through his pockets.

'The key! the key! Nay, then, I must force it open. It bodes ill, too. Yet lucky is it, some bankers can break into their own vaults, when other means do fail. Not so, ever. Let me see:—yes, the tongs there. Now then for the sweet sight of gold and silver. I never loved it till this day. How long it has been hoarded;—little token pieces, of years ago, from aunts, uncles, cousins innumerable, and from—but I won't mention them; dead henceforth to me! Sure there'll be a premium on such ancient gold. There's some broad bits, token pieces to my—I name him not—more than half a century ago. Well, well, I never thought to cast them back into the sordid circulations whence they came. But if they must be spent, now is the time, in this last necessity, and in this sacred cause. 'Tis a most stupid, dunderheaded crowbar. Hoy! so! ah, now for it:—snake's nest!'

Forced suddenly back, the chest-lid had as suddenly revealed to him the chair-portrait lying on top of all the rest, where he had secreted it some days before. Face up, it met him with its noiseless, ever-nameless, and ambiguous, unchanging smile. Now his first repugnance was augmented by an emotion altogether new. That

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IN THE SECOND VOLUME OF THE SUPPLEMENT.


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274 certain lurking lineament in the portrait, whose strange transfer blended with far other, and sweeter, and nobler characteristics, was visible in the countenance of Isabel; that lineament in the portrait was somehow now detestable; nay, altogether loathsome, ineffably so, to Pierre. He argued not with himself why this was so; he only felt it, and most keenly.

Omitting more subtile inquisition into this deftly-winding theme, it will be enough to hint, perhaps, that possibly one source of this new hatefulness had its primary and unconscious rise in one of those profound ideas, which at times atmospherically, as it were, do insinuate themselves even into very ordinary minds. In the strange relativeness, reciprocalness, and transmittedness, between the long-dead father's portrait, and the living daughter's face, Pierre might have seemed to see reflected to him, by visible and uncontradictable symbols, the tyranny of time and Fate. Painted before the daughter was conceived or born, like a dumb seer, the portrait still seemed levelling its prophetic finger at that empty air, from which Isabel did finally emerge. There seemed to lurk some mystical intelligence and vitality in the picture; because, since in his own memory of his father, Pierre could not recall any distinct lineament transmitted to Isabel, but vaguely saw such in the portrait; therefore, not Pierre's parent, as any way rememberable by him, but the portrait's painted self seemed the real father of Isabel; for, so far as all sense went, Isabel had inherited one peculiar trait nowhither traceable but to it.

And as his father was now sought to be banished from his mind, as a most bitter presence there, but Isabel was become a thing of intense and fearful love for him; therefore, it was loathsome to him, that in the smiling and ambiguous portrait, her sweet mournful image should be so sinisterly becrooked, bemixed, and mutilated to him.

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Rh When the first shock, and then the pause were over, he lifted the portrait in his two hands, and held it averted from him.

'It shall not live. Hitherto I have hoarded up mementoes and monuments of the past; been a worshipper of all heirlooms; a fond filer away of letters, locks of hair, bits of ribbon, flowers, and the thousand-and-one minutenesses which love and memory think they sanctify:—but it is forever over now! If to me any memory shall henceforth be dear, I will not mummy it in a visible memorial for every passing beggar's dust to gather on. Love's museum is vain and foolish as the Catacombs, where grinning apes and abject lizards are embalmed, as, forsooth, significant of some imagined charm. It speaks merely of decay and death, and nothing more; decay and death of endless innumerable generations; it makes of earth one mould. How can lifelessness be fit memorial of life?—So far, for mementoes of the sweetest. As for the rest—now I know this, that in commonest memorials, the twilight fact of death first discloses in some secret way, all the ambiguities of that departed thing or person; obliquely it casts hints, and insinuates surmises base, and eternally incapable of being cleared. Decreed by God Omnipotent it is, that Death should be the last scene of the last act of man's play;—a play, which begin how it may, in farce or comedy, ever hath its tragic end; the curtain inevitably falls upon a corpse. Therefore, never more will I play the vile pigmy, and by small memorials after death, attempt to reverse the decree of death, by essaying the poor perpetuating of the image of the original. Let all die, and mix again! As for this—this!—why longer should I preserve it? Why preserve that on which one cannot patient look? If I am resolved to hold this public memory inviolate,—destroy this thing; for here is the one great, condemning,

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text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Gyges

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Gyges


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276 and unsuborned proof, whose mysticalness drives me half mad.—Of old Greek times, before man's brain went into doting bondage, and bleached and beaten in Baconian fulling-mills, his four limbs lost their barbaric tan and beauty; when the round world was fresh, and rosy, and spicy, as a new-plucked apple;—all's wilted now!—in those bold times, the great dead were not, turkey-like, dished in trenchers, and set down all garnished in the ground, to glut the damned Cyclop like a cannibal; but nobly envious Life cheated the glutton worm, and gloriously burned the corpse; so that the spirit up-pointed, and visibly forked to heaven!

