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Printer  to  the  University. 

Since  Locke  was  the  expounder  of  a  new  system  of 
opinions  on  a  difficult  subject,  he  was  led  to  enforce 
them  by  repetition,  and  to  illustrate  them  by  more 
examples,  and  with  greater  diffuseness  of  language,  than 
he  would  probably  have  thought  necessary,  if  he  had 
been  writing  at  the  present  time.  For  the  same  rea¬ 
son,  it  is  not  surprising  that  some  of  his  statements 
have  been  controverted  by  subsequent  writers,  and 
shewn  to  be  erroneous  or  defective. 

Although  therefore  the  substance  of  many  of  the 
following  Articles  is  derived  from  his  Essay  on  the 
Human  Understanding,  yet,  to  suit  the  purpose  for 
which  this  compendium  of  Logic  has  been  made,  it 
was  necessary  to  omit  many  parts  of  that  Essay,  and 
to  abridge  the  language  of  those  parts  that  are  retained  : 
also,  some  things  are  here  advanced  which  are  not 
supported  by  the  authority  of  Locke;  but  where  this 
is  done  in  any  matter  of  importance,  a  note  of  it  is 
annexed,  lest  the  reader  should  be  misled  to  ascribe 
opinions  to  Locke,  which  more  recent  writers  have 
maintained  in  opposition  to  him. 

Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2019  with  funding  from 
University  of  Toronto  . 



ART.  '  Page 

1 .  The  mind  acquires  ideas,  first,  by  Sensation ; 

secondly,  by  Reflection .  I 

2.  Though  the  mind  has  no  innate  ideas,  yet  it  has 

some  which  may  be  said  to  be  connatural .  ib. 

5.  Some  ideas  are  simple ,  and  some  complex .  2 

4.  The  ideas  produced  by  the  qualities  of  an  object 

enter  the  mind  simple  and  unmixed .  ib. 

5.  The  mind  cannot  form  new  simple  ideas  at  pleasure  S 

6.  On  the  different  ways  in  which  simple  ideas  enter 

the  mind .  ib. 

7.  Distinction  of  qualities  into  primary  and  secondary  4 

8.  Solidity .  ib. 

9-  On  the  manner  in  which  our  knowledge  of  primary 

and  secondary  qualities  is  gained. . . .  5 

1 0.  Perception . 6’ 

11.  Difference  between  perception  and  sensation .  7 


AR^.  Page 

12.  Our  perception  of  secondary  qualities  is  relative . .  8 

13.  Perception  is  sometimes  fallacious .  ib. 

34.  In  particular,  perception  by  the  sight  is  wholly 
determined  by  experience .  g 

15.  The  manner  in  which  impressions  are  made  on  the 

,  mind  is  unknown .  10 

16.  Memory .  11 

1?.  Discerning .  14 

1 8.  Abstraction .  ib. 

19*  Complex  ideas  of  substances,  modes,  relations : 
and  first  of  substances .  18 

20.  Distinction  of  modes  into  simple  and  mixed .  20 

21.  Modes  of  space . ib. 

22.  On  the  place  of  bodies .  21 

2 3.  Duration . .  23 

24.  On  the  means  of  measuring  duration .  ib. 

25.  Number . 24 

2b*.  Infinity .  27 

27 •  Many  modes  are  not  distinguished  by  separate 

names . . . . 28 

28.  Some  ideas  of  mixed  modes  are  acquired  by  ob¬ 
servation  ;  some  by  invention ;  some  by  definition  29 


ART.  Pag« 

29.  Relations .  31 

30.  The  association  of  ideas . 34 

31.  On  the  importance  of  giving  a  right  direction  to 

the  thoughts . 39 

32.  On  the  prejudices  and  antipathies  which  arise  from 

a  wrong  association  of  ideas . ib. 

33.  Other  instances  of  evil  arising  from  the  same  cause  41 

34.  Words  are  the  arbitrary  signs  of  ideas .  42 

35.  Words  are,  for  the  most  part,  general  terms,  so  that 

one  name  comprehends  a  great  number  of  individual 
objects .  44 

36.  The  meaning  of  words  may  be  explained  in  four 

mays .  ib. 

37.  On  the  imperfections  and  abuses  of  language .  45 

38.  On  the  evil  arising  from  the  abuses  of  language . . .  47 

39-  Knowledge  is  of  two  hinds,  actual  and  habitual; 
and,  considered  with  respect  to  its  evidence,  it  is 

intuitive,  demonstrative,  or  sensitive .  ib. 

40.  On  the  extent  of  human  knowledge .  50 

41.  The  causes  of  the  narrow  extent  of  human  know~ 
ledge  appear  to  be  chief  y  three  ;  the  want  of  ideas; 
the  want  of  a  discoverable  connection  between 
the  ideas  we  have ;  and  the  want  of  examining 
our  ideas,  to  see  whether  they  agree  or  not . 



ART.  Pag* 

42.  On  the  reality  of  our  knowledge .  54 

43.  On  the  existence  of  God . . .  55 

44.  Truth ,  whether  necemary  or  contingent,  cannot  he 

established  without  assuming  some  self-evident 
principles . , .  58 

45.  Difference  between  demonstrative  and  probable 

evidence .  60 

46.  On  the  degrees  of  probable  evidence. .  6l 

47*  On  the  grounds  of  probability  in  civil  affairs .  62 

48.  On  the  probability  arisijig  from  human  testimony . .  63 

4,9*  In  traditional  testimony ,  each  transmission  weakens 

the  proof. .  64 

50.  On  the  probability  which  is  derived  from  analogy  ib. 

51.  In  what  cases  error  is  unavoidable . 65 

52.  Causes  of  error  assigned  by  Lord  Bacon.  Some 

arise  from  general  principles  of  the  human  con¬ 
stitution  .  66 

53.  Others,  from  something  pecidiar  to  individuals. ...  68 

54.  Others,  from  the  imperfections  and  the  abuse  of 

language . 6.9 

55.  Lastly,  some  are  owing  to  the  tendency  which  men 

have  to  frame  groundless  hypotheses .  70 

56.  Dialectics:  defnitions  of  simple  apprehension, 
judgment,  and  reasoning,, .  . .  72 


ART.  Pa&f 

57.  Explanation  of  the  terms  subject,  predicate,  and 

copula . 72 

58.  Propositions  are  affirmative  or  negative /  universal 

or  particular .  7$ 

59.  Division  of  propositions  into  absolute  and  con¬ 
ditional . . . 74 

60.  Some  propositions  are  simple ;  others  compound  75 

61.  On  copulative  and  disjunctive  propositioyis .  ib. 

62.  On  reasoning .  7b 

63.  The  manner  of  determining  whether  man  is 

accountable  for  his  actions .  77 

64.  Definition  of  the  premises  and  conclusion  of  a 

syllogism  ;  the  major  and  minor  terms  ;  the  major 
and  minor  propositions . - . . .  ib. 

65.  Example  of  a  conditional  syllogism :  definition  of 

the  antecedent  and  consequent .  78 

66.  Example  of  a  disjunctive  syllogism .  80 

67*  Enthymemes . ib. 

68.  Sorites .  81 

69.  Dilemma .  82 

70.  Argument  by  induction .  83 

71.  Direct  and  indirect  arguments :  arguments  a  priori 

and  a  posteriori . 35 



ART.  Page 

72.  Sophisms:  the  sophism  of  inferring  the  falsity 

of  a  conclusion  from  the  falsity  of  certain  premises  ; 
and,  reversely,  of  irferring  the  truth  of  certain 
premises  from  the  truth  of  the  conclusion .  86' 

73.  The  sophism  called  ignoratio  elenchi .  87 

74.  The  sophisms,  petitio  principii,  and  reasoning  in  a 

circle .  88 

75  The  sophism,  non-causa  pro  caus& .  ib. 

76.  Sophisms  arising  from  ambiguity  of  language .  89 

77*  Other  inconclusive  modes  of  argument .  91 

78.  Methods  of  reasoning  by  synthesis  and  analysis .. . .  92 

- » - 




Art.  1.  The  term  Logic  is  here  used  to  denote  the 
science  which  treats  of  the  operations  of  the  mind  in  ac¬ 
quiring  ideas,  and  of  the  exercise  of  it  by  proper  methods 
of  reasoning. 

The  mind  acquires  ideas,  first,  by  Sensation.  Our 
senses,  being  acted  upon  by  external  objects,  convey  ideas 
of  those  objects  to  the  mind.  Thus  by  sensation  we  ac¬ 
quire  the  ideas  of  colours,  sounds,  and  of  all  those  which 
are  usually  called  the  sensible  qualities  of  matter. 

Secondly,  the  mind  acquires  ideas  by  Reflection. 
Reflection  is  ike  notice  which  the  mind  takes  of  its  own 
operations,  such  as  thinking,  doubting,  believing,  reason¬ 
ing,  knowing,  willing.  The  mind,  being  conscious  of 
these  operations  and  reflecting  on  them,  is  furnished  by 
them  with  ideas  which  could  not  be  obtained  from  exter¬ 
nal  objects. 

2.  Although  the  mind  has  no  innate  ideas,  i.  e.  none 
which  are  coeval  with  the  mind  and  perceived  by  it  before 
the  senses  begin,  to  operate,  yet  it  has  ideas  which  may  be 
said  to  be  connatural :  i.  e.  the  constitution  of  man  is  such 
that  when  he  is  grown  up  to  the  possession  and  exercise  of 
his  reasoning  powers,  certain  ideas  will  inevitably  and  ne¬ 
cessarily  spring  up  in  him.  Such  are  those  of  existence, 
personal  identity,  time,  number.  The  mind  is  endowed 



with  faculties,  the  exercise  of  which  is  necessarily  accom¬ 
panied  by  such  ideas,  and  also  by  the  acknowledgement  of 
certain  moral  truths  and  practical  principles  of  conduct. 
These  ideas  are  not  the  immediate  objects  of  sensation  and 
reflection,  though  the  senses  may  furnish  the  first  occasions 
on  which  they  occur  to  the  mind.  For  example,  the  mo¬ 
ment  that  a  sensation  is  excited,  we  learn  two  facts  at 
once;— -the  existence  of  the  sensation,  and  our  own  existence 
as  sentient  beings  :  thus,  the  first  exercise  of  consciousness 
necessarily  implies  a  belief  of  the  present  existence  not 
only  of  that  which  is  felt,  but  also  of  that  which  feels  and 
thinks.  But  it  is  the  belief  of  the  former  alone  that  can 
properly  be  said  to  be  obtained  by  sensation.  The  latter 
is  obtained  by  a  suggestion  of  the  understanding  conse¬ 
quent  on  the  sensation,  but  so  intimately  connected  with 
it  that  the  belief  of  both  is  generally  referred  to  the 
same  origin.a 

3.  Some  ideas  are  simple,  and  some  complex.  A 
simple  idea,  (as  of  light,  of  heat,  of  hardness ,)  exists  in 
the  mind  under  one  uniform  appearance,  and  is  not 
distinguishable  into  more  than  one  idea.  A  complex  idea 
is  made  up  of  several  simple  ones  :  thus  the  idea  of  man 
is  complex,  in  which  are  united  several  simple  ideas,  such 
as  of  figure,  extension,  solidity,  thinking,  life. 

