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 1 Aug. 1601, Benedicta, commonly called Bennet, daughter of Robert Moyle of Buckwell, Kent, and the rich widow of Francis Bourne of Sutton St. Clere, Somersetshire, who was buried in Bath Abbey on 24 Feb. 1600. Bourne left his widow for her lifetime the manor of Sutton and other lands in the same county, and as their only son, Walter Bourne, was buried in the abbey on 17 April 1601, and their daughter Frances married the younger brother of her mother's second husband, also John Hoskins (see below), the family of Hoskins obtained complete control over the property (, Somerset Wills, 1st ser. p. 29). Hoskins now entered himself as a student at the Middle Temple, and was in due course called to the bar. On 6 March 1603–4 he was returned to parliament for the city of Hereford, and was re-elected in 1614 and in 1628. During a debate in the second of these parliaments an allusion made by Hoskins to Scottish favourites and to the possibility of a repetition of the Sicilian vespers led to his committal to the Tower of London on 7 July 1614 (, Hist. of England, ii. 246, 249). A Latin poem, in which he appealed to James I for liberty after he had been confined in prison for more than two hundred days, is among the Balfour MSS., Advocates' Library, Edinburgh, and was printed in the ‘Abbotsford Club Miscellany,’ i. 131–2. Several more sets of Latin verses by him (1), on his committal to prison, 8 July 1614, (2) after his liberation, 8 July 1615, and (3) de seipso, 1634, belong to Miss Conway Griffith of Carreglwyd, Anglesey (Hist. MSS. Comm. 5th Rep. p. 409). After a year's restraint he was set at liberty, but in February 1616 he was again in trouble through a ‘rhyme or libel’ made a year and a half previously (Court and Times of James I, i. 390). He became Lent reader of his inn in 1619, and was created serjeant-at-law on 26 June 1623. At a later date he was appointed justice itinerant of Wales and a member of the council of marches, and composed, in conjunction with Dr. Sharpe, some courtly lines ‘on the appearance of a star (6 June 1630) in the sermon-tyme at Paules-cross,’ when the king was there and a prince was born (Hist. MSS. Comm. 5th Rep. p. 409). He died on 27 Aug. 1638 at Morehampton in the parish of Abbey Dore, Herefordshire (which he had purchased about 1621), and was buried on the south side of the choir in the church, under an altar-monument on which had been engraved twenty-four verses by Thomas Bonham. His wife died in October 1625, aged 50, and was buried at Vowchurch, Herefordshire, where a monument in the church was erected to her memory. Their issue was a son, Bennet, and a daughter, Benedicta.

Hoskins was a wit, and lived in the company of wits. Anthony à Wood possessed a volume of his epigrams and epitaphs. Many of his pieces are scattered among the Ashmolean and other collections, and some of his manuscript writings are reported to be in the possession of the present head of his family. His memory was considered the strongest in that age, and among his works was a treatise on the art of memory. He revised, according to tradition, the ‘History of the World’ by Sir Walter Raleigh, with whom he became very intimate during his confinement in the Tower, and ‘polished’ the verses of Ben Jonson so zealously as to be called Ben's father. Such writers as Sir John Davies, Donne, Selden, Camden, and Daniel were among his chief friends. John Owen addressed some of his Latin epigrams to him, and Hoskins in return sent four Latin lines to be prefixed to his friend's printed collection, and as many more to be added to the third edition. Much information transmitted through him was embodied in Aubrey's ‘Lives,’ and the Rev. J. E. Jackson, on the authority of a letter by that antiquary, claims for the serjeant the authorship, while at Winchester School, of the familiar lines on the ‘Trusty Servant’ (Notes and Queries, 1st ser. vi. 495). He was one of the wits who ridiculed the travels of Coryat of Odcombe. The meeting of veteran morris-dancers at Hereford races in 1609, which is described in the rare tract of ‘Old Meg of Herefordshire,’ is said by Fuller to have been arranged by ‘the ingenious Serjeant Hoskins;’ but the tradition that James I was then on a visit to the serjeant and attended the show does not rest on any foundation (, Progresses of James I, pp. xix–xx). The Latin verses on the monument in the Temple Church to Richard Martin, recorder of London, were by him, and he is said to have fought a duel with Sir Benjamin Rudyerd, who was wounded in the knee. Hoskins and Rudyerd were afterwards intimate friends.

, the younger (1579–1631), apparently from the pedigrees younger brother of John Hoskins the elder, was educated at Winchester, and in 1599 matriculated from New College, Oxford, where he graduated B.C.L. January 1505–6 and D.C.L. 1613. He was fellow of New College from 1600 to 1613. In 1613 he was chaplain to Robert Bennett, bishop of Hereford and rector of Ledbury, Herefordshire. In 1612 he was made prebendary of Hereford, and about the same time became chaplain to James I. In 1614 he received the mastership of the


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 is not only the last in time, but also settles the character of the entire game, and so gives meaning to all that has preceded. Nevertheless the earlier parts of the game are true parts of the game; they are not mere means for reaching a last inning.

In these illustrations we have seen how the last stage may be the fulfilling, the completing, or consummating of all that has gone before, and may thus decide the nature of the activity as a whole. In no case, however, is the end equivalent simply to an external result. The mere fact that one side won—the external result or object—is of no significance apart from the game whose conclusion it marks. Just so, we may say that the value of x in an algebraic equation is 5. But to say in general that x equals 5 is nonsense. This result is significant only as the outcome of a particular process of solving a particular equation. If, however, the mathematical inquiry is carried on to deal with other connected equations, it is possible to separate the result, 5, from what led up to it, and in further calculating to use 5 independently of the equation whose

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 Khal Kan awoke with that thought from his dream vibrating in his mind like an ominous tolling.

"The last day of Jotan!" he whispered. "By all the gods—no!"

Fiercely, the tall young prince rose and buckled on his sword. It was just dawn, and sea-mists shrouded all the city outside in gray fog.

Golden Wings still lay sleeping, Khal Kan heard a persistent hammering from out in the fog, as he went down to the lower level of the palace. Brusul, in full armor, came stalking up to him.

"All's quiet," reported the brawny captain. "The Bunts are still working away at their cursed scaling-ladders. When they are ready, they'll dear the walls of our men with their damned poisoned arrows, and then come over."

Khal Kan went out with him and inspected their defenses. As he supervised the placing of their fighting-men around the wall, and gave the white-faced people rough encouragement, something oppressed Khal Kan's mind. Something he should be doing for the defense of the city—

When he got back to the palace with Brusul, Golden Wings' slim, leather-clad figure came flying into his arms.

"I dreamed the Bunts were already in the city!" she cried. "And then I awoke and found you gone—"

Khal Kan, soothing her, suddenly stiffened. Her words had recalled that vague, forgotten something that had oppressed him.

"My dream!" he exclaimed. "I remember now—in the dream, on that other world, I learned how to make a weapon against the Bunts."

It had all come back to him now—the dream in which Henry Stevens had feverishly memorized a formula out of the science of that dream-world of Earth, to help him in his struggle against the Bunts.

For a moment, Khal Kan clutched at new hope. Then his eagerness faded. After all, that was only a dream. Henry Stevens and Earth and its science were only an insubstantial vision of his sleeping mind, and nothing that he learned in that could be of any value.

"I could wish you'd dreamed away the Bunts entirely," Brusul was saying dryly. "Unfortunately, they're still outside and it won't be many hours before they attack."

Khal Kan was not listening. His mind was revolving the simple formula that Henry Stevens had desperately memorized, in the dream.

"It wouldn't work," he thought. "It couldn't work, when there's no reality to all that—"

Yet he kept remembering Henry Stevens' desperate effort to help him. That timid, thin little man he was in his dream each night—that little man had prayed that Khal Kan would not ignore his help, would try the formula.

Khal Kan reached decision. "I'm going to try it—the thing I learned in the dream!" he told the others.

Brusul stared. "Are you wit-struck? Dreams won't help us now! How could a dream-weapon be of any use?"

"I'm not so sure now it was a dream," Khal Kan muttered. "Maybe this is the dream, after all. Oh, hell take all speculations—dream or reality, I'm going to try this thing."

He shot orders. "Bring all the charcoal you can find, all the sulphur from the street of the apothecaries, and all of the white crystals we use for drying fruits. Those crystals were called 'saltpeter' in the dream."

CARED, wondering men brought the materials to the palace. There, Brusul and Zoor and Golden Wings watched mystifiedly as Khal Kan supervised their preparation.


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 led her to another room. When he came back, his face was keen as he looked at Doctor Thorn.

"You heard her story?" he said to the psychiatrist. "I telephoned you because I understood he'd been consulting you. I can't understand this thing at all."

He pointed to Henry's motionless figure. "The man had nothing organically wrong with him, as I happen to know. Yet he died in his sleep—as though from terrible mental shock."

"You've hit it, Doctor," nodded Doctor Thorn thoughtfully. "If my guess is right, he was dreaming, and when his dream-self was killed, Henry Stevens died, also."

He went on to tell the physician of the case.

The practitioner's face became incredulous as he heard.

"The poor devil!" he ejaculated. "He had that dream and dream-life all his life long, and when his dream-self died, he died too by mental suggestion."

"I am not sure that that other life of his, that world of Thar, was a dream," Doctor Thorn replied soberly.

"Oh, come, Doctor," protested the other. "If Henry Stevens and Earth were real, and we know they were, Thar and Khal Kan must have been only his dream."

"I wonder," replied the psychiatrist. "Did you ever hear of mental rapport? Cases where two people's minds are so tuned that one experiences the other's feelings and thoughts, when his own mind is relaxed and quiescent? There have been a good many such provable cases.