'So now will I serve thee. Though that solidity of which thou art the unsolid duplicate, hath long gone to its hideous churchyard account;—and though, God knows! but for one part of thee it may have been fit auditing;—yet will I now a second time see thy obsequies performed, and by now burning thee, urn thee in the great vase of air! Come now!'

A small wood-fire had been kindled on the hearth to purify the long-closed room; it was now diminished to a small pointed heap of glowing embers. Detaching and dismembering the gilded but tarnished frame, Pierre laid the four pieces on the coals; as their dryness soon caught the sparks, he rolled the reversed canvas into a scroll, and tied it, and committed it to the now crackling, clamorous flames. Steadfastly Pierre watched the first crispings and blackenings of the painted scroll, but started as suddenly unwinding from the burnt string that had tied it, for one swift instant, seen through the flame and smoke, the upwrithing portrait tormentedly stared at him in beseeching horror, and then, wrapped in one broad sheet of oily fire, disappeared forever.

Yielding to a sudden ungovernable impulse, Pierre darted his hand among the flames, to rescue the imploring

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Rh face; but as swiftly drew back his scorched and bootless grasp. His hand was burnt and blackened, but he did not heed it.

He ran back to the chest, and seizing repeated packages of family letters, and all sorts of miscellaneous memorials in paper, he threw them one after the other upon the fire.

'Thus, and thus, and thus! on thy manes I fling fresh spoils; pour out all my memory in one libation!—so, so, so—lower, lower, lower; now all is done, and all is ashes! Henceforth, cast-out Pierre hath no paternity, and no past; and since the Future is one blank to all; therefore, twice-disinherited Pierre stands untrammelledly his ever-present self!—free to do his own self-will and present fancy to whatever end!'

IV

That same sunset Lucy lay in her chamber. A knock was heard at its door, and the responding Martha was met by the now self-controlled and resolute face of Mrs. Glendinning.

'How is your young mistress, Martha? May I come in?'

But waiting for no answer, with the same breath she passed the maid, and determinedly entered the room.

She sat down by the bed, and met the open eye, but closed and pallid mouth of Lucy. She gazed rivetedly and inquisitively a moment; then turned a quick aghast look toward Martha, as if seeking warrant for some shuddering thought.

'Miss Lucy'—said Martha—'it is your—it is Mrs. Glendinning. Speak to her, Miss Lucy.'

As if left in the last helpless attitude of some spent contortion of her grief, Lucy was not lying in the ordinary posture of one in bed, but lay half crosswise upon it, with

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278 the pale pillows propping her hueless form, and but a single sheet thrown over her, as though she were so heart overladen, that her white body could not bear one added feather. And as in any snowy marble statue, the drapery clings to the limbs; so as one found drowned, the thin, defining sheet invested Lucy.

'It is Mrs. Glendinning. Will you speak to her, Miss Lucy?'

The thin lips moved and trembled for a moment, and then were still again, and augmented pallor shrouded her.

Martha brought restoratives; and when all was as before, she made a gesture for the lady to depart, and in a whisper, said, 'She will not speak to any; she does not speak to me. The doctor has just left—he has been here five times since morning—and says she must be kept entirely quiet.' Then pointing to the stand, added, 'You see what he has left—mere restoratives. Quiet is her best medicine now, he says. Quiet, quiet, quiet! Oh, sweet quiet, wilt thou now ever come?'

'Has Mrs. Tartan been written to?' whispered the lady. Martha nodded.

So the lady moved to quit the room, saying that once every two hours she would send to know how Lucy fared.

'But where, where is her aunt, Martha?' she exclaimed, lowly, pausing at the door, and glancing in sudden astonishment about the room; 'surely, surely, Mrs. Llanyllyn——'

'Poor, poor old lady,' weepingly whispered Martha, 'she hath caught infection from sweet Lucy's woe; she hurried hither, caught one glimpse of that bed, and fell like dead upon the floor. The doctor hath two patients now, lady'—glancing at the bed, and tenderly feeling Lucy's bosom, to mark if yet it heaved. 'Alack! alack! oh, reptile! reptile! that could sting so sweet a breast! fire would be too cold for him—accursed!'

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Rh 'Thy own tongue blister the roof of thy mouth!' cried Mrs. Glendinning, in a half-stifled, whispering scream. ''Tis not for thee, hired one, to rail at my son, though he were Lucifer, simmering in Hell! Mend thy manners, minx!'

And she left the chamber, dilated with her unconquerable pride, leaving Martha aghast at such venom in such beauty.

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 BOOK XIII

THEY DEPART THE MEADOWS

I

was just dusk when Pierre approached the Ulver farmhouse, in a wagon belonging to the Black Swan Inn. He met his sister shawled and bonneted in the porch.

'Now then, Isabel, is all ready? Where is Delly? I see two most small and inconsiderable portmanteaux. Wee is the chest that holds the goods of the disowned! The wagon waits, Isabel. Now is all ready? and nothing left?'