4.  By  the  quality  of  an  object  is  meant  whatever  in 
that  object  is  the  cause  of  ideas.  The  qualities  that  affect 
our  senses  are  in  the  things  themselves  united  and 
blended,  yet  the  ideas  they  produce  in  the  mind  enter  by 
the  senses  simple  and  unmixed.  Thus  the  qualities  of  the 
same  piece  of  wax  may  cause,  by  the  touch,  the  ideas  both 

1  Stewart,  Elem.  of  Phil.  ch.  i.  §.  4.  and  Phil.  Es.  I.  ch.  i.  Sup. 
Encyc.  Brit.  Diss.  vol.  V.  p.  30. 


of  softness  and  of  warmth :  yet  the  simple  ideas,  thus 
caused  by  the  same  object  and  conveyed  to  the  mind  by 
the  same  organ  of  sense,  are  as  distinct  as  those  that  come 
in  by  different  senses,  as  distinct  as  the  smell  and  whiteness 
of  a  rose,  or  as  the  smell  of  a  rose  and  the  taste  of  sugar. 

5.  When  the  mind  is  stored  with  simple  ideas,  it  has 
the  power  to  repeat,  compare,  and  unite  them  so  as  to 
make  at  pleasure  new  complex  ideas.  But  it  cannot 
acquire  one  new  simple  idea  except  by  the  ways  above- 
mentioned:  (Art.  1.  2.)  nor  can  it  destroy  those  which  it 
has  already  acquired,  though  it  may  lose  them  by  forget¬ 
fulness.  As  in  the  visible  material  world,  the  power  of 
man  reaches  no  farther  than  to  compound  and  divide  the 
materials  that  are  made  to  his  hand,  but  cannot  make  the 
least  particle  of  new  matter,  or  destroy  an  atom  of  what 
is  already  in  being;  so  in  the  mind  new  simple  ideas 
cannot  be  formed  at  pleasure  ;  as  any  one  may  learn,  who 
will  endeavour  to  acquire  the  idea  of  a  taste  which  has 
never  affected  his  palate,  or  of  a  colour  which  he  has 
never  seen.  A  person  born  destitute  of  any  one  sense,  is 
destitute  of  all  the  ideas  which  belong  to  that  sense :  if  he 
be  born  deaf,  he  has  no  idea  of  sound ;  if  blind,  he  has  no 
idea  of  light  and  colours.  Also,  though  he  may  possess 
any  sense  in  its  utmost  perfection,  yet  he  cannot,  except 
by  actual  experience,  have  any  particular  idea  belonging 
to  that  sense.  A  person  shut  up  all  his  life  in  a  dark 
room  could  have  no  idea  of  light ;  if  allowed  to  see  no 
other  colours  than  black  or  white,  he  could  have  no  ideas 
of  scarlet  or  green  :  he  who  has  never  tasted  a  pine-apple, 
can  have  no  idea  of  its  peculiar  flavour. 

6.  Some  simple  ideas  enter  the  mind  by  one  sense 
only  as  those  of  colour  by  the  eye,  and  of  sound  by  the 
ear.  ' 


Other  simple  ideas  are  acquired  by  more  senses  than 
one ;  as  those  of  extension ,  Jigare,  rest,  motion,  both  by 
the  sight  and  touch. 

Others  are  acquired  by  reflection  only ;  as  those  of 
thinking,  knowing,  willing. 

Others  are  acquired  by  all  the  ways  of  sensation  and 
reflection  ;  such  as  the  ideas  of  pleasure  or  pain,  which  are 
excited  by  almost  every  affection  of  our  senses  from 
without,  and  every  thought  of  our  mind  within. 

7-  The  qualities  that  are  in  bodies  are  of  two  sorts : 
(1)  Primary  qualities,  such  as  solidity,  figure,  hardness, 
softness,  fluidity  ;  these  exist  in  bodies,  whether  we  per¬ 
ceive  them  or  not.  (2)  Secondary  qualities.  These  are 
of  two  kinds;  first,  the  powers  that  bodies  have,  by 
operating  immediately  on  our  senses,  to  produce  in  us 
such  ideas  as  those  of  colour,  sound,  taste,  smell,  heat, 
cold ;  secondly,  the  powers  that  are  in  any  body  to  cause 
such  a  change  in  the  primary  qualities  of  another  body,  as 
to  make  it  affect  our  senses  differently  from  what  it  did 
before.  Thus  fire,  acting  immediately  upon  us,  gives  us 
the  idea  of  heat ; — acting  on  lead,  it  so  changes  it  as  to 
make  it  fluid. 

8.  Solidity  is  that  quality  of  a  body  by  which  it  ex¬ 
cludes  all  other  bodies  from  occupying  the  same  place 
with  it  at  the  same  time.  Of  the  primary  qualities  of 
bodies,  none  affects  our  senses  more  frequently  than  solid¬ 
ity.  Whether  we  move  or  rest,  we  feel  something  under 
us  that  supports  us  and  hinders  our  farther  sinking  down-' 
wards ;  and  the  bodies  which  we  daily  handle,  make  us 
perceive  that  while  they  remain  between  our  hands,  they 
prevent  by  an  insurmountable  force  the  approach  of  those 
parts  of  our  hands  that  press  them.  Solidity  differs  from 
hardness  in  this  respect,  that  hardness  consists  in  a  firm 


cohesion  of  the  parts  of  a  body,  so  as  to  make  it  difficult 
to  change  the  place  of  those  parts  as  they  respect  one 
another ;  whereas  solidity  respects  the  whole  mass,  and  is 
as  essential  a  quality  of  water  or  air  as  of  adamant.  A 
drop  of  water,  indeed,  placed  between  two  plane  surfaces 
of  marble,  will  not,  like  adamant,  prevent  their  contact; 
because  the  parts  of  a  drop  of  water,  cohering  loosely  to 
one  another,  give  way  to  the  pressure,  and  escape  in  a 
lateral  direction.  But  if  this  be  prevented,  and  a  drop 
of  water  be  confined  on  all  sides,  as  in  a  globe  of  gold,  it 
is  known  by  experiment  that  no  force  will  bring  the  sides 
of  the  globe  together  without  forcing  the  water  through 
the  pores  of  the  metal. 

Our  idea  of  solidity  is  also  distinguished  from  that 
of  pure  space ,  which  is  capable  neither  of  resistance  nor 
motion.  We  may  conceive  two  bodies  approach  one  an¬ 
other,  without  touching  or  displacing  any  solid  thing,  till 
their  surfaces  meet ;  and  hence  we  obtain  a  clear  idea  of 
space  without  solidity.  Whether  there  be  such  a  thing  as 
pure  space  is  a  different  question  ;  but  that  we  are  able  to 
form  an  idea  of  it,  cannot  be  doubted.  For  since  the  idea 
of  motion  in  one  body  does  not  include  the  idea  of  motion 
in  another ; — if  we  suppose  one  body  to  move  while 
others  remain  at  rest,  then  the  place  deserted  by  that 
body  gives  us  the  idea  of  pure  space,  into  which  another 
body  may  enter,  without  meeting  with  resistance  from 
any  thing. 

9.  When  it  is  said  that  Jire  is  hot,  that  snow  is  cold 
and  white,  these  expressions,  strictly  understood,  must 
mean  that  there  is  in  fire  and  snow  such  a  configuration 
of  their  insensible  particles  as  to  have  the  power  of  pro¬ 
ducing  in  us  the  ideas  of  heat,  and  of  cold  and  whiteness. 
But  as  bodies  exist  which  are  not  capable,  as  lead  is,  of 

a  3* 


being  made  fluid  by  the  action  of  fire,  in  like  mannef 
there  is  need  of  a  certain  formation  of  our  organs  of  sense, 
and  a  certain  texture  of  the  insensible  particles  of  our 
bodies  conformable  in  some  unknown  manner  to  the  in¬ 
sensible  particles  of  fire  and  snow,  in  order  that  the  ideas 
of  heat,  cold,  and  whiteness,  may  be  produced  in  us. 

Our  knowledge  therefore  of  secondary  qualities  is  gained 
solely  by  observing  the  effects  of  one  body  on  another ; 
whereas  primary  qualities  are  inherent  in  bodies,  inde¬ 
pendently  of  our  sensation,  or  of  any  relation  to  other 
bodies.  Of  primary  qualities,  we  have  by  our  senses  a 
distinct  notion ;  but  secondary  qualities  are  conceived  only 
as  the  unknown  causes  of  certain  sensations  and  of  certain 
known  effects .b 

If  we  had  senses  acute  enough  to  discern  the  minute 
particles  of  bodies  and  the  real  constitution  on  which 
their  secondary  qualities  depend,  they  would  produce 
quite  different  ideas  in  us;  and  that  which  is  now  the 
yellow  colour  of  gold  would  disappear,  and  instead  of  it 
we  should  see  the  texture  of  the  minute  parts,  of  a  certain 
size  and  figure.  But  our  present  organs  of  sense  are 
adapted  to  the  nature  of  things  around  us ;  and  if  they 
were  altered,  while  external  things  remained  the  same,  it 
cannot  be  doubted  that  our  well-being  would  be  affected 
by  the  change,  greatly  to  our  disadvantage. 

10.  Perception  is  that  act  of  the  mind  by  which  it 
acquires  ideas  of  the  qualities  of  bodies.  In  sensation, 
there  is  no  object  distinct  from  that  act  of  the  mind  by 
which  the  sensation  is  felt ;  as,  in  smelling  a  rose,  the 
mind  is  affected  by  the  sensation  in  a  certain  way,  and 

b  Reid,  Es.  II.  chi  xvit. 


this  affection  of  the  mind  may  be  conceived  without  thinks 
ing  of  the  rose  or  of  any  other  object.  But  perception  has 
always  an  external  object ;  and  the  object  of  perception, 
in  the  case  here  stated,  is  that  quality  in  the  rose  which  is 
discerned  by  the  sense  of  smell.  Observing  that  the 
sensation  is  excited  when  the  rose  is  near,  and  ceases 
when  it  is  removed,  we  are  led  to  conclude  that  there  is 
some  quality  in  the  rose  which  is  the  cause  of  this  sensa¬ 
tion.  This  quality  in  the  rose  is  the  object  perceived  ; 
and  that  act  of  the  mind  by  which  we  acquire  the  idea  of 
this  quality,  is  called  perception. 

