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 their former number. He maintained that education should be free, compulsory, and secular.

After his temporary migration to Sydney (1879–83), he was again in 1883 elected for his old constituency, and resumed residence at Sandhurst. He died there on 5 July 1886, aged 62.

MacKay was an enthusiastic sportsman, and a member of the cricket team which in 1866 opposed the first All England eleven that visited Australia (Year-nook of Australia, 1886).

He was married, and his widow, two sons, and three daughters survived him.

 McKAY, ARCHIBALD (1801–1883), poet and topographer, was born at Kilmarnock in 1801. After receiving a scanty education he was apprenticed to a handloom weaver, but subsequently abandoned the loom and became a bookbinder. He also conducted a circulating library in King Street, Kilmarnock, where he died in April 1883. He wrote: His poems attracted considerable attention, and some of the pieces, such as 'My First Bawbee,' 'My ain Couthie Wife,' and 'Drouthy Tam' (first published in 1828), gained great popularity.
 * 1) 'Poems,' 12mo, 1830.
 * 2) 'Recreations of Leisure Hours,' 12mo, 1832 (2nd edition in 1844), a collection of pieces in prose and verse.
 * 3) 'A History of Kilmarnock,' 12mo, 1848 (other editions in 1858 and 1864), a creditable compilation.
 * 4) 'Ingle-side Lilts,' 12mo, 1855.

 MACKAY, CHARLES, LL.D. (1814–1889), poet and journalist, was born at Perth in Scotland on 27 March 1814. His father, George Mackay, was the second son of Captain Hugh Mackay of the Strathnaver branch of the clan, whose chief is Lord Reay. George, as a boy, on H.M. sloop the Scout, witnessed the evacuation of Toulon by the British in 1793, and subsequently the capture, with the aid of Paoli and his volunteers, of the island of Corsica. The Scout later on was seized by the frigates Alceste and Vestale, and George was detained during four years in France as a prisoner of war. He there eked out existence among the peasantry by playing the flageolet. On escaping from France he was again afloat on board H.M.S. Hydra, under the command of Captain (afterwards Admiral) Francis Laforey [see under ]. After serving six more years at sea he quitted the royal navy and joined the army. As an ensign in the 47th foot he in 1809 served under the Duke of York in the ill-starred Walcheren expedition. Prostrated by malaria, he returned to England on sick leave. There, on his restoration to health, he married, and as a half-pay lieutenant settled for a while in Scotland.

The son Charles, having lost his mother during his infancy, lived until his eighth year under the care of a nurse, Grace Stuart, at a lonely house near the village of Newhaven, on the Firth of Forth. The nurse married Thomas Threlkeld, a tailor, formerly a soldier in George Mackay's regiment, and Charles in 1822 was sent to reside with them at Woolwich. After attending a dame's school, he was entered in 1825 as a student at the Caledonian Asylum, then situated at Hatton Garden, and twice every Sunday for three years listened to [q. v.] in Cross Street Chapel, Hatton Garden. In 1828 he was placed by his father at a school in Brussels, on the Boulevard de Namur, and became proficient in French and German, and later on in Spanish and Italian. In 1830 Mackay was engaged, at a salary of twelve hundred francs, as a private secretary to [q. v.], the ironmaster of Seraing, near Liège, and began writing in French in the ‘Courrier Belge,’ and sent English poems to a local newspaper called ‘The Telegraph.’ Thenceforth he spent nearly all his leisure in writing verse. In the summer of 1830 he visited Paris, and he spent 1831 with Cockerill at Aix-la-Chapelle. In May 1832 his father brought him back to London, where he first found employment in teaching Italian to [q. v.], then a young solicitor. In 1834 he secured an engagement as an occasional contributor to ‘The Sun,’ and brought out his maiden work, ‘Songs and Poems,’ which he inscribed to his former instructors at the Caledonian Asylum. From the spring of 1835 till 1844 he was assistant sub-editor of the ‘Morning Chronicle,’ then in its palmiest days. In the autumn of 1839 he spent a month's holiday in Scotland, witnessing the Eglintoun Tournament, which he described in the ‘Chronicle,’ and making many literary acquaintances in Edinburgh. On severing his connection with the ‘Morning Chronicle’ in the autumn of 1844, he removed to Scotland, and became editor of the ‘Glasgow Argus.’ In 1846 he collected verses which had appeared in the ‘Daily News’ under Dickens's editorship as ‘Voices from the Crowd.’ Henry Russell, to whom Lumley had introduced him, set some of the poems to music, and in that form they became popular all over the world. Of one of them, ‘The Good Time Coming,’ four hundred


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The current admonition, "See America first," has awakened many good and patriotic Americans to the picturesqueness and historical interest of their own land. It has not, however, suggested the extent of the America that is to be "seen"; and it is well that this is not signified by its crafty wording, for the average traveler would be somewhat disheartened at the realization that to see his country exhaustively would preclude his ever finding time to cross the seas.

Scenic America is represented largely in its national parks, of which there are eight principal ones in the United States alone, aggregating about 6,800 square miles. (This does not include the Grand Canyon, which is technically a forest reserve, but which, nevertheless, is included in this book.) To visit them all is to realize the boundless possibilities of this under-exploited country and to see America in its most typical phases.

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


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 thousand copies were circulated. In 1846 Mackay was made an LL.D. of Glasgow University, and in July 1847 he resigned his editorship of the ‘Argus.’ In 1848 Mackay entered the editorial office of the ‘Illustrated London News,’ and became editor of the paper in 1852. At the suggestion of Herbert Ingram, the proprietor, Mackay began in December 1851 the issue of a series of musical supplements, each containing an original song by Mackay, adapted to an ancient English melody which was specially arranged by Sir Henry Bishop. Bishop's death, on 30 April 1855, interrupted the scheme; but eighty lyrics of a projected hundred were thereupon published under the title of ‘Songs by Charles Mackay.’ Reissued in a popular form in 1856 as ‘Songs for Music,’ the publisher could say with perfect truth: ‘Many of the songs included in this collection have been said and sung in every part of the world where the English language is spoken.’ The pieces included ‘Cheer, Boys! Cheer!’ ‘To the West! To the West!’ ‘Tubal Cain,’ ‘There's a Land, a dear Land,’ and ‘England over all.’ On 3 Oct. 1857 Mackay left Liverpool on an eight months' lecturing tour through the United States and Canada. By 2 June 1858 he had returned home, and in the following year brought to an end his association with the ‘Illustrated London News.’ In 1860 he established the ‘London Review,’ and his editorship was inaugurated on 2 July by a banquet at the Reform Club. Another new periodical, ‘Robin Goodfellow,’ was started by him in 1861. Neither proved successful. From February 1862 to December 1865 Mackay was the special correspondent of the ‘Times’ at New York during the civil war, and in the autumn of 1862 he revealed in the ‘Times’ the existence of the Fenian conspiracy in America. Although recognising that his real vocation was that of a song-writer, he devoted much time in his later years to wayward and eccentric excursions into Celtic philology. He died at Longridge Road, Earl's Court, London, on 24 Dec. 1889, and was buried on 2 Jan. 1890 in Kensal Green cemetery. Mackay was twice married—first, during his Glasgow editorship, to Rosa Henrietta Vale, by whom he had three sons and a daughter; and secondly to Ellen Mills, a widow, whose maiden name was Kirtland. His first wife died on 28 Dec. 1859, and his second wife in 1875.

His principal poetical works were: A volume of ‘Collected Songs,’ with illustrations by John Gilbert, was published in 1859, and in 1868 Mackay's poems appeared in the ‘Chandos Classics.’ He edited ‘Jacobite Songs and Ballads,’ 1861; ‘Cavalier Songs and Ballads of England,’ 1863; ‘A Thousand and One Gems of English Poetry,’ 1867; and ‘A Thousand and One Gems of English Prose,’ 1872.
 * 1) ‘Songs and Poems,’ 1834, 8vo.
 * 2) ‘The Hope of the World,’ 1840, 12mo.
 * 3) ‘The Salamandrine, or Love and Immortality,’ 1842, 12mo; 2nd edit. 1853; 3rd edit. 1856.
 * 4) ‘Legends of the Isles,’ 1845, 12mo.
 * 5) ‘Voices from the Crowd,’ 1846, 16mo; 4th edit. 1851; 5th and revised edit. 1857, 8vo.
 * 6) ‘Voices from the Mountain,’ 1847, 16mo; 2nd edit. 1857, 8vo.
 * 7) ‘Town Lyrics,’ 1848, 16mo.
 * 8) ‘Egeria, or the Spirit of Nature,’ 1850, 8vo.
 * 9) ‘The Lump of Gold,’ 1856, 8vo.
 * 10) ‘Under Green Leaves,’ 1857, 8vo.
 * 11) ‘A Man's Heart,’ 1860, 8vo.
 * 12) ‘Studies from the Antique, and Sketches from Nature,’ 1864, 8vo.
 * 13) ‘Interludes and Undertones, or Music at Twilight,’ 1884, 8vo.
 * 14) ‘Gossamer and Snowdrift,’ 1890 (posthumous), 8vo.