'Nothing, Pierre; unless in going hence—but I'll not think of that; all's fated.'

'Delly! where is she? Let us go in for her,' said Pierre, catching the hand of Isabel, and turning rapidly. As he thus half dragged her into the little lighted entry, and then dropping her hand, placed his touch on the catch of the inner door, Isabel stayed his arm, as if to keep him back, till she should forewarn him against something concerning Delly; but suddenly she started herself; and for one instant, eagerly pointing at his right hand, seemed almost to half shrink from Pierre.

''Tis nothing. I am not hurt; a slight burn—the merest accidental scorch this morning. But what's this?' he added, lifting his hand higher; 'smoke! soot! this comes of going in the dark; sunlight, and I had seen it. But I have not touched thee, Isabel?'

Isabel lifted her hand and showed the marks.—'But it came from thee, my brother; and I would catch the 5em

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Rh plague from thee, so that it should make me share thee. Do thou clean thy hand; let mine alone.'

'Delly! Delly!' cried Pierre—'why may I not go to her, to bring her forth?'

Placing her finger upon her lip, Isabel softly opened the door, and showed the object of his inquiry avertedly seated, muffled, on a chair.

'Do not speak to her, my brother,' whispered Isabel, 'and do not seek to behold her face, as yet. It will pass over now, ere long, I trust. Come, shall we go now? Take Delly forth, but do not speak to her. I have bidden all good-bye; the old people are in yonder room in the rear; I am glad that they chose not to come out, to attend our going forth. Come now, be very quick, Pierre; this is an hour I like not; be it swiftly past.'

Soon all three alighted at the inn. Ordering lights, Pierre led the way above-stairs, and ushered his two companions into one of the two outermost rooms of the three adjoining chambers prepared for all.

'See,' said he, to the mute and still self-averting figure of Delly;—'see, this is thy room, Miss Ulver; Isabel has told thee all; thou know'st our till now secret marriage; she will stay with thee now, till I return from a little business down the street. To-morrow, thou know'st, very early, we take the stage. I may not see thee again till then, so, be steadfast, and cheer up a very little, Miss Ulver, and good night. All will be well.'

II

Next morning, by break of day, at four o'clock, the four swift hours were personified in four impatient horses, which shook their trappings beneath the windows of the inn. Three figures emerged into the cool dim air and took their places in the coach.

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Superiority and Subordination as Subject-Matter of Sociology

Contents

 * , pp. 167-189.
 * , pp. 392-415.


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282 The old landlord had silently and despondently shaken Pierre by the hand; the vain-glorious driver was on his box, threadingly adjusting the four reins among the fingers of his buck-skin gloves; the usual thin company of admiring ostlers and other early onlookers were gathered about the porch; when—on his companions' account—all eager to cut short any vain delay, at such a painful crisis, Pierre impetuously shouted for the coach to move. In a moment, the four meadow-fed young horses leaped forward their own generous lengths, and the four responsive wheels rolled their complete circles; while making vast rearward flourishes with his whip, the elated driver seemed as a bravado-hero signing his ostentatious farewell signature in the empty air. And so, in the dim of the dawn—and to the defiant crackings of that long and sharp-resounding whip, the three forever fled the sweet fields of Saddle Meadows.

The short old landlord gazed after the coach awhile, and then re-entering the inn, stroked his gray beard and muttered to himself:—'I have kept this house, now, three-and-thirty years, and have had plenty of bridal-parties come and go; in their long train of wagons, break-downs, buggies, gigs—a gay and giggling train—Ha!—there's a pun! popped out like a cork—ay, and once in ox-carts, all garlanded; ay, and once, the merry bride was bedded on a load of sweet-scented new-cut clover. But such a bridal-party as this morning's—why, it's as sad as funerals. And brave Master Pierre Glendinning is the groom! Well, well, wonders is all the go. I thought I had done with wondering when I passed fifty; but I keep wondering still. Ah, somehow, now, I feel as though I had just come from lowering some old friend beneath the sod, and yet felt the grating cord-marks in my palms.—'Tis early, but I'll drink. Let's see; cider,—a mug of cider;—'tis sharp, and pricks like a

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text: The American Journal of Sociology/Volume 02/Number 2/Superiority and Subordination as Subject-Matter of Sociology I


text: The American Journal of Sociology/Volume 02/Number 3/Superiority and Subordination as Subject-Matter of Sociology II


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 THE AMERICAN JOURNAL OF SOCIOLOGY VOLUME II SEPTEMBER, 1896 NUMBER 2

SUPERIORITY AND SUBORDINATION AS SUBJECT-MATTER OF SOCIOLOGY.

the task of sociology to be description and determination of the historico-psychological origin of those forms in which interactions take place between human beings. The totality of these interactions, springing from the most diverse impulses, directed toward the most diverse objects, and aiming at the most diverse ends, constitutes “society.” Those different contents in connection with which the forms of interaction manifest themselves are the subject-matter of special sciences. These contents attain the character of social facts by virtue of occurring in this particular form in the interactions of men. We must accordingly distinguish two senses of the term “society:” first, the broader sense, in which the term includes the sum of all the individuals concerned in reciprocal relations, together with all the interests which unite these interacting persons; second, a narrower sense, in which the term designates the society or the associating as such, that is the interaction itself which constitutes the bond of association, in abstraction from its material content—the subject-matter of sociology as the doctrine of society sensu stricto.