1 1 .  The  senses  therefore  have  a  double  province ;  to 
make  us  feel,  and  to  make  us  perceive*  They  furnish  us 
with  a  variety  of  sensations,  and  at  the  same  time  they 
give  us  a  conception  of  the  objects  by  which  those 
sensations  are  caused.  As  the  perception  and  its  cor¬ 
responding  sensation  are  produced  at  the  same  time, 
and  are  never  found  disjoined  in  our  experience,  we 
are  led  improperly  to  consider  them  as  one  thing, 
and,  through  the  imperfection  of  language,  to  give  them 
the  same  name.  If  the  sensation  be  such  as  to  cause 
neither  pleasure  nor  pain,  and  therefore,  being  indifferent, 
draw  no  attention ; — of  which  kind  are  the  sensations 
caused  by  all  primary  qualities ; — in  speaking  of  those 
qualities,  it  is  usual  to  say  that  they  are  perceived,  not 
that  they  are  felt.  On  the  other  hand,  taste,  and  smell, 
heat,  and  cold,  have  sensations  that  are  often  agreeable 
or  disagreeable  in  such  a  degree  as  to  draw  our  attention  ; 
they  are  therefore  commonly  said  to  be  felt,  not  to  be 
perceived:  and  when  disorders  of  the  body  cause  acute 
pain,  so  that  the  painful  sensation  engrosses  the  atten¬ 
tion,  they  are  always  said  to  be  felt,  not  to  be  per¬ 


12.  The  secondary  qualities  of  bodies,  not  less  than 
the  primary,  are  objects  of  perception:  observing  their 
effects,  the  mind  is  led  to  form  a  conception  of  some 
unknown  cause  that  has  produced  them.  The  effect  is 
obvious  to  our  senses ;  but  the  quality  or  power  is  latent. 
And  in  such  cases,  i.  e.  where  the  cause  is  not  observed  by 
the  senses,  it  is  common  to  express  in  language,  by  active 
verbs,  effects  on  bodies  wherein  they  are  merely  passive . 
Thus  we  say  that  a  ship  sails  ;  though  it  is  certain  that  a 
ship  has  no  inherent  power  of  motion,  but  is  impelled  by 
external  force.  In  like  manner,  when  it  is  said  that 
planets  gravitate  towards  the  sun,  no  more  is  meant  than 
that  by  some  unknown  power  they  are  impelled  in  that 
direction.  This  gravitation  is  not  a  power  inherent  in 
bodies,,  which  they  exert  of  themselves  ;  it  is  a  force  im¬ 
pressed  upon  them  to  which  they  must  necessarily  yield. 
The  effect  may  be  observed,  but  the  nature  of  the  force 
which  has  caused  the  effect  is  unknown.  And  the  same  is 
true  of  all  the  powers  of  matter :  our  perception  of  them 
is  relative ;  relative,  i.  e.  to  the  effects  which  the  powers 
are  known  to  produce. 

13.  Perception  is  often  fallacious,  and  requires  cor¬ 
rection  by  experience  and  judgment.  A  man  who  has  had 
a  limb  cut  off,  many  years  after  feels  pain  apparently 
affecting  the  limb  which  he  no  longer  possesses.  The 
sensation  is  real ;  but  he  is  misled,  by  his  perception,  as  to 
the  locality  of  the  disorder.  Our  perception  of  external 
objects  is  connected  with  certain  sensations.  If  the  sen¬ 
sation  is  produced,  the  corresponding  perception  follows 
even  when  there  is  no  object,  and  in  that  case  deceives  us. 
In  like  manner,  our  sensations  are  connected  with  certain 
impressions  made  upon  the  nerves  and  brain :  and  when 
the  impression  is  made,  from  whatever  cause, — the  corres- 


ponding  sensation  and  perception  immediately  follow. 
Thus,  in  the  case  above  supposed,  a  part  of  the  nerve  that 
went  to  the  limb  was  cut  off  along  with  it,  and  upon  the 
remaining  part  the  same  impression  is  made,  which, 
according  to  his  experience  in  the  natural  state  of  his 
body,  was  caused  by  a  disorder  of  the  limb:  and  this 
impression  continues  to  be  followed  by  the  sensation  and 
perception  which  had  been  previously  connected  with  it. 
It  is  probable  that  repeated  convictions,  impressed  by  a 
new  experience,  might  correct  the  erroneous  perception.® 

14.  In  particular,  perception,  by  the  eye,  of  the  size, 
distance  and  figure  of  bodies,  is  wholly  determined  by  - 
experience.  A  man  born  blind,  who  should  suddenly  be 
made  to  see,  would  not  at  first  have  any  idea  of  distance 
by  sight,  but  would  think  all  bodies  equally  near  to  him. 
When,  however,  by  the  aid  of  the  touch  and  by  constant 
experience  it  is  found  that  different  sensations,  occasioned 
by  different  degrees  of  liveliness  in  the  colours  or  by  dif¬ 
ferent  dispositions  of  the  pupils  of  the  eyes,  correspond 
to  different  degrees  of  distance  in  the  object,  an  habitual 
connection  is  formed  in  the  mind  between  those  sensations 
and  the  notions  of  greater  or  less  distance. 

Our  perception  of  figure  is  acquired  in  the  same 
manner.  Having  experienced  by  the  sense  of  touch  that 
one  surface  is  a  square  and  another  a  circle,  that  one  body 
is  a  cube  and  another  a  sphere;  and  finding  our  sense 
of  sight  differently  affected  by  the  square  and  the  circle, 
by  the  cube  and  the  sphere ;  these  different  affections 
become  so  closely  connected  in  our  minds  with  the  figures 
of  the  respective  bodies,  that  when  the  affection  is  felt  the 

c  Reid,  Es.  II.  ch.  xyiii. 


idea  of  the  corresponding  figure  is  suggested  to  us  at  the 
same  moment.*1  Nor  need  we  be  surprised  that  this  is 
done  with  so  little  notice,  if  we  consider  how  quick  the 
actions  of  the  mind  are,  and  how  the  facility  of  doing 
things,  which  is  acquired  by  habit,  comes  at  length  to 
produce  actions  in  us  that  escape  our  observation. 

15.  Impressions  are  made  on  the  organs  of  sense, 
either  by  the  immediate  application  of  the  object  itself,  or 
by  some  medium  which  passes  between  the  object  and  the 
organ.  In  two  of  our  senses,  viz.  touch  and  taste,  there 
must  be  an  immediate  application  of  the  object  to  the 
organ.  In  the  other  three  the  impression  is  made  by 
means  of  a  medium ;  as,  in  vision,  by  the  rays  of  light ; 
in  smelling,  by  the  effluvia  proceeding  from  the  object ; 
and  in  hearing,  by  the  vibrations  of  the  air.  The  impres¬ 
sion  made  on  the  organ  of  sense,  being  communicated  to 
the  nerves  and  brain,  rouses  the  mind ;  and  the  united 
action  of  the  mind  and  of  the  object  produces  sensation. 
And  since  we  know  by  experience  that  the  mind  alone 
cannot,  by  any  effort  of  its  own,  produce  sensation,  and  are 
intuitively  certain  that  nothing  can  begin  to  exist  without 
a  cause,  we  infer  from  the  existence  of  any  new  sensation, 
the  existence  of  some  external  cause  from  which  that  sen¬ 
sation  proceeds,  and  thus  we  are  led  by  experience  to  a 
perception  of  the  external  object. 

But  while  we  are  thus  taught  by  experience  that  cer¬ 
tain  impressions,  produced  on  our  organs  of  sense  by 
external  objects,  are  followed  by  sensations,  and  these 
again  by  corresponding  perceptions,  yet  the  manner  in 
which  these  effects  are  accomplished  is  unknown  ;  and 

d  Encyc.  Brit.  Art.  Metaphysics. 


must  remain  so,  unless  we  can  discover  what  the  mind  is, 
and  by  what  laws  it  is  united  to  matter,  so  that  they  are 
qualified  to  act  on  one  another.  In  the  mean  time  we  are 
ignorant  of  the  essence  both  of  mind  and  of  matter,  and  are 
merely  acquainted  with  a  few  of  their  properties ;  on  which 
account,  in  observing  their  operations,  we  must  often 
remain  satisfied  with  knowing  that  certain  things  are  con¬ 
nected  with  one  another,  without  being  able  to  discover 
the  chain  that  goes  between  them.  It  is  to  such  connect¬ 
ions  that  we  give  the  name  of  the  laws  of  nature  ;  and 
when  it  is  said  that  one  thing  produces  another  by  a  law 
of  nature,  no  more  is  meant  than  that  one  thing,  which  in 
popular  language  is  termed  the  cause,  is  invariably  followed 
by  another  which  is  termed  the  effect ;  but  how  they  are 
connected  is  unknown/ 

l6.  Memory  is  that  faculty  of  the  mind  which 
enables  us  to  retain  ideas  already  acquired,  and  to  recall 
them  to  our  contemplation  without  the  aid  of  the  objects 
by  which  they  were  originally  excited.  Sometimes  ideas 
recur  to  us  spontaneously  ;  in  other  cases  they  are  recalled 
by  some  incident,  or  by  an  effort  of  the  will.  In  the  last 
case,  i.  e.  when  the  mind  makes  an  effort  in  search  of  any 
idea  and  after  some  labour  recalls  it,  the  operation  is  com¬ 
monly  distinguished  by  the  term  recollection. 

Memory  is  of  so  great  moment,  that  where  it  is  defect¬ 
ive,  the  rest  of  our  faculties  are  in  a  great  measure  useless. 
If  an  idea  be  wholly  lost,  so  far  there  is  perfect  ignorance  ; 
nor  is  the  evil  much  less,  if  the  memory  retrieve  ideas 
slowly,  so  that  they  are  not  at  hand  when  occasion  calls  for 

Stewart,  Elem.  of  Phil.  ch.  i.  3. 



How  the  mind  possesses  this  faculty,  cannot  be  explain¬ 
ed,  any  more  than  we  can  explain  the  causes  of  sensation 
and  perception.  If  it  be  supposed,  according  to  the 
ancient  theory  of  ideas,  that  they  are  imprinted  on  the 
brain  by  means  of  the  organs  of  sense,  and  that,  when 
they  are  so  imprinted  as  not  to  be  destroyed  by  time,  the 
preservation  of  them  is  called  memory ;  it  may  be  ob¬ 
jected,  first,  that  there  is  no  evidence  that  the  impressions 
made  upon  the  brain  remain  after  the  object  is  removed  ; 
secondly,  that,  supposing  them  to  remain,  all  that  can  be 
inferred  is,  that  by  the  laws  of  nature  there  is  a  connection 
established  between  these  impressions  and  the  remem¬ 
brance  of  the  object :  but  how  the  impressions  contribute 
to  this  remembrance  is  unknown;  it  being  impossible  to 
discover  how  thought  of  any  kind  can  be  produced  by  im¬ 
pressions  made  upon  the  brain  or  upon  any  part  of  the 

When  the  memory  is  described  as  a  repository  in  which 
ideas  are  stored ;  or  when  ideas  are  said  to  be  engraven  on 
the  memory,  such  expressions  are  not  rightly  used,  unless 
they  be  understood  in  a  figurative  sense;  since  they  do  not 
afford  any  real  explanation  of  the  operations  to  which  they 

It  is  probable,  however,  that  the  memory  is  dependent 
in  some  manner  on  the  temperament  of  the  brain,  since  it 
is  observed  that  diseases  of  the  brain  impair  or  destroy  it, 
and  that  its  vigour  returns  with  the  return  of  health.  But 
if  it  should  ever  be  discovered  what  temperament  is  favour¬ 
able  to  the  memory,  and  by  what  remedies  the  disorders 
of  it  may  be  removed,  though  the  advantage  of  such  a 
discovery  would  be  great,  it  would  not  in  any  degree  ena¬ 
ble  us  to  understand  why  one  state  of  the  brain  is  favour¬ 
able  to  the  memory  more  than  another. 