His principal prose works were:
 * 1) ‘History of London from its Foundation by the Romans to the Accession of Queen Victoria,’ 1838, 8vo.
 * 2) ‘The Thames and its Tributaries, or Rambles among Rivers,’ 2 vols. 1840, 8vo.
 * 3) ‘Longbeard, Lord of London, a Romance,’ 3 vols. 1841, 12mo; 2nd edit. 2 vols. 1851; 3rd edit. 2 vols. 1869.
 * 4) ‘Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Delusions,’ 3 vols. 1841, 8vo.
 * 5) ‘The Scenery and Poetry of the English Lakes, a Summer Ramble,’ 1846, 8vo; 2nd edit. 1852.
 * 6) ‘History of the Mormons,’ 1851, 8vo; 3rd edit. 1852, 8vo; 4th edit. 1853, 12mo; 5th edit. 1857, 8vo.
 * 7) ‘Life and Liberty in America,’ 2 vols. 1859, 8vo.
 * 8) ‘The Gouty Philosopher, or the Opinions, Whims, and Eccentricities of John Wagstaffe, Esq.,’ 1862, 8vo.
 * 9) ‘Under the Blue Sky,’ 1871, 8vo.
 * 10) ‘Lost Beauties of the English Language, an Appeal to Authors,’ &c., 1874, 8vo.
 * 11) ‘The Gaelic and Celtic Etymology of the Languages of Western Europe,’ 1877, 8vo.
 * 12) ‘Forty Years' Recollections of Life, Literature, and Public Affairs (1830–1870),’ 2 vols. 1877, 8vo.
 * 13) ‘Luck, and what came of it: a Tale of our Times,’ 3 vols. 1881, 8vo.
 * 14) ‘The Poetry and Humour of the Scotch Language,’ 1882, 8vo.
 * 15) ‘The Founders of the American Republic,’ 1885, 8vo.
 * 16) ‘Through the Long Day, or Memorials of a Literary Life during Half a Century,’ 2 vols. 1887, 8vo.
 * 17) ‘A Dictionary of Lowland Scotch,’ 1888.


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 You cannot judge a country by its cities alone—least of all the United States. New York is typical of nothing except big cities; San Francisco is fast losing its individuality; New Orleans' atmosphere to-day is more vitiated by progress than it was yesterday. And so the national parks remain as the greatest and most individual recreation grounds that any American may visit, whether he cross the water or not. They combine the lure of the outdoors, the appeal of tremendous scenic magnificence, the attractions of geological and archeological study and the observation of wild animal life, and the stimulus of being brought face to face with Nature at her best and freest. Need America ask odds of Europe when comparisons are being made?

In this compilation I have endeavored to include all necessary information as to what each of the Parks included offers the tourist and the various ways of seeing these features to the best advantage. The new Rocky Mountain National Park in the north-central part of Colorado has not been included as facilities for tourists have not yet been perfected; nor have Wind Cave National Park and Platt National


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 Park, in South Dakota and Oklahoma respectively, been considered of sufficient comparative importance to be given attention in this small volume.

I realize that the book has many shortcomings, and I suspect that a few errors will have crept in. I wish to make acknowledgment for valuable data and maps obtained from bulletins issued by the Department of the Interior, and to express my gratitude to Messrs. Louis W. Hill and H. A. Noble, of St. Paul, Minn., and to Messrs. George W. Hibbard and J. F. Bahl, of Seattle, Wash., for personal aid in obtaining information. E. F. A.

 * New York
 * April, 1915.


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was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and looking anxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something; and she heard it muttering to itself, "The Duchess! The Duchess! Oh my dear paws! Oh my fur and whiskers! She'll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets! Where can I have dropped them, I wonder?" Alice guessed in a moment that it was looking for the fan and the pair of white kid gloves, and she very good-naturedly began hunting about for them, but they were nowhere to be seen—everything seemed to have


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42 changed since her swim in the pool, and the great hall, with the glass table and the little door, had vanished completely.

Very soon the rabbit noticed Alice, as she went hunting about, and called out to her in an angry tone, "Why, Mary Ann, what are you doing out here? Run home this moment, and fetch me a pair of gloves and a fan! Quick, now!" And Alice was so much frightened that she ran off at once in the direction it pointed to, without trying to explain the mistake that it had made.

"He took me for his housemaid," she said to herself as she ran. "How surprised he'll be when he finds out who I am! But I'd better take him his fan and gloves—that is, if I can find them." As she said this, she came upon a neat little house, on the door of which was a bright brass plate with the name "W. RABBIT" engraved upon it. She went in without knocking, and hurried upstairs, in great fear lest she should meet the real Mary Ann, and be


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Rh turned out of the house before she had found the fan and gloves.

"How queer it seems," Alice said to herself, "to be going messages for a rabbit! I suppose Dinah'll be sending me on messages next!" And she began fancying the sort of thing that would happen: "'Miss Alice! Come here directly, and get ready for your walk!' 'Coming in a minute, nurse! But I've got to watch this mouse-hole till Dinah comes back, and see that the mouse doesn't get out.' Only I don't think," Alice went on, "that they'd let Dinah stop in the house if it began ordering people about like that!"

By this time she had found her way into a tidy little room with a table in the window, and on it (as she had hoped) a fan and two or three pairs of tiny white kid gloves: she took up the fan and a pair of the gloves, and was just going to leave the room, when her eye fell upon a little bottle that stood near the looking-glass. There was no label this time with the


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 printed books on Irish history. The author shows some colloquial acquaintance with the Irish language, but had not examined any manuscript except the 'Book of Lecan,' which was then at the Irish College in Paris, and which, he says, was difficult to read. The history is not critical; it inclines, for example, to the view that the Giant's Causeway is a specimen of early Irish architecture, but it contains a good deal of interesting information arranged in order. It concludes with an account of the confiscations and grants which followed the treaty of Limerick. The abbe's name appears as Ma-Geoghegan on the title of vol. 1., and as MacGeoghegan on that of vol. ii.; both are phonetic expressions of the Irish form MacEochagain ('Cunnrudh Mheig Eochagain agus an t-Sionnaigh,' line 2). He became one of the clergy of the church of St. Merry in Paris, and died there 30 March 1763.

 MACGEOGHEGAN, ROCHE, also called ‘Rochus de Cruce’ (1580–1644), Irish Dominican and bishop of Kildare, son of Ross MacGeoghegan, chief of the sept of the MacGeoghegans of Moycashel or Kinelfiacha, co. Westmeath, was born in 1580. He studied at the Irish College in Lisbon, at Coimbra, where he entered the order of St. Dominic, and at Salamanca, where he spent eight years. The general of the Dominicans was anxious to revive in Ireland the Dominican order, which at the death of Queen Elizabeth had become almost extinct, and MacGeoghegan was selected to carry the revival into effect. He was present at a general chapter of the Dominicans held at Milan in 1622, and was there appointed provincial of Ireland. He worked with indomitable energy in Ireland, restored his order to vigour, and, it is stated, converted to the catholic faith several persons of prominence in the country (, Persecutions of Irish Catholics). On three occasions the government ordered his arrest, and a reward of 200l. was offered for his capture; but each time he succeeded in escaping. He ultimately resigned the office of provincial and withdrew to Louvain, where he aided in the foundation of a convent for Irish Dominicans. On the death of Peter Lombard [q.v.], archbishop of Armagh, in 1625, it was urged on Pope Urban VIII without result that he should appoint MacGeoghegan to the vacant see. In 1629 he was appointed bishop of Kildare, being consecrated at Brussels by the Archbishop of Mechlin. Throughout his episcopate he was the constant object of persecution, and was frequently obliged to keep in hiding. He died at Kilbeggan in co. Westmeath in 1644, and was buried in the cathedral of Kildare.

MacGeoghegan had collected a large library, which, according to Moran, was burned by his persecutors; according to others, he pledged it in order to relieve the poor of his flock.

 MACGEORGE, ANDREW (1810–1891), antiquarian writer and historian, son of Andrew Macgeorge, lawyer, was born 13 May 1810, in Glasgow, where he received his school and university education. He was admitted into the Faculty of Procurators in 1836, becoming about the same time a member of his father's firm. After his father's death he was head of the firm till 1889, when he retired. Recognised as a sound ecclesiastical lawyer, Macgeorge was connected with some famous cases in the courts of the church of Scotland, and was in controversy an uncompromising churchman. He wrote, under the pseudonym of Veritas,' an elaborate series of articles on the principles of the free church, which were collected later for private circulation. He was skilled in heraldry, and as an antiquary he contributed important papers to the Archaeological Society of Glasgow. His love of art is illustrated by his biography of [q. v.], and by many water-colour paintings and clever caricatures. For 'Rab and his Friends,' by Dr. (1810-1882) [q. v.], he drew an illustration of the dog-fight, and Thackeray highly commended some of his caricatures when shown them by Dr. Brown. He took an active interest in the welfare of public institutions in Glasgow, notably the Royal Hospital for Sick Children, which was founded by his exertions, and of which he was long the secretary. His alma mater conferred on him the degree of LL.D. four months before his death, which took place at Row, Dumbartonshire, 4 Sept. 1891. In 1841 he married Miss Pollock of Whitehall, near Glasgow,


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Macnamara bearing the broad pennant of Sir Richard Bickerton [q. v.] In the Gibraltar he went out to the East Indies, where he was taken by Sir Edward Hughes [q. v.] into the Superb, his flagship, in which he was present at the action off Cuddalore, 20 June 1783. He afterwards served in the Europa flagship at Jamaica, and was promoted to be lieutenant on 1 Dec. 1788. In 1790 he was in the Excellent with Captain Gell, and afterwards in the Victory, on board which Lord Hood hoisted his flag. He was again with Hood in the Victory in 1793, and on 22 Oct. was promoted by him to be commander. He was shortly afterwards appointed acting captain of the Bombay Castle ; from her he exchanged into the Southampton frigate, which he commanded during 1796-6, for the most part under the immediate orders of Nelson, in the Gulf of Genoa. His post rank was confirmed to 6 Oct. 1795. In the battle of Cape St. Vincent, 14 Feb. 1797, the Southampton was the repeating frigate of the centre of the line. A few months later she returned to England and was paid off. Macnamara was then appointed to the Cerberus on the coast of Ireland, later on in the Bay of Biscay, and afterwards in the West Indies, everywhere maintaining his character as a gallant and successful cruiser. After the peace of Amiens the Cerberus was for some time employed on the coast of San Domingo, and was paid off in February 1803. On 6 April 1803 Macnamara fought a duel at Chalk Farm with a Colonel Montgomery. The quarrel arose out of an acciental encounter between the two men's dogs in Hyde Park the same morning. Both parties were wounded, Montgomery mortally; and the coroner's inquest bringing in a verdict of manslaughter, Macnamara was arrested, and was tried at the Old Bailey on 22 April. His defence was that the provocation and insult came from Montgomery. He called many naval officers, including Hood, Nelson, Hotham, Hyde Parker, and Troubridge, as witnesses to his being 'an honourable, good-humoured, pleasant, lively companion, exactly the reverse of a quarrel-some man. The jury returned a verdict of 'not guilty.'