"Suppose," Thorn went on, "that Henry Stevens was a unique case of that. Suppose that his mind happened to be in rapport, from the time of his birth, with the mind of another man—another man, who was not of Earth but of some world far across the universe from ours? Suppose that each man's subconscious was able to experience the other man's thoughts and feelings, when his own consciousness was relaxed and sleeping? So that each man, all his life, seemed each night to dream the other man's life?"

"Good Lord!" exclaimed the practitioner. "If that were true, both Henry Stevens and Khal Kan were real, on far-separated worlds?"

Doctor Thorn nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, and the two men would be so much in rapport that the death of one would kill the other. It's only a theory, and we can never know if it's true. Probably he knows, now—"

Henry Stevens, lying there, seemed to be smiling at their speculations. But it was not his own smile that lay upon his face. It was the reckless, gay, triumphant smile of Khal Kan.


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 Egir's bull voice could be heard raging, trying to rally them, but in vain.

The men of Jotan who had lighted and flung the new weapons were as horrified as their victims. Khal Kan's yell aroused them.

"Horses, and after them!" he cried. "Now is our chance to avenge yesterday!"

The gates ground open—and every horsemen left in jotan galloped out after Khal Kan and Golden Wings in pursuit of the routed, green men.

The Bunts made hardly any effort to turn and fight They were madly intent on putting as great a distance as possible between them and Jotan.

"It's Egir I'm after!" Khal Kan cried to Brusul. "While he lives, no safety for Jotan!"

"See—there he rides!" cried Golden Wings' silvery voice.

Khal Kan yelled and put spur to his horse as he saw Egir and his Bunt captains riding full tilt toward the Dragals, in an effort to escape.

They rode right through the Seeing Bunts in pursuit of the traitor. They were overtaking him, when Egir turned and saw them coming. The Jotanian renegade uttered a yell, and he and his green captains turned.

"'Ware arrows!" shouted Brusul, behind Khal Kan.

Khal Kan saw the Bunts loosing the vicious shafts, but he saw it only vaguely, for only Egir's sardonic face was clear to him as he charged.

Sword out, he galloped toward his uncle. Something stung his arm, and he heard a scream from Golden Wings and knew an arrow had hit him.

"My dear nephew, you've two minutes to live!" panted Egir, his eyes blazing hate and triumph as they met and their swords clashed. "You're a dead man now—"

Khal Kan felt a cold, deadly numbness creeping through his arm with incredible rapidity. He summoned all his fast-flowing strength to swing his sword up.

It left his guard open and Egir stabbed viciously as their horses wheeled. Then Khal Kan's nerveless arm brought his blade down.

"This for my father, Egir!"

The sword shore the traitor's shoulder and neck half through. And a moment after Egir dropped from the saddle, Khal Kan felt his own numb body falling. He could not feel the impact with the ground.

His mind was darkening and everything was spinning around. It was as though he whirled in a black funnel, and was being sucked down into its depths, yet he could still hear voices of those bending over him.

"Khal Kan!" That was Golden Wings, he knew.

He tried to speak up to them out of the roaring darkness that was engulfing him.

"Jotan—safe now, with Egir gone. The kingship to Brusul. Golden Wings—"

He could not form more words. Khal Kan knew that he was dying. But he knew, at last, that Thar was not a dream, for even though his own life was passing, nothing around him was vanishing. But, his darkening brain wondered, if That had been real all the time—

But then, in a flash of light on the very verge of darkness, Khal Kan saw the truth that neither he nor the other had ever imagined

ENRY STEVENS lay dead upon his bed in the neat bedroom of his little suburban cottage. And in the room, his sobbing wife was trying to tell her story to the physician and the psychiatrist.

"It was all so sudden," she sobbed. "I awoke, and found that Herry was clenching his fists as though in a convulsion and was shouting—something about Jotan being safe now. And then—he was dead—"

The physician was soothing her as he


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 He remembered clearly the formula that Henry Stevens had memorized in the dream. He had the men pound and pulverize and mix, until a big mass of granular black powder was the result.

"Now bring small metal vases—enough to hold all this—and lampwicks and day," he ordered.

A captain came running, breathless. "The Bunts have finished their ladders and I think they're soon going to make their attack, sire!" he cried.

"And our leader lingers here, muddling in minerals!" cried Brusul gustily. "Khal Kan, forget this crazy dream and make ready for battle!"

HAL KAN paid no attention. He was having the men stuff the small metal vases with the black powder, stopping their mouths with clay through which a fuse-like wick protruded.

"Distribute these vases to all our men along the walls," he ordered. "Tell them, that when the Bunts place their ladders, they are to light the fuses and fling the vases down among the green warriors, at my command."

"Hell destroy all dreams!" raged Brusul. "What good will such a crazy plan do? Do you think dropping vases on the Bunts will stop them?"

"I don't know," Khal Kan muttered. "In the dream, I thought it would. The dream-me called the powder 'gunpowder' and the vases 'grenades.' And in the dream they seemed a more terrible weapon even than the poisoned arrows."

Yells from the walls and the warning blare of trumpets ripped across the sunlit city. A great cry swept through Jotan's streets.

"The Bunts are coming!"

"To the wall!" Khal Kan cried.

From the parapet atop the great wall, the rising sun revealed an ominous spectacle. From all around the landward side of Jotan, the hordes of the Bunts were surging toward the city.

First came a line of green bowmen whose hissing, poisoned shafts were already rattling along the top of the wall. Jotanian warriors sank groaning as the swift poison sped into their blood. Khal Kan held his shield up, and swept Golden Wings behind him as they waited.

Behind the first line of bowmen came Bunts carrying long, rough wooden scaling-ladders. Behind these came the main masses of the stocky green men, armed with bows and short-swords, led by Egir himself.

The ladders came up against the wall, and the blood-chilling Bunt yell broke around the city as the green warriors swarmed catlike up them. Joranians who sought to push over the ladders were smitten by arrows.

"Over the wall and open the gates!" Egir's bull voice was yelling to his green men. "Let us into Jotan!"

The main horde of the Bunts was already surging toward the gates of the city, while their attackers on the ladders sought to win the wall.

"Now—light the fuses and drop the vases!" Khal Kan yelled along the parapet, through the melee.

Torches at readiness set the wicks alight. The seemingly harmless little metal vases were tossed over into the surging mass of the Bunts.

A series of ear-splitting crashes shook the air, like thunder. White smoke drifted away to show masses of the Bunts felled by the explosions.

"Gods!" cried Brusul appaliedly. "Your dream-weapon is thunder of heaven itself!"

"Magic!" yelled the Bunts, shrinking back aghast from their own dead, tumbling in panic off the ladders. "Flee, brothers!"

The fear-maddened green warriors surged back from the walls of Jotan, breaking in panic-stricken, disorganized masses.


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 it was. This fact introduces a further complication.

Many, most, of our activities, are interconnected. We not only have the process of eating the meal, but we have the further use of the food eaten—its assimilation and transformation into energy for new operations. The musical theme heard may represent a step in a more continuous process of musical education. The outcome of the game may be a factor in determining the relative standing of two clubs in a series of contests. An inventor of a new telephonic device is preoccupied with the different steps of the process; but when the invention is completed, it becomes a factor in a different set of activities. When the artist has finished his picture, his question may be how to sell that picture so as to get a living for his family. This fact of the employment of the result of one course of action as a readymade factor in some other course leads us to think of means and ends as fixed things external to an activity, and to think of the whole activity as a mere means to an external product. The ball game is thus thought of as a


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 mere means to winning, and that winning in turn as a mere means to winning a series. Winning the series may in turn be regarded as a mere means of getting a sum of money or a certain amount of glory, and so on indefinitely. Unless discussion is to get confused, we must therefore carefully distinguish between two senses of the term end. While the activity is in progress, "end" simply means an object as standing for the culminating stage of the whole process; it represents the need of looking ahead and considering what we are now doing so that it will lead as simply and effectively as possible into what is to be done later. After the activity has come to its conclusion, "end" means the product accomplished as a fixed thing. The same considerations apply to the term "means." During the activity it signifies simply the materials or ways of acting involved in the successive stages of the growth of an activity up to its fulfillment. After the activity is accomplished, its product as detached from the action that led up to it may be used as a means for achieving something else.


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 went to Guernsey and, marrying Miss Elizabeth Oliver, remained there during the remainder of his life. The son was educated at Topsham and Exeter, and being destined for the Guernsey bar was placed under Advocate Charles de Jersey, but after a year's probation the law was discarded for medicine. From 1818 to 1820 he was at the united hospitals of Guy's and St. Thomas's, London. He passed as a licentiate of the Society of Apothecaries in 1821, as a member of the Royal College of Surgeons of England in 1822, as an extra licentiate of the College of Physicians in 1834, and a fellow in 1859. While a student he came to know Astley Cooper, Coleridge, Charles Lamb, De Quincey, Talfourd, and Douglas Jerrold. After passing his surgical examination he returned to Guernsey and entered into partnership with his old instructor, Dr. Brock. He studied for a short time in Paris in 1827, and settled finally in the Channel Islands.

