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16 We could not move a single pace,

We could not see each other's face,

But with that pale and livid light

That made us strangers in our sight:

And thus together—yet apart,

Fettered in hand, but joined in heart,

'Twas still some solace in the dearth

Of the pure elements of earth,

To hearken to each other's speech,

And each turn comforter to each

With some new hope, or legend old,

Or song heroically bold;

But even these at length grew cold.

Our voices took a dreary tone,

An echo of the dungeon stone,

A grating sound, not full and free,

As they of yore were wont to be:

It might be fancy—but to me

They never sounded like our own.

IV.

I was the eldest of the three,

And to uphold and cheer the rest

I ought to do—and did my best—

And each did well in his degree.

The youngest, whom my father loved,

Because our mother's brow was given

To him, with eyes as blue as heaven—

For him my soul was sorely moved:

And truly might it be distressed

To see such bird in such a nest;


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Middleton, Henry (d.1613)

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


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Rh For he was beautiful as day—

(When day was beautiful to me

As to young eagles, being free)—

A polar day, which will not see

A sunset till its summer's gone,

Its sleepless summer of long light,

The snow-clad offspring of the sun:

And thus he was as pure and bright,

And in his natural spirit gay,

With tears for nought but others' ills,

And then they flow'd like mountain rills,

Unless he could assuage the woe

Which he abhorred to view below.

V.

The other was as pure of mind,

But formed to combat with his kind;

Strong in his frame, and of a mood

Which 'gainst the world in war had stood,

And perish'd in the foremost rank

With joy:—but not in chains to pine:

His spirit withered with their clank,

I saw it silently decline—

And so perchance in sooth did mine:

But yet I forced it on to cheer

Those relics of a home so dear.

He was a hunter of the hills,

Had followed there the deer and wolf

To him this dungeon was a gulf,

And fettered feet the worst of ills.

VI.

Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls:

A thousand feet in depth below

Its massy waters meet and flow;

Thus much the fathom-line was sent


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Middleton, John (1619-1674)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Middleton, John (1827-1856)


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18 From Chillon's snow-white battlement,

Which round about the wave inthralls:

A double dungeon wall and wave

Have made—and like a living grave.

Below the surface of the lake The Château de Chillon is situated between Clarens and Villeneuve, which last is at one extremity of the Lake of Geneva. On its left are the entrances of the Rhone, and opposite are the heights of Meillerie and the range of Alps above Boveret and St. Gingo. Near it, on a hill behind, is a torrent: below it, washing its walls, the lake has been fathomed to the depth of 800 feet, French measure: within it are a range of dungeons, in which the early reformers, and subsequently prisoners of state, were confined. Across one of the vaults is a beam black with age, on which we were informed that the condemned were formerly executed. In the cells are seven pillars, or, rather, eight, one being half merged in the wall; in some of these are rings for the fetters and the fettered: in the pavement the steps of Bonnivard have left their traces. He was confined here several years. It is by this castle that Rousseau has fixed the catastrophe of his Héloïse, in the rescue of one of her children by Julie from the water; the shock of which, and the illness produced by the immersion, is the cause of her death. The château is large, and seen along the lake for a great distance. The walls are white.

["Le château de Chillon ... est situé dans le lac sur un rocher qui forme une presqu'isle, et autour du quel j'ai vu sonder à plus de cent cinquante brasses qui font près de huit cents pieds, sans trouver le fond. On a creusé dans ce rocher des caves et des cuisines au-dessous du niveau de l'eau, qu'on y introduit, quand on veut, par des robinets. C'est-la que fut détenu six ans prisonnier François Bonnivard ... homme d'un mérite rare, d'une droiture et d'une fermeté à toute épreuve, ami de la liberté, quoique Savoyard, et tolérant quoique prêtre," etc. (La Nouvelle Héloïse, par J. J. Rousseau, partie vi. Lettre 8, note (1); Œuvres complètes, 1836, ii. 356, note 1).

With Byron's description of Chillon, compare that of Shelley, contained in a letter to Peacock, dated July 12, 1816 (Prose Works of P. B. Shelley, 1880, ii. 171, sq.). The belief or tradition that Bonivard's prison is "below the surface of the lake," for which Shelley as well as Rousseau is responsible, but which Byron only records in verse, may be traced to a statement attributed to Bonivard himself, who says (Mémoires, etc., 1845, iv. 268) that the commandant thrust him "en unes croctes desquelles le fond estoit plus bas que le lac sur lequel Chillon estoit citue." As a matter of fact, "the level [of les souterrains] is now three metres higher than the level of the water, and even if we take off the difference arising from the fact that the level of the lake


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Middleton, Joshua


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Rh The dark vault lies wherein we lay:

We heard it ripple night and day;

Sounding o'er our heads it knocked;

And I have felt the winter's spray

Wash through the bars when winds were high

And wanton in the happy sky;

And then the very rock hath rocked,

And I have felt it shake, unshocked,

Because I could have smiled to see

The death that would have set me free.

VII.

I said my nearer brother pined,

I said his mighty heart declined,

He loathed and put away his food;

It was not that 'twas coarse and rude,

For we were used to hunter's fare,

And for the like had little care:

The milk drawn from the mountain goat

Was changed for water from the moat,

Our bread was such as captives' tears

Have moistened many a thousand years,

Since man first pent his fellow men

Like brutes within an iron den;

But what were these to us or him?

These wasted not his heart or limb;

My brother's soul was of that mould

Which in a palace had grown cold,

Had his free breathing been denied

The range of the steep mountain's side;

But why delay the truth?—he died.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Middleton, Marmaduke


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20 I saw, and could not hold his head,

Nor reach his dying hand—nor dead,—

Though hard I strove, but strove in vain,

To rend and gnash my bonds in twain.

He died—and they unlocked his chain,

And scooped for him a shallow grave

Even from the cold earth of our cave.

I begged them, as a boon, to lay

His corse in dust whereon the day

Might shine—it was a foolish thought,

But then within my brain it wrought,

That even in death his freeborn breast

In such a dungeon could not rest.

I might have spared my idle prayer—

They coldly laughed—and laid him there:

The flat and turfless earth above

The being we so much did love;

His empty chain above it leant,

Such Murder's fitting monument!

VIII.

But he, the favourite and the flower,

Most cherished since his natal hour,

His mother's image in fair face

The infant love of all his race,

His martyred father's dearest thought,

My latest care, for whom I sought

To hoard my life, that his might be

Less wretched now, and one day free;


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Rh He, too, who yet had held untired

A spirit natural or inspired—

He, too, was struck, and day by day

Was withered on the stalk away.

Oh, God! it is a fearful thing

To see the human soul take wing

In any shape, in any mood:

I've seen it rushing forth in blood,

I've seen it on the breaking ocean

Strive with a swoln convulsive motion,

I've seen the sick and ghastly bed

Of Sin delirious with its dread:

But these were horrors—this was woe

Unmixed with such—but sure and slow:

He faded, and so calm and meek,

So softly worn, so sweetly weak,

So tearless, yet so tender—kind,

And grieved for those he left behind;

With all the while a cheek whose bloom

Was as a mockery of the tomb,

Whose tints as gently sunk away

As a departing rainbow's ray;

An eye of most transparent light,

That almost made the dungeon bright;


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Middleton, Patrick


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22 And not a word of murmur—not

A groan o'er his untimely lot,—

A little talk of better days,

A little hope my own to raise,

For I was sunk in silence—lost

In this last loss, of all the most;

And then the sighs he would suppress

Of fainting Nature's feebleness,

More slowly drawn, grew less and less:

I listened, but I could not hear;

I called, for I was wild with fear;

I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread

Would not be thus admonishéd;

I called, and thought I heard a sound—

I burst my chain with one strong bound,

And rushed to him:—I found him not,

I only stirred in this black spot,

I only lived, I only drew

The accursed breath of dungeon-dew;

The last, the sole, the dearest link

Between me and the eternal brink,

Which bound me to my failing race,

Was broken in this fatal place.

One on the earth, and one beneath—

My brothers—both had ceased to breathe:

I took that hand which lay so still,

Alas! my own was full as chill;

I had not strength to stir, or strive,

But felt that I was still alive—

A frantic feeling, when we know

That what we love shall ne'er be so.

I know not why

I could not die,

I had no earthly hope—but faith,

And that forbade a selfish death.


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Rh IX.

What next befell me then and there

I know not well—I never knew—

First came the loss of light, and air,

And then of darkness too:

I had no thought, no feeling—none—

Among the stones I stood a stone,

And was, scarce conscious what I wist,

As shrubless crags within the mist;

For all was blank, and bleak, and grey;

It was not night—it was not day;

It was not even the dungeon-light,

So hateful to my heavy sight,

But vacancy absorbing space,

And fixedness—without a place;

There were no stars—no earth—no time—

No check—no change—no good—no crime—

But silence, and a stirless breath

Which neither was of life nor death;

A sea of stagnant idleness,

Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless!

X.

A light broke in upon my brain,—

It was the carol of a bird;

It ceased, and then it came again,

The sweetest song ear ever heard,

And mine was thankful till my eyes

Ran over with the glad surprise,

And they that moment could not see

I was the mate of misery;

But then by dull degrees came back

My senses to their wonted track;

I saw the dungeon walls and floor

Close slowly round me as before,

I saw the glimmer of the sun

Creeping as it before had done,


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Middleton, Thomas (1570?-1627)


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24 But through the crevice where it came

That bird was perched, as fond and tame,

And tamer than upon the tree;

A lovely bird, with azure wings,

And song that said a thousand things,

And seemed to say them all for me!

I never saw its like before,

I ne'er shall see its likeness more:

It seemed like me to want a mate,

But was not half so desolate,

And it was come to love me when

None lived to love me so again,

And cheering from my dungeon's brink,

Had brought me back to feel and think.

I know not if it late were free,

Or broke its cage to perch on mine,

But knowing well captivity,

Sweet bird! I could not wish for thine!