On the renewal of the war Macnamara was appointed to the Dictator, which he commanded in the North Sea for two years. He afterwards commanded the Edjjar in the Baltic, and in the Great Belt with Sir Richard Goodwin Keats [q. v.] in 1808. In the following year he was appointed to the Berwick, again for service in the North Sea and on the north coast of France. On 24 March 1811 he chased and, in concert with a small squadron of cruising frigates [cf. ], drove on shore and destroyed the French frigate Amazone, near Cape Barfleur. He was promoted to be rear-admiral on 4 June 1814, but had no further service. He died on 15 Jan. 1826. He married, in January 1818, Henrietta, daughter of Henry King of Askham Hall, Westmoreland, and widow of Colonel the Hon. George Carleton, killed at Bergen-op-Zoom in 1814 (, Peerage, s.n. 'Dorchester').

 McNAMARA, THOMAS (1808–1892), Irish catholic divine, was born near Slane, co. Meath, in 1808. He was educated at Navan Seminary and afterwards at Maynooth College, where he was ordained in 1833. In 1834 he and some associates established Castleknock College, in co. Dublin, and after affiliating the college in 1839 with the Congregation of the Mission, an order founded by St. Vincent de Paul, commenced to give missions throughout Ireland. McNamara took a great interest in the deaf and dumb, made a special study of the modes of educating them, and wrote pamphlets on the subject. In conjunction with others he founded the Catholic Institution for Deaf and Dumb Mutes at Cabra, near Dublin, in 1846. He was appointed superior of Castleknock College and visitor of the Irish Province of the Congregation of the Mission in 1864, and in 1868 was made rector of the Irish College in Paris, which post he filled for over twenty years, resigning it in 1889. He died at St. Joseph's, Blackrock, co. Dublin, on 8 March 1892, and was buried on the 11th in the cemetery at Castleknock.

McNamara was the author of the following works, which were written almost entirely for the catholic clergy: 1. ‘Programmes of Sermons and Instructions,’ Dublin, 1881, crown 8vo. 2. ‘Sacred Rhetoric, or the Art of Rhetoric as applied to the Preaching of the Word of God,’ Dublin, 1882, crown 8vo. 3. ‘Enchiridion Clericorum: being a Rule of Life for Ecclesiastics,’ Dublin, 1882, crown 8vo. 4. ‘Allocutions, or Short Addresses on Liturgical Observations and Ritual Functions,’ Dublin, 1884, crown 8vo. 5. ‘Pax Vobis: being a Popular Exposition of the Seven Sacraments,’ Dublin, 1886, crown 8vo.


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44 words "DRINK ME," but nevertheless she uncorked it and put it to her lips. "I know something interesting is sure to happen," she said to herself, "whenever I eat or drink anything; so I'll just see what this bottle does. I do hope it'll make me grow large again, for really I'm quite tired of being such a tiny little thing!"

It did so indeed, and much sooner than she had expected: before she had drunk half the bottle, she found her head pressing against the ceiling, and had to stoop to save her neck from being broken. She hastily put down the bottle, saying to herself, "That's quite enough—I hope I shan't grow any more—As it is, I can't get out at the door—I do wish I hadn't drunk quite so much!"

Alas! it was too late to wish that! She went on growing, and growing, and very soon had to kneel down on the floor: in another minute there was not even room for this, and she tried the effect of lying down with one


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Rh elbow against the door, and the other arm curled round her head. Still she went on growing, and, as a last resource, she put one arm out of the window, and one foot up the chimney, and said to herself, "Now I can do no more, whatever happens. What will become of me?"

Luckily for Alice, the little magic bottle had now had its full effect, and she grew no larger: still it was very uncomfortable, and as there seemed to be no sort of chance of her ever


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46 getting out of the room again, no wonder she felt unhappy.

"It was much pleasanter at home," thought poor Alice, "when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits. I almost wish I hadn't gone down that rabbit-hole—and yet—and yet—it's rather curious, you know, this sort of life! I do wonder what can have happened to me! When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one! There ought to be a book written about me, that there ought! And when I grow up, I'll write one—but I'm grown up now," she added in a sorrowful tone, "at least there's no room to grow up any more here."

"But then," thought Alice, "shall I never get any older than I am now? That'll be a comfort, one way—never to be an old woman—but then—always to have lessons to learn! Oh, I shouldn't like that!"

"Oh, you foolish Alice!" she answered


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Rh. "How can you learn lessons in here? Why, there's hardly room for you, and no room at all for any lesson-books!"

And so she went on, taking first one side and then the other, and making quite a conversation of it altogether; but after a few minutes she heard a voice outside, and stopped to listen.

"Mary Ann! Mary Ann!" said the voice, "fetch me my gloves this moment!" Then came a little pattering of feet on the stairs. Alice knew it was the Rabbit coming to look for her, and she trembled till she shook the house, quite forgetting that she was now about a thousand times as large as the Rabbit, and had no reason to be afraid of it.

Presently the Rabbit came up to the door, and tried to open it; but as the door opened inwards, and Alice's elbow was pressed hard against it, that attempt proved a failure. Alice heard it say to itself, "Then I'll go round and get in at the window."

"That you won't!" thought Alice, and, after


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48 waiting till she fancied she heard the Rabbit just under the window she suddenly spread out her hand, and made a snatch in the air. She did not get hold of anything, but she heard a little shriek and a fall, and a crash of broken glass, from which she concluded that it was just possible, it had fallen into a cucumber-frame, or something of the sort.

Next came an angry voice—the Rabbit's—"Pat! Pat! Where are you?" And then a voice she had never heard before, "Sure then I'm here! Digging for apples, yer honour!"

"Digging for apples, indeed!" said the Rabbit angrily. "Here! Come and help me out of this!" (Sounds of more broken glass.)


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Rh "Now tell me, Pat, what's that in the window?"

"Sure, it's an arm, yer honour!" (He pronounced it "arrum.")

"An arm, you goose! Who ever saw one that size? Why, it fills the whole window!"

"Sure, it does, yer honour: but it's an arm for all that."

"Well, it's got no business there, at any rate: go and take it away!"

There was a long silence after this, and Alice could only hear whispers now and then; such as, "Sure, I don't like it, yer honour, at all, at all!" "Do as I tell you, you coward!" and at last she spread out her hand again, and made another snatch in the air. This time there were two little shrieks, and more sounds of broken glass. "What a number of cucumber frames there must be!" thought Alice. "I wonder what they'll do next! As for pulling me out of the window, I only wish they could! I'm sure I don't want to stay in here any longer!"


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50 She waited for some time without hearing anything more: at last came a rumbling of little cart-wheels, and the sound of a good many voices all talking together: she made out the words: "Where's the other ladder?—Why, I hadn't to bring but one; Bill's got the other—Bill! fetch it here, lad!—Here, put 'em up at this corner—No, tie 'em together first—they don't reach half high enough yet—Oh! they'll do well enough; don't be particular—Here, Bill! catch hold of this rope—Will the roof bear?—Mind that loose slate—Oh, it's coming down! Heads below!" (a loud crash)—"Now, who did that?—It was Bill, I fancy—Who's to go down the chimney?—Nay, I shan't! You do it!—That I won't, then!—Bill's got to go down—Here, Bill! the master says you've got to go down the chimney!"

"Oh! so Bill's got to come down the chimney, has he?" said Alice to herself. "Why, they seem to put everything upon Bill! I wouldn't be in Bill's place for a good deal:


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Rh this fireplace is narrow, to be sure; but I think I can kick a little!"

She drew her foot as far down the chimney as she could, and waited till she heard a little animal (she couldn't guess of what sort it was) scratching and scrambling about in the chimney close above her: then, saying to herself, "This is Bill," she gave one sharp kick, and waited to see what would happen next.

The first thing she heard was a general chorus of "There goes Bill!" then the Rabbit's voice alone—"Catch him, you by the hedge!" then


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52 silence, and then another confusion of voices—"Hold up his head—Brandy now—Don't choke him— How was it, old fellow? What happened to you? Tell us all about it!"

Last came a little feeble, squeaking voice, ("That's Bill," thought Alice,) "Well, I hardly know—No more, thank ye; I'm better now—but I'm a deal too flustered to tell you—all I know is, something comes at me like a Jack-in-the-box, and up I goes like a sky-rocket!"

"So you did, old fellow!" said the others.

"We must burn the house down!" said the Rabbit's voice; and Alice called out as loud as she could, "If you do, I'll set Dinah at you!"

There was a dead silence instantly, and Alice thought to herself, "I wonder what they will do next! If they had any sense, they'd take the roof off." After a minute or two, they began moving about again, and Alice heard the Rabbit say, "A barrowful will do, to begin with."

"A barrowful of what?" thought Alice; but she had not long to doubt, for the next moment


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Rh a shower of little pebbles came rattling in at the window, and some of them hit her in the face. "I'll put a stop to this," she said to herself, and shouted out, "You'd better not do that again!" which produced another dead silence.