The  powers  of  this  faculty  are  different  in  different 
persons ;  and  in  the  same  person  they  may  be  greatly 
improved  by  exercise ;  by  attention ;  and  by  a  proper 
arrangement  of  the  subjects  which  he  wishes  to  remember. 
The  effects  of  exercise  in  strengthening  all  the  faculties 
are  known  by  every  one’s  experience.  It  is  equally  known 
that  those  ideas  are  easily  remembered  on  which  the  atten¬ 
tion  of  the  mind  was  at  first  strongly  fixed,  either  from  its 
natural  vigour  or  from  some  casual  association  with  the 
passions.  Hence,  those  who  are  able  to  connect  feelings  of 
pleasure  with  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  have  little  difficul¬ 
ty  in  retaining  what  they  have  acquired  ;  while  many  who 
complain  of  the  weakness  of  memory  ought  rather  to 
ascribe  the  evil  to  a  defect  either  of  apprehension  or  of 

The  great  advantage  that  may  be  derived  from  a  pro¬ 
per  arrangement  of  the  subjects  of  knowledge,  is  worthy 
of  particular  notice.  A  number  of  ideas  may  be  con¬ 
nected  by  some  mutual  relation,  and  referred  to  one 
general  principle.  The  mind  therefore  is  relieved  from 
the  necessity  of  dwelling  on  detached  facts,  and  by  means 
of  a  small  number  of  general  principles,  it  can  recall,  as 
occasions  may  require,  a  great  variety  of  particulars  asso¬ 
ciated  with  them  ;  each  of  which,  considered  separately, 
would  have  been  as  burdensome  to  the  memory  as  the 
principle  on  which  they  are  all  dependent.  In  the 
common  business  of  life,  in  what  confusion  would  the 
merchant  be  involved  if  he  were  to  deposit  'promiscuously, 
in  his  cabinet,  the  various  documents  which  pass  through 
his  hands  !  whereas,  by  a  proper  distribution  of  them,  and 
by  referring  them  to  a  few  general  titles,  an  ordinary 
memory  is  able  to  effect  what  the  most  retentive  would 
fail  in,  if  unassisted  by  method.  The  advantages  of 
arrangement  in  treasuring  up  our  ideas  in  the  mind,  are 






perfectly  similar  to  the  good  effects  of  it  in  the  instance 
which  has  been  stated. 

But  since,  with  every  aid,  the  powers  of  the  memory 
must  be  limited,  we  shall  do  well  to  discriminate  the 
subjects  of  knowledge  according  to  their  importance,  and 
confine  our  aim  to  the  acquisition  of  useful  and  connected 
truths ;  instead  of  grasping  at  every  thing  by  desultory 
efforts,  and  distracting  our  attention  by  many  detached 
and  insignificant  objects/ 

17*  The  mind,  having  gained  ideas,  has  the  faculty 
of  discerning ;  i.  e.  of  distinguishing  one  from  another. 
If  in  having  our  ideas  in  the  memory  ready  at  hand, 
consists  quickness  of  parts ;  in  having  them  unconfused 
and  being  able  to  distinguish  one  thing  from  another 
where  there  is  the  least  difference,  consists  the  exactness 
of  judgment.  And  hence  there  appears  to  be  some 
ground  for  the  common  remark,  that  men  of  great  wit  and 
prompt  memory  have  seldom  the  clearest  judgment,  or 
deepest  reason.  For  wit  consists  in  assembling  ideas,  and 
putting  together  with  quickness  and  variety  those  wherein 
can  be  found  any  resemblance  or  congruity,  so  as  to  make 
up  pleasant  pictures  and  agreeable  visions  in  the  fancy ; 
in  doing  which,  no  regard  is  paid  to  truth  and  right 
reason,  by  whose  severe  rules,  therefore,  it  will  not  bear 
to  be  examined :  judgment,  on  the  contrary,  consists  in 
separating  ideas  wherein  can  be  found  the  least  difference, 
so  that  no  confusion  may  arise  from  their  apparent  simili¬ 

18.  Every  object  which  affects  our  senses  is  an  indi¬ 
vidual  object ;  but  we  perceive  that  two  or  more  objects 
which  affect  some  of  our  senses  differently,  affect  others  of 
them  in  precisely  the  same  way.  Thus  paper,  snow,  and 

f  Reid,  Es.  III.  Stewart,  El.  Phil.  c.  vi. 


milk,  affect  the  senses  of  touch  and  taste  differently,  but 
they  present  the  same  appearance  to  the  eye.  The  differ¬ 
ence  we  believe  to  proceed  from  different  qualities  in  the 
several  objects ;  and  their  sameness  of  appearance  we  ascribe 
to  the  possession  of  some  similar  qualities.  To  the  similar 
qualities  one  common  name  is  given  ;  and  every  thing 
which  presents  the  same  appearance  to  the  eye  that  snow 
does,  is  called  ivhite  ;  where  the  word  white  is  the  sign  of  a 
quality  inherent  in  each  of  numerous  objects. 

If  it  were  necessary  to  give  a  distinct  name  to  each 
individual  object,  it  is  manifest  that  a  complete  language 
could  never  be  formed,  adequate  to  the  vast  variety  of 
objects.  The  mind,  therefore,  comparing  several  indi¬ 
viduals  with  each  other,  and  discovering  in  them  many 
qualities  in  which  they  agree,  combines  them  into  one 
class  or  species,  and  includes  them  all  under  a  common 
name.  Thus,  observing  that  many  individuals  agree  in 
having  an  erect  form,  and  in  being  endowed  with  reason, 
(omitting  all  those  properties  in  which  they  disagree, 
such  as  size,  height,  or  complexion),  we  combine  them 
into  one  species,  to  which  we  give  the  name  of  man. 
Again,  observing  that  other  objects  have  certain  qualities 
which  belong  to  man, — laying  aside  the  ideas  of  reason, 
speech,  and  other  differences,  and  retaining  only  the  ideas 
of  organized  body,  sensation,  and  spontaneous  motion,  we 
comprise  all  these,  along  with  man,  under  the  common 
name  of  animal.  By  a  similar  process  we  comprehend 
animals,  plants,  and  other  objects  under  the  name  of  body , 
and  lastly  of  substance  ;  having  omitted,  successively,  the 
peculiar  qualities  by  which  the  several  classes  of  objects 
are  distinguished  from  one  another. 

This  power  of  considering  certain  qualities  of  an 
object  apart  from  the  rest  is  called  Abstraction,  and  it 
is  of  so  great  importance  as  to  have  been  considered  by 

1 6 

some  philosophers  the  charactenstical  attribute  of  a 
rational  nature. 

It  was  long  disputed  whether  the  mind  is  able  to  form 
abstract  ideas ;  whether,  for  example,  it  can  form  the 
abstract  idea  of  man,  without  attaching  to  the  conceived 
object  some  particular  size,  height,  complexion ; — which 
particulars  are  not  necessary  attributes  of  man,  but  dis¬ 
tinguish  one  man  from  another.  It  is  now  generally 
admitted  that  the  mind  has  no  such  power  ;  that  it  cannot 
form  the  idea  of  any  thing,  without  ascribing  to  it  some 
particular  modification.  In  what  manner  then  is  it  able, 
from  the  consideration  of  these  particular  ideas,  to  make 
its  conclusions  general  ?  By  considering  the  particular 
ideas  to  be  signs  or  representatives  of  all  other  ideas  of  the 
same  class.  If  the  subject  of  our  thoughts  be  man,  and 
we  attempt  to  form  the  idea  of  an  object  corresponding  to 
this  word,  that  idea  must  be  particular  ;  but  our  reason¬ 
ings  will  not  on  that  account  be  the  less  correct,  if  they  do 
not  in  the  least  involve  or  depend  upon  those  particular 
qualities  which  distinguish  individuals  from  each  other,  and 
are  not  common  to  the  species.  When  Euclid  is  proving 
the  method  of  dividing  a  line  into  two  equal  parts,  he 
draws  a  line,  we  may  suppose,  of  an  inch  in  length :  this, 
which  in  itself  is  a  particular  line,  is  nevertheless,  with 
regard  to  its  signification,  general ;  since  it  is  a  sign  or 
representative  of  all  particular  lines,  so  that  what  is  proved 
of  it  is  proved  of  all.  And  as  that  particular  line  becomes 
general  by  being  made  a  sign,  so  the  name  line,  and  the 
idea  of  a  line,  either  of  which  taken  absolutely  is  particu¬ 
lar,  by  being  signs  are  made  general  likewise. 

When  it  is  affirmed  that  the  whole  is  equal  to  the  sum  of 
all  its  parts,  if,  in  order  to  comprehend  this,  we  recur  to 
ideas,  all  that  we  can  do  is  to  form  a  notion  of  some  indi¬ 
vidual  whole,  divided  into  a  certain  number  of  parts  of 

1 7 

which  it  is  constituted ;  as  of  the  year,  divided  into  the  four 
seasons.  From  this  instance  we  can  discern  nothing  more 
than  the  relation  of  equality  between  this  particular  whole 
and  its  component  parts.  If  we  take  another  example, 
we  only  perceive  another  particular  truth.  The  same 
holds  of  a  third  and  of  a  fourth.  But  the  perception  of 
ten  thousand  instances  would  not  give  us  a  knowledge  of 
the  universal  truth,  if  the  mind  had  not  the  power  of 
considering  things  as  signs,  and  particular  ideas  as  repre¬ 
senting  an  infinity  of  others,  resembling  one  another  in 
those  circumstances  which  are  the  subject  of  consideration, 
though  dissimilar  in  every  other.  And  hence  it  is  that 
some  ideas  are  particular  in  their  nature,  but  general  in 
their  representation. 

It  may  be  observed  also  that  the  attention  of  the  mind 
is  frequently  extended  no  farther  than  to  words ;  which 
are  the  arbitrary  signs  of  ideas.  Our  habits  of  thinking 
and  speaking  have  gradually  established  in  the  mind  such 
relations  among  the  words  we  employ,  as  to  enable  us  to 
carry  on  processes  of  reasoning  by  means  of  them,  without 
attending  in  every  instance  to  their  particular  signification. 
In  talking,  for  example,  of  government,  church,  negotiation, 
conquest,  we  seldom  present  to  our  minds  all  the  simple 
ideas  of  which  these  complex  ones  are  composed  :  but  all 
the  common  applications  of  these  terms  having  become 
familiar  to  us,  any  unusual  application  of  them  is  immedi¬ 
ately  detected  ;  this  detection  induces  doubt,  and  the  mind 
is  thereby  led  to  have  recourse  to  the  ideas  themselves, 
and  to  its  knowledge  of  the  things  which  the  words  signi¬ 
fy.  Thus  if,  instead  of  saying  that  in  war  the  weaker  have 
always  recourse  to  negotiation ,  we  should  say  that  they  have 
always  recourse  to  conquest,  our  familiarity  with  these  words 
and  with  the  relation  of  the  ideas  signified  by  them,  makes 
us  immediately  perceive  the  absurdity  of  that  proposition. 

b  3 


But  in  matters  that  are  not  familiar  to  us,  or  are  treated  in 
an  uncommon  manner,  and  in  such  as  are  of  an  abstruse 
nature,  the  case  is  different;  and  we  shall  be  continually 
liable  to  be  imposed  upon  by  words,  unless  we  fully 
apprehend  their  meaning,  and  attend  to  the  ideas  which 
they  are  employed  to  represent.^ 

19-  The  objects  of  Complex  ideas  may  be  classed 
under  three  heads ;  substances,  modes,  and  relations. 