Or if it were, in wingéd guise,

A visitant from Paradise;

For—Heaven forgive that thought! the while

Which made me both to weep and smile—

I sometimes deemed that it might be

My brother's soul come down to me;

But then at last away it flew,

And then 'twas mortal well I knew,

For he would never thus have flown—

And left me twice so doubly lone,—

Lone—as the corse within its shroud,


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Rh Lone—as a solitary cloud,

A single cloud on a sunny day,

While all the rest of heaven is clear,

A frown upon the atmosphere,

That hath no business to appear

When skies are blue, and earth is gay.

XI.

A kind of change came in my fate,

My keepers grew compassionate;

I know not what had made them so,

They were inured to sights of woe,

But so it was:—my broken chain

With links unfastened did remain,

And it was liberty to stride

Along my cell from side to side,

And up and down, and then athwart,

And tread it over every part;

And round the pillars one by one,

Returning where my walk begun,

Avoiding only, as I trod,

My brothers' graves without a sod;

For if I thought with heedless tread

My step profaned their lowly bed,

My breath came gaspingly and thick,

And my crushed heart felt blind and sick.

XII.

I made a footing in the wall,

It was not therefrom to escape,

For I had buried one and all,

Who loved me in a human shape;


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26 And the whole earth would henceforth be

A wider prison unto me:

No child—no sire—no kin had I,

No partner in my misery;

I thought of this, and I was glad,

For thought of them had made me mad;

But I was curious to ascend

To my barred windows, and to bend

Once more, upon the mountains high,

The quiet of a loving eye.

XIII.

I saw them—and they were the same,

They were not changed like me in frame;

I saw their thousand years of snow

On high—their wide long lake below,

And the blue Rhone in fullest flow;

I heard the torrents leap and gush

O'er channelled rock and broken bush;

I saw the white-walled distant town,

And whiter sails go skimming down;

And then there was a little isle,


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Rh Which in my very face did smile,

The only one in view;

A small green isle, it seemed no more,

Scarce broader than my dungeon floor,

But in it there were three tall trees,

And o'er it blew the mountain breeze,

And by it there were waters flowing,

And on it there were young flowers growing,

Of gentle breath and hue.

The fish swam by the castle wall,

And they seemed joyous each and all;

The eagle rode the rising blast,

Methought he never flew so fast

As then to me he seemed to fly;

And then new tears came in my eye,

And I felt troubled—and would fain

I had not left my recent chain;

And when I did descend again,

The darkness of my dim abode

Fell on me as a heavy load;

It was as is a new-dug grave,

Closing o'er one we sought to save,—

And yet my glance, too much opprest,

Had almost need of such a rest.


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28 XIV.

It might be months, or years, or days—

I kept no count, I took no note—

I had no hope my eyes to raise,

And clear them of their dreary mote;

At last men came to set me free;

I asked not why, and recked not where;

It was at length the same to me,

Fettered or fetterless to be,

I learned to love despair.

And thus when they appeared at last,

And all my bonds aside were cast,

These heavy walls to me had grown

A hermitage—and all my own!

And half I felt as they were come

To tear me from a second home:

With spiders I had friendship made,

And watched them in their sullen trade

Had seen the mice by moonlight play,

And why should I feel less than they?

We were all inmates of one place,

And I, the monarch of each race,

Had power to kill—yet, strange to tell!

In quiet we had learned to dwell;

My very chains and I grew friends,

So much a long communion tends

To make us what we are:—even I

Regained my freedom with a sigh.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Middleton, Richard (d.1641)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Middleton, Richard (fl.1280)


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4 information was common property. Be that as it may, Senebier's prose is in some respects as unhistorical as Byron's verse, and stands in need of some corrections and additions.

François Bonivard (there is no contemporary authority for "Bonnivard") was born in 1493. In early youth (1510) he became by inheritance Prior of St. Victor, a monastery outside the walls of Geneva, and on reaching manhood (1514) he accepted the office and the benefice, "la dignité ecclésiastique de Prieur et de la Seigneurie temporelle de St. Victor." A lover of independence, a child of the later Renaissance, in a word, a Genevese, he threw in his lot with a band of ardent reformers and patriots, who were conspiring to shake off the yoke of Duke Charles III. of Savoy, and convert the city into a republic. Here is his own testimony: "Dès que j'eus commencé de lire l'histoire des nations, je me sentis entrainé par un goût prononcé pour les Républiques dont j'épousai toujours les intérêts." Hence, in a great measure, the unrelenting enmity of the duke, who not only ousted him from his priory, but caused him to be shut up for two years at Grolée, Gex, and Belley, and again, after he had been liberated on a second occasion, ordered him, a safe conduct notwithstanding, to be seized and confined in the Castle of Chillon. Here he remained from 1530 to February 1, 1536, when he was released by the Bernese.

For the first two years he was lodged in a room near the governor's quarters, and was fairly comfortable; but a day came when the duke paid a visit to Chillon; and "then," he writes, "the captain thrust me into a cell lower than the lake, where I lived four years. I know not whether he did it by the duke's orders or of his own accord; but sure it is that I had so much leisure for walking, that I wore in the rock which was the pavement a track or little path, as it had been made with a hammer" (Chroniques des Ligues de Stumpf, addition de Bonivard).

After he had been liberated, "par la grace de Dieu donnee a Messrs. de Berne," he returned to Geneva, and was made a member of the Council of the State, and awarded a house and a pension of two hundred crowns a year. A long life was before him, which he proceeded to spend in characteristic fashion, finely and honourably as scholar, author, and reformer, but with little self-regard or self-respect as a private citizen. He was married no less than four times, and not one of these alliances was altogether satisfactory or creditable. Determined "to warm both hands before the fire of life," he was prone to ignore the prejudices and even the decencies of his fellow-citizens, now incurring their


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Rh displeasure, and now again, as one who had greatly testified for truth and freedom, being taken back into favour and forgiven. There was a deal of human nature in Bonivard, with the result that, at times, conduct fell short of pretension and principle. Estimates of his character differ widely. From the standpoint of Catholic orthodoxy, "C'était un fort mauvais sujet et un plus mauvais prêtre;" and even his captivity, infamous as it was, "ne peut rendre Bonivard intérssant" (Notices Généalogiques sur les Familles Genevoises, par J. A. Galiffe, 1836, iii. 67, sq.); whilst an advocate and champion, the author of the Preface to Les Chroniques de Genève par François de Bonnivard, 1831, tom. i. pt. i. p. xli., avows that "aucun homme n'a fait preuve d'un plus beau caractère, d'un plus parfait désintéressement que l'illustre Prieur de St. Victor." Like other great men, he may have been guilty of "quelques égarements du cœur, quelques concessions passagères aux délices des sens," but "Peu importe à la postérité les irrégularités de leur vie privée" (p. xlviii.).

But whatever may be the final verdict with regard to the morals, there can be no question as to the intellectual powers of the "Prisoner of Chillon." The publication of various MS. tracts, e.g. Advis et Devis de l'ancienne et nouvelle Police de Genève, 1865; Advis et Devis des Lengnes, etc., 1865, which were edited by the late J. J. Chaponnière, and, after his death, by M. Gustave Revilliod, has placed his reputation as historian, satirist, philosopher, beyond doubt or cavil. One quotation must suffice. He is contrasting the Protestants with the Catholics (Advis et Devis de la Source de Lidolatrie, Geneva, 1856, p. 159): "Et nous disons que les prebstres rongent les mortz et est vray; mais nous faisons bien pys, car nous rongeons les vifz. Quel profit revient aux paveures du dommage des prebstres? Nous nous ventons touttes les deux parties de prescher Christ cruciffie et disons vray, car nous le laissons cruciffe et nud en l'arbre de la croix, et jouons a beaux dez au pied dicelle croix, pour scavoir qui haura sa robe."

For Bonivard's account of his second imprisonment, see Les Chroniques de Genève, tom. ii. part ii. pp. 571-577; see, too, Notice sur François Bonivard,... par Le Docteur J. J. Chaponnière, Mémoires et Documents Publiés, par La Société d'Histoire, etc., de Genève, 1845, iv. 137-245; Chillon Etude Historique, par L. Vulliemin, Lausanne, 1851; Revue des Deux Mondes, Seconde Période, vol. 82, Août, 1869, pp. 682-709; "True Story of the Prisoner of Chillon," Nineteenth Century, May, 1900, No. 279, pp. 821-829, by A. van Amstel (Johannes Christiaan Neuman).


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6 The Prisoner of Chillon was reviewed (together with the Third Canto of Childe Harold) by Sir Walter Scott (Quarterly Review, No. xxxi., October, 1816), and by Jeffrey (Edinburgh Review, No. liv., December, 1816).

With the exception of the Eclectic (March, 1817, N.S., vol. vii. pp. 298-304), the lesser reviews were unfavourable. For instance, the Critical Review (December, 1816, Series V. vol. iv. pp. 567-581) detected the direct but unacknowledged influence of Wordsworth on thought and style; and the Portfolio (No. vi. pp. 121-128), in an elaborate skit, entitled "Literary Frauds," assumed, and affected to prove, that the entire poem was a forgery, and belonged to the same category as The Right Honourable Lord Byron's Pilgrimage to the Holy Land, etc.

For extracts from these and other reviews, see Kölbing, Prisoner of Chillon, and Other Poems, Weimar, 1896, excursus i. pp. 3-55.


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70 Diodati, on July 17, at the request of Douglas Kinnaird. "I did as well as I could," says Byron; "but where I have not my choice I pretend to answer for nothing" (Letter to Murray, September 29, 1816, Letters, 1899, iii. 366). He told Lady Blessington, however, that his "feelings were never more excited than while writing it, and that every word came direct from the heart" (Conversations, etc., p. 241).

The MS., in the handwriting of Claire, is headed, "Written at the request of D. Kinnaird, Esq., Monody on R. B. Sheridan. Intended to be spoken at Dy. Le. T. Diodati. Lake of Geneva, July 18th., 1816. Byron."

The first edition was entitled Monody on the Death of the Right Honourable R. B. Sheridan. Written at the request of a Friend. To be spoken at Drury Lane Theatre, London. Printed for John Murray, Albemarle Street, 1816.