Alice noticed with some surprise that the pebbles were all turning into little cakes as they lay on the floor, and a bright idea came into her head. "If I eat one of these cakes," she thought, "it's sure to make some change in my size; and as it can't possibly make me larger, it must make me smaller, I suppose."

So she swallowed one of the cakes, and was delighted to find that she began shrinking directly. As soon as she was small enough to get through the door, she ran out of the house, and found quite a crowd of little animals and birds waiting outside. The poor little Lizard, Bill, was in the middle, being held up by two guinea-pigs, who were giving it something out of a bottle. They all made a rush at Alice the moment she appeared; but she ran off as hard


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54 as she could, and soon found herself safe in a thick wood.

"The first thing I've got to do," said Alice to herself, as she wandered about in the wood, "is to grow to my right size again; and the second thing is to find my way into that lovely garden. I think that will be the best plan."

It sounded an excellent plan, no doubt, and very neatly and simply arranged; the only difficulty was, that she had not the smallest idea how to set about it; and while she was peering about anxiously among the trees, a little sharp bark just over her head made her look up in a great hurry.

An enormous puppy was looking down at her with large round eyes, and feebly stretching out one paw, trying to touch her. "Poor little thing!" said Alice, in a coaxing tone, and she tried hard to whistle to it; but she was terribly frightened all the time at the thought that it might be hungry, in which case it would be very likely to eat her up in spite of all her coaxing.


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Rh Hardly knowing what she did, she picked up a little bit of stick, and held it out to the puppy; whereupon the puppy jumped into the air off all its feet at once, with a yelp of


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56 delight, and rushed at the stick, and made believe to worry it; then Alice dodged behind a great thistle, to keep herself from being run over; and the moment she appeared on the other side, the puppy made another rush at the stick, and tumbled head over heels in its hurry to get hold of it: then Alice, thinking it was very like having a game of play with a carthorse, and expecting every moment to be trampled under its feet, ran round the thistle again; then the puppy began a series of short charges at the stick, running a very little way forwards each time and a long way back, and barking hoarsely all the while, till at last it sat down a good way off, panting, with its tongue hanging out of its mouth, and its great eyes half shut.

This seemed to Alice a good opportunity for making her escape, so she set off at once, and ran till she was quite tired and out of breath, and till the puppy's bark sounded quite faint in the distance.


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Rh "And yet what a dear little puppy it was!" said Alice, as she leant against a buttercup to rest herself, and fanned herself with one of the leaves: "I should have liked teaching it tricks very much, if—if I'd only been the right size to do it! Oh dear! I 'd nearly forgotten that I've got to grow up again! Let me see—how is it to be managed? I suppose I ought to eat or drink something or other; but the great question is, what?"

The great question certainly was, what? Alice looked all round her at the flowers and the blades of grass, but she could not see anything that looked like the right thing to eat or drink under the circumstances. There was a large mushroom growing near her, about the same height as herself; and when she had looked under it, and on both sides of it, and behind it, it occurred to her that she might as well look and see what was on the top of it.

She stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over the edge of the mushroom, and her


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58 eyes immediately met those of a large blue caterpillar, that was sitting on the top with its arms folded, quietly smoking a long hookah, and taking not the smallest notice of her or of anything else.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Mara, Gertrude Elizabeth


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


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Marbeck, Roger


text: Author:Nathaniel Stephens

title: Author:Nathaniel Stephens


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210 That nourished her heart. So did “Fair Ines.” And— These were like herself. And there was he, saying in his throat bitterly: The poem was finished; he took the bread out of the oven, arranging the burnt loaves at the bottom of the panchion, the good ones at the top. The desiccated loaf remained swathed up in the scullery.

“Mater needn’t know till morning,” he said. “It won’t upset her so much then as at night.”

Miriam looked in the bookcase, saw what postcards and letters he had received, saw what books were there. She took one that had interested him. Then he turned down the gas, and they set off. He did not trouble to lock the door.

He was not home again until a quarter to eleven. His mother was seated in the rocking-chair. Annie, with a rope of hair hanging down her back, remained sitting on a low stool before the fire, her elbows on her knees, gloomily. On the table stood the offending loaf unswathed. Paul entered rather breathless. No one spoke. His mother was reading the little local newspaper. He took off his coat, and went to sit down on the sofa. His mother moved curtly aside to let him pass. No one spoke. He was very uncomfortable. For some minutes he sat pretending to read a piece of paper he found on the table. Then—

“I forgot that bread, mother,” he said.

There was no answer from either woman.

“Well,” he said, “it’s only twopence ha’penny. I can pay you for that.”

Being angry he put three pennies on the table, and slid them towards his mother. She turned away her head. Her mouth was shut tightly.

“Yes,” said Annie, “you don’t know how badly my mother is!”

The girl sat staring glumly into the fire.

“Why is she badly?” asked Paul, in his overbearing way.

“Well!” said Annie. “She could scarcely get home.”

He looked closely at his mother. She looked ill.

“Why could you scarcely get home?” he asked her, still sharply. She would not answer.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Marcet, Alexander John Gaspard


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Marcet, Jane


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/March, John (1612-1657)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/March, John (1640-1692)


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Marchant, Nathaniel


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Rh “I found her as white as a sheet sitting here,” said Annie, with a suggestion of tears in her voice.

“Well, why?” insisted Paul. His brows were knitting, his eyes dilating passionately.

“It was enough to upset anybody,” said Mrs. Morel, “hugging those parcels—meat, and green-groceries, and a pair of curtains——”

“Well, why did you hug them; you needn’t have done.”

“Then who would?”

“Let Annie fetch the meat.”

“Yes, and I would fetch the meat, but how was I to know. You were off with Miriam, instead of being in when my mother came.”

“And what was the matter with you?” asked Paul of his mother.

“I suppose it’s my heart,” she replied. Certainly she looked bluish round the mouth.

“And have you felt it before?”

“Yes—often enough.”

“Then why haven’t you told me?—and why haven’t you seen a doctor?”

Mrs. Morel shifted in her chair, angry with him for his hectoring.

“You’d never notice anything,” said Annie. “You’re too eager to be off with Miriam.”

“Oh, am I—and any worse than you with Leonard?”

“I was in at a quarter to ten.”

There was silence in the room for a time.

“I should have thought,” said Mrs. Morel bitterly, “that she wouldn’t have occupied you so entirely as to burn a whole ovenful of bread.”

“Beatrice was here as well as she.”

“Very likely. But we know why the bread is spoilt.”

“Why?” he flashed.

“Because you were engrossed with Miriam,” replied Mrs. Morel hotly.

“Oh, very well—then it was not!” he replied angrily.

He was distressed and wretched. Seizing a paper, he began to read. Annie, her blouse unfastened, her long ropes of hair twisted into a plait, went up to bed, bidding him a very curt good-night.

Paul sat pretending to read. He knew his mother wanted to upbraid him. He also wanted to know what had made her ill, for he was troubled. So, instead of running away to


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Marchi, Giuseppe Filippo Liberati


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212 bed, as he would have liked to do, he sat and waited. There was a tense silence. The clock ticked loudly.

“You’d better go to bed before your father comes in,” said the mother harshly. “And if you’re going to have anything to eat, you’d better get it.”

“I don’t want anything.”

It was his mother’s custom to bring him some trifle for supper on Friday night, the night of luxury for the colliers. He was too angry to go and find it in the pantry this night. This insulted her.

“If I wanted you to go to Selby on Friday night, I can imagine the scene,” said Mrs. Morel. “But you’re never too tired to go if she will come for you. Nay, you neither want to eat nor drink then.”

“I can’t let her go alone.”

“Can’t you? And why does she come?”

“Not because I ask her.”

“She doesn’t come without you want her——”

“Well, what if I do want her——” he replied.

“Why, nothing, if it was sensible or reasonable. But to go trapseing up there miles and miles in the mud, coming home at midnight, and got to go to Nottingham in the morning——”

“If I hadn’t, you’d be just the same.”

“Yes, I should, because there’s no sense in it. Is she so fascinating that you must follow her all that way?” Mrs. Morel was bitterly sarcastic. She sat still, with averted face, stroking with a rhythmic, jerked movement, the black sateen of her apron. It was a movement that hurt Paul to see.

“I do like her,” he said, “but——”

“Like her!” said Mrs. Morel, in the same biting tones. “It seems to me you like nothing and nobody else. There’s neither Annie, nor me, nor anyone now for you.”

“What nonsense, mother—you know I don’t love her—I—I tell you I don’t love her—she doesn’t even walk with my arm, because I don’t want her to.”

“Then why do you fly to her so often!”

“I do like to talk to her—I never said I didn’t. But I don’t love her.”

“Is there nobody else to talk to?”

“Not about the things we talk of. There’s lots of things that you’re not interested in, that——”

“What things?”

Mrs. Morel was so intense that Paul began to pant.


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


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


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HE establishments for rearing children, of which there is one in every town, are endowed by the State, but managed by directors elected by the citizens. This is one of the most astonishing institutions of this strange country. I carefully inspected several and found them conducted on the most perfect scientific principles.

Children are received at any age up to two years; after that, only in the event of the parents, actual or by adoption, dying or receiving some appointment incompatible with the proper care of their children. No person will undertake to rear children for whom he is unable or unwilling to sacrifice the time and incur the trouble necessary to bring them up well and fit for making careers for themselves. Parental affection, which might interfere with the future welfare of the child, is sternly repressed from a sense of patriotic duty.

Many to whom I talked on this subject, and on whom I endeavoured to impress our English ideas of the meritoriousness of rearing a large family on very small means, replied that they did not so understand the duties of parents and citizens.