The  ideas  of  substances  are  such  combinations  of  sim¬ 
ple  ideas  as  represent  things  that  subsist  by  themselves  ; 
in  which  combination,  the  idea  of  substance,  such  as  we 
are  able  to  form  of  it,  is  always  the  first  and  chief.  Thus, 
if  to  the  idea  of  substance  be  joined  that  of  a  certain 
colour,  with  certain  degrees  of  weight,  hardness,  ductility, 
and  fusibility,  we  gain  the  idea  of  lead ;  and  the  ideas  of 
spontaneous  motion,  thought,  and  of  a  certain  figure, 
joined  to  substance,  form  the  idea  of  man. 

Our  knowledge  of  bodies  is  acquired  solely  by  our  per¬ 
ception  of  their  qualities ;  but  since  we  cannot  conceive 
how  these  qualities  should  subsist  alone,  we  suppose  them 
to  exist  in,  and  be  supported  by  some  common  subject ; 
which  support  we  denote  by  the  name  substance,  though  it 
is  certain  that  of  the  nature  of  it  we  have  in  reality  no 
distinct  conception.  And  the  same  is  true  of  the  opera¬ 
tions  of  the  mind,  such  as  thinking,  knowing,  doubting: 
since  we  are  not  able  to  apprehend  how  they  can  subsist 

fi  Encyc.  Brit.  Art.  Metaph.  Campbell’s  Phil,  of  Rhet.  vob  II/ 
eh.  vii.  Hume’s  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,  Part  I.  vii. 


of  themselves  or  be  produced  by  mere  matter,  we  conclude 
that  they  are  the  actions  of  some  other  substance,  which  we 
call  mind  or  spirit.  So  that,  as  we  have  no  other  idea  of 
matter  than  as  being  something  wherein  the  qualities  which 
affect  our  senses  subsist,  if  we  suppose  a  substance  wherein 
thinking,  knowing,  doubting  and  other  powers  subsist,  we 
have  as  clear  an  idea  of  the  substance  of  spirit,  as  we  have 
o'f  matter  ;  the  one  being  supposed  to  be  (without  knowing 
what  it  is)  the  substratum  to  those  simple  ideas  we  have 
from  without,  and  the  other  supposed  (with  a  like  igno¬ 
rance  of  what  it  is)  to  be  the  substratum  to  those  operations 
which  we  experience  in  ourselves  within.  It  appears 
then  that  our  idea  of  material  substance  is  not  more  dis¬ 
tinct  than  that  of  the  substance  of  spirit ;  and  therefore 
from  our  not  having  a  distinct  knowledge  of  the  substance 
of  spirit,  we  can  no  more  conclude  its  non-existence  than 
we  can,  for  the  same  reason,  deny  the  existence  of  matter. 
Some  of  the  qualities  or  properties  of  both  are  known  to  us 
from  observation  and  experience ;  but  all  attempts  to  ex¬ 
plain  the  manner  in  which  these  qualities  exist  together, 
and  what  is  the  cause,  ground,  or  reason  of  their  union, 
have  hitherto,  with  regard  both  to  matter  and  spirit,  been 
made  equally  in  vain. 

The  things  then  immediately  perceived  by  us  and  of 
which  we  have  an  adequate  idea,  are  only  qualities,  which 
must  belong  to  a  subject ;  and  all  that  we  know  about  this 
subject  is,  that  it  is  that  to  which  such  qualities  belong. 
In  this  the  philosopher  has  no  advantage  above  the 
vulgar :  for  as  they  perceive  colour,  figure,  and  motion  by 
their  senses,  as  well  as  he  does ;  and  as  both  are  equally 
certain  that  these  qualities  must  have  a  subject  in  which 
they  inhere,  so  the  notions  which  both  have  of  this  subject 
are  equally  obscure.  When  the  philosopher  calls  it  a  sub¬ 
stance,  a  substratum,  or  a  subject  of  inhesion,  these  words 


convey  no  further  meaning  than  what  is  understood  and 
expressed  by  saying,  in  common  language,  that  it  is  a 
thing  extended,  solid,  and  moveable.  It  is  therefore  about 
qualities  alone  that  we  can  reason  with  certainty,  and  it  is 
sufficient  for  the  purposes  of  life  that  we  have  of  them  an 
adequate  knowledge.  For  as  the  substratum  of  all  bodies 
seems  to  be  the  same,  though  we  know  not  what  it  is  ; 
and  as  one  body  is  distinguished  from  another  only  by 
its  qualities  or  powers,  a  knowledge  of  these  is  all  that  can 
be  necessary  to  direct  us  in  our  use  of  the  objects  with 
which  we  are  surrounded. h 

20.  Modes  do  not  subsist  by  themselves,  but  are  the 
adjuncts  or  affections  of  things  to  which  they  are  referred. 
Thus  inches  and  feet  are  modes  of  Space  ;  hours  and  days 
of  Duration;  units  of  Number.  Also  beauty,  grati¬ 
tude,  theft,  murder  are  modes ;  being  the  adjuncts  of  bodies 
or  substances,  on  which  they  are  dependent.  There  are 
two  kinds  of  modes:  (l)  simple  modes,  our  ideas  of  which 
are  merely  combinations  of  the  same  simple  idea,  as  of  a 
dozen,  a  score,  which  are  only  so  many  units  added  to¬ 
gether  :  (2)  mixed  modes,  such  as  beauty,  theft ;  our  ideas 
of  which  are  formed  by  the  combination  of  simple  ideas  of 
several  kinds. 

21.  Space  is  conceived  as  having  three  dimensions, 
length,  breadth,  and  thickness,  which  are  generally  called 
the  three  simple  modes  of  space.  In  this  respect  it  agrees 
with  body  :  but  the  agreement  proceeds  no  farther  ;  for 
space  is  destitute  of  solidity,  without  which  the  existence 
of  body  is  inconceivable.  Our  idea  of  space  is  gained  by 
the  sight  and  touch ;  and  it  is  so  closely  associated  with 
every  visible  and  tangible  object,  that  we  cannot  see  nor 
feel,  without  conceiving  that  the  objects  seen  or  felt 

h  Reid,  Es.  II.  ch.  xix. 


occupy  so  much  of  space.  Had  we  never  possessed  the 
senses  of  sight  and  touch,  we  could  not  have  supposed 
the  existence  of  space  to  be  necessary  to  the  existence  of 
every  thing.  Our  other  senses  as  well  as  our  internal 
powers  of  thought  would  have  given  us  a  knowledge  of 
our  own  existence  and  of  the  existence  of  other  things,  but 
no  object  of  those  senses  or  of  thought  would  have  been 
conceived  as  occupying  space. 

Space  may  properly  be  called  the  privation  of  body ; 
since  it  has  itself  no  positive  or  actual  existence.  We  have 
indeed  a  positive  idea  of  it,  as  we  have  of  silence,  darkness, 
and  other  privations ;  but  it  cannot  be  inferred  from  our 
having  such  an  idea  of  space,  that  space  itself  is  something- 
real,  any  more  than  it  can  be  inferred  that  darkness , 
silence,  absence  are  real  things,  and  have  as  positive  an 
existence  as  light ,  sounds  and  body. 

Each  different  distance  is  a  different  mode  of  space. 
Men  fix  in  their  minds,  for  the  use  of  measuring,  the  ideas 
of  certain  lengths,  such  as  an  inch,  a  yard,  a  mile ;  and 
when  these  stated  lengths  are  become  familiar  to  their 
thoughts,  they  can  without  difficulty  repeat  them,  and  by 
adding  them  together  enlarge  their  idea  of  space  as  much 
as  they  please.  This  power  of  repeating  the  idea  of  any 
distance  and  adding  it  to  the  former,  without  being  ever 
able  to  come  to  a  limit,  gives  us  the  idea  of  infinity. 

22.  Our  idea  of  the  place  of  a  body  is  gained  by  ob¬ 
serving  the  relation  of  its  distance  from  any  two  or  more 
points,  which,  being  considered  as  at  rest,  keep  the  same 
distance  one  from  another.  Thus,  when  we  observe  a 
thing  to  be  at  the  same  distance  now,  at  which  it  was  yes¬ 
terday,  from  two  or  more  points  with  which  it  was  then 
compared,  and  which  have  not,  since  the  comparison  was 
made,  changed  their  position  with  respect  to  each  other, 
the  thing  is  said  to  be  in  the  same  place ;  and  to  have 


changed  its  place,  if  it  have  altered  its  distance  from  those 
points.  The  place  of  any  thing  is  therefore  determined  by 
reference  to  the  objects  with  which  it  is  compared ;  and 
on  that  account  a  thing  may  have  remained  in  the  same 
place  with  regard  to  some  objects,  and  at  the  same  time 
have  changed  its  place  with  regard  to  others.  Thus  in 
the  cabin  of  a  ship,  different  articles  may  have  continued 
in  the  same  place  with  regard  to  each  other,  while  all  of 
them,  by  the  motion  of  the  ship,  may  have  changed  their 
place  with  regard  to  the  neighbouring  land.  But  this 
modification  of  distance  which  is  called  place,  being  made 
by  men  for  their  common  use,  in  order  that  they  may  de¬ 
signate  the  particular  position  of  objects  where  they  have 
occasion  for  such  designation,  they  determine  the  place  of 
an  object  by  reference  to  such  adjacent  things  as  best  serve 
their  present  purpose,  without  regarding  other  things 
which,  for  a  different  purpose,  might  better  determine  the 
place  of  the  same  object.  Thus  in  a  chess-board,  the  use 
of  the  designation  of  the  place  of  each  chessman  being  de¬ 
termined  only  within  that  checquered  piece  of  wood,  to 
designate  it  by  reference  to  any  thing  else,  would  be  use¬ 
less  ;  but  if  these  chessmen  were  put  up  in  a  box,  and  it 
were  asked  where  any  particular  chessman  is,  it  would  be 
proper  to  determine  its  place  by  reference  to  something 
else  than  the  chess-board,  such  as  the  part  of  the  room 
or  closet  which  contains  the  box. 

That  place  is  nothing  but  the  relative  position  of  things, 
will  be  readily  admitted,  when  it  is  considered  that  we 
can  have  no  idea  of  the  place  of  the  universe.  Every  part 
of  the  universe  has  place ;  because  it  can  be  referred  to 
other  parts  which  we  may  suppose  to  be  fixed.  Thus 
every  planet  of  our  system  has  a  place,  which  may  be 
determined  by  ascertaining  its  distance  from  the  Sun  and 
from  the  orbits  of  the  other  planets  ;  and  the  place  of  the 


system  itself  may  be  ascertained  by  referring  it  to  two  or 
more  fixed  stars:  but  all  the  systems  taken  as  one  whole  can 
have  no  place  ;  because  there  is  nothing  else  to  which  the 
position  of  that  whole  can  be  referred.  It  is  true  that  the 
word  place  is  sometimes  used  to  denote  that  portion  of 
space  which  any  particular  body  occupies ;  and  the 
universe  has  place  in  this  sense,  but  not  in  the  other  and 
proper  sense  of  the  word. 