It was spoken by Mrs. Davison at Drury Lane Theatre, September 7, and published September 9, 1816.

When the Monody arrived at Diodati Byron fell foul of the title-page: "'The request of a Friend:'—

"I will request you to expunge that same, unless you please to add, 'by a person of quality, or of wit and honour about town.' Merely say, 'written to be spoken at D[rury] L[ane]'" (Letter to Murray, September 30, 1816, Letters, 1899, iii. 367). The first edition had been issued, and no alteration could be made, but the title-page of a "New Edition," 1817, reads, "Monody, etc. Spoken at Drury Lane Theatre. By Lord Byron."]


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 MONODY ON THE DEATH

OF THE

SPOKEN AT DRURY-LANE THEATRE, LONDON.

the last sunshine of expiring Day

In Summer's twilight weeps itself away,

Who hath not felt the softness of the hour

Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower?

With a pure feeling which absorbs and awes

While Nature makes that melancholy pause—

Her breathing moment on the bridge where Time

Of light and darkness forms an arch sublime—

Who hath not shared that calm, so still and deep,

The voiceless thought which would not speak but weep,

A holy concord, and a bright regret,

A glorious sympathy with suns that set?

'Tis not harsh sorrow, but a tenderer woe,

Nameless, but dear to gentle hearts below,

Felt without bitterness—but fall and clear,

A sweet dejection—a transparent tear,

Unmixed with worldly grief or selfish stain—

Shed without shame, and secret without pain.

Even as the tenderness that hour instils

When Summer's day declines along the hills,


text: Historical Account of the Navigable Rivers, Canals, and Railways, of Great Britain/Alford Canal


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73 So feels the fulness of our heart and eyes

When all of Genius which can perish dies.

A mighty Spirit is eclipsed—a Power

Hath passed from day to darkness—to whose hour

Of light no likeness is bequeathed—no name,

Focus at once of all the rays of Fame!

The flash of Wit—the bright Intelligence,

The beam of Song—the blaze of Eloquence,

Set with their Sun, but still have left behind

The enduring produce of immortal Mind;

Fruits of a genial morn, and glorious noon,

A deathless part of him who died too soon.

But small that portion of the wondrous whole,

These sparkling segments of that circling Soul,

Which all embraced, and lightened over all,

To cheer—to pierce—to please—or to appal.

From the charmed council to the festive board,

Of human feelings the unbounded lord;

In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied,

The praised—the proud—who made his praise their pride.

When the loud cry of trampled Hindostan

Arose to Heaven in her appeal from Man,

His was the thunder—his the avenging rod,

The wrath—the delegated voice of God!

Which shook the nations through his lips, and blazed

Till vanquished senates trembled as they praised.

And here, oh! here, where yet all young and warm,

The gay creations of his spirit charm,


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Rh The matchless dialogue—the deathless wit,

Which knew not what it was to intermit;

The glowing portraits, fresh from life, that bring

Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring;

These wondrous beings of his fancy, wrought

To fulness by the fiat of his thought,

Here in their first abode you still may meet,

Bright with the hues of his Promethean heat;

A Halo of the light of other days,

Which still the splendour of its orb betrays.

But should there be to whom the fatal blight

Of failing Wisdom yields a base delight,

Men who exult when minds of heavenly tone

Jar in the music which was born their own,

Still let them pause—ah! little do they know

That what to them seemed Vice might be but Woe.

Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze

Is fixed for ever to detract or praise;

Repose denies her requiem to his name,

And Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame.

The secret Enemy whose sleepless eye

Stands sentinel—accuser—judge—and spy.

The foe, the fool, the jealous, and the vain,

The envious who but breathe in other's pain—

Behold the host! delighting to deprave,

Who track the steps of Glory to the grave,

Watch every fault that daring Genius owes

Half to the ardour which its birth bestows,

Distort the truth, accumulate the lie,

And pile the Pyramid of Calumny!

These are his portion—but if joined to these

Gaunt Poverty should league with deep Disease,

If the high Spirit must forget to soar,

And stoop to strive with Misery at the door,


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74 To soothe Indignity—and face to face

Meet sordid Rage, and wrestle with Disgrace,

To find in Hope but the renewed caress,

The serpent-fold of further Faithlessness:—

If such may be the Ills which men assail,

What marvel if at last the mightiest fail?

Breasts to whom all the strength of feeling given

Bear hearts electric—charged with fire from Heaven,

Black with the rude collision, inly torn,

By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinds borne,

Driven o'er the lowering atmosphere that nurst

Thoughts which have turned to thunder—scorch, and burst.

But far from us and from our mimic scene

Such things should be—if such have ever been;

Ours be the gentler wish, the kinder task,

To give the tribute Glory need not ask,


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Rh To mourn the vanished beam, and add our mite

Of praise in payment of a long delight

Ye Orators! whom yet our councils yield,

Mourn for the veteran Hero of your field!

The worthy rival of the wondrous Three!

Whose words were sparks of Immortality!

Ye Bards! to whom the Drama's Muse is dear,

He was your Master—emulate him here!

Ye men of wit and social eloquence!

He was your brother—bear his ashes hence!

While Powers of mind almost of boundless range,

Complete in kind, as various in their change,

While Eloquence—Wit—Poesy—and Mirth,

That humbler Harmonist of care on Earth,

Survive within our souls—while lives our sense

Of pride in Merit's proud pre-eminence,

Long shall we seek his likeness—long in vain,

And turn to all of him which may remain,

Sighing that Nature formed but one such man,

And broke the die—in moulding Sheridan!


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 [Manfred, a choral tragedy in three acts, was performed at Covent Garden Theatre, October 29—November 14, 1834 [Denvil (afterwards known as "Manfred" Denvil) took the part of "Manfred," and Miss Ellen Tree (afterwards Mrs. Charles Kean) played "The Witch of the Alps"]; at Drury Lane Theatre, October 10, 1863-64 [Phelps played "Manfred," Miss Rosa Le Clercq "The Phantom of Astarte," and Miss Heath "The Witch of the Alps"]; at the Prince's Theatre, Manchester, March 27—April 20, 1867 [Charles Calvert played "Manfred"]; and again, in 1867, under the same management, at the Royal Alexandra Theatre, Liverpool; and at the Princess's Theatre Royal, London, August 16, 1873 [Charles Dillon played "Manfred;" music by Sir Henry Bishop, as in 1834].

Overtures, etc.

"Music to Byron's Manfred" (overture and incidental music and choruses), by R. Schumann, 1850.

"Incidental Music," composed, in 1897, by Sir Alexander Campbell Mackenzie (at the request of Sir Henry Irving); heard (in part only) at a concert in Queen's Hall, May, 1899.

"Manfred Symphony" (four tableaux after the Poem by Byron), composed by Tschairowsky, 1885; first heard in London, autumn, 1898]


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80 foreseen, he did not "by any means like" the third act. It was, as its author admitted (Letter to Murray, April 14) "damnably bad," and savoured of the "dregs of a fever," for which the Carnival (Letter to Murray, February 28) or, more probably, the climate and insanitary "palaces" of Venice were responsible. Some weeks went by before there was either leisure or inclination for the task of correction, but at Rome the estro returned in full force, and on May 5 a "new third act of Manfred—the greater part rewritten," was sent by post to England. Manfred, a Dramatic Poem, was published June 16, 1817.

Manfred was criticized by Jeffrey in the Edinburgh Review (No. lvi., August, 1817, vol. 28, pp. 418-431), and by John Wilson in the Edinburgh Monthly Magazine (afterwards Blackwood's, etc.) (June, 1817, i. 289-295). Jeffrey, as Byron remarked (Letter to Murray, October 12, 1817), was "very kind," and Wilson, whose article "had all the air of being a poet's," was eloquent in its praises. But there was a fly in the ointment.—"A suggestion" had been thrown out, "in an ingenious paper in a late number of the Edinburgh Magazine [signed H. M. (John Wilson), July, 1817], that the general conception of this piece, and much of what is excellent in the manner of its execution, have been borrowed from the Tragical History of Dr. Faustus of Marlow (sic);" and from this contention Jeffrey dissented. A note to a second paper on Marlowe's Edward II. (Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, October, 1817) offered explanations, and echoed Jeffrey's exaltation of Manfred above Dr. Faustus; but the mischief had been done. Byron was evidently perplexed and distressed, not by the papers in Blackwood, which he never saw, but by Jeffrey's remonstrance in his favour; and in the letter of October 12 he is at pains to trace the "evolution" of Manfred. "I never read," he writes, "and do not know that I ever saw the Faustus of Marlow;" and, again, "As to the Faustus of Marlow, I never read, never saw, nor heard of it." "I heard Mr. Lewis translate verbally some scenes of Goethe's Faust ... last summer" (see, too, Letter to Rogers, April 4, 1817), which is all I know of the history of that magical personage; and as to the germs of Manfred, they may be found in the Journal which I sent to Mrs. Leigh ... when I went over first the Dent, etc., ... shortly before I left Switzerland. I have the whole scene of Manfred before me."

Again, three years later he writes (à propos of Goethe's review of Manfred, which first appeared in print in his paper Kunst und Alterthum, June, 1820, and is republished in Goethe's Sämmtliche Werke ... Stuttgart, 1874, xiii.


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Rh ; see Letters, 1901, v. Appendix II. "Goethe and Byron," pp. 503-521): "His Faust I never read, for I don't know German; but Matthew Monk Lewis (sic), in 1816, at Coligny, translated most of it to me vivâ voce, and I was naturally much struck with it; but it was the Staubach (sic) and the Jungfrau, and something else, much more than Faustus, that made me write Manfred. The first scene, however, and that of Faustus are very similar" (Letter to Murray, June 7, 1820, Letters, 1901, v. 36). Medwin (Conversations, etc., pp. 210, 211), who of course had not seen the letters to Murray of 1817 or 1820, puts much the same story into Byron's mouth.