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 SUPERIORITY AND SUBORDINATION AS SUBJECT-MATTER OF SOCIOLOGY. II.

the case of subordination to a numerous superior, of which I have so far spoken, the separate elements of this superior order are coördinated with each other—or at least they work, in the relation that comes here into view, as though they were coördinated. New appearances occur so soon as the numerous superior ceases to act as a unity of similar elements. In this event the superiors may be either opposed to each other or they may compose a series in which the superior is in his turn subordinate to a higher. I will now consider the former case, which may have very different consequences for the subordinates.

When it occurs that one is totally subject to a number of mutually opposed persons or groups, that is, in such manner that the subject brings no spontaneity into the relation, but rather is completely dependent upon each of the superiors, he will suffer severely under their opposition. In the first place, each of the superiors will demand his entire strength and service, and on the other hand will hold him as responsible for everything which he does under the compulsion of the others as though it were of his own motion. This is the typical situation of him who “serves two masters.” It is to be seen in the case of children whose parents are inharmonious, and likewise in that of a petty state which is equally dependent on two powerful neighbors, and consequently in the event of conflict between the superiors the inferior will be held responsible by the one for that to which it was forced by its inferiority to the other. If this conflict of the individuals or groups is completely subjectified in the inferior, if the contestants operate as ideal moral forces which set up their demands within the inferior person, the case is “a conflict of duties.” Here, as in those external cases


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 Thus, for illustration, we designate as a cube on the one hand any natural object in cubical form; on the other hand the simple form alone, which made the material contents into a “cube” in the former sense, constitutes of itself, independently and abstractly considered, an object for geometry. The significance of geometry appears in the fact that the formal relations which it determines hold good for all possible objects formed in space. In like manner it is the purpose of sociology to determine the forms and modes of the relations between men which, although constituted of entirely different contents, material, and interests, nevertheless take shape in formally similar social structures. If we could exhibit the totality of possible forms of social relationship in their gradations and variations we should have in such exhibit complete knowledge of “society” as such. We gain knowledge of the forms of socialization by bringing together inductively the manifestations of these forms which have had actual historical existence. In other words we have to collect and exhibit that element of form which these historical manifestations have in common, abstracted from the variety of material—economical, ethical, ecclesiastical, social, political, etc.—with respect to which they differ.

Now geometry has the advantage of finding within its field very simple figures to which the most complicated forms may be reduced. Truths respecting these simple figures are therefore very widely applicable. From relatively few fundamental truths all possible arrangements of form may be interpreted. In the case of social forms, on the contrary, an approximate reduction to simple elements has not been made. Social phenomena are too immeasurably complicated, and the methods of analysis are too incomplete. The consequence is that if sociological forms and names are used with precision they apply only within a relatively contracted circle of manifestations. Long and patient labor will be necessary before we can understand the concrete historical forms of socialization as the actual compounds of a few simple fundamental forms of human association.


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 When one says, for example, that superiority and inferiority is a formation to be found in every human association, though the proposition certainly involves very profound insight into the essence of human nature and human relationship, yet the assertion is so general that it affords little knowledge of particular societary formations. In order to reach such particular knowledge we must study separate types of superiority and inferiority, and we must master the special features of their formation, which in proportion to their definiteness of course lose generality of application.

In what follows I will exhibit some of the typical species of superiority and inferiority, in so far as they construct forms of association between individuals. For we must observe that superiority and inferiority is by no means a formation necessarily subsequent to the existence of “society.” It is rather one of the forms in which “society” comes into being. It is one of the manifold interactions between individuals, the sum of which we designate as the socialization of the individuals concerned. The sociological task is therefore to interpret historical examples so as to show, first, from what material or formal conditions this form of society, in its different variations, takes its rise, and, on the other hand, what material or formal consequences attach themselves to the relation so discovered.