23.  Hours,  days,  years,  time,  eternity,  are  modes  of 
duration.  Our  idea  of  duration,  as  well  as  our  belief  of 
it,  is  acquired  by  the  faculty  of  memory.  It  is  essential  to 
every  thing  remembered  that  it  be  something  which  is 
past;  and  we  cannot  conceive  a  thing  to  be  past,  without 
conceiving  some  duration  between  it  and  the  present.  As 
soon  therefore  as  we  remember  any  thing,  we  acquire  both 
an  idea  and  belief  of  duration.1 

Having  gained  the  idea  of  duration,  the  next  thing  to 
be  done  is  to  get  some  measure  of  it,  whereby  we  may 
judge  of  its  different  lengths,  and  consider  the  distinct 
order  wherein  things  exist;  without  which  our  knowledge 
would  be  confused,  and  History  in  particular  would  be 
rendered  useless.  This  consideration  of  duration,  as 
marked  out  by  certain  measures  or  periods,  gives  us  the 
idea  of  time. 

In  measuring  extension ,  nothing  more  is  required  than 
the  application  of  some  standard  or  measure  to  the  thing 
whose  extension  we  wish  to  ascertain ;  but  in  measuring 
duration  this  cannot  be  done,  because  no  two  different 
parts  of  duration  can  be  put  together  to  measure  one 
another,  and  therefore  no  standard  of  it  can  be  kept 
at  hand,  ready  to  be  applied.  Nothing  then  could 
serve  properly  for  a  measure  of  time,  but  what  has 

*  Reid,  Es.  III.  ch.  iii. 


divided  the  whole  length  of  its  duration  into  equal 
portions  by  constantly  repeated  periods.  On  which 
account,  the  diurnal  and  annual  revolutions  of  the  Sun ,  as 
having  been  from  the  beginning  of  nature  equal,  regular, 
and  observable  by  all  mankind,  have  been  with  reason 
made  use  of  for  the  measure  of  duration.  But  the  distinc¬ 
tion  of  days  and  years  having  depended  on  the  motion  of 
the  Sun,  men  are  apt  to  suppose  that  without  motion  there 
could  be  no  measure  of  time  ;  as  if  there  were  some 
necessary  connection  between  them :  whereas  any  period¬ 
ical  appearance,  if  universally  observable,  would  have 
distinguished  the  intervals  of  time  as  well  as  those  that 
have  been  made  use  of.  If  the  Sun,  for  instance,  had  been 
lighted  up  as  a  fire,  after  the  same  intervals  of  time  which 
now  pass  between  its  successive  arrivals  at  the  same 
meridian,  and  had  been  extinguished  twelve  hours  after ; 

_ and  if  in  the  time  of  an  annual  revolution  it  had  sensibly 

increased  in  brightness  and  heat,  and  so  decreased  again  ; 
such  regular  appearances  would  have  served  to  measure 
the  periods  of  duration  as  well  without  motion,  as  with  it. 

The  idea  of  time  is  preparatory  to  that  of  eternity  :  for 
having  got  the  ideas  of  certain  lengths  of  duration,  we  can 
in  our  thoughts  add  them  to  one  another  as  often  as  we 
please,  and  apply  them,  so  added,  to  duration  past  or  fu¬ 
ture;  and  this  we  can  continue  to  do  without  limit,  and 
suppose  a  duration  exceeding  the  periods  we  can  reckon, 
add  as  many  as  we  will. 

25.  The  idea  of  number  is  originally  acquired  by 
observing  the  union  of  similar  qualities  in  two  or  more 
objects,  and  referring  those  objects,  by  abstraction,  to  the 
same  class,  and  giving  them  a  common  name.  Thus  ob¬ 
serving  a  cow,  a  sheep,  and  a  horse,  we  say  that  there  are 
three  animals  ;  but  if  the  cow,  sheep,  and  horse  had  no 
common  properties,  so  that  we  could  not  reduce  them  to 


some  common  species,  we  should  never  gain  from  them 
the  idea  of  number.  It  is  necessary  to  have  observed  that 
two  objects  are  in  some  respects  of  the  same  kind,  before 
we  can  number  them,  or  make  such  a  comparison  of  one 
with  the  other  as  to  gain  a  knowledge  of  the  relations  of 
one  and  two.  If  a  child  saw  a  cow,  a  sheep,  and  a  horse, 
his  senses  would  no  doubt  enable  him  to  distinguish  them 
from  one  another;  and  if  he  were  asked  the  number  ot 
them,  he  might  probably,  from  having  learnt  the  names  of 
number  as  signs,  without  affixing  to  them  any  idea  of  the 
things  signified,  readily  answer  three;  but  if  he  were 
further  asked  three  what  ?  his  answer  would  not  be  so 
ready.  They  are  not  three  cows,  three  sheep,  or  three 
horses.  When  he  has  learnt  that,  from  having  some  com¬ 
mon  properties,  they  may  be  classed  under  the  same 
species,  then,  and  not  before,  he  will  be  able  to  answer 
that  they  are  three  animals. 

In  arithmetic,  Jigures,  which  are  combinations  of  units, 
are  used  merely  as  symbols;  and  it  is  not  necessary  that 
the  mind  should  concern  itself  with  the  things  signified ; 
and  it  is  observable  that,  whatever  difficulty  we  may  have 
had  originally  in  acquiring  the  idea  of  number,  the  sim¬ 
ple  modes  of  it  are  of  all  others  the  most  distinct.  Every 
the  least  variation  makes  each  combination  as  clearly 
different  from  that  which  approaches  nearest  to  it,  as  from 
the  most  remote ;  two  being  as  distinct  from  one  as  from  a 
hundred,  and  the  idea  of  two  as  distinct  from  that  of  one, 
as  the  idea  of  the  magnitude  of  the  earth  is  from  that  of 
one  of  its  particles.  This  is  not  the  case  in  other  simple 
modes  ;  in  which  it  is  not  easy  to  distinguish  between 
two  modes  that  approach  one  another  and  yet  are  really 
different.  For  who  will  undertake  to  discern  accurately 
the  various  shades  of  colour,  or  form  distinct  ideas  of  every 
the  least  difference  in  extension  ? 


Since  numeration  consists  in  adding  units  together, 
and  these  combinations  of  units  have  no  variety  or  differ¬ 
ence  except  as  being  more  or  less  ;  names  or  marks  for 
each  distinct  combination  are  more  necessary  than  in  any 
other  sort  of  ideas.  For  without  such  names,  we  could 
not  make  use  of  numbers  in  reckoning ;  especially  where 
the  combination  is  made  up  of  a  great  multitude  of  units, 
which,  if  put  together  without  a  name  to  distinguish  each 
precise  sum,  would  form  only  a  heap  in  confusion. 
Hence,  it  has  been  observed  that  uncivilized  tribes  cannot 
reckon  far,  on  account  of  the  scantiness  of  their  language, 
and  when  they  wish  to  express  greater  numbers,  they 
point  to  the  hairs  of  the  head,  to  denote  a  great  multitude 
which  they  cannot  number : — and  also  that  children,  for 
want  of  names  to  mark  the  several  progressions  of  num¬ 
bers,  and  from  not  having  yet  the  faculty  to  arrange  them 
in  regular  order  and  retain  them  in  their  memories,  do  not 
begin  to  number  very  early,  or  proceed  in  it  far,  till  after 
they  are  well  furnished  with  a  stock  of  other  ideas ;  and 
they  are  often  known  to  reason  well,  and  have  clear  con¬ 
ceptions  of  other  things,  before  they  can  reckon  twenty. 
For  before  they  can  have  a  clear  idea  of  that  number,  they 
must  know  the  distinct  names  of  all  the  preceding  numbers 
as  they  stand  in  order ;  and  wherever  this  fails,  the  chain  is 
broken,  and  the  progress  in  numbering  can  go  no  farther. 
So  that  to  reckon  right,  it  is  required  that  the  mind  dis¬ 
tinguish  ideas  which  differ  only  by  an  unit,  and  also  that  it 
remember  in  their  exact  order  the  names  of  the  several 
combinations  from  an  unit  to  the  number  which  is  to  be 
reckoned:  in  either  of  which  if  it  fails,  the  process  of 
numbering  will  be  disturbed,  and  there  will  remain  only 
the  confused  idea  of  multitude  ;  but  the  ideas  necessary  to 
distinct  numeration  will  not  be  attained. 

2  7 

26.  By  means  of  number  we  are  furnished  with  the 
most  distinct  idea  of  infinity  that  we  are  capable  of  ac¬ 
quiring.  For  even  in  space  and  duration,  when  the  mind 
pursues  the  idea  of  infinity,  it  makes  use  of  the  repetitions 
of  number,' — as  of  millions  of  miles  or  years;  which  are 
so  many  distinct  terms,  kept  best  by  number  from  running 
into  confusion ;  and  when  we  have  added  together  as 
many  millions  as  we  please  of  known  lengths  of  space  or 
duration,  the  clearest  idea  we  can  get  of  infinity  is  given 
us  by  the  incomprehensible  remainder  of  numbers  that 
may  still  be  added,  affording  no  prospect  of  termination. 
Hence,  our  idea  of  infinity  is  in  a  great  measure  negative. 
For  when  we  endeavour  to  form  an  idea  of  infinite  space 
or  duration,  we  usually  at  first  take  some  large  idea  as, 
perhaps,  of  millions  of  miles  or  years,  which  possibly  we 
multiply  several  times.  All  that  we  thus  amass  in  our 
thoughts  is  positive,  and  is  the  assemblage  of  a  great 
number  of  positive  ideas  of  space  or  duration.  But  of 
what  remains  beyond  this,  we  have  no  more  a  distinct 
positive  notion  than  a  mariner  has  of  the  depth  of  the  sea, 
who  having  let  down  a  large  portion  of  his  line  reaches  no 
bottom:  whereby  he  knows  the  depth  to  be  so  many 
fathoms  and  more ;  but  how  many  more,  remains  un¬ 
known.  And  if  he  could  always  supply  new  line,  and 
find  the  plummet  sink  without  ever  stopping,  he  would 
be  in  a  situation  similar  to  ours  when  we  are  endeavouring 
to  gain  a  complete  and  positive  idea  of  infinity.  So  much 
as  the  mind  comprehends  of  any  space  or  duration,  it  has 
a  positive  idea  of ;  but  in  endeavouring  to  make  it  infinite, 
it  being  always  enlarging,  always  advancing,  the  idea  is 
still  imperfect  and  incomplete.  For  which  reason  it  is  not 
an  unmeaning  subtlety  to  say  that  we  ought  to  distinguish 
between  the  idea  of  the  infinity  of  space,  and  the  idea  of  a 
space  infinite ;  the  first  being  nothing  but  the  idea  of  a 


supposed  endless  progression  of  lengths  of  space  repeated 
as  often  as  we  please ;  but  to  have  in  the  mind  the  idea  of 
a  space  infinite,,  is  to  suppose  that  the  mind  has  already 
passed  over,  and  actually  has  in  view  the  complete  series 
of  the  repeated  lengths  of  space ;  which  series  must 
therefore  be  terminated,  in  the  mind’s  conception ;  but  to 
be  infinite,  and  at  the  same  time  terminated,  involves  a 
manifest  contradiction. 