Soon after settling down he elaborated a chart of stethoscopic signs, and carried out an investigation into the solubility of calculi within the body. The former work was favourably reviewed, and passed into a second edition. The latter occupied many years of his life. His results presented to the Royal Society (Phil. Trans. 1843, pt. i. pp. 7–16) gained his election to a fellowship on 25 May 1843. His observations on the climatology of Guernsey were at the time unique. His paper on the origin and progress of cholera and small-pox in 1849 was written at the request of the Epidemiological Society. In 1859 he retired from his profession, leaving his practice in the hands of a partner, and devoted himself to historical research. He died at York Place, Candie Road, Guernsey, on 12 Oct. 1888, and was buried in the Candie cemetery. He married in 1830 Harriet Rowley, daughter of Thomas and Harriet Le Merchant MacCulloch, and sister of Sir Edward MacCulloch, bailiff of Guernsey. She died at Guernsey on 12 March 1889. Their only son, Edgar Hoskins, is rector of St. Mary Magdalen with St. Gregory by St. Paul, London. Hoskins published: He also published papers on ‘The Carved Oak Chests of the Channel Islands,’ and ‘The Outposts of England.’
 * 1) ‘A Stethoscopic Chart, in which may be seen at one View the Application of Auscultation and Percussion to the Diagnosis of Thoracic Disease,’ 1830.
 * 2) ‘On the Chemical Discrimination of Vesical Calculi,’ a translation of Scharling's work, 1842.
 * 3) ‘Tables of Corrections for Temperature to Barometric Observations,’ 1842.
 * 4) ‘Report on Cholera and Small-pox. By S. E. Hoskins and Thomas L. Mansell,’ 1850.
 * 5) ‘Home Resorts for Invalids in the Climate of Guernsey,’ 1852.
 * 6) ‘Louis le Grand, or Fontainbleau and Versailles, a Comedy in three Acts,’ 1852.
 * 7) ‘Charles the Second in the Channel Islands,’ 1854, 2 vols.
 * 8) ‘Relations de la Normandie et de la Bretagne avec les îles de la Manche pendant l'émigration, d'après des documents recueillis par S. E. Hoskins. Par Charles Hettier,’ 1885.

HOSKYNS, CHANDOS WREN- (1812–1876), writer on agriculture, born on 15 Feb. 1812, was second son of Sir Hungerford Hoskyns (1776–1862), seventh baronet, of Harewood, Herefordshire. He was educated at Shrewsbury School and at Balliol College, Oxford, where he was entered on 7 July 1829; obtained a second class in classics in 1834, and soon afterwards became a student of the Inner Temple. Although called to the bar in 1838, he did not long take an active part in his profession, as his marriage on 20 April 1837 with Theodosia Anna, daughter and heiress of Christopher R. Wren (the representative and descendant of the great architect), entailed on him the charge of a considerable landed estate. He assumed the additional surname of Wren by royal license on 15 April 1837. He settled down on this property—Wroxall Abbey, Warwickshire—and there acquired a very practical knowledge of agriculture. To the ‘Agricultural Gazette’ from the very outset (1844) until a late period Hoskyns was a frequent contributor, and in the early volumes first appeared his ‘Anomalies of Agriculture,’ and his well-known ‘Chronicles of a Clay Farm.’ In the same journal he wrote a series of papers under the head of ‘Tales of a Landlord,’ in which the relations of landlord to property, tenant, and labourer, were fairly discussed. For nearly twenty years his pen was actively employed in advocating such a reform in the tenure of land as would give all concerned in it a justly proportionate interest. In 1849 he delivered a course of lectures at the Manchester Athenæum on the ‘History of Agriculture,’ displaying in them the same power of interesting his audience as had already made his writings popular. Hoskyns contributed the introductory essay and the papers on education and the landlord to the ‘Cyclopædia of Agriculture,’ and was the author of several important essays in the ‘Journal of the English Agricultural Society.’ He was at the same time a diligent student of general


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 navigation of the Seine, and the boring of the artesian wells at Grenelle.

In the year 1830 also he was appointed director of the Observatory, and as a member of the chamber of deputies he was able to obtain grants of money for rebuilding it in part, and for the addition of magnificent instruments. In the same year, too, he was chosen perpetual secretary of the Academy of Sciences, in room of J. B. J. Fourier. Arago threw his whole soul into its service, and by his faculty of making friends he gained at once for it and for himself a world-wide reputation. As perpetual secretary it fell to him to pronounce historical éloges on deceased members; and for this duty his rapidity and facility of thought, his happy piquancy of style, and his extensive knowledge peculiarly adapted him.

In 1834 he again visited England, to attend the meeting of the British Association at Edinburgh. From this time till 1848 he led a life of comparative quiet—not the quiet of inactivity, however, for his incessant labours within the Academy and the Observatory produced a multitude of contributions to all departments of physical science,—but on the fall of Louis Philippe he left his laboratory to join in forming the provisional government. He was entrusted with the discharge of two important functions, that had never before been united in one person, viz. the ministry of war and of marine; and in the latter capacity he effected some salutary reforms, such as the improvement of rations in the navy and the abolition of flogging. He also abolished political oaths of all kinds, and, against an array of moneyed interests, succeeded in procuring the abolition of negro slavery in the French colonies.

In the beginning of May 1852, when the government of Louis Napoleon required an oath of allegiance from all its functionaries, Arago peremptorily refused, and sent in his resignation of his post as astronomer at the Bureau des Longitudes. This, however, the prince president, to his credit, declined to accept, and made “an exception in favour of a savant whose works had thrown lustre on France, and whose existence his government would regret to embitter.” But the tenure of office thus granted did not prove of long duration. Arago was now on his death-bed, under a complication of diseases, induced, no doubt, by the hardships and labours of his earlier years. In the summer of 1853 he was advised by his physicians to try the effect of his native air, and he accordingly set out for the eastern Pyrenees. But the change was unavailing, and after a lingering illness, in which he suffered first from diabetes, then from Bright’s disease, complicated by dropsy, he died in Paris on the 2nd of October 1853.

Arago’s fame as an experimenter and discoverer rests mainly on his contributions to magnetism and still more to optics. He found that a magnetic needle, made to oscillate over nonferruginous surfaces, such as water, glass, copper, &c., falls more rapidly in the extent of its oscillations according as it is more or less approached to the surface. This discovery, which gained him the Copley medal of the Royal Society in 1825, was followed by another, that a rotating plate of copper tends to communicate its motion to a magnetic needle suspended over it (“magnetism of rotation”). Arago is also fairly entitled to be regarded as having proved the long-suspected connexion between the aurora borealis and the variations of the magnetic elements.

In optics we owe to him not only important optical discoveries of his own, but the credit of stimulating the genius of A. J. Fresnel, with whose history, as well as with that of E. L. Malus and of Thomas Young, this part of his life is closely interwoven. Shortly after the beginning of the 19th century the labours of these three philosophers were shaping the modern doctrine of the undulatory theory of light. Fresnel’s arguments in favour of that theory found little favour with Laplace, Poisson and Biot, the champions of the emission theory; but they were ardently espoused by Humboldt and by Arago, who had been appointed by the Academy to report on the paper. This was the foundation of an intimate friendship between Arago and Fresnel, and of a determination to carry on together further researches in this subject, which led to the enunciation of the fundamental laws of the polarization of light known by their names (see ). As a result of this work Arago constructed a polariscope, which he used for some interesting observations on the polarization of the light of the sky. To him is also due the discovery of the power of rotatory polarization exhibited by quartz, and last of all, among his many contributions to the support of the undulatory hypothesis, comes the experimentum crucis which he proposed to carry out for comparing directly the velocity of light in air and in water or glass. On the emission theory the velocity should be accelerated by an increase of density in the medium; on the wave theory, it should be retarded. In 1838 he communicated to the Academy the details of his apparatus, which utilized the revolving mirrors employed by Sir C. Wheatstone in 1835 for measuring the velocity of the electric discharge; but owing to the great care required in the carrying out of the project, and to the interruption to his labours caused by the revolution of 1848, it was the spring of 1850 before he was ready to put his idea to the test; and then his eyesight suddenly gave way. Before his death, however, the retardation of light in denser media was demonstrated by the experiments of H. L. Fizeau and J. B. L. Foucault, which, with improvements in detail, were based on the plan proposed by him.

ARAGON, or (in Span. Aragón), a captaincy-general, and formerly a kingdom of Spain; bounded on the N. by the Pyrenees, which separate it from France, on the E. by Catalonia and Valencia, S. by Valencia, and W. by the two Castiles and Navarre. Pop. (1900) 912,711; area, 18,294 sq. m. Aragon was divided in 1833 into the provinces of Huesca, Teruel and Saragossa; an account of its modern condition is therefore given under these names, which have not, however, superseded the older designation in popular usage.

Aragon consists of a central plain, edged by mountain ranges. On the south, east and west, these ranges, though wild and rugged, are of no great elevation, but on the north the Pyrenees attain their greatest altitude in the peaks of Aneto (11,168 ft.) and Monte Perdido (10,998 ft.)—also known as Las Tres Sorores, and, in French, as Mont Perdu. The central pass over the Pyrenees is the Port de Canfranc, on the line between Saragossa and Pau. Aragon is divided by the river (q.v.), which flows through it in a south-easterly direction, into two nearly equal parts, known as Trans-ibero and Cis-ibero. The Ebro is the principal river, and receives from the north, in its passage through the province, the Arba, the Gallego and the united waters of the Cinca, Esera, Noguera Ribagorzana, Noguera Pallaresa and Segre—the last three belonging to Catalonia. From the south it receives the Jalon and Jiloca (or Xalon and Xiloca) and the Guadalope. The Imperial Canal of Aragon, which was begun by the emperor Charles V. in 1529, but remained unfinished for nearly two hundred years, extends from Tudela to El Burgo de Ebro, a distance of 80 m.; it has a depth of 9 ft., and an average breadth of 69, and is navigable for vessels of about 80 tons. The Royal Canal of Tauste, which lies along the north side of the Ebro, was cut for purposes of irrigation, and gives fertility to the district. Two leagues north-north-east of Albarracin is the remarkable fountain called Cella, 3700 ft. above the

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text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Arago, Dominique François Jean


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 This distinction is not a merely theoretical one, but one that affects the whole scope and significance of interest in teaching. The purely adventitious interests we have discussed—making a thing interesting by the sugar-coating method—assumes a certain ready subject-matter—a subject-matter existing wholly independently of the pupil's own activity. It then asks how this alien subject-matter may be introduced into the pupil's mind; how his attention may be drawn away from the things with which it is naturally concerned and drawn to this indifferent, readymade external material. Some interest, some bond of connection, must be found. Prevalent practices and the training and disposition of the teacher will decide whether the methods of "hard" or of "soft" pedagogy shall be resorted to; whether we shall have a "soup-kitchen" type of teaching or a "penitentiary" type. Shall the indifferent thing (indifferent because lying outside of the individual's scheme of activities) be made interesting—by clothing it with adventitious traits that are agreeable; or by methods of threats—by making


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 attention to it less disagreeable than the consequences of non-attention so that study is a choice of the lesser of two evils?