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


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170 "Before indulging," said one, "our parental affections, a quality of the mind, or of the heart as you would say, which we have in common with many of the inferior animals, we should consider what is best for the state and what is best for the child. Obviously it would be bad for the child to give him a defective education, to neglect the cultivation of his natural talents, and to let him grow up without a due amount of supervision. In like manner it would be bad for the state to have any of its citizens growing up incapable of rightly fulfilling their duties of citizenship. If our means or our engagements do not permit us to educate and train our children properly, it would be a most selfish act, in fact it would be the mere indulgence of a purely brute instinct to retain these children with us, and allow them to grow up uneducated and not properly cared for. In order to gratify that low animal passion you dignify by the name of parental affection, why should we make bad citizens, and rear ungrateful children, who will, with justice, hate us when they discover that their prospects have been blighted in order that their parents' feelings might be spared?"

The reader will understand that I employed all the usual stock arguments to refute this revolting sophistry. I need not repeat what I said, as no British parent requires to be reminded of what is to be urged in defence of that purest and most sacred of the affections, parental love.

But I might as well have spoken to a stone wall. The arrogant conceit of these Colymbians is so great that they are incapable of appreciating the profoundest wisdom if it clashes with the maxims they

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Rh have accepted. So after a few polite attempts I gave up the idea of inducing them to come round to our rational English notions on many subjects on which they differ toto cœlo from us.

To return to the child-rearing establishments, I went over several of them, and was much struck with the completeness of the means and appliances for bringing up and educating the children. The nursery has an efficient staff of nurses, who administer to the children their natural food, or bring them up by hand in the most careful and tender manner. In the absence of cows or other animals to provide milk, the cocoa-nut trees, that grow in profusion on the land, supply any amount of the most nutritious and digestible milk, on which the infants thrive to perfection.

I learned that the child born under water does not immediately require to breathe as is the case when born in air. During foetal life it is unquestionably an aquatic animal, and if not instantly exposed to the stimulus of air, its foetal aquatic life may be prolonged for a considerable period without injury. Of course it eventually requires that its lungs should be filled with air, in order to carry on its perfect life when separated from its mother, and accordingly it is gradually taught to respire in order to enable it to assume its proper place in the scale of creation, and perform all the functions of an air-breathing animal.

The main difficulty is to get the new-born infant to breathe through the air-tubes, but the ingenuity of the people has overcome this difficulty, and from the first days of its life it can breathe the air by means of a simple and effectual mechanism as well as if it were in the air. Each room has its large air-reservoir,

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


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172 into which the child's head can be readily brought, if there is any difficulty in using the air-tubes; but after a little care the infant soon breathes as comfortably through the tubes as its elders, and never needs to resort to the air-reservoir.

At a very early age the children are arranged into various classes, according to their intellectual capacities, and education suitable to each is carefully given. Those whose mental capacity suits them for it are educated for the higher scientific employments; others are brought up to be skilled artisans; others again, to follow the more mechanical trades; and the lowest capacities of all are trained for the position of unskilled labourers.

These establishments turn out men and women of the highest calibre, philosophers, naturalists, engineers, architects, musicians and artists, as well as skilled and unskilled workmen in every department. Ample employment is given to each as he completes his education; and the pupils of these great educational establishments generally contrast favourably with those who have been brought up at the private houses of their parents and guardians. Far from there being any disgrace or shame attached to the bringing up in the public schools, it is rather the other way, and those reared by private persons are generally thought less of than those who have received the advantages of the state establishments.

For every one who can work there is always employment of some kind or another to be had in Colymbia, and, as the necessaries of life are cheap and wages good, all classes are comfortably off. Crime of every kind is extremely rare, and the punishment for it, banishment to the land for a longer or shorter period,

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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Mare, Thomas de la


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Rh sufficiently severe to have an excellent deterrent effect on any who may feel disposed to commit a felony.

I inquired if there were not many cases of children received at the establishments who were incapable of a subaqueous life, or who, from some inborn defect of constitution or congenital deformity, are incapable of turning out useful members of society. I was informed that such cases did undoubtedly occur, but as infants so afflicted were not worth the trouble of rearing, they were not reared.

"What!" I exclaimed, "do the laws of Colymbia sanction infanticide?"

"Well," replied the resident director of one of these institutions, to whom my question was directed, "if you like to call it so, they do. But in this, as in other respects, the laws are formed on what you would undoubtedly call cold-blooded philosophical principles. They are drawn up and enacted with the sole view of the good of the community. Now it is not good for the community to be burdened with the charge of crippled, blind or deaf members. Every baby is carefully examined on entrance by a committee of learned anatomists and physiologists, and if they find it affected with any malformation, or deformity, or disease, which renders it likely that the child will not be 'viable'—i.e., capable of making its way in life—it is not reared, and thus society is spared a useless member, and a human being spared a wretched life."

"But," I replied, "we find from experience that cripples, blind and deaf people are often extremely useful members of society, and are by no means universally wretched."

"It may be so," he returned with calm indifference, but at all events the integrity of society is impaired

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174 by defects in its members. Our legislators have, in their wisdom, determined that the integrity of our society shall be preserved, and so we act in conformity with the law by preserving it."

"Such laws are cruel, heartless"—I commenced, but he interupted [sic] me with:—

"Keep yourself calm, my friend; you should remember that the law knows nothing of sentiment; but if sentiment is opposed to the general well-being of society, sentiment must yield, not society. It is true that our pseudo-humanitarians have often attempted to put in a plea for the preservation of the lives of those who would only be a burden on society, and have brought many specious arguments to support their views; but salus populi suprema lex est, and the well-being of the people is even more regarded by our legislators than the maxims of a fanciful morality."

This dreadful justification of the slaughter of the innocents shocked me beyond measure, and I could not restrain my indignation.

"What!" I exclaimed, "do you dare to destroy human souls who have as much right to live as you have?"

"My dear sir," he replied, "your feelings are so excited that you forget the proprieties of language. We allow the bodies of these unviable children to perish, but we make no attack on their souls, if they have any. Our philosophers do not generally countenance the idea of souls in human beings, as they say that all the phenomena of life may be satisfactorily explained without supposing the existence of an immortal essence or spirit as you imagine the soul to be. But granting the presence of a soul in your sense,

title: Page:Colymbia (1873).djvu/180


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Maredudd ap Bleddyn


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Rh you cannot contend that the death of the body is attended by that of the soul. And yet we notice that your writers frequently express themselves in a very loose manner on this subject, when they say, for instance, "so many souls perished in such a battle or by such an accident." If these infants have souls as you believe, we do these souls a service by freeing them from the bondage of a deformed or imperfect body, in which they would have fretted and chafed away a few years of miserable existence. But the child, we contend, can only be said to become an individual human being when it acquires consciousness; if not allowed to reach the period of consciousness, it may be said that it has not existed. We merely carry out, in a scientific and merciful manner, the process performed in a clumsy and cruel manner by nature, which your learned men term 'the survival of the fittest.' In England you pursue a diametrically opposite course, for while you make frantic efforts to preserve the lives of your lame, your blind, your deaf, your idiots, and your imbeciles, you allow thousands of sound and perfect children to be annually slaughtered by neglect and starvation, or reared in ignorance and crime, because you insist that parents shall bring up all their children, however numerous and however inadequate their means for doing so. That our system is infinitely more humane than yours you may imagine when I tell you that it is very seldom indeed that any defective or diseased child is born in this country, for the parents are all so well shaped and so healthy that they are most unlikely to produce offspring unlike themselves in these respects. Our system has the same effect as the care you exercise in England has on stock-breeding. The parents are examples of all the good points

title: Page:Colymbia (1873).djvu/181


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Marett, Philip


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176 in the human breed, and their children follow suit or even improve on their parents' qualities. It is a marvel to us how you in England can allow unlimited freedom in marriage, when you have among you so many deformed, defective and diseased people, who are likely to propagate their imperfections and deteriorate the race, or at least prevent it attaining perfection with due rapidity. It would be for your advantage to permit no couple to marry without a thorough examination by competent physiologists to see if the match would be suitable in the point of view of the production of good offspring. We have a still better method here, we quench the evil at its source, and refuse admission into society of any that are likely to deteriorate the race. After that we can safely allow the most unlimited freedom of choice in matrimonial affairs without much risk of producing defective children. And look at our people! Did you ever see more perfect specimens of all that is graceful and healthy in humanity? No deformities, no diseases, no incapacity for work or for fulfilling all the obligations of life; the highest intellectual development in the most perfect physical frames."

"Sir," said I, "were you all Admirable Crichtons, this would not make your arguments other than what they are,—namely, the sheerest sophistry." I then went on to expose the fallacy of his reasoning, and the shallowness of his sophistry; but as my line of argument must be familiar to every reader, I will forbear repeating it here. The director listened to me with courtesy, but I saw that the reasoning which would have had a convincing effect among terrestrials, failed to produce the slightest conviction on this aquatic. I felt annoyed to see my well-turned points and

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Rh down proofs glance off hie mind like water off a duck's back, and in my petulance I exclaimed:—

"These detestable tenets and practices could only exist among a people destitute of all religion and morality."

"The greatest good of the greatest number—the few must suffer that the many may be happy,—that is our morality," he retorted, "and the same maxims are freely inculcated in England, only you fear to carry them out to their logical consequences,—we don't. We, like you, acknowledge the obligation of the state to supply education to all. Without exhausting our efforts in the thankless task of rearing those who are extremely unlikely to be of service to the state, we place all sound and perfect children in a position to profit by the education we give, so that they may become useful citizens. You leave the children you propose to educate in squalid over-crowded dwellings, with insufficient food and clothing and vicious surroundings, so that, it seems to me, the education you give them will only make them more expert thieves or more crafty beggars."

"You forget," I said, "that the state has wisely ordained that the poison of secular knowledge shall only be administered along with its antidote the Bible, so that there is no fear of the education we give being perverted to vicious purposes."