If  our  idea  of  infinity  be  gained  from  the  power  we  have 
of  repeating  without  end  our  own  ideas,  it  may  be  asked, 
why  we  do  not  attribute  infinity  to  other  ideas  as  well  cts 
to  those  of  space  and  duration ;  since  they  may  be  as 
easily  repeated  as  the  other,  and  yet  no  one  ever  thinks  of 
infinite  sweetness  or  infinite  whiteness,  though  he  can 
repeat  the  ideas  of  sweet  or  white,  as  frequently  as  those  of 
a  yard,  or  a  day.  The  answer  is,  that  an  idea  of  infinity 
cannot  be  gained  by  the  repetition  of  any  ideas  except 
those  which  may  be  considered  as  having  parts,  and  as 
capable  of  increase  by  the  addition  of  other  parts ;  because 
by  the  repetition  of  such  ideas  alone,  there  is  a  continued 
enlargement  without  end.  To  the  largest  idea  of  exten¬ 
sion  or  duration  that  we  at  present  have,  the  addition  of 
any  the  least  part  makes  an  increase ;  but  if  to  our  idea 
of  whiteness  we  add  another  of  equal  whiteness,  they 
become  as  it  were  embodied,  and  the  idea  is  not  at  all 
increased.  Those  ideas  therefore  that  consist  not  of  parts, 
cannot  be  augmented :  but  space,  duration,  and  number, 
being  capable  of  increase  by  repetition  and  of  progression 
without  end,  lead  our  minds  to  the  thought  of  infinity. 

27.  There  is  no  limit  to  the  variety  of  ideas  which 
may  be  classed  under  the  head  of  modes :  and  few  of 
them,  comparatively,  have  distinct  names.  Walking,  run¬ 
ning,  leaping,  and  many  others  are  modes  of  motion  ;  and 
in  like  manner,  of  colours,  sounds,  tastes,  smells,  there  is  an 


endless  variety  of  modes,  a  few  of  which  are  distinguished 
by  names,  to  serve  the  purposes  of  language ;  and  under 
each  name  a  large  class  of  modes  is  comprehended,  not 
distinguished  from  one  another  by  separate  names.  Thus 
the  term  whiteness  is  applied  to  many  shades  of  colour  ; 
and  bitterness  comprehends  modes  of  taste  affecting  the 
palate  with  many  gradations  of  unpleasantness.  Also  of 
pleasure  and  pain  there  are  various  modes,  such  as  joy, 
hope,  fear,  envy,  shame.  Reverie,  attention,  study,  are 
modes  of  thinking,  corresponding  to  the  degrees  of  remis¬ 
sion  or  intention  with  which  the  powers  of  the  mind  are 
exerted  ;  the  term  reverie  being  applied,  when  ideas  float 
in  the  mind  without  reflection  or  regard;  attention,  when 
the  ideas  that  offer  themselves  are  taken  notice  of,  and,  as 
it  were,  registered  in  the  memory  ;  and  study,  when  the 
mind  with  great  earnestness  fixes  its  view  on  any  subject, 
considers  it  on  all  sides,  and  will  not  be  called  off  by  the 
ordinary  solicitation  of  other  ideas.  Which  different 
degrees  of  intention  and  remission,  of  which  the  mind  is 
capable,  lead  us  to  conclude  that  thinking  is  the  action,  not 
the  essence  of  the  soul,  since  the  operations  of  agents  easily 
admit  of  intention  and  remission ;  but  the  essences  of 
things  are  not  conceived  capable  of  such  variation. 

28.  Mixed  modes  are  combinations  of  simple  ideas  of 
several  kinds ;  and  they  are  made  for  convenience,  and 
dispatch  in  language.  Thus  we  express  the  whole  cere¬ 
mony  of  crowning  a  king  by  the  word  coronation,  without 
making  an  enumeration  of  every  particular  belonging  to 
it.  Thus  also  the  use  of  such  words  as  revenge,  reprieve, 
appeal ,  facilitates  our  communication  with  one  another,  by 
rendering  unnecessary  the  mention  of  all  the  passions  and 
forms  which  are  included  in  the  complex  ideas  severally 
expressed  by  those  words.  Mixed  modes  are  therefore 
made  by  the  arbitrary  combination  of  several  ideas, 

c  3 


whenever  it  becomes  convenient  to  comprehend  them 
under  one  name;  although,  naturally,  those  ideas  may 
have  no  more  connection  with  one  another,  than  others 
have,  which  have  not  been  formed  into  similar  combi¬ 
nations.  Thus  parricide  is  used  to  denote  the  killing  of 
a  father;  but  no  word  is  in  use  to  denote  the  killing  of  a 
son  or  a  neighbour;  though  the  idea  of  hilling  has  no 
more  connection  in  nature  with  the  idea  of  the  former 
relation,  than  it  has  with  that  of  the  other  relations.  It  is 
the  having  a  name  therefore  that  gives  unity  to  a  mixed 
mode ;  no  combination  of  ideas  being  generally  considered 
as  one  complex  idea,  unless  it  have  an  appropriate  word  to 
express  it.  Hence  the  act  of  killing  a  son  or  neighbour, 
having  no  name  affixed  to  it,  is  not  taken  for  a  particular 
complex  idea,  nor  as  a  distinct  species  of  action  from  that 
of  killing  any  other  person. 

Our  ideas  of  mixed  modes  are  acquired  1.  by  observa¬ 
tion  of  things  themselves  : — as  by  seeing  men  wrestle  and 
fence,  we  gain  the  idea  of  wrestling  and  fencing ;  by  see¬ 
ing  a  king  crowned,  we  gain  the  idea  of  coronation.  2.  By 
invention,  or  the  voluntary  combination  of  several  simple 
ideas  in  our  own  minds : — thus  he  that  invented  print¬ 
ing  or  etching,  had  formed  the  complex  idea  of  it  in  his 
own  mind,  before  it  existed.  3.  By  explanation  or  dejiim '■ 
tion ,  that  is,  by  enumerating  the  several  ideas  of  which 
the  mixed  mode  is  composed ;  whereby  clear  ideas  of 
modes  such  as  sacrilege  or  murder  may  be  conveyed  to  the 
minds  of  men  who  never  saw  those  acts  committed. 

Since  mixed  modes  are  made  by  men  for  the  purpose  of 
readily  communicating  their  thoughts  to  one  another,  they 
usually  make  such  collections  of  ideas  into  complex 
modes,  and  affix  names  to  them,  as  they  have  frequent 
use  of  in  their  business  and  conversation  ;  leaving  others, 
which  they  have  seldom  occasion  to  mention,  uncombined 


and  without  names.  And  if  we  examine  which  of  our 
simple  ideas  have  had  most  mixed  modes  made  out  of 
them  and  distinguished  by  names,  we  shall  find  that  they 
are  those  of  thinking,  motion,  and  power ;  for  these  com¬ 
prehend  all  actions  both  of  body  and  mind,  and  as  our 
conversation  and  laws  principally  respect  human  actions, 
it  is  necessary  we  should  have  modes  relative  to  them, 
that  we  may  be  able  to  express  our  thoughts  concerning 
them  with  convenience  and  expedition. 

The  purpose  for  which  such  modes  are  formed  affords 
a  reason  also  why  in  every  language  many  particular 
words  are  in  use,  to  which  there  are  none  that  exactly 
correspond  in  other  languages.  For  peculiar  customs 
exist  in  every  country  and  give  rise  to  peculiar  modes, 
with  names  annexed  to  them ;  but  in  other  countries, 
where  the  same  customs  do  not  prevail,  those  peculiar 
modes  have  not  been  made,  and  consequently  they  have 
no  words  to  express  them.  Thus  oarpaKKruo?  being  a 
punishment  peculiar  to  the  Greeks,  there  is  not  in  any 
other  language  a  word  corresponding  to  it :  and  it  is 
manifest  that  such  terms  as  jury,  artillery,  and  the  names 
of  all  modern  inventions,  cannot  be  expressed  in  transla¬ 
tion  by  any  single  words  of  Greek  or  Latin.  Moreover, 
customs  are  continually  changing,  so  that  while  some 
combinations  of  ideas  fall  into  disuse,  others  are  formed, 
and  new  names  are  introduced  to  express  them  ;  by  which 
means  a  continual  and  gradual  change  takes  place  in  the 
vocabulary  of  every  language. 

29.  Under  the  term  Relations  those  ideas  are  com¬ 
prehended  which  arise  from  observing  the  relation  or 
comparison  of  things,  one  with  another.  Thus  the  idea 
of  Nobility  is  relative;  since  no  one  can  be  Noble,  except 
by  comparison  with  others.  When  two  terms  as  father 
and  child  correspond  to  each  other,  so  that  the  idea  of  one 


naturally  introduces  that  of  the  other,,  they  are  called 
correlative  terms :  and  where  a  correlative  term  is  not  in 
use,  the  relation,  though  equally  real,  is  often  not  per¬ 
ceived.  Thus  the  idea  of  a  Dictator  is  relative,  since  the 


word  denotes  a  person  exercising  authority  over  others ; 
but  this  relation  is  not  so  obvious  as  that  implied  in  the 
word  King ,  which  has  the  term  subject  correlative  to  it. 
Also  there  are  many  words  which  seem  to  be  absolute  and 
to  stand  for  positive  ideas,  and  yet  imply  a  tacit  relation. 
Old,  young,  great,  little,  stro?ig,  weak,  are  of  this  sort; 
which  appear  to  denote  positive  ideas,  and  yet  in  reality 
imply  a  tacit  reference  to  certain  standards  settled  in  the 
mind.  Thus  some  animals  are  called  old,  at  an  age  at 
which  others  are  young ,  and  a  horse,  which  in  one  country 
would  be  called  large,  might  be  thought  small  in  other 
countries ;  because  reference  is  made  to  different  ideas  of 
duration  and  size  settled  in  the  mind  as  belonging  in  the 
course  of  nature  to  the  several  sorts  of  animals. 

In  order  to  have  an  adequate  idea  of  the  relation  of 
two  things,  it  is  not  necessary  that  we  know'  all  the 
qualities  that  belong  to  the  things  related,  but  such  of 
them  only  as  form  the  grounds  of  the  relation.  These 
may  consist  in  a  few  simple  ideas ;  whereas  to  have  a  per¬ 
fect  knowledge  of  the  substances  related,  we  must  know 
all  the  qualities  belonging  to  them.  Thus,  in  comparing 
two  men  in  reference  to  a  common  parent,  it  is  easy  to 
form  the  idea  of  brothers,  without  having  a  perfect  idea  of 
man,  in  which  are  united  the  ideas  of  substance,  figure, 
thinking,  willing,  and  others ;  an  accurate  perception  of 
which  is  not  necessary  to  an  adequate  idea  of  this  relation. 
And  hence,  persons  may  agree  as  to  the  grounds  of 
relation,  who  disagree  in  their  ideas  of  the  things  related. 