Both of these methods, however, represent failure to ask the right question and to seek for the right method of solution. What course of activity exists already (by native endowment or by past achievement) operative in the pupil's experience with respect to which the thing to be learned, the mode of skill to be acquired, is either a means or an end? What line of action is there, that is to say, which can be carried forward to its appropriate termination better by noting and using the subject-matter? Or what line of action is there, which can be directed so that when carried to its completion it will naturally terminate in the things to be learned? The mistake, once more, consists in overlooking the activities in which the child is already engaged, or in assuming that they are so trivial or so irrelevant that they have no significance for education. When they are duly taken into account the new subject-matter is interesting on its own account in the degree in which it enters into their operation.


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 The mistake lies in treating these existing activities as if they had reached their limit of growth; as if they were satisfactory in their present shape and simply something to be excited; or else just unsatisfactory and something to be repressed.

The distinction between means and ends external to a process of action and those intrinsic to it enables us to understand the difference between pleasures and happiness. In the degree in which anybody externally happens to fall upon anything and to be excited agreeably by it, pleasure results. The question of pleasure is a question of the immediate or momentary reaction. Happiness differs in quality from both a pleasure and a series of pleasures. Children are almost always happy, joyous—and so are grown people—when engaged consecutively in any unconstrained mode of activity—when they are occupied, busy. The emotional accompaniment of the progressive growth of a course of action, a continual movement of expansion and of achievement, is happiness;—mental content or peace, which when emphatic, is called joy, delight. Persons, children or adults, are interested in what


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 they can do successfully, in what they approach with confidence and engage in with a sense of accomplishment. Such happiness or interest is not self-conscious or selfish; it is a sign of developing power and of absorption in what is being done. Only when an activity is monotonous does happiness cease to attend its performance, and monotony means that growth, development, have ceased; nothing new is entering in to carry an activity forward. On the other hand, lack of normal occupations brings uneasiness, irritability, and demand for any kind of stimulation which will arouse activity—a state that easily passes into a longing for excitement, for its own sake. Healthy children in a healthy family or social environment do not ask, "What pleasure can I have now?" but "What can I do now?" The demand is for a growing activity, an occupation, an interest. Given that, happiness will take care of itself.

There is no rigid, insurmountable line between direct and indirect interest. As an activity grows more complex, it involves more factors. A child who is simply building with blocks has an activity


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 of very short time span; his end is just ahead of what he is doing at the moment—namely, to keep on building so that his pile grows higher—does not tumble down. It makes no difference to him just what he makes, as long as it stands up. When the pile tumbles, he is content to start over again. But when he aims at something more complicated, the erection of a certain kind of structure with his blocks, the increased complexity of the end gives the cycle of his actions a longer time span; arrival at its end is postponed. He must do more things before he reaches his result, and accordingly he must carry that result in mind for a longer time as a control of his actions from moment to moment. Gradually this situation passes over into one where an immediate activity would make no appeal at all were it not for some more remote end which is valuable and for the sake of which intervening means, not of themselves of concern, are important. With trained adults an end in the distant future, a result to be reached only after a term of years, may stimulate and regulate a long series of difficult intervening steps which, in isolation


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Hornebolt, Gerard


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 from the thought of the end, would be matters of total indifference, or even repellent. From this side, then, the development of indirect interests is simply a sign of the growth or expansion of simple activities into more complex ones, requiring longer and longer periods of time for their execution, and consequently involving postponement of achieving the end which gives decisive meaning and full worth to the intervening steps.

Not only, however, does the direct interest in an object pass thus gradually and naturally into indirect interest as the scope of action is prolonged, but the reverse process takes place. Indirect values become direct. Everybody has heard of the man who at first is interested in an acquisition of money because of what he can do with it and who finally becomes so absorbed in the mere possessing of gold that he gloats over it. This clearly expresses an undesirable instance of the change of means into end. But normal and desirable changes of the same kind are frequent. Pupils who are first interested in, say, number relations, because of what they can do


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Horneby, Henry


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Horner, Francis


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Horner, Leonard


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


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 with these relations in making something else (at first interested, that is, in a branch of arithmetic simply as a means or tool), may become fascinated by what they can do with number on its own account. Boys who are at first interested in skill in playing marbles or ball simply because it is a factor in a game which interests them, become interested in practicing the acts of shooting at a mark, of throwing, catching, etc., and so arduously devote themselves to the perfecting of skill. The technical exercises that give skill in the game become themselves a sort of a game. Girls who are interested in making clothes for a doll, simply for the sake of the interest in playing with dolls, may develop an interest in making clothes till the doll itself becomes simply a sort of an excuse, or at least just a stimulus, for making clothes.

If the reader will reflect upon his own course of life over a certain period of time, he will find that the sort of thing which is somewhat trivially illustrated in these examples is of constant


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Horrocks, Jeremiah


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Horsburgh, James


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Horsey, Edward


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Horsey, Jerome


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Horsfield, Thomas (1773-1859)


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Horsford, Alfred Hastings


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Horsley, Charles Edward


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. He will find that wherever his activities have grown in extent and range of meaning (instead of becoming petrified and fossilized), one or other (or both) of two things has been going on. On the one hand, narrower and simpler types of interest (requiring a shorter time for their realization) have been expanding to cover a longer time. With this change they have grown richer and fuller. They have grown to include many things previously indifferent or even repulsive as the value of the end now takes up into itself the value of whatever is involved in the process of achieving it. On the other hand, many things, that were first of significance only because they were needed as parts of an activity of interest only as a whole, have become valued on their own account. Sometimes it will even be found that they have displaced entirely the type of activity in connection with which they originally grew up. This is just what happens when children outgrow interests that have previously held them; as when boys feel it is now beneath them to play marbles and girls find themselves no longer interested in their dolls.


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


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


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Horsman, Nicholas


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Hort, Josiah


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Horton, Christiana


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Horton, Robert John Wilmot-


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Horton, Thomas (d.1649)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Hortop, Job


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Horwitz, Bernard


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Hosier, Francis


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Hosken, James


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Hoskins, Anthony


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 Looked at superficially, the original interest seems simply to have been crowded out or left behind. Examined more carefully, it will be found that activities and objects at first esteemed simply because of their place within the original activity have grown to be of more account than that for the sake of which they were at first entertained. In many cases, unless the simpler and seemingly more trivial interest had had sway at the proper time, the later more important and specialized activity would not have arisen. And this same process can be verified in adult development as well, as long as development goes on. When it ceases, arrest of growth sets in.

We are now in a position to restate, in a more significant way, the true and the false ways of understanding the function of interest in education, and to formulate a criterion for judging whether the principle of interest is being rightly or wrongly employed. ''Interest is normal and reliance upon it educationally legitimate in the degree in which the activity in question involves growth or development. Interest is illegitimately used in the degree in which it is either a''


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 sea, which forms the source of the Jiloca; and between this river and the Sierra Molina is an extensive lake called Gallocanta, covering about 6000 acres. The climate is characterized by extreme heat in the summer and cold in the winter; among the mountains the snowfall is heavy, and thunderstorms are frequent, but there is comparatively little rain.

Within a recent geological period, central Aragon was undoubtedly submerged by the sea, and the parched chalky soil remains saturated with salt, while many of the smaller streams run brackish. As the mountains of Valencia and Catalonia effectually bar out the fertilizing moisture of the sea-winds, much of the province is a sheer wilderness, stony, ash-coloured, scarred with dry watercourses, and destitute of any vegetation except thin grass and heaths. In contrast with the splendid fertility of Valencia or the south of France, the landscape of this region, like the rest of central Spain, seems almost a continuation of the north African desert area. There are, however, extensive oak, pine and beech forests in the highlands, and many beautiful oases in the deeply sunk valleys, and along the rivers, especially beside the Ebro, which is, therefore, often called the “Nile of Aragon.” In such oases the flora is exceedingly rich. Wheat, maize, rice, oil, flax and hemp, of fine quality, are grown in considerable quantities; as well as saffron, madder, liquorice, sumach, and a variety of fruits. Merino wool is one of the chief products.

In purity of race the Aragonese are probably equal to the Castilians, to whom, rather than to the Catalans or Valencians, they are also allied in character. The dress of the women is less distinctive than that of the men, who wear a picturesque black and white costume, with knee-breeches, a brilliantly coloured sash, black hempen sandals, and a handkerchief wound round the head.