Every social occurrence as such, consists of an interaction between individuals. In other words, each individual is at the same time an active and a passive agent in a transaction. In case of superiority and inferiority, however, the relation assumes the appearance of a one-sided operation; the one party appears to exert, while the other seems merely to receive an influence. Such, however, is not in fact the case. No one would give himself the trouble to gain or to maintain superiority, if it afforded him no advantage or enjoyment. This return to the superior can be derived from the relation, however, only by virtue of the fact that there is a reciprocal action of the inferior upon the superior. The decisive characteristic of the relation at this point is this, that the effect which the inferior actually exerts upon the


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 is determined by the latter. The superior causes the inferior to produce a given effect which the superior shall experience. In this operation, in case the subordination is really absolute, no sort of spontaneity is present on the part of the subordinate. The reciprocal influence is rather the same as that between a man and a lifeless external object with which the former performs an act for his own use. That is, the person acts upon the object in order that the latter may react upon himself. In this reaction of the object no spontaneity on the part of the object is to be observed, but merely the further operation of the spontaneity of the person. Such an extreme case of superiority and inferiority will scarcely occur among human beings. Rather will a certain measure of independence, a certain direction of the relation proceed also from the self-will and the character of the subordinate. The different cases of superiority and inferiority will accordingly be characterized by differences in the relative amount of spontaneity which the subordinates and the superiors bring to bear upon the total relation. In exemplification of this reciprocal action of the inferior, through which superiority and inferiority manifests itself as proper socialization, I will mention only a few cases, in which the reciprocity is difficult to discern.

When in the case of an absolute despotism the ruler attaches to his edicts the threat of penalty or the promise of reward, the meaning is that the monarch himself will be bound by the regulation which he has ordained. The inferior shall have the right on the other hand to demand something from the lawgiver. Whether the latter subsequently grants the promised reward or protection is another question. The spirit of the relation as contemplated by the law is that the superior completely controls the inferior, to be sure, but that a certain claim is assured to the latter, which claim he may press or may allow to lapse, so that even this most definite form of the relation still contains an element of spontaneity on the part of the inferior.

Still farther; the concept law seems to connote that he who gives the law is in so far unqualifiedly superior. Apart from


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 those cases in which the law is instituted by those who will be its subjects, there appears in lawgiving as such no sign of spontaneity on the part of the subject of the law. It is, nevertheless, very interesting to observe how the Roman conception of law makes prominent the reciprocity between the superior and the subordinate elements. Thus lex means originally compact, in the sense, to be sure, that the terms of the same are fixed by the proponent, and the other party can accept or reject it only en bloc. The lex publica populi Romani meant originally that the king proposed and the people accepted the same. Thus even here, where the conception itself seems to express the complete onesidedness of the superior, the nice social instinct of the Romans pointed in the verbal expression to the coöperation of the subordinate. In consequence of like feeling of the nature of socialization the later Roman jurists declared that the societas leonina is not to be regarded as a social compact; where the one absolutely controls the other, that is, where all spontaneity of the subordinate is excluded, there is no longer any socialization.

Once more, the orator who confronts the assembly, or the teacher his class, seems to be the sole leader, the temporary superior. Nevertheless every one who finds himself in that situation is conscious of the limiting and leading reaction of the mass which is apparently merely passive and submissive to his guidance. This is the case not merely when the parties immediately confront each other. All leaders are also led, as in countless cases the master is the slave of his slaves. “I am your leader, therefore I must follow you,” said one of the most eminent German parliamentarians, with reference to his party. Every journalist is influenced by the public upon which he seems to exert an influence entirely without reaction. The most characteristic case of actual reciprocal influence, in spite of what appears to be subordination without corresponding reaction, is that of hypnotic suggestion. An eminent hypnotist recently asserted that in every hypnosis there occurs an actual if not easily defined influence of the hypnotized upon the hypnotist, and that without this the effect would not be produced.


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 When we advance from this preliminary question, to the particular differentiations of the relation with which we are concerned, three possible types of superiority at once present themselves. Superiority may be exercised (a) by an individual (b) by a group (c) by an objective principle higher than individuals. I proceed to notice some of the sociological significance of these three cases.

The subordination of a group to a single person has in the first place as a consequence a very decided unification of the group, and this is equally the case with both the characteristic forms of this subordination: viz., (1) when the group with its head constitutes a real internal unity; when the superior is more a leader than a master, and only represents in himself the power and the will of the group; (2) when the group is conscious of opposition between itself and its head, when a party opposed to the head is formed. In both cases the unity of the supreme head tends to bring about an inner unification of the group. The elements of the latter are conscious of themselves as belonging together, because their interests converge at one point. Moreover the opposition to this unified controlling power compels the group to collect itself, to condense itself into unity. This is true not alone of the political group. In the factory, the ecclesiastical community, a school class and in associated bodies of every sort it is to be observed that the termination of the organization in a head, whether in case of harmony or of opposition, helps to effect unification of the group. This is most conspicuous to be sure in the political sphere. History has shown it to be the enormous advantage of monarchies that they unify the political interests of the popular mass. The totality has a common interest in holding the prerogatives of the crown within their boundaries, possibly in restricting them; or there is a common field of conflict between those whose interests are with the crown and those who are opposed. Thus there is a supreme point with reference to which the whole people constitutes either a single party or at most two. Upon the disappearance of its head, to which all are subordinate—with the end of this political pressure—all


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 political unity often likewise ceases. There spring up a great number of party factions which previously, in view of that supreme political interest for or against the monarchy, found no room.