With these words I hurriedly took my leave, feeling satisfied that I had had the best of the argument, but knowing from my experience of Colymbians that he would never acknowledge his defeat. 5em

title: Page:Colymbia (1873).djvu/183


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Margaret (d.1093)


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VERY favourite pastime of the young men is the capture of the flying-fish. This pretty little fish has a body somewhat resembling that of our herring, but is furnished with side fins of disproportionate size, which enable it to travel a considerable distance through the air. It does not readily take to the air unless pursued by some of its finny enemies. The chief of these is the beautiful, or dolphin as it is called by our seamen. The Colymbians train those coryphenes to pursue the flying-fish, and capture them in nets as they fall exhausted by their flight into the water. As the flying-fish frequent the still waters of the lagoon at particular seasons, parties are formed for their pursuit.

My friend Julian came to me one morning and told me a party was formed to have a flying-fish hunt, and inquired if I would join them, an offer I readily accepted. We numbered about a dozen, and arming ourselves with a hand-net, somewhat resembling an ordinary landing-net, proceeded in search of the game. One of the party had with him a brace of fine lively coryphenes, which he kept close beside him, and which excited my admiration by their agile and graceful

title: Page:Colymbia (1873).djvu/184


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Margaret (1240-1275)


text:
Author:James Macarthur

Works

 * New South Wales: its Present State and Future Prospects

title: Author:James Macarthur


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Margaret (1282?-1318)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Margaret (1425?-1445)


text:
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Mackay created LL.D. of Aberdeen in 1786, and was also fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, honorary member of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Newcastle-on-Tyne, mathematical examiner to the corporation of Trinity House (1805-9) and to the East India Company. In his later years he took pupils in London at his house in George Street, Trinity Square; he taught mathematics and natural philosophy, navigation, architecture, and engineering. He died on 3 Aug. 1809, leaving a widow and children, and was buried in Allhallows Barking.

He made important contributions to the science of navigation, and was a skilful, accurate, and indefatigable calculator of mathematical tables. His principal works are: 1. 'The Theory and Practice of finding the Longitude at Sea or on Land: to which are added various Methods of Determining the Latitude of a Place by Variation of the Compass: with new Tables,' published by subscription, 1793, 2 vols.; 2nd edit., with author's portrait, 1801, 3rd edit. 1810. In this work is given an account of a new method of finding the longitude and latitude of a ship at sea, together with the apparent time, from the same set of observations; for which the author had received the thanks of the boards of longitude of England and France. 2. 'A Collection of Mathematical Tables,' 1804. 3. 'The Complete Navigator,' 1804; 2nd edit. 1810. The preface contains severe criticism of the books on navigation then in current use.

His minor works are: 1. 'A Comparison of different Methods of Solving Halley's Problem' (, Scriptores Logarithmici, vol. iv.; see also Preface, p. ix). 2. 'Description and Use of the Sliding Rule in Arithmetic and in the Mensuration of Surfaces and Solids,' &c, 1799; 2nd edit. 1806. 3. 'The Commencement of the Nineteenth Century determined upon unerring Principles,' Aberdeen, 1800. The object of this tract was to explain that the century began on 1 Jan. 1800 and not on 1 Jan. 1801. 4. 'Description and Use of the Sliding Gunter in Navigation,' Aberdeen, 1802; 2nd edit. Leith, 1812, edited by Alexander Ingram, with portrait of author prefixed. He also contributed articles to the 'Encyclopædia Britannica,' 3rd edit. 1797 (see Preface, xv), on 'Navigation,' 'Parallax,' 'Pendulum,' 'Projection of the Sphere,' 'Ship-building,' and (naval) 'Tactics,' and he was a contributor to Rees's 'Cyclopædia.' He published a paper on the latitude and longitude of Aberdeen in the 'Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh,' vol. iv. For examples of Mackay's skill as a computer reference may be made to Maseres's 'Scriptores Logarithmici,' vol. vi.

 MACKAY, ANGUS (1824–1886), colonial journalist and politician, born at Aberdeen on 26 Jan. 1824, was son of Murdoch MacKay of the 78th highlanders. His mother's maiden name was Elizabeth Macleod. His father on receiving his pension in 1827 emigrated with his family to New South Wales.

Young MacKay was educated for the presbyterian ministry at the Australian college in Sydney, and he became for a time a school-master. But he soon turned his attention to journalism, and before he was twenty years of age he was a contributor to the 'Australian Magazine' and the 'Atlas' (a paper established by Robert Lowe, afterwards Viscount Sherbrooke). In 1847 MacKay became editor of the 'Atlas,' In 1850 he migrated to Geelong in Victoria, which is at once an industrial centre and a seaside resort, and there became manager of a general business for Mr. (afterwards Sir Henry) Parkes. But the gold rush in the following year took him back to his old calling in New South Wales, and he went to the gold-fields as a special correspondent for Mr. Parkes's new radical paper 'The Empire.' In 1853 he returned to Victoria as a digger, and took a leading part in the agitation for the alleviation of miners' grievances, heading a deputation to Melbourne, and giving important evidence before the committee to inquire into the matter. A little later he became the proprietor and editor of the 'Bendigo Advertiser.' In 1879 he returned to Sydney, and launched the 'Sydney Daily Telegraph.'

Meanwhile MacKay had entered political life. He had already, in 1849, taken an active part in the agitation for the reduction of the franchise (Fifty Years in the Making of Australian History, i. 14). In 1868, after repeated invitations, he stood for and won the seat of Sandhurst Burghs, Victoria, which he represented in three successive parliaments. Two years later he was minister of mines in the ministry of Sir James McCulloch [q. v.], and resumed the post in that of James Goodall Francis [q. v.], subsequently joining to his duties those of minister of education. His speeches as a minister were always business-like, and straightforward (Victorian Parliamentary Debates, 1870, &c.) As minister for mines, he carried through the colonial parliament several measures of benefit to the mining population. By his Mining Regulation Act accidents were reduced by one half


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Ch. 1. decency to thoe, whoe abilities and tations enable them to apply the remedy. Having therefore premied this apology for ome of the enuing remarks, which might otherwie eem to avour of arrogance, I proceed now to conider (in the firt place) the general nature of crimes.

or midemenor, is an act committed, or omitted, in violation of a public law, either forbidding or commanding it. This general definition comprehends both crimes and midemenors ; which, properly peaking, are mere ynonymous terms : though, in common uage, the word “crimes” is made to denote uch offences as are of a deeper and more atrocious dye ; while maller faults, and omiions of les conequence, are comprized under the gentler name of “midemenors” only.

ditinction of public wrongs from private, of crimes and midemenors from civil injuries, eems principally to conit in this : that private wrongs, or civil injuries, are an infringement or privation of the civil rights which belong to individuals, conidered merely as individuals ; public wrongs, or crimes and midemenors, are a breach and violation of the public rights and duties, due to the whole community, conidered as a community, in it's ocial aggregate capacity. As if I detain a field from another man, to which the law has given him a right, this is a civil injury, and not a crime; for here only the right of an individual is concerned, and it is immaterial to the public, which of us is in poeion of the land : but treaon, murder, and robbery are properly ranked among crimes ; ince, beides the injury done to individuals, they trike at the very being of ociety ; which cannot poibly ubit, where actions of this ort are uffered to ecape with impunity.

all caes the crime includes an injury: every public offence is alo a private wrong, and omewhat more ; it affects the individual, and it likewie affects the community. Thus Rh


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6 treaon in imagining the king's death involves in it conpiracy againt an individual, which is alo a civil injury : but as this pecies of treaon in it's conequences principally tends to the diolution of government, and the destruction thereby of the order and peace of ociety, this denominates it a crime of the highet magnitude. Murder is an injury to the life of an individual ; but the law of ociety coniders principally the los which the tate utains by being deprived of a member, and the pernicious example thereby let, for others to do the like. Robbery may be conidered in the ame view : it is an injury to private property ; but, were that all, a civil atisfaction in damages might atone for it : the public michief is the thing, for the prevention of which our laws have made it a capital offence. In thee gros and atrocious injuries the private wrong is wallowed up in the public : we eldom hear any mention made of atisfaction to the individual ; the atisfaction to the community being o very great. And indeed, as the public crime is not otherwie avenged than by forfeiture of life and property, it is impoible afterwards to make any reparation for the private wrong ; which can only be had from the body or goods of the aggreor. But there are crimes of an inferior nature, in which the public punihment is not o evere, but it affords room for a private compenation alo : and herein the distinction of crimes from civil injuries is very apparent. For intance ; in the cae of battery, or beating another, the aggreor may be indicted for this at the uit of the king, for diturbing the public peace, and be punihed criminally by fine and imprionment : and the party beaten may alo have his private remedy by action of trepas for the injury, which he in particular utains, and recover a civil atisfaction in damages. So alo, in cae of a public nuance, as digging a ditch acros a highway, this is punihable by indictment, as a common offence to the whole kingdom and all his majety's ubjects : but if any individual utains any pecial damage thereby, as laming his hore, breaking his carriage, or the like, the offender may be compelled to Rh


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Ch. 1. make ample atisfaction, as well for the private injury, as for the public wrong.

the whole we may oberve, that in taking cognizance of all wrongs, or unlawful acts, the law has a double view : viz. not only to redres the party injured, by either retoring to him his right, if poible ; or by giving him an equivalent ; the manner of doing which was the object of our enquiries in the preceding book of thee commentaries : but alo to ecure to the public the benefit of ociety, by preventing or punihing every breach and violation of thoe laws, which the overeign power has thought proper to etablih, for the government and tranquillity of the whole. What thoe breaches are, and how prevented or punihed, are to be conidered in the preent book.