Three counties—Sobrarbe, situated near the headwaters of the Cinca, Aragon, to the west, and Ribagorza or Ribagorça, to the east—are indicated by tradition and the earliest chronicles as the cradle of the Aragonese monarchy. These districts were never wholly subdued when the Moors overran the country (711–713). Sobrarbe especially was for a time the headquarters of the Christian defence in eastern Spain. About 1035, Sancho III. the Great, ruler of the newly established kingdom of Navarre, which included the three counties above mentioned, bequeathed them to Gonzalez and Ramiro, his sons. Ramiro soon rid himself of his rival, and welded Sobrarbe, Ribagorza and Aragon into a single kingdom, which thenceforward grew rapidly in size and power and shared with Castile the chief part in the struggle against the Moors. The history of this period, which was terminated by the union of Castile and Aragon under Ferdinand and Isabella in 1479, is given, along with a full account of the very interesting constitution of Aragon, under (q.v.). At the height of its power under James I. (1213–1276), the kingdom included Valencia, Catalonia, the Balearic Islands and the considerable territory of Montpellier in France; while Peter III. (1276–1285) added Sicily to his dominions.

ARAGONITE, one of the mineral forms of calcium carbonate (CaCO3), the other form being the more common mineral calcite. It crystallizes in the orthorhombic system, and the crystals are either prismatic or acicular in habit. Simple crystals are, however, rare; twinning on the prism planes (M in the figures) being a characteristic feature of the mineral (fig. 1). This twinning is usually often repeated on the same plane (fig. 2), and gives rise to striations on the terminal faces (k) of the crystals; often, also, three crystals are twinned together on two of the prism planes of one of them, producing an apparently hexagonal prism. The mineral is colourless, white or yellowish, transparent or translucent, has a vitreous lustre, and, in fact, is not unlike calcite in general appearance. It may, however, always be readily distinguished from calcite by the absence of any marked cleavage, and by its greater hardness (H. = 3–4) and specific gravity (2·93); further, it is optically biaxial, whilst calcite is uniaxial. It is brittle and has a subconchoidal fracture; on a fractured surface the lustre is decidedly resinous in character.

The mineral was first found, as reddish twinned crystals with the form of six-sided prisms, at Molina in Aragon, Spain, where it occurs with gypsum and small crystals of ferruginous quartz in a red clay. It is from this locality that the mineral takes its name, which was originally spelt arragonite. Fine groups of crystals of the same habit are found in the sulphur deposits of Girgenti in Sicily; also at Herrengrund near Neusohl in Hungary. At many other localities the mineral takes the form of radiating groups of acicular crystals, such as those from the haematite mines of west Cumberland: beautiful feathery forms have been found in a limestone cave in the Transvaal. Fibrous forms are also common. A peculiar coralloidal variety known as flosferri (“flower of iron”) consists of radially arranged fibres: magnificent snow-white specimens of this variety have long been known from the iron mines of Eisenerz in Styria. The calcareous secretions of many groups of invertebrate animals consist of aragonite (calcite is also common); pearls may be specially cited as an example.

Aragonite is a member of the isomorphous group of minerals comprising witherite (BaCO3), strontianite (SrCO3), cerussite (PbCO3) and bromlite ((Ba, Ca)CO3); and crystals of aragonite sometimes contain small amounts of strontium or lead. A variety known as tarnowitzite, from Tarnowitz in Silesia, contains about 5% of lead carbonate.

Aragonite is the more unstable of the two modifications of calcium carbonate. A crystal of aragonite when heated becomes converted into a granular aggregate of calcite individuals: altered crystals of this kind (paramorphs) are not infrequently met with in nature, whilst in fossil shells the original nacreous layer of aragonite has invariably been altered to calcite. From a solution of calcium carbonate in water containing carbon dioxide crystals of calcite are deposited at the ordinary temperature, but from a warm solution aragonite crystallizes out. The thermal springs of Carlsbad deposit spherical concretions of aragonite, forming masses known as pisolite or Sprudelstein. ARAGUA, one of the smaller states of Venezuela under the redivision of 1904, lying principally within the parallel ranges of the Venezuelan Cordillera, and comprising some of the most fertile and healthful valleys of the republic. It is bounded E. by the Federal District and Maturin, S. by Guárico and W. by Zamora and Carabobo. Pop. (1905, est.) 152,364. Aragua has a short coast-line on the Caribbean west of the Federal District, but has no port of consequence. Cattle, swine and goats are raised, and the state produces coffee, sugar, cacao, beans, cereals and cheese. The climate of the higher valleys is subtropical, the mean annual temperature ranging from 74° to 80° F. The capital, La Victoria (pop. 7800), is situated in the fertile Aragua valley, 1558 ft. above sea-level and 36 m. south-west of Carácas. Other important towns are Barbacoas (pop. 13,109) on the left bank of the Guárico in a highly fertile region, Ciudad de Cura and Maracay (pop. 7500), 56 m. west-south-west of

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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Hoskins, John (1566-1638)


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 or a cause of arrested development in an activity.

These formulæ are of course abstract and far from self-explanatory. But in the light of our prior discussion their significance should be obvious. When interest is objected to as merely amusement or fooling or a temporary excitation (or when in educational practice it does mean simply such things), it will be found that the interest in question is something which attaches merely to a momentary activity apart from its place in an enduring activity—an activity that develops through a period of time. When this happens, the object that arouses (what is called) interest is esteemed just on the basis of the momentary reaction it calls out, the immediate pleasure it excites. "Interest" so created is abnormal, for it is a sign of the dissipation of energy; it is a symptom that life is being cut up into a series of disconnected reactions, each one of which is esteemed by itself apart from what it does in carrying forward (or developing) a consecutive activity. As we have already seen, it is one thing to make, say, number interesting by merely


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Hoskins, John (d.1664)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Hoskins, John (1634-1705)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Hoskins, Samuel Elliott


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Hoskyns, Chandos Wren-


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 attaching to it other things that happen to call out a pleasurable reaction; it is a radically different sort of thing to make it interesting by introducing it so that it functions as a genuine means of carrying on a more inclusive activity. In the latter case, interest does not mean the excitation due to the association of some other thing irrelevant to number; it means that number is of interest because it has a function in the furtherance of a continuous or enduring line of activity.

Our conclusion, then, is not simply that some interests are good while others are bad; but that true interests are signs that some material, object, mode of skill (or whatever) is appreciated on the basis of what it actually does in carrying to fulfillment some mode of action with which a person has identified himself. Genuine interest, in short, simply means that a person has identified himself with, or has found himself in, a certain course of action. Consequently he is identified with whatever objects and forms of skill are involved in the successful prosecution of that course. This course of action may cover greater or shorter time according to circumstances,


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clew we have followed in our discussion of interest is its connection with an activity engaging a person in a whole-hearted way. Interest is not some one thing; it is a name for the fact that a course of action, an occupation, or pursuit absorbs the powers of an individual in a thoroughgoing way. But an activity cannot go on in a void. It requires material, subject-matter, conditions upon which to operate. On the other hand, it requires certain tendencies, habits, powers on the part of the self. Wherever there is genuine interest, there is an identification of these two things. The person acting finds his own well-being bound up with the development of an object to its own issue. If the activity goes a certain way, then a subject-matter is carried to a certain result, and a person achieves a certain satisfaction.

There is nothing new or striking in the conception of activity as an important educational


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Rh AWAY, AWAY, YE NOTES OF WOE!

1., away, ye notes of Woe!

Be silent, thou once soothing Strain,

Or I must flee from hence—for, oh!

I dare not trust those sounds again.

To me they speak of brighter days—

But lull the chords, for now, alas!

I must not think, I may not gaze,

On what I am—on what I was.

2. The voice that made those sounds more sweet

Is hushed, and all their charms are fled;

And now their softest notes repeat

A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead!

Yes, Thyrza! yes, they breathe of thee,

dust! since dust thou art;

And all that once was Harmony

Is worse than discord to my heart!

3. 'Tis silent all!—but on my ear

The well remembered Echoes thrill;

I hear a voice I would not hear,

A voice that now might well be still: Variants Notes


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36 Yet oft my doubting Soul 'twill shake;

Ev'n Slumber owns its gentle tone,

Till Consciousness will vainly wake

To listen, though the dream be flown.

4. Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,

Thou art but now a lovely dream;

A Star that trembled o'er the deep,

Then turned from earth its tender beam.

But he who through Life's dreary way

Must pass, when Heaven is veiled in wrath,

Will long lament the vanished ray

That scattered gladness o'er his path. December 8, 1811. [First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]

ONE STRUGGLE MORE, AND I AM FREE.

1. struggle more, and I am free

From pangs that rend my heart in twain;

One last long sigh to Love and thee,

Then back to busy life again.

It suits me well to mingle now

With things that never pleased before:

Though every joy is fled below,

What future grief can touch me more?

Variants


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Aragon

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Aragon


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Rh 2. Then bring me wine, the banquet bring;

Man was not formed to live alone;

I'll be that light unmeaning thing

That smiles with all, and weeps with none.

It was not thus in days more dear,

It never would have been, but thou

Hast fled, and left me lonely here;

Thou'rt nothing,—all are nothing now.

3. In vain my lyre would lightly breathe!

The smile that Sorrow fain would wear

But mocks the woe that lurks beneath,

Like roses o'er a sepulchre.

Though gay companions o'er the bowl

Dispel awhile the sense of ill;

Though Pleasure fires the maddening soul,

The Heart,—the Heart is lonely still!

4. On many a lone and lovely night

It soothed to gaze upon the sky;

For then I deemed the heavenly light

Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye:

And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,

When sailing o'er the Ægean wave,

"Now Thyrza gazes on that moon"—

Alas, it gleamed upon her grave!