This transformation in the political life of a people occurs not merely in the case of a complete abolition of monarchy, but also in the case of gradual limitation of its power, i.e., of the quantum of its superiority. The parliamentary history of Germany and of France shows this very clearly. The unification of the groupelements through common subordination expresses itself moreover in this, that in this case factional disturbances are much more easily quieted than when the elements are independent and subordinate to no one. Here comes in force the conception of the tribunal of final appeal (höhere Instanz), of such weight sociologically, i.e., for every form of human association. The Greek as well as the Italian city-states in many instances made shipwreck simply for this reason, that they had over them no higher authority which might have adjusted differences, as would have been done if they were in common subordination to a central power. Where several elements stand opposed to each other, and none of them recognizes a superior power, conflicts are, as a rule, to be reconciled only by direct comparison of force. The Christian religion is credited with attuning men’s souls to peaceableness. In so far as this is the case the sociological ground for the fact is surely the feeling of the common subordination of all beings to the divine principle. The Christian believer is filled with the conception that over him and every opponent, be the latter a believer or not, stands that supreme authority. This thought removes the temptation to forcible measurement of strength as far from him as under normal conditions it would be from those who are subordinate to a supreme principle.

This unification may present itself in two different forms, viz., as a leveling, or as gradation. In case a collection of human beings are alike subordinate to a single individual, they are in so far equal. The correlation between despotism and equality has long been recognized. On that account, from the other point of view, the autocrat often has an interest in equalizing the


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 of social classes because marked superiorities and inferiorities in the relations between subjects come into real as well as psychological competition with his own supremacy. Thus we see in a large portion of European history, so long as feudalism and the legal differences of estates prevailed, that the struggles of the lower orders for legal equality were aided by the princes. The overlords sought to diminish the privileges of the nobility, because as rulers they elevated themselves to a more lofty and more equal eminence over an equalized society. But there is concealed in this relation between autocracy and the leveling of the ruled another social factor of great significance. This factor may be indicated as follows: The structure of a society in which a single person rules and the great mass obeys is to be understood only through the consideration that the mass, that is the ruled, includes only a portion of the personality belonging to the individuals concerned, while the ruler invests his whole personality in the relationship. Lordship over a developed society does not consequently differ so very much from rule over a horde, since the individuals build into the structure of the mass only fragments of their personality and reserve the remainder. There are wanting therefore in the mass, as the ruled subject, the resources, adaptabilities, the accommodations, the developments of power which the whole individual possesses through the unity and presence of his total psychical energy. Apart from consideration of this difference, this devotion of a mere fraction of individuality to the mass, the frequent facility of its subserviency is not to be understood.

Wonder has often been felt over the irrationality of the condition in which a single person exercises lordship over a great mass of others. The contradiction will be modified when we reflect that the ruler and the individual subject in the controlled mass by no means enter into the relationship with an equal quantum of their personality. The mass is composed through the fact that many individuals unite fractions of their personality,—one-sided purposes, interests and powers, while that which each personality as such actually is towers above this


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 common level and does not at all enter into that “mass,” i.e., into that which is really ruled by the single person. Hence it is also that frequently in very despotically ruled groups individuality may develop itself very freely, in those aspects particularly which are not in participation with the mass. Thus began the development of modern individuality in the despotisms of the Italian Renaissance. Here, as in other similar cases (for example, under Napoleon I and III), it was for the direct interest of the despots to allow the largest freedom to all those aspects of personality which were not identified with the regulated mass, i.e., to those aspects most apart from politics. Thus subordination was more tolerable. It is one of the highest tasks of administrative art to distinguish properly between those characteristics of men with respect to which they may be included in a leveled mass, and those other characteristics which may be left to free individual development. For this distinction there is needed the most accurate knowledge of what is common to the mass, and what consequently is the material for the establishment of a common level, upon which the subjects may stand at a constantly equal height, while that in which the individuals composing the mass cannot be unified must be left outside the circuit of superiority and subordination. This is a formal sociological demand and arrangement which is by no means valid in political autocracies alone, but in every possible autocracy as well. It is therefore in this more exact sense that the leveling must be understood which corresponds with the superiority of a single person.

In the second place the group may assume the form of a pyramid. In this case the subordinates stand over against the superior not in an equalized mass, but in very nicely graded strata of power. These strata grow constantly smaller in extent but greater in significance. They lead up from the inferior mass to the head, the single ruler.

This form of the group may come into existence in two ways. It may emerge from the autocratic supremacy of an individual. The latter often loses the substance of his power, and allows it


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 to slip downwards, while retaining its form and titles. In this case more of the power is retained by the orders nearest to the former autocrat than is acquired by those more distant. Since the power thus gradually percolates, a continuity and graduation of superiority and inferiority must develop itself. This is in fact the way in which in oriental states the social forms often arise. The power of the superior orders disintegrates, either because it is essentially incoherent, and does not know how to attain the above emphasized proportion between subordination and individual freedom; or because the persons comprising the administration are too indolent or too ignorant of governmental technique to preserve supreme power. For the power which is exercised over a large circle is never a constant possession. It must be constantly acquired and defended anew if anything more than its shadow and name is to remain.