Now, with regard to the originality of Manfred, it may be taken for granted that Byron knew nothing about the "Faust-legend," or the "Faust-cycle." He solemnly denies that he had ever read Marlowe's Faustus, or the selections from the play in Lamb's Specimens, etc. (see Medwin's Conversations, etc., pp. 208, 209, and a hitherto unpublished Preface to Werner, vol. v.), and it is highly improbable that he knew anything of Calderon's El Mágico Prodigioso, which Shelley translated in 1822, or of "the beggarly elements" of the legend in Hroswitha's Lapsus et Conversio Theophili Vice-domini. But Byron's Manfred is "in the succession" of scholars who have reached the limits of natural and legitimate science, and who essay the supernatural in order to penetrate and comprehend the "hidden things of darkness." A predecessor, if not a progenitor, he must have had, and there can be no doubt whatever that the primary conception of the character, though by no means the inspiration of the poem, is to be traced to the "Monk's" oral rendering of Goethe's Faust, which he gave in return for his "bread and salt" at Diodati. Neither Jeffrey nor Wilson mentioned Faust, but the writer of the notice in the Critical Review (June, 1817, series v. vol. 5, pp. 622-629) avowed that "this scene (the first) is a gross plagiary from a great poet whom Lord Byron has imitated on former occasions without comprehending. Goethe's Faust begins in the same way;" and Goethe himself, in a letter to his friend Knebel, October, 1817, and again in his review in Kunst und Alterthum, June, 1820, emphasizes whilst he justifies and applauds the use which Byron had made of his work. "This singular intellectual poet has taken my Faustus to himself, and extracted from it the strangest nourishment for his hypochondriac humour. He has made use of the impelling principles in his own way, for his own purposes, so that no one of them remains the same; and it is particularly on this account that I cannot enough admire his genius." Afterwards (see record of a conversation with Herman Fürst


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 von Pückler, September 14, 1826, Letters, v. 511) Goethe somewhat modified his views, but even then it interested him to trace the unconscious transformation which Byron had made of his Mephistopheles. It is, perhaps, enough to say that the link between Manfred and Faust is formal, not spiritual. The problem which Goethe raised but did not solve, his counterfeit presentment of the eternal issue between soul and sense, between innocence and renunciation on the one side, and achievement and satisfaction on the other, was not the struggle which Byron experienced in himself or desired to depict in his mysterious hierarch of the powers of nature. "It was the Staubach and the Jungfrau, and something else," not the influence of Faust on a receptive listener, which called up a new theme, and struck out a fresh well-spring of the imagination. The motif of Manfred is remorse—eternal suffering for inexpiable crime. The sufferer is for ever buoyed up with the hope that there is relief somewhere in nature, beyond nature, above nature, and experience replies with an everlasting No! As the sunshine enhances sorrow, so Nature, by the force of contrast, reveals and enhances guilt. Manfred is no echo of another's questioning, no expression of a general world-weariness on the part of the time-spirit, but a personal outcry: "De profundis clamavi!"

No doubt, apart from this main purport and essence of his song, his sensitive spirit responded to other and fainter influences. There are "points of resemblance," as Jeffrey pointed out and Byron proudly admitted, between Manfred and the Prometheus of Æschylus. Plainly, here and there, "the tone and pitch of the composition," and "the victim in the more solemn parts," are Æschylean. Again, with regard to the supernatural, there was the stimulus of the conversation of the Shelleys and of Lewis, brimful of magic and ghost-lore; and lastly, there was the glamour of Christabel, "the wild and original" poem which had taken Byron captive, and was often in his thoughts and on his lips. It was no wonder that the fuel kindled and burst into a flame.

For the text of Goethe's review of Manfred, and Hoppner's translation of that review, and an account of Goethe's relation with Byron, drawn from Professor A. Brandl's Goethes Verhältniss zu Byron (Goethe-Jahrbuch, Zwanzigster Band, 1899), and other sources, see Letters, 1901, v. Appendix II. pp. 503-521.

For contemporary and other notices of Manfred, in addition to those already mentioned, see Eclectic Review, July, 1817, New Series, vol. viii. pp. 62-66; Gentleman's Magazine, July, 1817, vol. 87, pp. 45-47; Monthly Review, July, 1817, Enlarged Series, vol. 83, pp. 300-307; Dublin University Magazine, April, 1874, vol. 83, pp. 502-508, etc.


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 DRAMATIS PERSONA

Manfred.

Chamois Hunter.

Abbot of St. Maurice.

Manuei*

Herman.

Witch of the Alps.

Arimanes.

Nemesis.

The Destinies.

Spirits, etc

Thi Sane of the Drama is amongst the Higher Alps— partly in the Castle ef Man/red, and partly in the Mountmns.


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 MONODY ON THE DEATH

OF

THE RIGHT HON. R. B. SHERIDAN.


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Rh 2.

So the Doctor being found

A little unsound

In his doctrine, at least as a teacher,

And kicked from one stool

As a knave or a fool,

He mounted another as preacher.

3.

In that Gown (like the Skin

With no Lion within)

He still for the Bench would be driving;

And roareth away,

A new Vicar of Bray,

Except that his bray lost his living.

4.

"Gainst Freethinkers," he roars,

"You should all block your doors

Or be named in the Devil's indentures:"

And here I agree,

For who e'er would be

A Guest where old Simony enters?

5.

Let the Priest, who beguiled

His own Sovereign's child

To his own dirty views of promotion,

Wear his Sheep's cloathing still

Among flocks to his will,

And dishonour the Cause of devotion.


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80 6.

The Altar and Throne

Are in danger alone

From such as himself, who would render

The Altar itself

But a step up to Pelf,

And pray God to pay his defender.

7.

But, Doctor, one word

Which perhaps you have heard

"He should never throw stones who has windows

Of Glass to be broken,

And by this same token

As a sinner, you can't care what Sin does.

8.

But perhaps you do well:

Your own windows, they tell,

Have long ago sufferéd censure;

Not a fragment remains

Of your character's panes,

Since the Regent refused you a glazier.

9.

Though your visions of lawn

Have all been withdrawn,

And you missed your bold stroke for a mitre;

In a very snug way

You may still preach and pray,

And from bishop sink into backbiter!" [First published, Works (Galignani), 1831, p. 116.]


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Rh ON NAPOLEON'S ESCAPE FROM ELBA.

ENDORSEMENT TO THE DEED OF SEPARATION, IN THE APRIL OF 1816.

[TO GEORGE ANSON BYRON(?) ]

1.

, dost thou ask the reason of my sadness?

Well, I will tell it thee, unfeeling boy!


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42 'T was ill report that urged my brain to madness,

'T was thy tongue's venom poisoned all my joy.

2.

The sadness which thou seest is not sorrow;

My wounds are far too deep for simple grief;

The heart thus withered, seeks in vain to borrow

From calm reflection, comfort or relief.

3.

The arrow's flown, and dearly shalt thou rue it;

No mortal hand can rid me of my pain:

My heart is pierced, but thou canst not subdue it—

Revenge is left, and is not left in vain. ? 1816. [First published, Nicnac, March 25, 1823.]

SONG FOR THE LUDDITES.

1.

the Liberty lads o'er the sea

Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood,

So we, boys, we

Will die fighting, or live free,

And down with all kings but King Ludd!


text: The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 7/On Napoleon's Escape from Elba


text: The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 7/Endorsement to the Deed of Separation, in the April of 1816


text: The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 7/To George Anson Byron (?)


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Rh The shame is yours, the gain is his,

In case you should not know 'em:

He has ten thousand pounds a year—

I do not mean to vally—

His songs at sixpence would be dear,

So give them gratis, Gally!

3.

And if this statement should seem queer,

Or set down in a hurry,

Go, ask (if he will be sincere)

His bookseller—John Murray.

Come, say, how many have been sold,

And don't stand shilly-shally,

Of bound and lettered, red and gold,

Well printed works of Gally.

4.

For Astley's circus Upton writes,

And also for the Surry; (sic)

Fitzgerald weekly still recites,

Though grinning Critics worry:

Miss Holford's Peg, and Sotheby's Saul,

In fame exactly tally;

From Stationer's Hall to Grocer's Stall

They go—and so does Gally.


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60 5.

He rode upon a Camel's hump

Through Araby the sandy,

Which surely must have hurt the rump

Of this poetic dandy.

His rhymes are of the costive kind,

And barren as each valley

In deserts which he left behind

Has been the Muse of Gally.

6.

He has a Seat in Parliament,

Is fat and passing healthy;

And surely he should be content

With these and being wealthy:

But Great Ambition will misrule

Men at all risks to sally,—

Now makes a poet—now a fool,

And we know which—of Gally.

7.

Some in the playhouse like to row,

Some with the Watch to battle,

Exchanging many a midnight blow

To Music of the Rattle.

Some folks like rowing on the Thames,

Some rowing in an Alley,

But all the Row my fancy claims

Is rowing of my Gally. April 11, 1818.


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30 his habits of mind as to have rendered him incapable of being other than a subject under the control of another people, which had happily got beyond such infantile notions.

It is the case with individuals, starting on the battle of life, that they sometimes, by chance, take a wrong direction, and then, once involved therein, have not the power or will or chance to turn back and take another. That is how some men make a botch of their lives, whereas others, perhaps their inferiors in ability, by mere accident strike on a course which leads to power, prosperity, and a name.

It is so among nations, races—and among these the highly-gifted Celt went wrong at the outstart, and that is it which has been his bane through centuries. Now the time for recovery is past. He is forced to take a lower room.

The French, that is to say the Gauls under Frank domination, were forcibly put right. I do not deny that feudalism led to gross abuses, and that it was well to have these swept away, but that which I think was fatal to France at the Revolution was reversion to the Celtic principle of subdivision. This is inevitably


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 and inexorably killing France; it is reducing its population, extinguishing its life.

Between 1831 and 1840 there were in France but three departments in which the mortality exceeded the natality, now there are between forty-five to sixty departments in this condition.

"If we traverse France rapidly in train from the Channel to the Pyrenees, there is one observation that may be made from the carriage windows. Between the Loire and the Garonne, in departments where the soil is poor, there the houses are smiling and well kept—there is evidence of comfort. But, on the contrary, in the departments formerly the richest, there are crumbling walls and empty houses. … The rich departments are being depopulated, and in the poor ones there the population remains stationary or only slowly decreases."