nature of crimes and midemenors in general being thus acertained and ditinguihed, I proceed in the next place to conider the general nature of punihments : which are evils or inconveniencies conequent upon crimes and midemenors ; being devied, denounced, and inflicted by human laws, in conequence of diobedience or mibehaviour in thoe, to regulate whoe conduct uch laws were repectively made. And herein we will briefly conider the power, the end, and the meaure of human punihment.

to the power of human punihment, or the right of the temporal legilator to inflict dicretionary penalties for crimes and midemenors. It is clear, that the right of punihing crimes againt the law of nature, as murder and the like, is in a tate of mere nature veted in every individual. For it mut be veted in omebody ; otherwie the laws of nature would be vain and fruitles, if none were empowered to put them in execution : and if that power is veted in any one, it mut alo be veted in all mankind ; ince all are by nature equal. Whereof Rh


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8 the firt murderer Cain was o enible, that we find him expreing his apprehenions, that whoever hould find him would lay him. In a tate of ociety this right is transferred from individuals to the overeign power ; whereby men are prevented from being judges in their own caues, which is one of the evils that civil government was intended to remedy. Whatever power therefore individuals had of punihing offences againt the law of nature, that is now veted in the magitrate alone ; who bears the word of jutice by the conent of the whole community. And to this precedent natural power of individuals mut be referred that right, which ome have argued to belong to every tate, (though, in fact, never exercied by any) of punihing not only their own ubjects, but alo foreign embaadors, even with death itelf ; in cae they have offended, not indeed againt the municipal laws of the country, but againt the divine laws of nature, and become liable thereby to forfeit their lives for their guilt.

to offences merely againt the laws of ociety, which are only mala prohibita, and not mala in e ; the temporal magitrate is alo empowered to inflict coercive penalties for uch trangreions : and this by the conent of individuals ; who, in forming ocieties, did either tacitly or exprely invet the overeign power with a right of making laws, and of enforcing obedience to them when made, by exerciing, upon their non-obervance, everities adequate to the evil. The lawfulnes therefore of punihing uch criminals is founded upon this principle, that the law by which they uffer was made by their own conent ; it is a part of the original contract into which they entered, when firt they engaged in ociety ; it was calculated for, and has long contributed to, their own ecurity.

right therefore, being thus conferred by univeral conent, gives to the tate exactly the ame power, and no more, over all it's members, as each individual member had naturally Rh


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 typhoid fever when his son was only eight. His mother (still living) by her own energy carried on the business, and brought up her six children. After varied scholastic experiences Adam made rapid progress at the parish school of Keithhall under George Kemp, M. A., and having spent some months at the grammar school of Old Aberdeen won the third bursary at Aberdeen University in Oct. 1876. Though chiefly interested in Greek, Adam took a good place in most of the classes of the arts course. His devotion to Greek was fostered by the professor, (Sir) William Geddes [q. v. Suppl. I]. In 1880 he graduated with first-class honours in classics and carried off the chief classical prizes and the Ferguson scholarship. Meanwhile in the spring of 1880 he had been elected classical scholar at Caius College, Cambridge. In the summer of 1882 he was placed in division i. of the first class in the classical tripos, part i. In 1883 he just missed the Craven scholarship, but in 1884 was awarded the first chancellor's medal and obtained a specially brilliant first class (only once equalled) in part ii. of the classical tripos with distinction in classics, ancient philosophy, and comparative philology. In Dec. 1884 he was elected a junior fellow and was soon appointed classical lecturer of Emmanuel College, where he settled down at once to his life's work as a teacher. During his undergraduate career at Cambridge Adam had devoted himself with increasing ardour to the study of Plato, and this author for the rest of his life generally furnished a subject (most frequently the 'Phaedo' or some books of the 'Republic') for one of the two courses of intercollegiate lectures which it was part of his college duty to deliver annually. Aristotle's 'Ethics,' Lucretius, Cicero's 'de Finibus,' and above all the Greek lyric poets were also frequent subjects. His lectures were full of wit as well as learning, and however mystical some might consider his philosophical views, there was no lack of precision in his scholarship. Throughout his teaching career Adam took classes with rare intermissions at Girton College, and was an ardent supporter of the claims of women to degrees, when the question came before the senate of the university in 1897. A knowledge of Greek he regarded as an essential part of university education, and he was a resolute opponent of all attempts to make Greek an optional subject of study. At Easter 1890 he visited Greece. In the same year he was appointed joint tutor of his college with Mr. W. N. Shaw (now director of the Meteorological Office), and in 1900, the number of tutors having been meantime increased, he succeeded Mr. Shaw as senior tutor. His relations with pupils and colleagues were kindly and affectionate, while his efficiency as a lecturer proved of great benefit to the college. The changes in the classical tripos, which came into force in 1903, emphasised the importance of ancient philosophy, and the college hall was barely able to hold the numbers that flocked to Adam's lectures on Plato and Aristotle. In 1887, inspired probably by his closest friend, Robert Alexander Neil [q. v. Suppl. II], he published his first edition of a Platonic dialogue, the 'Apology.' This was followed by the 'Crito' in 1888, the 'Euthyphro' in 1890, and (in conjunction with his wife) the 'Protagoras' in 1893. In 1890 he had announced an intention of preparing an edition of the 'Republic.' In 1897 he published a revised text. This, however, differs in many passages from the large edition in two volumes which appeared after many years of labour in 1902, and immediately took its place as the standard edition. Adam's notes and excursuses, which are very concise considering the difficulty of the subject, represent a judgement based upon a thorough knowledge of the vast work of his many predecessors. In textual matters as years went on he became steadily more conservative, believing that the tradition of the Platonic text was in the main quite sound. An investigation preliminary to his edition of the 'Republic' was a discussion of the 'Platonic Number' (Cambridge University Press, 1891). Adam's interpretation has been confirmed by Professor Hilprecht's discovery of the Babylonian perfect number. At Christmas 1902 he was nominated Gifford lecturer at Aberdeen. He chose for his subject 'The Religious Teachers of Greece,' and the lectures delivered in 1904 and 1905 were very successful.

In the spring of 1907, Adam, who, amid his unceasing work, retained his youthful appearance in middle age, was attacked by illness. He died in Aberdeen after an operation on 30 August 1907, and was buried at Woking. Adam married, on 22 July 1890, a former pupil, Adela Marion, youngest daughter of Arthur Kensington, formerly fellow and tutor of Trinity College, Oxford. His wife survives him with two sons and a daughter. An enlarged photograph hangs in the parlour of Emmanuel College.

The Gifford lectures, which were left complete, but not finally revised for publica-


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 Of two pencil drawings done in 1876 by [q. v. Suppl. II] one is at Grillion's Club, Hotel Cecil, London, and the other at Aldenham. He had become F.S.A. in 1876, and was made K.C.V.O. in 1897. Acton's valuable historical library at Aldenham, containing over 59,000 volumes, was bought immediately after his death by Mr. Andrew Carnegie, and was presented by him to John (afterwards Viscount) Morley. Lord Morley gave it in 1903 to the University of Cambridge. The whole collection is divided into 54 classes under the main headings of (1) ecclesiastical history, (2) political history, and (3) subjects not falling under these two heads. The first heading illustrates with rare completeness the internal and external history of the papacy; under the second heading works on Germany, France, and Switzerland are represented with exceptional fulness (cf. Camb. Mod. Hist. vol. iv. pp. viii, 802). Acton's books bear many traces of his method of reading. He was in the habit of drawing a fine ink line in the margin against passages which interested him, and of transcribing such passages on squares of paper, which he sorted into boxes or Solander cases.

Apart from his periodical writings Acton only published during his lifetime some separate lectures and letters, most of which have been already mentioned. The two on 'Liberty' delivered at Bridgnorth in 1877 appeared also in French translations (Paris, 1878). He edited Harpsfield's 'Narrative of the Divorce' (book ii.) and 'Letters of James II to the Abbot of La Trappe' (1872-6) for the Philobiblon Society, and 'Les Matinées Royales,' a hitherto unpublished work of Frederick the Great (London and Edinburgh, 1863). Since his death there have been issued his 'Lectures on Modern History,' edited with introduction by J. N. Figgis and R. V. Lawrence (1906); 'The History of Freedom, and other Essays,' introduction by the editors (1907); 'Historical Essays and Studies' (1907); and 'Lectures on the French Revolution' (1910). These four volumes, like his inaugural lecture, are fair evidence of his powers. The vast erudition, the passion for becoming intimately acquainted with many different periods, were a bar to production on a large scale. This was also hindered by a certain lack of organising power and a deficient sense of proportion. He abandoned his project for writing a 'History of Liberty,' which indeed was never more than a chimera displaying his lack of architectonic faculty. Nor did the notion of a history of the 'Council of Trent' fare any better, and of the projected biography of Döllinger we have nothing but a single article on 'Döllinger's Historical Works' from the 'English Historical Review' (1890). His essays are really monographs, and in many cases either said the final word on a topic or advanced the knowledge of it very definitely. As an historian Acton held very strongly to the ideal of impartiality, yet his writings illustrate the impossibility of attaining it. The 'Lectures on Modern History' are actually the development of the modern world as conceived by a convinced whig—and except in the actual investigation of bare facts no historian is less impartial and more personal in his judgments than Acton appears in the volume on the 'French Revolution.' His writing again has a note as distinctive as though very different from that of Macaulay. His style is difficult; it is epigrammatic, packed with allusions, dignified, but never flowing. He has been termed a 'Meredith turned historian'; but the most notable qualities are the passion for political righteousness that breathes in all his utterances, the sense of the supreme worth of the individual conscience and the inalienable desire for liberty alike in church and state.

ADAM, JAMES (1860–1907), classical scholar and Platonist, born on 7 April 1860 at Kinmuck in the parish of Keithhall near Inverurie in Aberdeenshire, was second child and only son of James Adam and Barbara Anderson. The father owned the general store and tailor's shop which served the neighbouring countryside; he died of


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 , his hatred of ultramontanism was never appeased.