The other way in which a scale of power is constructed up to a supreme head is the reverse of that just described. Starting with a relative equality of the social elements, certain elements gain greater significance; within the circle of influence thus constituted certain especially powerful individuals differentiate themselves, until this development accommodates itself to one or to a few heads. The pyramid of superiority and inferiority is built in this case from below upward, while in the former case the development was from above downward. This second form of development is often found in economic relationships, where at first there exists a certain equality between the persons carrying on the work of a certain industrial society. Presently some of the number acquire wealth; others become poor; others fall into intermediate conditions which are as dependent upon an aristocracy of property as the lower orders are upon the middle strata; this aristocracy rises in manifold gradations to the magnates, of whom sometimes a single individual is appropriately designated as the “king” of a branch of industry. By a sort of combination of the two ways in which graded superiority and


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 inferiority of the group comes into being the feudalism of the Middle Ages arose. So long as the full citizen—either Greek, Roman or Teutonic—knew no subordination under an individual, there existed for him on the one hand complete equality with those of his own order, but on the other hand rigid exclusiveness toward those of lower orders. Feudalism remodeled this characteristic social form into the equally characteristic arrangement which filled the gap between freedom and bondage with a scale of classes. Service, servitium, united all members of the realm with each other and with the king. In those times of primitive economy the king had no other resort for rewarding his officials and for binding the great men of his dominions to himself than by enfeoffing them with land and laborers. At first this bestowal was only for life tenure or at will, but the fief later passed into property. The king parted with some of his domain, and his greater subjects likewise assigned land as fiefs to their inferior vassals and thus a gradation of social position, possessions and obligations came into existence. But the same progress came about from the opposite direction. The intermediate strata came into being not alone through concessions from above, but also through accumulations from below. On the one hand small landowners, originally free, gave up their land to more powerful lords, to receive it back from them as a fief. These lords of domains on the other hand, through constant accretions of power, which weakened royalty could not prevent, rose in their turn to kingly power. It is consistent with this contemporaneous duality of genesis that the feudal form of society may have quite antithetical consequences for its monarchical head. While the outcome in Germany was that the central power became hollow, being changed into a mere form, the


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 French crown founded upon the same system its power to organize and control throughout the entire realm.

So much with reference to the forms which the group assumes in subordination to an individual, which forms, either in clear exhibit or as elements of a complicated manifestation, are to be found in the structure of the most various groups, ecclesiastical not less than political, military as well as relationships which receive their structure entirely from the traits of character of those who compose them. It goes without saying that similar phenomena may occur in case of subordination to a numerous body. The numerical composition of the superior power is not always characteristic of it. In the sociological respect thus far referred to it may be a matter of indifference if the superior position of the one person happens to be occupied by a number of persons.

In passing to consideration of the relations which are characterized by the superiority of such a number of persons, I observe that monarchy is the type and the primary form of the superior and inferior relation in general. Monarchy is so expressive and effective that it continues to have a function even in those constitutions which arose from reaction against it, in constitutions which directly purposed to introduce in the place of monarchy a division of the sovereignty. It has been said of the American President, as of the Athenian Archon and of the Roman Consul, that with certain restrictions they are still merely the heirs of the royal power, of which the kings have been robbed through revolution. Maine has shown that the democracy of the French Revolution was nothing but the inverted French monarchy, equipped with precisely the same qualities as the latter; and Proudhon declares that a parliament based on universal suffrage differs in no respect from an absolute monarchy. If the popular representative be infallible, indestructible and irresponsible, the monarch cannot be essentially more. The monarchical principle according to this claim is as vitally present and complete in a parliament as in a legitimate king. Just in this respect is the significance of the form of socialization to be correctly apprehended.


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 If the organization of the group, the reciprocal relation of its elements has once become somewhat fixed, it persists, even if the motive and specific purpose from which it originated is thoroughly changed and even completely reversed. Quite new elements are introduced into the surviving form, yet in consequence of the stability of the form these substitutes exercise their functions in quite similar fashion. We shall presently meet again this further working of the form of organization.

In reference to those social structures which are characterized by the superiority of a number of persons, a social totality over individuals or other totalities, it is to be noticed at once that the consequences for the subordinates are very unequal. The highest wish of the Spartan and Thessalian slaves was to become slaves of the state rather than of individuals. In Prussia before the emancipation of the serfs the peasants attached to the state domains had a much preferable lot to that of those upon private estates. The situation of India under British administration is far better than under the sway of the East India Company and its private interests. In the great modern industrial enterprises where there is no entirely individual control, but which are either stock companies, or are under equally impersonal modes of administration, the employés are better off than in the smaller concerns where they are subject to the personal exploitation of the proprietor.