The population in the rich departments is dwindling at the rate of 50 per cent, in half a century.


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74 MARTIAL,

BOWLES AND CAMPBELL.

To the air of "How now, Madam Flirt," in the Beggar's Opera.

.

If you thus must ramble,


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text: Historical Account of the Navigable Rivers, Canals, and Railways, of Great Britain/Arun River


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Rh I will publish some

Remarks on Mister Campbell.

Saucy Tom!"

.

Sure the priest is maudlin!

(To the public) How can you, d—n your souls!

Listen to his twaddling?

Billy Bowles!" February 22, 1821. [First published, The Liberal, 1823, No. II. p. 398.]

ELEGY.


text: The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 7/Martial, Lib. I. Epig. I.


text: The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 7/Bowles and Campbell


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 between those of the monument of Lysicrates and the temple of Zeus Olympius at Athens. In the sacred enclosures of the Greek sanctuaries were other smaller temples or shrines, altars, statues and treasuries, the latter being built by the various cities, from which pilgrimages were made, to contain their treasures. At Olympia there were ten or eleven, the remains of some of which are of great interest. Of the treasury of the Cnidians at Delphi, discovered by the French, so much has been found that it has been possible to evolve a complete conjectural restoration in plaster, now in the Louvre. Its sculpture and the rich carving of its architectural features show that it was Ionian in character. In front was a portico-in-antis, in which the caryatide figures standing on pedestals took the place of columns. These are the earliest examples known of caryatide figures, and they precede those of the Erechtheum by about a century.

The most important temple in Asia Minor was the temple of Diana (Artemis) at Ephesus (356–334 ). The archaic temple was burnt in 356, and was immediately rebuilt with greater splendour from the designs of Paeonius. The site of the temple was discovered by Wood in 1869, and the remains brought over to the British Museum in 1875. There were 100 columns, 36 of which (according to Pliny) were sculptured, and it was probably on account of the magnificence of the sculpture that this temple was included among the seven wonders of the world. The sculptured bases are of two kinds, square and circular, in the latter case being the lower drums of the columns. Examples of both are in the British Museum, and several conjectural restorations have been made, among which that of Dr A. S. Murray has been generally accepted, but recent researches (1905) suggest that it remains still an unsolved problem.

The temple of Apollo Didymaeus, near Miletus, was the largest temple in Asia Minor, and its erection followed that of the temple at Ephesus, Paeonius and Daphnis of Miletus being the architects. The temple was decastyle, dipteral, with pronaos and vestibule, but no opisthodomos. The cella was so wide (75 ft.) that it remained open to the sky. The bases of the columns were elaborately carved with ornament, as if in rivalry with the temple of Diana. Both these temples were of the Ionic order, as also were those of Athena Polias at Priene (340 ), many of the capitals of which are in the British Museum, and the temples of Aphrodite at Aphrodisias and Cybele at Sardis.

The mausoleum at Halicarnassus, also of the Ionic order, built by Queen Artemisia in memory of her husband Mausolus, who died in 353, was, according to Pliny, recorded as one of the seven wonders of the world, probably on account of the eminence of the sculptors employed, Bryaxis, Leochares, Timotheus, Scopas and Pythius. Pliny’s description is somewhat vague, so that its actual design is a problem not yet solved. Professor Cockerell’s restoration is in accord with the description, but does not quite agree with the actual remains brought over by Newton and deposited in the British Museum. If the Nereid monument and the tombs at Cnidus and Mylasa be taken as suggesting the design, the peristyle (pteron) of thirty-six columns of the Ionic order with entablature stood on a lofty podium, richly decorated with bands of sculpture, and was crowned by a pyramid which, according to Pliny, “contracted itself by twenty-four steps into the summit of a meta.” The steps found are not high enough to constitute a meta, and it is possible therefore that, according to Mr J. J. Stevenson, these steps were over the peristyle only, and that the lofty steps which constituted the meta were in the centre, carried by the inner row of columns. The magnificent sculpture of the Macedonian period has in recent times been demonstrated by the discovery of the marble sarcophagi found at Sidon by Hamdi Bey and now in the museum at Constantinople.

The Lycian tombs, of which there are many hundreds carved in the rock in the south of Asia Minor, are copies of timber structures, based on the stone architecture of the neighbouring Greek cities (fig. 17). The Paiafa or Payava tomb (375–362 ), found at Xanthus and now in the British Museum, is apparently a copy, cut in the solid rock, of a portable shrine, in which the wood construction is clearly defined.

Capitals of the Greek Corinthian order have been found at Bassae, Epidaurus, Olympia and Miletus, but the earliest example of the complete order is represented in the Choragic monument of Lysicrates at Athens.

The most important example of the Greek Corinthian order is that of the temple of Jupiter Olympius at Athens, begun in 174, but not completed till the time of Hadrian, 117. The temple was 135 ft. wide and 354 ft. long, built entirely in Pentelic marble, the columns being 56 ft. high. There were eight columns in front and a double peristyle round.

The two porches of the Tower of the Winds at Athens (c. 75 ) had Corinthian capitals. The upper part of the tower, which was octagonal in plan, was sculptured with figures representing the winds.

The Greek houses discovered at Delos and Priene were very simple and unpretentious, but the palace near Palatitza in Macedonia, discovered by Messrs Heuzey and Daumet, would seem to have been of a very sumptuous character. The front of the palace measured 250 ft. In the centre was a vestibule flanked with Ionic columns on either side, leading to a throne room at one time richly decorated with marble, and with numerous other halls on either side. The date is ascribed to the middle of the 4th century

In selecting the sites for their theatres, the Greeks always utilized the slope of a hill, in which they could cut out the cavea, and thus save the expense of raising a structure to carry the seats, at the same time obtaining a beautiful prospect for the background. The theatre of Dionysus at Athens was discovered and excavated in 1864, and has fortunately preserved all the seats round the orchestra, sixty-seven in number, all in Pentelic marble, with the names inscribed thereon of the priests and dignitaries who occupied them. The largest theatre was at Megalopolis, with an auditorium 474 ft. in diameter. The most perfect, so far as the seats are concerned, is the theatre at Epidaurus, with a diameter of 415 ft. Other theatres are known at Dodona in Greece, Pergamum and Tralles in Asia Minor, and Syracuse and Segesta in Sicily.

The architecture of the Parthian dynasty, who from 250 to  226 occupied the greater part of Mesopotamia, their empire in 160  extending over 480,000 sq. m., was quite unknown until Sir A. H. Layard, following in the steps of Ross and Ainsworth, visited and measured the plan of the palace at Hatra (el Hadr) about 30 m. south of Mosul; the architecture of this palace shows that, on the one hand, the Parthians carried on the traditions of the barrel vault of the Assyrian palace, and on the other, from their contact with Hellenistic methods of building, had acquired considerable knowledge in the working of ashlar masonry.

El Hadr is first mentioned in history as having been unsuccessfully besieged by Trajan in 116, and it is recorded to have been a walled town containing a temple of the sun, celebrated for the value of its offerings. The temple referred to is probably the large square building at the back of the palace, as above the doorway is a rich frieze carved with griffins, similar to those found at Warka by Loftus, together with large quantities of Parthian coins. The remains (fig. 18) consist of a block of 380 ft. frontage, facing east, and 128 ft. deep, subdivided by walls of great thickness, running at right angles to the main front, and built in an immense court, divided down the centre by a wall, separating that portion on the south side, where the temple was situated, from that on the north side, which constituted the king’s palace. The seven subdivisions of the different widths were all covered with semi-circular barrel vaults which, being built side by side, mutually resisted the thrust, the outer walls being of greater thickness, with the same object. In the centre of the south block was an immense hall 49 ft. wide and 98 ft. deep, which formed the vestibule to the temple in the rear; this vestibule was flanked by a series of three smaller halls on either side, over which there was probably a second floor. On the palace or north side were

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Rh Kazan to Czaritzin, is a remarkable moat not only to Russia but to Europe. The west shore, known as the Hill Bank, in opposition to the Meadow Bank on the other side, is a hill face, some hundred feet high, which overlooks the river for 700 miles; it is the brink of the inhabited plain, here a little raised above the sea level. Stand on the top of this brink, looking eastward across the broad river below you, and you will realise that you have populous Europe at your back, and in front, where the low meadows fade away into the half sterility of the drier steppes eastward, you have the beginning of the vacancies of Central Asia.

A striking practical commentary on these great physical and social contrasts has been supplied in the last few months by the Civil War in Russia. In all North Russia there are but two or three towns larger than a village, and, since the Bolsheviks are based on the town populations, Bolshevism has had little hold north of the Volga. Moreover the sparse rural settlements, chiefly of foresters, have, in their simple, colonial conditions, no grounds for agrarian political feeling, and there is thus no peasant sympathy for the Bolsheviks. As a result, the railway from Archangel to Vologoda on the Upper Dwina


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152 long remained open for communication with the ocean and the West. The Transiberian line runs from Petrograd through Vologda, and there is a direct line from Moscow to Vologda which may be considered as leaving Russia proper and entering North Russia at the bridge over the Volga at Jaroslav. For these reasons it was that the Allied Embassies established themselves at Vologda when they retired from Petrograd and Moscow: apart from the convenience of alternative communications with Archangel and Vladivostok, they were outside Bolshevik Russia.

Even more significant was the action of the Czecho-Slovaks on the Moscow branch of the Transiberian line. Advancing from the Ural Mountains, with the support of the Ural Cossacks, they took Samara at the point where the railway reaches the Meadow Bank, and they seized the great bridge over the river at Syzran. They even penetrated a short way along the line to Penza within the real Russia, but through a rather sparsely-populated neighbourhood. Also, they struck up the river to Kazan. In truth they were thus hovering round the edge of the real Russia and threatening it from outside. The British expedition from. Archangel by boat up the Dwina River to Kotlas, and thence by railway to Vyatka


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Rh on the Transiberian line, appears a less foolhardy enterprise when seen in the light of these realities.