Through middle life Acton divided his time between Aldenham, the Dalberg seat at Herrnsheim on the Rhine, and a house at Prince's Gate in London. In 1879 financial difficulties drove him to sell Herrnsheim and to let Aldenham. He thenceforth spent the winter at Cannes and the autumn at the Arco Villa at Tegernsee, Bavaria, which belonged to his wife's family, and only parts of the spring or summer in London. He read more and wrote less than previously, but his historical writing lost nothing in depth. In the spring of 1877 he gave two lectures at Bridgnorth on the 'History of Freedom in Antiquity and in Christianity.' Two articles in the 'Quarterly' on 'Wolsey and the Divorce of Henry VIII' (Jan. 1877) and on Sir Erskine May's 'Democracy in Europe' (Jan. 1878) and an article on Cross's 'Life of George Eliot' in the 'Nineteenth Century' (March 1885) are exhaustive treatises. In 1886 he helped to set on foot the 'English Historical Review' and contributed to the first number a heavy but pregnant article on 'German Schools of History' (German transl. 1887). In London he saw much of Gladstone and encouraged him in his home rule propaganda. A member of Grillion's and The Club, he was in intimate relations with the best English intellectual society. Honours began to flow in. In 1872 the University at Munich had given him an honorary doctorate, and in 1888 he was made hon. LL.D. of Cambridge, and in 1889 hon. D.C.L. of Oxford. In 1891, on a hint from Gladstone, he was elected an honorary fellow of All Souls. When Gladstone formed his fourth administration in 1892, Acton was appointed a lord-in-waiting. Queen Victoria appreciated his facility of speech in German and his German sympathies, but the position was irksome. In 1895 came the great chance of Acton's life in his capacity of scholar. On Lord Rosebery's recommendation he became regius professor of modern history at Cambridge in succession to Sir John Seeley.

Acton was at once elected an honorary fellow of Trinity College, and took up his residence in Neville's Court. He threw himself with avidity into professorial work. His inaugural lecture on the study of history (11 June 1895) was a striking success; it contained a stimulating account of the development of modern historical methods and closed with an expression of that belief in the supremacy of the moral law in politics which was the dominant strain in Acton. It was published with a bulky appendix of illustrative quotations, illustrating at once the erudition and the weakness of the author, and was translated into German (Berlin, 1897).

Settled at Cambridge, Acton began almost at once to lecture on the 'French Revolution' for the historical tripos. His lectures were largely attended, both by students and by the general public. They were read almost verbatim from manuscript with very rare asides. The dignity of his delivery, his profound sense of the greatness of his task and of the paramount import of moral issues gave them a very impressive quality. Probably his half a dozen years at Cambridge were the happiest time in Acton's life. He loved to think of himself as a Cambridge man at last, and was as proud as a freshman of his rooms in College. He had the pleasure of finding eager pupils among some of the junior students. In 1899 and 1900 much of his energy was absorbed by the project of the 'Cambridge Modern History.' He did not originate it, but he warmly forwarded it, and acted as its first editor, with disastrous results to his health. On the business side he was never strong; and the effort of securing contributors, of directing them and of co-ordinating the work was a greater strain than he could bear. He regarded his editorial position very seriously; and although nothing was published while he was still alive, yet nearly the whole of the first volume and more than half the second were in type some two years before his death. The plan of the whole twelve volumes and the authorship of many even of the later chapters were his decision. Unfortunately Acton contributed nothing himself. The notes prepared for what should have been the first chapter on 'The Legacy of the Middle Ages' were not sufficiently advanced for publication. For all that the history remains a monument to his memory. In 1901 his final illness overtook him; suffering from a paralytic stroke, he withdrew to Tegernsee, and after lingering some months he died there on 19 June 1902. He was buried at Tegernsee.

Acton married on 1 Aug. 1865 the Countess Marie, daughter of Maximilian, Count Arco-Valley of Munich, a member of a distinguished and very ancient Bavarian house. His widow survived him with a son, Richard Maximilian, who succeeded him as second Baron Acton, and three daughters.


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Ch. 1 over himelf or others. Which has occaioned ome to doubt, how far a human legilature ought to inflict capital punihments for poitive offences ; offences againt the municipal law only, and not againt the law of nature ; ince no individual has, naturally, a power of inflicting death upon himelf or others for actions in themelves indifferent. With regard to offences mala in e, capital punihments are in ome intances inflicted by the immediate command of God himelf to all mankind ; as, in the cae of murder, by the precept delivered to Noah, their common ancetor and repreentative, “ whoo heddeth man's blood, by man hall his blood be hed. ” In other intances they are inflicted after the example of the creator, in his poitive code of laws for the regulation of the Jewih republic ; as in the cae of the crime againt nature. But they are ometimes inflicted without uch expres warrant or example, at the will and dicretion of the human legilature ; as for forgery, for theft, and ometimes for offences of a lighter kind. Of thee we are principally to peak : as thee crimes are, none of them, offences againt natural, but only againt ocial, rights ; not even theft itelf, unles it be accompanied with violence to one's houe or peron : all others being an infringement of that right of property, which, as we have formerly een, owes it's origin not to the law of nature, but merely to civil ociety.

practice of inflicting capital punihments, for offences of human intitution, is thus jutified by that great and good man, ir Matthew Hale : “ when offences grow enormous, frequent, and dangerous to a kingdom or tate, detructive or highly pernicious to civil ocieties, and to the great inecurity and danger of the kingdom or it's inhabitants, evere punihment and even death itelf is neceary to be annexed to laws in many caes by the prudence of lawgivers. ” It is therefore the enormity, or dangerous tendency, of the crime, that alone can warrant any earthly legilature in putting him to death that Rh


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 more deeply than did any other single man. Gladstone had implicit faith in his learning and sagacity, and in such vital matters as home rule and disestablishment Acton's private influence was great if not decisive. Gladstone submitted to his criticism nearly everything he wrote. Acton was no admirer of Gladstone's biblical criticism, and endeavoured, not always with success, to widen the scope of Gladstone's reading. But from 1866 the fellowship between the two men grew steadily closer, and the older sought the guidance and advice of his junior on all kinds of matters. On 11 Dec. 1869, while Acton was in Rome, he was on Gladstone's recommendation raised to the peerage. He took the title of Baron Acton of Aldenham.

At the time a new general council was sitting at Rome to complete the work begun at Trent and to formulate the dogma of papal infallibility. Acton was in Rome to aid the small minority of prelates who were resisting the promulgation of the dogma. He worked hard to save the church from a position which in his view was not so much false as wicked. He urged the British government, of which Gladstone was the head, to interfere; but Archbishop Manning, whose interest was on the opposite side, neutralised Acton's influence with the prime minister through his friendship with Lord Odo Russell, the unofficial British agent at Rome. Acton's work at Rome was not confined to heartening the opposition or to sending home his views to Gladstone. To Döllinger at Munich, the centre of the German opposition, he wrote long accounts (with the names in cypher) of the various movements and counter-movements. These were combined with letters from two other persons in the series published in the 'Allgemeine Zeitung' from December 1869 under the name 'Quirinus.' They were republished at Munich in 1870 (4 pts.) and were translated into English as 'Letters from Rome on the Council' (London, 3 ser., 1870). Acton is only partially responsible for 'Quirinus's' deliverances. In some places the sympathies of the writer are strongly Gallican—a point of view which appealed to Döllinger but never to his pupil. Acton's difficulties at Rome were great. Many of the prelates who were opposing the infallibility dogma regarded it as true, and objected only to its being defined at that time and in existing conditions. Acton was an open assailant of the doctrine itself. Conscious of inevitable defeat, the opposition eventually withdrew from Rome, and the dogma was adopted by the council with unanimity. On 11 July 1870 Acton had already arrived at his house at Tegernsee, and there in August he completed his 'Sendschreiben an einen deutschen Bischof des vaticanischen Concils' (Nordlingen, 1870), in which he quoted from numerous anti-infallibilists, living or dead, and asked whether their words still held good. But the catholic world, to which Acton appealed, accepted the new law without demur. Döllinger refused, and was consequently excommunicated (1 April 1871), while a small body of opponents formed themselves at Munich in Sept. 1871 into the 'Old Catholic' communion, which Döllinger did not join.

Acton for the time stood aside and was unmolested. But when in 1874 Gladstone issued his pamphlet on 'The Vatican Decrees,' the publication of which Acton had not approved, he denied in letters to 'The Times' any such danger to the state as Gladstone anticipated from possible Roman Catholic sedition owing to their allegiance to a foreign bishop. Yet Acton, while defending his co-religionists in England, dealt subtle thrusts at the papacy. He made it clear that what preserved his allegiance and minimised his hostility to the Vatican Decrees was a sense that the church was holier than its officials, and the bonds of the Christian community were deeper than any dependent on the hierarchy. Acton was therefore able to speak of communion in the Roman church as 'dearer than life itself.' His present attitude, however, was suspected by the authorities. Archbishop Manning more than once invited an explanation. Acton replied adroitly that he relied on God's providential government of His church, and was no more disloyal to the Vatican council than to any of its predecessors. After more correspondence Manning said he must leave the matter to the pope. Acton made up his mind that he would be excommunicated, and wrote to Gladstone that the only question was, when the blow would fall. But it did not fall. Perhaps as a layman, perhaps as a peer, less probably as a scholar, he was left alone, and died in full communion with the Holy See.

With the letters to 'The Times' of Nov. to December 1874 Acton's polemical career closed. He admitted in a letter to Lady Blennerhassett that the explanations given by Newman in the 'Letter to the Duke of Norfolk' on Gladstone's expostulations (1875) would enable him to accept the decrees. But if he thought his fears of the decrees had been in some respects


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