5.

When stretched on Fever's sleepless bed,

And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, Variants


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Aragonite

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Aragonite


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38 "'Tis comfort still," I faintly said,

"That Thyrza cannot know my pains:"

Like freedom to the time-worn slave—

A boon 'tis idle then to give—

Relenting Nature vainly gave

My life, when Thyrza ceased to live!

6. My Thyrza's pledge in better days,

When Love and Life alike were new!

How different now thou meet'st my gaze!

How tinged by time with Sorrow's hue!

The heart that gave itself with thee

Is silent—ah, were mine as still!

Though cold as e'en the dead can be,

It feels, it sickens with the chill.

7. Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token!

Though painful, welcome to my breast!

Still, still, preserve that love unbroken,

Or break the heart to which thou'rt pressed.

Time tempers Love, but not removes,

More hallowed when its Hope is fled:

Oh! what are thousand living loves

To that which cannot quit the dead? [First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).] Variants Notes


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 a judicious parent will not like to see a child too easily discouraged by meeting obstacles. If the child is physically healthy, surrender of a course of action, or diversion of energy to some easier line of action, is a bad symptom if it shows itself at the first sign of resistance. The demand for effort is a demand for continuity in the face of difficulties.

This account of the matter is so obvious as to lie upon the surface. When we examine into it further, however, we find it only repeats what we have already learned in connection with interest as an accompaniment of an expanding activity. Effort, like interest, is significant only in connection with a course of action, an action that takes time for its completion since it develops through a succession of stages. Apart from an end to be reached, effort would never be anything more than a momentary strain or a succession of such strains. It would be a thing to be avoided, not so much for its disagreeableness as because nothing comes of it save exposure to dangers of exhaustion and accident. But where the action is a developing or growing one, effort,


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The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/Stanzas. "Away, away, ye Notes of Woe"

Variants Notes


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The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/Stanzas. "One struggle more, and I am free"

 Variants Notes


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T. S. ELIOT


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Rh AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG AND FAIR.

Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse!"

1.

thou art dead, as young and fair

As aught of mortal birth;

And form so soft, and charms so rare,

Too soon returned to Earth!

Though Earth received them in her bed,

And o'er the spot the crowd may tread

In carelessness or mirth,

There is an eye which could not brook

A moment on that grave to look.

Variants Notes


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Now listen to the voice again, The voice of nineteen hundred seven, Two worlds unite in harmony, Under the starry flag of heaven. The western flag of U. S. fame, The flag that won on land and sea, The flag of welcome to the world, In this our year of jubilee. Again the Britons seek the James, Where English sons of noble sires, Founded a colony to stand, A monument to pioneers. Again our French friends seek the York, To visit the historic river, Where echoes linger o'er the shore, To welcome sons of France forever.

Again brave soldiers seek Old Point, The Alpha harbor of renown, Cast anchors in the Hampton Roads, The river road to old Jamestown, The harbor known to all the world, Where naval skill changed war on sea, Through Merrimac and Monitor, The ironclads of history. Two monsters of the sea that fought, In eighteen hundred sixty-two, In harbor of the pioneers, Where Smith found shelter with his crew. The Point of Comfort Matthews held, Where British sons met Indian foe, Where famous footsteps still are heard, To echo back from Fort Monroe.

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42 2. I will not ask where thou liest low,

Nor gaze upon the spot;

There flowers or weeds at will may grow,

So I behold them not:

It is enough for me to prove

That what I loved, and long must love,

Like common earth can rot;

To me there needs no stone to tell,

'Tis Nothing that I loved so well.

3. Yet did I love thee to the last

As fervently as thou,

Who didst not change through all the past,

And canst not alter now.

The love where Death has set his seal,

Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,

Nor falsehood disavow:

And, what were worse, thou canst not see

Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.

4.

The better days of life were ours;

The worst can be but mine: Variants


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Rh The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,

Shall never more be thine.

The silence of that dreamless sleep

I envy now too much to weep;

Nor need I to repine,

That all those charms have passed away

I might have watched through long decay.

5. The flower in ripened bloom unmatched

Must fall the earliest prey;

Though by no hand untimely snatched,

The leaves must drop away:

And yet it were a greater grief

To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,

Than see it plucked to-day;

Since earthly eye but ill can bear

To trace the change to foul from fair.

6. I know not if I could have borne

To see thy beauties fade;

The night that followed such a morn

Had worn a deeper shade:

Thy day without a cloud hath passed,

And thou wert lovely to the last;

Extinguished, not decayed; Variants


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 Carácas near the north-east shore of Lake Valencia. The last two towns are on the railway between Carácas and Valencia. ARAGUAYA, or, a river of Brazil and principal affluent of the Tocantins, rising in the Serra do Cayapó, where it is known as the Rio Grande, and flowing in a north by east direction to a junction with the Tocantins at São João do Araguaya, or São João das Duas Barras. Its upper course forms the boundary line between Goyaz and Matto Grosso. The river divides into two branches at about 13° 20′ S. lat., and unites again at 10° 30′, forming the large island of Santa Anna or Bananal. The eastern branch, called the Furo, is the one used by boats, as the main channel is obstructed by rapids. Its principal affluent is the Rio das Mortes, which rises in the Serra de São Jeronymo, near Cuyabá, Matto Grosso, and is utilized by boatmen going to Pará. Of other affluents, the Bonito, Garças, Cristallino and Tapirapé on the west, and the Pitombas, Claro, Vermelho, Tucupá and Chavante on the east, nothing definite is known as the country is still largely unexplored. The Araguaya has a course of 1080 m., considerable stretches of which are navigable for small river steamers, but as the river below Santa Anna Island is interrupted by reefs and rapids in two places—one having a fall of 85 ft. in 18 m., and the other a fall of 50 ft. in 12 m.—it affords no practicable outlet for the products of the state. It was explored in part by Henri Coudreau in 1897.

ARAKAN, a division of Lower Burma. It consists of a strip of country running along the eastern seaboard of the Bay of Bengal, from the Naaf estuary, on the borders of Chittagong, to Cape Negrais. Length from northern extremity to Cape Negrais, about 400 m.; greatest breadth in the northern part, 90 m., gradually diminishing towards the south, as it is hemmed in by the Arakan Yoma mountains, until, in the extreme south, it tapers away to a narrow strip not more than 15 m. across. The coast is studded with islands, the most important of which are Cheduba, Ramree and Shahpura. The division has its headquarters at Akyab and consists of four districts—namely, Akyab, Northern Arakan Hill Tracts, Sandoway and Kyaukpyu, formerly called Ramree. Its area is 18,540 sq. m. The population at the time of the British occupation in 1826 did not exceed 100,000. In 1831 it amounted to 173,000; in 1839 to 248,000, and in 1901 to 762,102.

The principal rivers of Arakan are—(1) the Naaf estuary, in the north, which forms the boundary between the division and Chittagong; (2) the Myu river, an arm of the sea, running a course almost parallel with the coast for about 50 m.; (3) the Koladaing river, rising near the Blue mountain, in the extreme north-east, and falling into the Bay of Bengal a few miles south of the Myu river, navigable by vessels of from 300 to 400 tons burden for a distance of 40 m. inland; and (4) the Lemyu river, a considerable stream falling into the bay a few miles south of the Koladaing. Farther to the south, owing to the nearness of the range which bounds Arakan on the east, the rivers are of but little importance. These are the Talak and the Aeng, navigable by boats; and the Sandoway, the Taungup and the Gwa streams, the latter of which alone has any importance, owing to its mouth forming a good port of call or haven for vessels of from 9 to 10 ft. draught. There are several passes over the Yoma mountains, the easiest being that called the Aeng route, leading from the village of that name into Upper Burma. The staple crop of the province is rice, along with cotton, tobacco, sugar, hemp and indigo. The forests produce abundance of excellent oak and teak timber.

The natives of Arakan trace their history as far back as 2666, and give a lineal succession of 227 native princes down to modern times. According to them, their empire had at one period far wider limits, and extended over Ava, part of China, and a portion of Bengal. This extension of their empire is not, however, corroborated by known facts in history. At different times the Moguls and Pegus carried their arms into the heart of the country. The Portuguese, during the era of their greatness in Asia, gained a temporary establishment in Arakan; but in 1782 the province was finally conquered by the Burmese, from which period until its cession to the British in 1826, under the treaty of Yandaboo, its history forms part of that of Burma. The old city of Arakan, formerly the capital of the province, is situated on an inferior branch of the Koladaing river. Its remoteness from the ports and harbours of the country, combined with the extreme unhealthiness of its situation, have led to its gradual decay subsequently to the formation of the comparatively recent settlement of Akyab, which place is now the chief town of the province. The old city (now Myohaung) lies 50 m. north-east of Akyab. The Maghs, who form nearly the whole population of the province, follow the Buddhist doctrines, which are universally professed throughout Burma. The priests are selected from all classes of men, and one of their chief employments is the education of children. Instruction is consequently widely diffused, and few persons, it is said, can be found in the province who are unable to read. The qualifications for entering into the priestly order are good conduct and a fair measure of learning—such conduct at least as is good according to Buddhist tenets, and such learning as is esteemed among their votaries.

The Arakanese are of Burmese origin, but separated from the parent stock by the Arakan Yoma mountains, and they have a dialect and customs of their own. Though conquered by the Burmese, they have remained distinct from their conquerors.

The Northern Arakan Hill Tracts district is under a superintendent, who is usually a police officer, with headquarters at Paletwa. The area of the Hill Tracts is 5233 sq. m.; pop. (1901) 20,682.