This definition of the real Russia gives a new meaning not only to the Russia but also to the Europe of the nineteenth century. Let us consider that Europe, with the help of the map. All the more northern regions of Scandinavia, Finland, and Russia, and also East Russia southward to the Caucasus, are excluded as being mere vacancies, and with them the Turkish dominion in the Balkan Peninsula. It will be remembered that Kinglake in Eöthen, writing in 1844, considered that he was entering the East when he was ferried across the river Save to Belgrade. The boundary between the Austrian and Turkish Empires as settled by the Treaty of Belgrade in 1739, was not varied until 1878. Thus the real Europe, the Europe of the European peoples, the Europe which, with its overseas Colonies, is Christendom, was a perfectly definite social conception; its landward boundary ran straight from Petrograd to Kazan, and then along a curved line from Kazan by the Volga and Don Rivers to the Black Sea, and by the Turkish frontier to near the head of the Adriatic. At the one end of this Europe is Cape St. Vincent


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154 out to sea; at the other end is the land cape formed by the Volga elbow at Kazan. Berlin is almost exactly midway between St. Vincent and Kazan. Had Prussia won the Democratic Ideals and Reality, 1919 Fig 28 p 154.jpg 28.—The real Europe, East and West, with the addition of Barbary, the Balkans, and Asia Minor (see pp. 159, 160).War it was her intention that Continental Europe from St. Vincent to Kazan, with the addition of the Asiatic Heartland, should have become the naval base from which she would have fought Britain and America in the next war.

Let us now divide our Europe into East and West by a line so drawn from the Adriatic


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1922 Encyclopædia Britannica/New York (State)

NEW YORK (STATE) (see ). The pop. of the state was 10,385,227 in 1920 as compared with 9,113,614 in 1910, a gain of 14% or 0.9% less than that for the United States. The average pop. per sq. m. in 1920 was 217.9 as compared with 191.2 in 1910 and 152.5 in 1900. In 1920 the urban pop. (in cities with 2,500 or more inhabitants) was 8,589,844 or 82.7% and the rural pop. 1,795,383 or 17.3 per cent.

The cities having a pop. of over 20,000 in 1920, and their percentage of increase 1910-20, are as follows:—

Government.—Although the constitution adopted in 1894 has been frequently amended, the government of New York underwent no fundamental alterations between 1910 and 1921. The most important change was the adoption in 1917 of the woman suffrage amendment. The Constitutional Convention of 1915 adopted far-reaching changes in organization, but all its proposals were disapproved by the electorate. The number of administrative boards and commissions has been greatly increased as the activities of the state have been extended into new fields. In 1919 these agencies, according to the governor's Reconstruction Commission, numbered 187. One of the pressing reforms

advocated both by the Constitutional Convention and by the Reconstruction Commission was the reorganization of these miscellaneous administrative agencies into a smaller number of coördinated departments under the governor's control. Another movement was directed toward the establishment of an executive budget system. Neither of these reforms was adopted. One of the most important changes in local government was the adoption by the Legislature of an optional charter law for cities.

History.—On Oct. 6 1910 Gov. Charles E. Hughes resigned to accept a position as associate justice of the U.S. Supreme Court. He was succeeded by Horace White, the lieutenant-governor. Among the outstanding accomplishments of Gov. Hughes's term of office may be mentioned: the enactment of a progressive inheritance tax law; the creation of a Public Service Commission with large powers; the passage of a law prohibiting race-track gambling; and the strengthening of the state child labour laws. Gov. Hughes had persistently advocated the enactment of a thoroughgoing direct primary law, but because of the opposition of the leaders of his party to this reform, the convention system survived his term of office and furnished one of the most important issues of state politics throughout the following decade. In the elections of Nov. 1910 the Democrats elected not only the governor, John A. Dix, and the other state officers, but also a majority of the state Legislature. Dix received 689,700 votes; Stimson, his Republican opponent, 622,299.

In the autumn elections of 1912 the Democrats carried the state. The vote for president was: Wilson, Democrat, 655,573; Taft, Republican, 455,487; Roosevelt, Progressive, 390,093; the vote for governor was: Sulzer, Democrat, 649,559; Hedges, Republican, 444,105; Straus, Progressive, 393,183. The Democrats elected a majority in both Houses of the state Legislature. The newly-elected governor was inaugurated Jan. 1 1913. He had for many years received the support of Tammany Hall, first as a member of the Assembly and then for 18 years as congressman.

The elections of Nov. 1913 resulted in an overwhelming defeat for Tammany. William Sulzer, nominated by the Progressives of the Sixth Assembly District in New York City, was elected by a large majority over his Democratic and Republican opponents. Many Democratic assemblymen who had previously voted for his impeachment were defeated.

In the autumn elections of 1914 the Republican party was successful. The vote for governor was: Whitman, Republican, 686,701; Glynn, Democrat, 541,269. The new Legislature was strongly Republican in both branches. Of the delegates to the Constitutional Convention, 116 were Republicans, 52 Democrats.

The outstanding event of 1915 was the Constitutional Convention, which met at Albany on April 6 and lasted until Sept. 10. Elihu Root was chosen president. Although the proposed new constitution embodied many highly desirable reforms it was overwhelmingly rejected by the voters at the Nov. election. The vote was: for the constitution, 400,423; against, 910,462. Two amendments, relating to legislative apportionment and to

taxation, were likewise defeated. The woman suffrage amendment proposed by the Legislature failed by almost 200,000 votes. The new Assembly was strongly Republican.

In Nov. 1916 Gov. Whitman was reëlected. He received 835,820 votes as against 686,862 for Judge Seabury, Democrat. For president, the Republicans carried the state, Hughes receiving 869,066 votes as against 759,462 for President Wilson. The New York Legislature was strongly Republican in both Houses. The legislation of 1917 and 1918 was influenced decidedly by the entrance of the United States into the World War. On the governor's advice, the Legislature enacted a compulsory military training law for boys between the ages of 16 and 19. School-children were allowed to work on farms between April 1 and Nov. 1. A state constabulary was created; and, under authorization of law, a census and an inventory of the military resources of the state were taken. The governor was empowered to require the registration of aliens. Numerous changes were made in the public-health laws of the state. The Legislature accepted for the second time the woman suffrage amendment. In the autumn election 703,129 votes were cast for the amendment and 600,776 against it. Another amendment, providing that debts incurred by any first-class city for water-supply purposes shall not be included in determining the debt limit, was likewise approved. This amendment extended to Buffalo and Rochester, an exemption previously enjoyed by New York City alone.

The 1918 Legislature was in session from Jan. 2 to April 13. A considerable number of war-emergency measures were adopted.

In the Sept. primaries, 1918, Gov. Whitman was renominated for a third term. Alfred E. Smith, president of the New York City Board of Aldermen, was his Democratic opponent. Smith received 1,009,936 votes; Whitman, 956,034. The Republicans elected the other state officers except the lieutenant-governor. The Legislature remained Republican. In his message to the Legislature, Gov. Smith recommended important social and welfare legislation, most of which failed of passage because of the hostility of the Republican Legislature. The governor advocated health insurance, the minimum wage, and the eight-hour day for women and minors.

Shortly after his inauguration, Gov. Smith appointed a non-partisan Reconstruction Commission to inquire into and report on retrenchment and reorganization in the state government. This commission in its report of Oct. 10 1919 recommended an executive budget and the reorganization of the administrative departments of the state, following closely the proposals of the 1915 Constitutional Convention. The 1920 session of the Legislature devoted itself largely to the suppression of radicalism. It expelled five Socialist members of the Assembly and enacted a number of repressive measures designed to curb “revolutionists.” These provided for the licensing of schools and school courses; additional certificates of loyalty from teachers; and machinery for testing the eligibility of members of the Legislature. All these measures were vetoed by Gov. Smith.

The Republicans carried the elections in 1920 by overwhelming majorities. The vote for president was Harding, Republican, 1,868,240; Cox, Democrat, 781,485; Debs, Socialist, 203,400. The Republican candidate for governor, Judge Nathan L. Miller, was elected by a plurality of less than 75,000. Gov. Smith, his opponent, ran almost 500,000 votes ahead of the national Democratic ticket. The state Legislature for 1921 contained large Republican majorities in both Houses. The voters by a large majority approved a bond issue of $45,000,000 for a bonus to soldiers and sailors in the World War.

The World War.—New York led the states in the number of troops supplied for the World War. The total number from the

state (including Regular Army, National Army, National Guard, navy, Marine Corps, Coast Guard, and U.S. Guards) was 493, 8 92, or 10.37% of the total. The number of casualties was 40,222. The subscriptions to the Liberty and Victory loans in New York State were: First Liberty Loan, $1,112,389,700; Second, $1,413,107,150; Third, $985,559,600; Fourth, $1,826,448,250; Victory Loan, $1,607,199,250; total $6,944,703,950. (E. D. G.)


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Author:Elmer Diedrich Graper

Works

 * American police administration (1921)

title: Author:Elmer Diedrich Graper


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1922 Encyclopædia Britannica/New York (City)

NEW YORK (CITY) (see ). The pop. of New York City in 1920 was 5,620,048, as against 4,766,883 in 1910, an increase of 853,165, or 17.9%. The pop. of the separate boroughs was: Manhattan, 2,284,103 (in 1910, 2,331,542); Bronx, 732,016 (in 1910, 430,980); Brooklyn, 2,018,356 (in 1910, 1,634,351); Queens, 469,042 (in 1910, 284,041); Richmond, 116,531 (in 1910, 85,969). There were 5,459,004 whites, 153,088 negroes, and 7,956 others (Chinese, Japanese and Indians). The figures for 1910 were 4,669,162 whites, 91,709 negroes and 6,012 others. The white pop. constituted 97.1% in 1920 and 98% in 1910, while the negro pop. constituted 2.7% in 1920 and 1.9% in 1910. The increase in the white pop. since 1910 was 789,842, or 16.9%, while the corresponding increase in the negro pop. was 61,379, or 66.9%. The total foreign-born white pop. in 1920 was 1,989,216, as compared with 1,927,603 in 1910, an increase of 61,603, or 3.2%. The numerical increase was less than 10% of that of the preceding decade. Foreign countries furnishing the greatest number were Russia, 479,481; Italy, 388,427; Ireland, 202,833; Germany, 193,558; Poland (for the first time listed separately), 145,257; and Austria, 126,447. Of the total pop. in 1920 the males numbered 2,804,884, or 49.9%, and the females 2,815,164, or 50.1%. For the entire borough of Manhattan the average density was 162.5 inhabitants per ac., but in the Fourth Assembly District on the lower E. side (245 ac.) in which a great proportion was foreign born, the density was 420.3 per acre. In 775 tenement blocks in 1920 the density was over 1,000, the maximum being 3,869. In spite of overcrowding the city was healthy; for 1919 the average death-rate was 12.39 per 1,000.