At the same time the contrary may be observed. The allies of Athens and Rome, the territories which were formerly subject to single Swiss Cantons, were more cruelly oppressed and plundered than could easily have happened under the tyranny of a single master. The stock company which, thanks to the methods in force in the business, as just now observed exploits its employés less than the private entrepreneur, is not at liberty in many cases, e.g., where indemnities or special aids are in question, to act as generously as would be possible for a private owner who need not give account of his outlays to any one. And in relation to momentary impulses; the cruelties which were perpetrated for the amusement of the Roman circus goers, the


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 refinement of which was often demanded by the latter, would scarcely have been practiced by many of these if the delinquent had been accountable to a single person alone. An immediately coöperating mass knows no individual considerations, because in the mass itself the individual impulses and qualities are paralyzed so that it cannot feel any sympathy with that which is specifically individual. The chief consideration is however that the point in which all the members of a large group securely coincide is very low in the scale of the moral; that consideration and delicacy is always of an individual and personal nature; that it will not usually be possible to unite a great number upon the same personal considerations; and that, especially in an association for economic ends, unlimited egoism in pursuit of material advantage and in saving cost is the one interest to be unqualifiedly accredited to all.

But subordination to a single individual may be preferred to that under a body of persons upon more ideal grounds, viz., when the superiority and inferiority bears a personal character, when it is a relation of fidelity, and the superior appears rather as a leader than a ruler. In that case there is in subordination a certain freedom and dignity which disappears when one is subordinate to a number of persons. Accordingly, the princes of the sixteenth century in France, Germany, Scotland and the Netherlands often encountered serious opposition when they allowed government to be exercised by learned substitutes or administrative bodies. The prerogative of command was regarded as something personal, to which one would render obedience only from personal devotion. The relation of superiority and inferiority existed only between person and person, whereby a higher and worthier role fell to the subordinate in the relationship than he could preserve in the case of subordination to an impersonal governing body composed of several individuals.

Of great importance for the outline of the sociological picture is the question whether and in what degree the lordship of a numerous body is exercised directly or through agents. The “agent” is a very peculiar phenomenon, emerging in every


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 highly developed form of intercourse. This phenomenon manifests its genuinely sociological character in the fact that it occurs in the most diverse sorts of groups and in the service of the most varied interests, everywhere exhibiting however certain similar formal traits. This common fundamental characteristic consists in the transference of responsibility. The real consequences of his action do not fall upon the agent, as they do upon every one who pursues his own proper interests. The affair itself does not make him responsible. Only because the consequences of his procedure fall upon another, and this latter has some sort of power over him, can the agent’s action produce pleasure or pain in himself. This circumstance must make the essential relationship between the agent and the object of his action take a shape quite different from that which appears when the action is direct, without transference to the agency of another. On account of the greater distance of personal interest from the object the requirements of the agent may be less immediate and precise, and on that account very wide scope is often present for personal differences, especially where a totality is represented by a single individual. Here is room for hard-heartedness and pleasure in cruelty, which assumes the appearance of rigorous care for the interests of the principal; for pedantry or actual conscientiousness, which, in effect, amounts to the same thing; for negligence and complaisance, which tolerates lax discharge of duty on the part of the subordinate on the ground that the generality can easily bear the injury. This wide scope which the vicarious principle gives to personal tendencies, that are often little restrained by the requirements of the action concerned, is evidently one ground for the fact that subjection to a totality may have such widely contrasted consequences for the subordinate.

A peculiar form of subordination to a number of individuals is determination by vote of a majority. The presumption of majority rule is that there is a collection of elements originally possessing equal rights. In the process of voting the individual places himself in subordination to a power of which he is a part,


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 but in this way, that it is left to his own volition whether he will belong to the superior or the inferior, i.e., the outvoted party. We are not now interested in cases of this complex problem in which the superiority is entirely formal, as, for example, in resolves of scientific congresses, but only with those in which the individual is constrained to an action by the will of the party outvoting him, that is, in which he must practically subordinate himself to the majority. This dominance of numbers through the fact that others, though only equal in right, have another opinion, is by no means the matter of course which it seems to us today in our time of determinations by masses. Ancient German law knew nothing of it. If one did not agree with the resolve of the community he was not bound by it. As an application of this principle unanimity was later necessary in the choice of king, evidently because it could not be expected or required that one who had not chosen the king would obey him. The English baron who had opposed authorizing a levy, or who had not been present, often refused to pay it. In the tribal council of the Iroquois, as in the Polish Parliament, decisions had to be unanimous. There was therefore no subordination of an individual to a majority, unless we consider the fact that a proposition was regarded as rejected if it did not receive unanimous approval, a subordination, an outvoting, of the person proposing the measure.

When, on the contrary, majority rule exists, two modes of subordination of the minority are possible, and discrimination between them is of the highest sociological significance. Control of the minority may, in the first place, arise from the fact that the many are more powerful than the few. Although, or rather because the individuals participating in a vote are supposed to be equals, the majority have the physical power to coerce the minority. The taking of a vote and the subjection of the minority serves the purpose of avoiding such actual measurement of strength, but accomplishes practically the same result through the count of votes, since the minority is convinced of the futility of such resort to force. There exist in the group two parties in