ARAKCHEEV, ALEKSYEI ANDREEVICH, (1769–1834), Russian soldier and statesman, was descended from an ancient family of Great Novgorod. From his mother, Elizabeth Vitlitsaya, he inherited most of his characteristics, an insatiable love of work, an almost pedantic love of order and the most rigorous sense of duty. In 1788 he entered the corps of noble cadets in the artillery and engineering department, where his ability, especially in mathematics, soon attracted attention. In July 1791 he was made an adjutant on the staff of Count N. I. Saltuikov, who (September 1792) recommended him to the cesarevich Paul Petrovich as the artillery officer most capable of reorganizing the army corps maintained by the prince at Gatchina. Arakcheev speedily won the entire confidence of Paul by his scrupulous zeal and undeniable technical ability. His inexorable discipline (magnified into cruelty by later legends) soon made the Gatchina corps a model for the rest of the Russian army. On the accession of Paul to the throne Arakcheev was promptly summoned to St Petersburg, appointed military commandant in the capital, and major-general in the grenadier battalion of the Preobrazhenskoe Guard. On the 12th of December 1796, he received the ribbon of St Anne and a rich estate at Gruzina in the government of Novgorod, the only substantial gift ever accepted by him during the whole of his career. At the coronation (5th of April 1797) Paul created him a baron, and he was subsequently made quartermaster-general and colonel of the whole Preobrazhenskoe Guard. It was to Arakcheev that Paul entrusted the reorganization of the army, which during the latter days of Catherine had fallen into a state of disorder and demoralization. Arakcheev remorselessly applied the iron Gatchina discipline to the whole of the imperial forces, beginning with the Guards. He soon became generally detested by the army, but pursued his course unflinchingly and introduced many indispensable hygienic reforms. “Clean barracks are healthy barracks,” was his motto. Nevertheless, the opposition of the officers proved too strong for him, and on the 18th of March 1798 he was dismissed from all his appointments. Arakcheev’s first disgrace only lasted six months. On the 11th of August he was received back into favour, speedily reinstated in all his former offices, and on the 5th of May 1799 was created a count, the emperor himself selecting the motto: “Devoted, not servile.” Five months later he was again in disgrace, the emperor dismissing him on the strength of a denunciation subsequently proved to be false. It was a fatal step on Paul’s part, for everything goes to prove that he would never have been assassinated had Arakcheev continued by his

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44 As stars that shoot along the sky

Shine brightest as they fall from high.

7. As once I wept, if I could weep,

My tears might well be shed,

To think I was not near to keep

One vigil o'er thy bed;

To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,

To fold thee in a faint embrace,

Uphold thy drooping head;

And show that love, however vain,

Nor thou nor I can feel again.

8. Yet how much less it were to gain,

Though thou hast left me free,

The loveliest things that still remain,

Than thus remember thee!

The all of thine that cannot die

Through dark and dread Eternity

Returns again to me,

And more thy buried love endears

Than aught, except its living years. February, 1812. [First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (Second Edition).] Variants


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Aragua

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Aragua


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The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/Stanzas. "And thou art dead, as young and fair"

Variants Notes


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And thou art dead, as young and fair

 * "And Thou art Dead, as Young and Fair" in The Hundred Best Poems (lyrical) in the English language - second series (1904)
 * "Stanzas. 'And thou art dead, as young and fair'" in The Works of Lord Byron (1904)

title: And thou art dead, as young and fair


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Araguaya

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Araguaya


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Arakan

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Arakan


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Rh LINES TO A LADY WEEPING. [The scene which begat these memorable stanzas was enacted at a banquet at Carlton House, February 22, 1812. On March 6 the following quatrain, entitled, "Impromptu on a Recent Incident," appeared in the Morning Chronicle:—

Byron's lines, headed, "Sympathetic Address to a Young Lady," were published anonymously in the Morning Chronicle of March 7, but it was not till March 10 that the Courier ventured to insert a report of "The Fracas at Carlton House on the 22nd ult.," which had already been communicated to the Caledonian Mercury.

"The party consisted of the Princess Charlotte, the Duchess of York, the Dukes of York and Cambridge, Lords Moira, Erskine, Lauderdale, Messrs. Adams and Sheridan.

"The Prince Regent expressed 'his surprise and mortification' at the conduct of Lords Grey and Grenville [who had replied unfavourably to a letter addressed by the P.R. to the Duke of York, suggesting an united administration]. Lord Lauderdale thereupon, with a freedom unusual in courts, asserted that the reply did not express the opinions of Lords Grey and Grenville only, but of every political friend of that way of thinking, and that he had been present at and assisted in the drawing-up, and that every sentence had his cordial assent. The Prince was suddenly and deeply affected by Lord Lauderdale's reply, so much so, that the Princess, observing his agitation, dropt her head and burst into tears—upon which the Prince turned round and begged the female part of the company to withdraw."

In the following June, at a ball at Miss Johnson's, Byron was "presented by order to our gracious Regent, who honoured me with some conversation," and for a time he ignored and perhaps regretted his anonymous jeu d' esprit. But early in 1814, either out

, daughter of a royal line,

A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay;

Ah! happy if each tear of thine

Could wash a Father's fault away!

Variants Notes


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46 Weep—for thy tears are Virtue's tears—

Auspicious to these suffering Isles;

And be each drop in future years

Repaid thee by thy People's smiles! March, 1812. [MS. M. First published, Morning Chronicle, March 7, 1812 (Corsair, 1814, Second Edition).]

IF SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF MEN.

Variants Notes


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Rh


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Rh

ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN.

Notes


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The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/Lines to a Lady weeping

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The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/Stanzas. "If sometimes in the Haunts of Men"

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The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/On a Cornelian Heart which was broken

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 certain that I heard him laugh aloud and shout, "Peeeeg!" in a mocking falsetto, on that last, amazing night that I spent at the farmhouse. There was the clatter of sharp hooves on the bare floor of the hall, and the unmistakable grunting snuffle of a hog. The incongruous sound passed along the corridor to the end where Harris' cubbyhole of a room was. I strode to my door and flung it open—and it was at that moment I heard Harris' roar of mirth and the malicious, "Peeeeg!"—as if he were calling the swine to dinner. I accused him of it later, but he denied it. If that had been all I might have been able to persuade myself that my imagination was responsible, but it was not all—not by any means.

As a child, I have a vague memory of a tremendously fat man attending the funeral for my mother and father. This I think must have been the first time that ever I saw him, but I am sure that I did not set eyes on him again for over fifteen years. Although, there is much of my unhappy childhood that I have forgotten, Uncle Alfred's grotesque figure must have stood out in my memory in all its terrifying bulk.

After all those years, I met Uncle Alfred as the result of a rather uncomfortable coincidence. Having left the university with an excellently engraved but otherwise worthless degree, I was at length fortunate enough to obtain a job in New York City as a process server. In most cases, to serve a defendant with a summons requires little more skill than that which might be expected of an errand boy, but it does occasionally happen that considerable ingenuity is necessary. Such a case was that of Uncle Alfred.

When my employer gave me the summons for Alfred Fry, he told me that he had been trying to serve it for months and that he had exhausted every dodge in his head. "Try anything you can think of," he said. "I'm beginning to believe the man doesn't exist."

I said, "If he's the man I think he is, the job's as good as done!" And I left the office with a vision of my triumph in my mind. "It was easy," I would say on my return. "Why, there was nothing to it, at all!"

Alfred Fry lived in a big graystone house, just off Fifth Avenue—a town house—a residence—the stately, ugly, dignified sort of dwelling that millionaires inhabit. The front doors were plate glass and wrought iron, and as I rang the bell it occurred to me that it would be far from safe to put my foot in the crack when the door was opened.

RESENTLY a haggard, sickly-looking butler asked me my business. "Is Mr. Alfred Fry at home?" I asked. The butler believed that Mr. Fry was not at home. I said, "If you should happen to find him somewhere in there, would you tell him that his nephew, Julian Barrow, would like to pay his respects?" The butler stared at me doubtfully, and I repeated, "Julian Barrow."

The butler said, "I'll see if Mr. Fry is in," and started to close the door. Before the latch clicked, I said, "Tell him I don't want to borrow any money!" He disappeared into the interior darkness without making any sign of having heard. After what seemed a long time, he returned and said, "Mr. Fry will see you."

I followed the butler through a long, gloomy hall that was draped and carpetted in dark red and gold. There were several massive pieces of carved furniture, the sort of thing that seems to have been made for the lobbies of hotels whose guests are giants: chairs too large for one person, but too small for two—tables too high for convenience—mirrors too large for comfort. We came to a broad oak door where the butler stopped. Murmuring, "Mr. Fry is in the study," he swung it open, and I went in.


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64 THOU ART NOT FALSE, BUT THOU ART FICKLE.

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ROM behind his enormous desk, my uncle peered at me. "So!" he said in a high, thin voice, "you are Julian!"

"And you," I said, "are Uncle Alfred. I remember you." And the odd thing is that I did actually remember him. Seeing him again, I wondered how his memory could ever have grown so dim. It was like seeing a motion picture, or a play, for the second time, inadvertently; though apparently you had forgotten everything about it, with the first sequence the whole thing comes back in complete detail. I suppose he had changed—he must have changed in fifteen years!—but it seemed to me that I remembered him exactly as I saw him now.