The most important enlargements of public services provided since 1909 are the addition of the Catskill water to the city system, and the additions to the rapid transit system.

Streets and Buildings.—The construction of the new traction system involved some changes in the streets, the extension of Seventh Ave. being an example. The principal shopping district has shifted rapidly northwards, deserting in succession the 14th St. and 23rd St. sections. Its boundaries, broadly speaking, in 1921 were 31st St., Broadway, 59th St. and Madison Ave., and it was steadily continuing northward. The principal shopping streets were Broadway, 34th St., 42nd St. and 5th Avenue. Park Ave., N. from the Grand Central Station, was rapidly superseding Riverside Drive as the well-to-do apartment district, and there was a distinct movement of the finer residential section to the eastward, reaching in one instance as far as Ave. A.

Between 1909 and 1921 there was considerable addition to the number of the tall buildings, which made the sky-line of the city an impressive spectacle. The Woolworth Building (792 ft.) is the highest structure in the world excepting the Eiffel Tower. It is a remarkable example of the adaptation of the Gothic style to the “sky-scraper,” is faced with cream-coloured, glazed terra-cotta and is crowned by a huge lantern, brilliant at night, under which is an observation gallery, from which on a clear day a 50-m. view may be obtained. Other notable new buildings are: The Bankers' Trust (539 ft.); Equitable (485 ft.); Adams Express (424 ft.); Whitehall (424 ft.); American Express (415 ft.); American Telephone and Telegraph (403 ft.); 112 Park Ave. (390 ft.); Liberty Tower or Hanover National Bank (385 ft.); American Bank Note (374 ft.); 201 Broadway (362 ft.); 60 Wall Street (346 ft.); Candler (341 ft.); AUied Printing Trades (340 ft.); 37 Wall Street (346 ft.); 80 Maiden Lane (315 ft.); Columbia Trust Co. (306 ft); Sun (306 ft.); and Cunard (335 ft.). The newer hotels include the Pennsylvania, with its 2,200 rooms, the largest hotel in the world; the Commodore, with 2,000 rooms; the McAlpin, Biltmore, Chatham, Vanderbilt, Ritz-Carlton and Claridge. The Knickerbocker, Holland House and Manhattan, formerly three of the best-known hotels, have been converted into office buildings, as has Sherry's restaurant.

History. During the administration of Mayor Gaynor, which began in 1910, there arose an increased interest in administration on the part of the citizens. The mayor, known locally for certain whimsical characteristics, had gained a hold on popular sympathy as a result of his attempted assassination. Later he became ill, and while on a steamer to Europe, travelling to regain his health, died Sept. 10 1913. Adolph L. Kline (b. 1858), president of the Board of Aldermen, succeeded to the office for the remaining few months of the term. A fusion ticket led by John Purroy Mitchel (1879-1918), who had made an enviable record in public office as Commissioner of Accounts, Collector of the Port and president of the Board of Aldermen, easily defeated the Tammany ticket. Mitchel, but 35 years of age, undertook a complete reorganization of administration, and obtained remarkable results, making his mayoralty a period of unprecedented efficiency in the city's government. Of especial note were the improvements in police, street cleaning, charities and corrections, and the establishment of high standards and expert service in taxation, purchasing and the selection of personnel. Though admittedly efficient, economical and honest, this administration saw itself at the end of four years buried under the greatest majority for Tammany on record. The causes were many. Mayor Mitchel antagonized one powerful group after another; certain real estate interests by the “pay-as-you-go” plan of financing; the German group by his pro-Ally sympathies; a large manufacturing group by refusal to remove trade refuse free of charge; the upper W. side by the unfortunate W. side plan for removal of the New York Central surface tracks; the Catholic vote by his procedure regarding certain charities; the borough of Richmond by locating a garbage incinerator plant in that section; and Brooklyn by his rigid policy of centralization. The result was that John F. Hylan (b. 1868), a candidate from Brooklyn, led a complete Tammany ticket into office, with a platform of outspoken opposition to almost everything the Mitchel administration had done. Subsequently, however, upon the election of the president of the Board of Aldermen, Alfred E. Smith, to the governorship of the state, and the death in office of the president of the borough of Manhattan, Republicans were elected to the vacancies so created. Mayor Hylan's regime was marked by continual wrangling among the members of the Board of Estimate, resulting in many cases in distinct disturbance of administrative machinery. The outstanding features were the fight of the city against increased fares for the traction lines, the declaration of receiverships for practically all of the traction companies of the city except the Manhattan elevated and subways, the dissolution of the companies into a number of independent lines, the operation by the city of the Staten I. traction lines and the introduction of motor-bus lines by the city in competition with the traction systems.


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Rh to the North Sea that Venice and the Netherlands may lie to the west, and also that part of Germany which has been German from the beginning of European history, but so that Berlin and Vienna are to the east, for Prussia and Austria are countries which the German has conquered and more or less forcibly Teutonised. On the map thus divided let us 'think through' the history of the last four generations; it will assume a new coherency.

Dingbat 001.jpg Dingbat 001.jpg Dingbat 001.jpg Dingbat 001.jpg Dingbat 001.jpg

The English Revolution limited the powers of Monarchy, and the French Revolution asserted the rights of the People. Owing to disorder in France, and her invasion from abroad, the organiser Napoleon was thrown up. Napoleon conquered Belgium and Switzerland, surrounded himself with subsidiary kings in Spain, Italy, and Holland, and made an alliance with the subordinate Federation of the Rhine, or, in other words, with the old Germany. Thus Napoleon had united the whole of West Europe, saving only insular Britain. Then he advanced against East Europe, and defeated Austria and Prussia, but did not annex them, though he compelled them to act as his allies when he afterwards went forward against Russia. We


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156 often hear of the vast spaces for Russian retreat which lay behind Moscow; but, in fact, Napoleon at Moscow had very nearly marched right across the inhabited Russia of his time. Napoleon was brought down partly by the exhaustion of his French man-power, but mainly because his realm of West Europe was enveloped by British sea-power, for Britain was able to bring to herself supplies from outside Europe and to cut West Europe off from similar supplies. Naturally she allied herself with the Powers of East Europe, but there was only one way by which she could effectively communicate with them, and that was through the Baltic. This explains her naval action twice at Copenhagen. Owing to her command of the sea, Britain was, however, able to land her armies in Holland, Spain, and Italy, and to sap the Napoleonic strength in rear. It is interesting to note that the culminating victory of Trafalgar and the turning-point of Moscow lay very nearly at the two extremes of our real Europe. The Napoleonic War was a duel between West and East Europe, whose areas and populations were about evenly balanced, but the superiority due to the higher civilisation of


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Rh West Europe was neutralised by British sea-power.

After Waterloo, East Europe was united by the Holy League of the three Powers—Russia, Austria, and Prussia. Each of the three advanced westward a stage, as though drawn by a magnet in that direction. Russia obtained most of Poland, and thus extended a political peninsula into the heart of the physical peninsula of Europe. Austria took the Dalmatian coast, and also Venice and Milan in the mainland of Northern Italy. Prussia obtained a detached territory in the old Germany of the West, which territory was divided into the two provinces of the Rhineland and Westphalia. This annexation of Germans to Prussia proved to be a much more significant thing than the addition of Poles to Russia and of Italians to Austria. The Rhineland is an anciently civilised country, and so far Western that it accepted the Code Napoleon for its law, which it still retains. From the moment that the Prussians thus forced their way into West Europe a struggle became inevitable between the Liberal Rhineland and the Conservative Brandenburg of Berlin. But that struggle was postponed for a time owing to the exhaustion of Europe.


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 two great aiwans or reception halls. The main front (fig. 19) was built in finely jointed ashlar masonry with semicircular attached shafts between the entrance doorways, which had semicircular heads, every third voussoir of the three larger doors being decorated by busts in strong relief with a headgear similar to that shown on Parthian coins; other carvings, with the acanthus leaf, belonged to that type of Syrio-Greek work, of which Loftus found so many examples at Warka (Loftus, Chaldaea, Susiana, p. 225). In the great mosque of Diarbekr are two wings at the north and south ends respectively, which are said to have been Parthian palaces built by Tigranes, 74 ; they have evidently been rearranged or rebuilt at various times, the columns with their capitals and the entablature having been utilized again. The shafts of the columns of the upper storey are richly carved with geometrical patterns similar to those found by Loftus at Warka.

The American researches at Nippur have resulted in the discovery on the top of the mounds of the remains of a Parthian palace; and the disposition of its plan (fig. 20), and the style of the columns of the peristylar court, show so strong a resemblance to Greek work as to suggest the same Hellenistic influence as in the palace of el Hadr. Having no stone, however, they were obliged to build up these columns at Nippur with sections in brick, covered afterwards with stucco. The columns diminished at the top to about one-fifth of the lower diameter, and would seem to have had an entasis, as the lower portion up to one-third of the height is nearly vertical. A similar palace was discovered at Tello by the French archaeologists, and the bases of some of the brick columns are in the Louvre.

Although, on the overthrow of the Parthian dynasty in 226, the monarchs of the Sassanian dynasty succeeded to the immense Parthian empire, the earliest building found, according to Fergusson, is that at Serbistan, to which he ascribes the date  380. The palace (fig. 21), which measures 130 ft. frontage and 143 ft. deep, with an internal court, shows so great an advance in the arrangements of its plan as to suggest considerable acquaintance with Roman work. The fine ashlar work of el-Hadr is no longer adhered to, and in its place we find rubble masonry with thick mortar joints, the walls being covered afterwards, both externally and internally, with stucco. While the barrel vault is still retained for the chief entrance porches, it is of elliptical section, and the central hall is covered with a dome, a feature probably handed down from the Assyrians, such as is shown in the bas-relief (fig. 10) from Kuyunjik, now in the British Museum. In order to carry a dome, circular on plan, over a square hall, it was necessary to arch across the angles, and here to a certain extent the Sassanians were at fault, as they did not know how to build pendentives, and the construction of these are of the most irregular kind. As, however, their mortar had excellent tenacious properties, these pendentives still remain in situ (fig. 22), and their defects were probably hidden under the stucco. In the halls which flank the building on either side, however, they displayed considerable knowledge of construction. Instead of having enormously thick walls to resist the thrust of their vaults, to which we have already drawn attention in the Assyrian work and at el Hadr, they built piers at intervals, covering over the spaces between them, with semi-domes on which the walls carrying the vaults are supported, so that they lessened the span of the vault and brought the thrust well within the wall. This, however, lessened the width of the hall, so they replaced the lower portions of the piers by the columns, leaving a passage round. It is possible that this idea was partly derived from the great Roman halls of the thermae (baths), where the vault is brought forward on columns; but it was an improvement to leave a passage behind. The elliptical sections given to all the barrel vaults may have been the traditional method derived from Assyria, of which, however, no remains exist. In the article there will be found a reason why these elliptical sections were adopted (see also below in the description of the great hall at Ctesiphon). In the palace of Firuzabad, attributed by Fergusson to Perōz (Firuz) ( 459–485), the plan (fig. 23) follows more closely the disposition of the Assyrian palaces, and we return again to the thick walls, which might incline us to give a later date to Serbistan, except that in the pendentives carrying the three great domes in the centre of the palace at Firuzabad they show greater knowledge in their construction. The angles of the square hall are vaulted, with a series of concentric arches, each ring as it rises being brought forward, the object being to save centreing, because each ring rested on the ring beneath it. The plan is a rectangular parallelogram with a frontage of 180 ft. and a depth of 333 ft., more than double, therefore, of the size of Serbistan. An immense entrance hall in the centre of the main front is flanked on each side by two halls placed at right angles to it, so as to resist the thrust of the elliptical barrel vaults of the entrance hall. This hall leads to a series of three square halls, side by side, each surmounted by a dome carried on pendentives. Beyond is an open court, the smaller rooms round all covered with barrel vaults. Here, as in Serbistan, the material employed is rubble masonry with thick joints of mortar, and fortunately portions of the stucco with which this Sassanian masonry was covered remain both externally and internally. As there are no windows of any sort, the wall surface of the exterior has been decorated with semi-circular attached shafts and panelling between, which recall the primitive decorations found in the early Chaldaean temples, except that arches are carried at the top across the sunk panels. Internally an attempt has been made to copy the decoration of the Persian doorway, which represents a kind of renaissance of the ancient style. But instead of the lintel the arch has been introduced, and the ornament in stucco representing the Persian cavetto cornice shows imperfect knowledge of the original and is clumsily worked. The niches also, in the main front, have been copied from

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 state of equilibrium. When all at once I experienced a feeling of being raised above myself, I felt the presence of God—I tell of the thing just as I was conscious of it as if his goodness and his power were penetrating me altogether. The throb of emotion was so violent that I could barely tell the boys to pass on and not wait for me. I then sat down on a stone, unable to stand any longer, and my eyes overflowed with tears. I thanked God that in the course of my life he had taught me to know him, that he sustained my life and took pity both on the insignificant creature and on the sinner that I was. I begged him ardently that my life might be consecrated to the doing of his will. I felt his reply, which was that I should do his will from day to day, in humility and poverty, leaving him, the Almighty God, to be judge of whether I should some time be called to bear witness more conspicuously. Then, slowly, the ecstasy left my heart; that is, I felt that God had withdrawn the communion which he had granted, and I was able to walk on, but very slowly, so strongly was I still possessed by the interior emotion. Besides, I had wept uninterruptedly for several minutes, my eyes were swollen, and I did not wish my companions to see me. The state of ecstasy may have lasted four or five minutes, although it seemed at the time to last much longer. My comrades waited for me ten minutes at the cross of Barine, but I took about twenty-five or thirty minutes to join them, for as well as I can remember, they said that I had kept them back for about half an hour. The impression had been so profound that in climbing slowly the slope I asked myself if it were possible that Moses on Sinai could have had a more intimate communication with God. I think it well to add that in this ecstasy of mine God had neither form, color, odor, nor taste; moreover, that the feeling of his presence was accompanied with no determinate localization. It was rather as if my personality had been transformed by the presence of a spiritual spirit. But the more I seek words to express this intimate intercourse, the more I feel the impossibility of describing the thing by any of our usual images. At bottom the expression most apt to render what I felt is this: God was present, though invisible; he fell under no one of my senses, yet my consciousness perceived him."


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 The adjective 'mystical' is technically applied, most often, to states that are of brief duration. Of course such hours of rapture as the last two persons describe are mystical experiences, of which in a later lecture I shall have much to say. Meanwhile here is the abridged record of another mystical or semi-mystical experience, in a mind evidently framed by nature for ardent piety. I owe it to Starbuck's collection. The lady who gives the account is the daughter of a man well known in his time as a writer against Christianity. The suddenness of her conversion shows well how native the sense of God's presence must be to certain minds. She relates that she was brought up in entire ignorance of Christian doctrine, but, when in Germany, after being talked to by Christian friends, she read the Bible and prayed, and finally the plan of salvation flashed upon her like a stream of light.

Here is still another case, the writer being a man aged


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 twenty-seven, in which the experience, probably almost as characteristic, is less vividly described:—

Of the more habitual and so to speak chronic sense of God's presence the following sample from Professor Starbuck's manuscript collection may serve to give an idea. It is from a man aged forty-nine,—probably thousands of unpretending Christians would write an almost identical account.

"God is more real to me than any thought or thing or person. I feel his presence positively, and the more as I live in closer harmony with his laws as written in my body and mind. I feel him in the sunshine or rain; and awe mingled with a delicious restfulness most nearly describes my feelings. I talk to him as to a companion in prayer and praise, and our communion is delightful. He answers me again and again, often in words so clearly spoken that it seems my outer ear must have carried the tone, but generally in strong mental impressions. Usually a text of Scripture, unfolding some new view


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 of him and his love for me, and care for my safety. I could give hundreds of instances, in school matters, social problems, financial difficulties, etc. That he is mine and I am his never leaves me, it is an abiding joy. Without it life would be a blank, a desert, a shoreless, trackless waste."

I subjoin some more examples from writers of different ages and sexes. They are also from Professor Starbuck's collection, and their number might be greatly multiplied. The first is from a man twenty-seven years old:—

Another statement (none the less valuable psychologically for being so decidedly childish) is that of a boy of seventeen:—

I let a few other cases follow at random:—

"God surrounds me like the physical atmosphere. He is


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 that. For when I say that that white thing is wood, then I say that what happens to be white is wood, but what is white is not, as it were, a subject to wood, since neither being white, nor what is a certain white thing, became wood, so that it is not (wood) except from accident. But when I say that the wood is white, I do not say that something else is white, but it happens to that to be wood, (as when I say that a musician is white, for then I mean that the man is white, to whom it happens to be a musician,) but wood is the subject which became (white), not being any thing else than what is wood, or a certain piece of wood. If indeed it is necessary to assign names, let speaking in this way be to predicate, but in that way be either by no means to predicate, or to predicate indeed, not simply, but according to accident. That which is predicated is as white, but that of which it is predicated as wood; now let it be supposed that the predicate is always spoken of what it is predicated of simply, and not according to accident, for thus demonstrations demonstrate. Therefore when one thing is predicated of one, it will be predicated either in respect of what a thing is, or that it is a quality, or a quantity, or a relative, or an agent, or a patient, or that it is some where, or at some time.

Moreover, those which signify substance, signify that the thing of which they are predicated, is that which it is, or something belonging to it, but whatever do not signify substance, but are predicated of another subject, which is neither the thing itself, nor something belonging to it, are accidents, as white is predicated of man, since man is neither white, nor any thing which belongs to white, but is perhaps animal, for man is that which is a certain animal. Such as do not signify substance it is necessary should be predicated of a certain subject, and not be something white, which is white, not being any thing else. For, farewell to ideas, for they are mere prattlings, and if they exist, are nothing to the subject, since demonstrations are not about such things.


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 Again, if this is not a quality of this, and that of this, neither a quality of a quality, it is impossible that they should be thus mutually predicated of each other, still they may possibly be truly said, but cannot truly be mutually predicated. For will they be predicated as substance, as being either the genus or the difference of what is predicated? It has been shown that these will not be infinite, neither in a descending nor in an ascending progression, as for instance, man is a biped, this an animal, this something else; neither can animal be predicated of man, this of Callias, this of something else, in respect to what a thing is. For we may define the whole of this to be substance, but we cannot penetrate infinites by perception, wherefore neither are there infinites upwards or downwards, for we cannot define that of which infinites are predicated. They will not indeed be mutually predicated of each other as genera, for genus would be a part itself, neither will quality nor any of the other categories be (mutually) predicated, except by accident, for all these are accidents, and are predicated of substances. But neither will there be infinites in ascending series, for of each thing, that is predicated, which signifies either a certain quality, or a certain quantity, or something of this kind, or those which are in the substance, but these are finite, and the genera of the categories are finite, since (a category) is either quality, or quantity, or relation, or action, or passion, or where, or when. One thing is however supposed to be predicated of one, but those not to be mutually predicated which do not signify what a thing is, since all these are accidents, but some are per se, others after a different manner, and we say all these are predicated of a certain subject,