The man was a hog: that is the most accurate, if not the most charitable way to put it. Not having seen him, you may conclude that Uncle Alfred was merely a sufferer from some such disease as dropsy or elephantiasis. But he was no invalid. On the contrary, he appeared to be in the best of health and spirits—like a vigorous hog. His head was huge and bald except for a few long strands of straight, black hair on the crown; the bulging jowls began just below the rounded brow and descended in a sweeping curve that cradled the chin; the nose was short, the tip raised in such a way that it seemed to be lifting the upper lip, also; the eyes were small, closely-set, and so deeply imbedded that the lids were not visible. They were keen, restless eyes that darted from object to object as if in hungry search for something. (I caught myself wondering what he was looking for: a carrot? An ear of corn?)

"Well, sit down!" he said. "Sit down, my boy! The last time I saw you, you were a baby—and now—look at you—a grown man! Tell me how you are—what you're doing. Did you know that you are my nearest living relative?" His eyes made a quick search of the room for nearer relatives.

It amused me to think of the summons in my pocket and of how angry my uncle would be when I served it on him, and it seemed to me that the longer I delayed, the greater the joke, so I sat down and answered his questions volubly. His curiosity about my life somewhat surprised me, for in the past his interest and his help would have been eagerly welcomed. But he had ignored my existence, and had even failed to reply to my guardians' letters.

Uncle Alfred was obviously impatient with the account I gave him of my childhood. He grunted and twiddled his fat thumbs that just managed to meet across his belly, and it was not until I mentioned my fiancée that he seemed to prick up his rather pointed ears.

"Ah!" he said. "You must tell me all about this girl! Her name?"

"Annette Worth."

"She is young? Of course. Beautiful? Surely. You love her very much?"

"Why, yes," I said. "Certainly." His sudden eagerness annoyed me in some obscure way.

"You are a lucky boy—a lucky boy." He sighed reflectively. "And when is the marriage to be?"

Before I could draw breath, he answered his own question. "Why, that depends on Uncle Alfred. That's why you came here, today. 'Will Uncle Alfred give his loving nephew enough money so that he can be married'?"

I was angry, but at the same time, delighted. How could he have stepped into the trap more effectively? I got to my feet and smiled down at his obese head. "Why no, my dear uncle," I said. "My reason for coming here was nothing of the sort. It was simply a matter of business." I reached into my pocket and drew out the paper. "I have here a summons for one Alfred Fry. It gives me pleasure to serve it on you!" And I slapped it down on the desk in front of him.


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Rh ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE "ORIGIN OF LOVE."

ON THE QUOTATION,

Variants


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The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/Stanzas. "Thou art not false, but thou art fickle"

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 side. During the earlier years of Alexander, Arakcheev was completely overlooked. Only on the 27th of April 1803, was the count recalled to St Petersburg, and employed as inspector-general of the artillery. His wise and thorough reorganization of the whole department contributed essentially to the victories of the Russians during the Napoleonic wars. All critics agree, indeed, that the Arakcheev administration was the golden era of the Russian artillery. The activity of the inexhaustible inspector knew no bounds, and he neglected nothing which could possibly improve this arm. His principal reforms were the subdivision of the artillery divisions into separate independent units, the formation of artillery brigades, the establishment of a committee of instruction (1808), and the publishing of an Artillery Journal. At Austerlitz he had the satisfaction of witnessing the actual results of his artillery reforms. The commissariat scandals which came to light after the peace of Tilsit convinced the emperor that nothing short of the stern and incorruptible energy of Arakcheev could reach the sources of the evil, and in January 1808 he was appointed inspector-general and war minister. When, on the outbreak of the Swedish war of 1809, the emperor ordered the army to take advantage of an unusually severe frost and cross the ice of the Gulf of Finland, it was only the presence of Arakcheev that compelled an unwilling general and a semi-mutinous army to begin a campaign which ended in the conquest of Finland. On the institution of the “Imperial Council” (1st of January 1810), Arakcheev was made a member of the council of ministers and a senator, while still retaining the war office. Subsequently Alexander was alienated from him owing to the intrigues of the count’s enemies, who hated him for his severity and regarded him as a dangerous reactionary. The alienation was not, however, for long. It is true, Arakcheev took no active part in the war of 1812, but all the correspondence and despatches relating to it passed through his hands, and he was the emperor’s inseparable companion during the whole course of it. At Paris (31st of March 1814) Alexander, with his own hand, wrote the ukaz appointing him a field-marshal, but he refused the dignity, accepting, instead, a miniature portrait of his master. From this time Alexander’s confidence in Arakcheev steadily increased, and the emperor imparted to him, first of all, his many projects of reform, especially his project of military colonies, the carrying out of the details of which was committed to Arakcheev (1824). The failure of the scheme was due not to any fault of the count, but to the inefficiency and insubordination of the district officers. In Alexander’s last years Arakcheev was not merely his chief counsellor, but his dearest friend, to whom he submitted all his projects for consideration and revision. The most interesting of these projects was the plan for the emancipation of the peasantry (1818). On the accession of Nicholas I., Arakcheev, thoroughly broken in health, gradually restricted his immense sphere of activity, and on the 26th of April 1826, resigned all his offices and retired to Carlsbad. The 50,000 roubles presented to him by the emperor as a parting gift he at once handed to the Pavlovsk Institute for the education of the daughters of poor gentlemen. His last days he spent on his estate at Gruzina, carefully collecting all his memorials of Alexander, whose memory he most piously cherished. He also set aside 25,000 roubles for the author of the best biography of his imperial friend. Arakcheev died on the 21st of April 1834, with his eyes fixed to the last on the late emperor’s portrait. “I have now done everything,” he said, “so I can go and make my report to the emperor Alexander.” In 1806 he had married Natalia Khomutova, but they lived apart, and he had no children by her.

ARAL, a lake or inland sea in the west of Asia, situated between lat. 43° 30′ and 46° 51′ N., and long. 58° 13′ and 61° 56′ E. It was known to the ancient Arab and Persian geographers as the Sea of Khwārizm or Kharezm, from the neighbouring district of the Chorasmians, and derives its present name from the Kirghiz designation of Aral-denghiz, or Sea of Islands. In virtue of its area (26,233 sq. m.) it is the fourth largest inland sea of the world. It has nearly the same length as width, namely about 170 m., if its northern gulf (Kichkineh-denghiz) is left out of account. Its depth is insignificant, the maximum being 220 ft. in a depression in the north-west, and the mean depth only 50 ft., so that notwithstanding its area it contains only eleven times as much water as the Lake of Geneva. Its altitude is 242 ft. above the Caspian, i.e. about 155 ft. above the ocean. The lake is surrounded on the north by steppes; on the west by the rocky plateau of Ust-Urt, which separates it from the Caspian; on the south by the alluvial district of Khiva; and on the east by the Kyzyl-kum, or Red Sand Desert. On the north the shores are comparatively low, and the coast-line is broken by a number of irregular bays, of which the most important are those of Sary-chaganak and Paskevich. On the west an almost unbroken wall of rock extends from Chernychev Bay southwards, rising towards the middle to 500 ft. The southern coast is occupied by the delta of the Oxus (Jīhūn, Amu-darya), one of the arms of which, the Laudan, forms a swamp, 80 m. long and 20 broad, before it discharges into the sea. The only other tributary of any size that the sea receives is the Jaxartes (Sihūn, Syr-darya) which enters towards the northern extremity of the east coast, and is suspected to be shifting its embouchure more and more to the north. This river, as well as the Amu, conveys vast quantities of sediment into the lake; the delta of the Syr-darya increased by 13 sq. m. between 1847 and 1900. The eastern coast is fringed with multitudes of small islands, and other islands, some of considerable size, are situated in the open towards the north and west. Kug-Aral, the largest, lies opposite the mouth of the Syr-darya, cutting off the Kichkineh-denghiz or Little Sea. The next largest island is the Nikolai, nearly in the middle. Navigation is dangerous owing to the frequency and violence of the storms, and the almost total absence of shelter. The north-east wind is the most prevalent, and sometimes blows for months together. The only other craft, except the steamships of the Russians, that venture on the waters, are the flat-bottomed boats of the Kirghiz.

In regard to the period of the formation of the Aral there were formerly two theories. According to Sir H. C. Rawlinson (Proc. Roy. Geog. Soc., March 1867) the disturbances which produced the present lake took place in the course of the middle ages; while Sir Roderick Murchison contended (Journ. of Roy. Geog. Soc., 1867, p. cxliv. &c.) that the Caspian and Aral existed as separate seas before and during all the historic period, and that the main course of the rivers Jaxartes and Oxus was determined in a prehistoric era. The former based his opinion largely on historical evidence, and the latter trusted principally to geological data. There is no doubt that in recent historical times Lake Aral had a much greater extension than it has at the present time, and that its area is now diminishing. This is, of course, due to the excess of evaporation over the amount of water supplied by its two feeders, the Amu-darya and the Syr-darya, both of which are seriously drawn upon for irrigation in all the oases they flow through. Old shore lines and other indications point to the level of the lake having once been 50 ft. above the existing level. Nevertheless the general desiccation is subject to temporary fluctuations, which appear to correspond to the periods recently suggested by Eduard Brückner (b. 1862); for, whereas the lake diminished and shrank during 1850–1880, since the latter year it has been rising again. Islands which were formerly connected with the shore are now some distance away from it and entirely surrounded by water. Moreover, on a graduated level, put down in 1874, there was a permanent rise of nearly 4 ft. by 1901. The temperature at the bottom was found (1900–1902) by Emil Berg to be 33·8° Fahr., while that of the surface varied from 44·5° to 80·5° between May and September; the mean surface temperature for July was 75°. The salinity of the water is much less than that of the ocean, containing only 1·05% of salt, and the lake freezes every year for a great distance from its shores. The opinion that Lake Aral periodically disappeared, which was for a long

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