The  ideas  which  may  be  classed  under  the  head  of 
Relations  are  of  almost  infinite  variety,  since  there  is  no 


simple  idea  which  is  not  capable  of  a  great  number  of 
considerations  in  reference  to  other  ideas ;  for  example, 
in  the  same  person  may  be  included  the  relations  of 
father,  son,  brother,  friend,  enemy,  master,  subject,  and 
many  others;  on  account  of  which  variety,  it  is  difficult 
to  comprehend  them  all  under  a  few  general  classes. 
Many  have  reference  to  time  or  place,  and  are  expressed  by 
such  words  as  old,  young,  above,  below,  near,  distant. 
The  relations  of  cause  and  effect  are  also  numerous ;  as  when 
we  observe  that  fluidity,  which  did  not  exist  in  lead,  is 
produced  in  it  by  the  application  of  heat,  we  call  heat  the 
cause,  and  fluidity  the  effect ;  and  in  like  manner  the  idea 
of  this  relation  is  always  presented  to  the  mind,  whenever 
we  consider  one  thing  operating  so  as  to  produce  another 
which  did  not  previously  exist. 

Other  relations  may  be  called  proportional,  which  arise 
from  observing  different  degrees  of  the  same  simple  idea, 
and  are  expressed  by  such  words  as  whiter,  sweeter,  less, 
equal ,  more :  others  are  natural  relations,  such  as  those  of 
father,  brothers,  countrymen,  founded  upon  the  considera¬ 
tion  of  their  consanguinity  or  origin,  and  which  being 
unalterable,  make  the  relations  depending  upon  them  as 
lasting  as  the  subjects  to  which  they  belong :  others  are 
instituted  relations,  as  those  of  a  subject,  a  general,  a  patron; 
which  differ  from  natural  relations  by  being  alterable,  and 
separable  from  the  persons  to  whom  they  have  belonged, 
though  the  persons  themselves,  between  whom  the  relation 
has  ceased,  may  still  exist ;  as  a  general  may  resign  the 
command  of  an  army,  or  a  subject  withdraw  from  his 
country  and  pay  allegiance  to  another  king.— Lastly, 
moral  relations  have  reference  to  the  conduct  of  men,  and 
arise  from  observing  whether  that  conduct  is  conformable 
or  not  to  certain  Rules  or  Laws  by  which  our  judgment  is 
formed  of  it.  The  Laws  by  which  we  thus  judge  of  the 


rectitude  of  human  conduct,  are  (1)  the  Divine  Law  ; 
(2)  the  Civil  Law ;  (3)  the  Law  of  opinion  or  reputation  ; 
all  of  which  are  accompanied  with  necessary  enforcements 
of  rewards  and  punishments.  Of  these  the  Divine  Law  is 
the  most  perfect  and  comprehensive,  and  is  the  only  true 
test  by  which  men  ought  to  judge  of  their  own  actions, 
whether  they  be  morally  good  or  evil ;  that  is,  whether  as 
duties,  or  sins,  they  are  likely  to  be  followed  by  happiness 
or  misery,  awarded  to  them  by  the  Almighty.  But  since 
it  is  not  the  object  of  this  Law  to  prescribe  minute  regula¬ 
tions  respecting  many  transactions  of  men  among  one 
another  which  are  subjects  not  for  moral  precept  but 
conventional  agreement,  and,  still  more,  since  the  penalties 
annexed  to  the  breach  of  God’s  Laws  are  reserved  for  a 
future  state,  and  it  is  often  found  that  men  disregard  con¬ 
sequences  which  are  not  immediate ; — on  both  these  ac¬ 
counts  the  Civil  Law  is  necessary,  that  the  commonwealth 
may  be  able  to  protect  the  lives,  liberties,  and  possessions, 
of  those  who  live  according  to  it,  and  may  visit  violations 
of  it  with  ready  punishment. — Thirdly,  the  Law  of  opinion 
or  reputation  is  that  which  greatly  influences  men,  not 
only  as  it  pertains  to  many  things  of  which  the  other  Laws 
do  not  take  cognizance,  but  in  more  important  cases  in 
which  it  is  at  variance  with  them.  And  though  many  are 
able  to  banish  reflection  as  to  the  consequences  which  will 
follow  the  violation  of  the  Divine  Law,  and  flatter  them¬ 
selves  with  the  hope  of  escaping  punishments  due  from 
the  Civil  Law,  yet  of  those  who  offend  against  the  Law  of 
fashion  and  opinion,  few  are  so  insensible  as  to  disregard 
public  censure,  or  be  happy  while  they  are  the  objects  of 
dislike  with  their  own  particular  society. 

30.  The  Association  of  ideas  is  that  connection  of 
them  in  the  mind,  by  means  of  which  the  presence  of  one 
naturally  introduces  others,  which  have  been  joined  with  it 


by  some  kind  of  relation.  The  principles  on  which  the 
association  of  ideas  depends  appear  to  be  chiefly  resem¬ 
blance ,  contrast,  contiguity  of  time  or  place,  cause  and  effect, 
and  habit :  but  as  there  is  no  possible  relation  among  the 
objects  of  our  knowledge  which  may  not  serve  to  connect 
them  together  in  the  mind,  every  enumeration  of  the 
principles  of  this  association  must  be  incomplete.  It  may 
also  be  remarked  that  the  association  of  ideas  is  an 
expression  which  has  been  applied  in  a  sense  much  more 
extensive  than  the  words  themselves  strictly  justify; 
being  made  to  comprehend  not  ideas  only,  but  every 
passion  and  affection  of  which  the  mind  is  susceptible : — > 
the  memory  also,  the  judgment,  in  a  word  every  internal 
operation  of  the  mind  is  regulated  in  some  degree  by  the 
influence  of  this  principle. 

The  effect  of  resemblance  in  directing  the  train  of  our 
ideas  is  brought  to  our  notice  by  instances  of  continual 
occurrence.  When  we  read  of  any  event,  we  are 
naturally  led  to  think  of  other  events  which  have  occurred 
similar  to  it :  if  we  meet  a  stranger  who  resembles  one  of 
our  friends,  the  conception  of  that  friend  is  immediately 
suggested:  the  view  of  a  landscape  recalls  the  idea  of 
similar  scenes  which  are  familiar  to  us.  To  this  principle 
we  must  ascribe  the  use  of  similies,  metaphors,  and  all  the 
figurative  language  of  poetry.  When  the  zephyrs  laugh , 
or  the  forest  frowns,  it  is  to  the  suggestion  of  objects  by 
analogous  objects,  that  figurative  expressions  of  this  sort 
owe  their  origin.  Words  also  suggest  other  words  of 
similar  sound  ;  and  hence,  from  the  accidental  agreement 
of  their  verbal  signs,  ideas  are  excited  and  trains  of 
thought,  which  otherwise  would  not  have  arisen.  On 
this  account,  our  thoughts  which  usually  govern  our  lan¬ 
guage,  are  themselves  in  some  measure  governed  by  that 
very  language  over  which  they  seem  to  exercise  unlimited 


command.  In  rhyme,  one  sound  suggests  another,  and  to 
this  recurrence  of  sounds  it  is  evident  that  the  train  of 
thought  in  the  poet  must  be  in  a  great  degree  subservient. 
Alliteration  also,  or  a  similarity  in  the  initial  sounds  of 
words,  has  an  influence  on  the  succession  of  our  thoughts 
similar  to  that  which  is  exercised  by  the  concluding 
syllables  of  verse. 

The  effects  of  contrast,  as  an  associating  principle,  are 
equally  obvious.  Intense  cold  makes  us  think  of  heat, 
and  wish  for  it ;  the  thoughts  of  a  traveller  in  the  desert, 
suffering  from  hunger  and  thirst,  naturally  recur  to  the 
abundance  which  he  has  formerly  enjoyed,  but  which  is 
now  beyond  his  reach.  The  palace  and  the  cottage,  the 
cradle  and  the  grave,  poverty  and  wealth,  severally  suggest 
one  another  in  ready  succession.  Of  moral  reflections, 
none  are  so  common  as  those  which  are  founded  on  the 
instability  of  mortal  greatness,  the  frailty  of  beauty,  the 
precariousness  of  life ; — all  which  reflections  are  evidently 
the  result  of  that  principle  of  suggestion  by  contrast, 
which  we  are  considering.  The  Homan,  who  saw  the 
imperial  victor  move  along  in  the  splendour  of  conquest, 
must  have  thought  of  disaster,  before  he  was  led  to 
moralize  on  the  briefness  of  earthly  triumph.  And  if  a 
feeling  of  melancholy  has  ever  arisen  at  the  sight  of  youth 
and  health,  it  can  only  have  been  suggested  by  the  oppo¬ 
site  ideas  of  age  and  sickness  which  are  destined  to  follow. 
This  transition,  in  our  trains  of  thought,  from  one  extreme 
to  its  opposite,  has  the  happy  effect  of  tempering  our 
emotions  j  so  that  while  salutary  reflections  are  excited  in 
some  men,  others  are  supplied,  from  the  very  excess  of 
misery,  with  internal  sources  of  hope. 

Contiguity  of  time  or  place  is,  of  all  the  principles  of 
association,  the  most  frequent  and  extensive  in  its  opera¬ 
tion.  Contiguity  of  time  forms  the  whole  calendar  of  the 

great  multitude  of  mankind,  who  pay  little  attention  to 
asras  of  chronology,  but  date  events  by  each  other,  and 
speak  of  what  happened  in  the  time  of  some  rebellion ,  or 
great  Election,  or  frost,  ox  famine.  Even  with  those  who 
are  more  accustomed  to  use,  on  great  occasions,  the  stricter 
dates  of  months  and  years,  this  association  of  events,  as 
near  to  each  other,  forms  the  bond  for  uniting  in  the 
memory  a  multitude  of  scattered  facts,  which  it  would 
have  been  impossible  to  remember  by  the  separate  relation 
of  each  to  an  insulated  point  of  time. — It  is  the  same  with 
contiguity  of  place .  To  think  of  one  part  of  a  familiar 
landscape,  is  to  recall  the  rest  in  immediate  succession. 
On  this  species  of  relation  have  been  founded  systems  of 
artificial  memory,  which  prove,  by  the  facilities  of  remem¬ 
brance  which  they  afford,  the  influence  that  is  exercised 
on  the  train  of  our  thoughts  by  local  association.  From 
the  same  cause  arises  the  pleasure  we  enjoy  in  visiting- 
classical  ground ;  in  beholding  the  scenes  of  great  events, 
or  places  which  have  been  dignified  by  the  residence  of 
men  whom  we  are  accustomed  to  revere.  “  I  know  not” 
(says  Cicero,  speaking  of  his  visit  to  the  academy  at 
Athens)  "  whether  it  be  a  natural  feeling,  or  an  illusion 
of  the  imagination  founded  on  habit,  that  we  are  more 
powerfully  affected  by  the  sight  of  those  places  which 
have  been  much  frequented  by  illustrious  men,  than  when 
we  either  listen  to  the  recital,  or  read  the  detail,  of  their 
great  actions.  At  this  moment,  I  feel  strongly  that 
emotion  which  I  speak  of.  I  see  before  me  the  form  of 
Plato,  who  was  wont  to  dispute  in  this  place :  these 
gardens  not  only  recall  him  to  my  memory,  but  seem  to 
present  his  very  person  to  my  senses.  I  fancy  to  myself, 
that  here  stood  Speusippus ;  there  Xenocrates,  and  here, 
on  this  bench,  sat  his  disciple  Polemo.  To  me,  our 
antient  Senate-House  seems  peopled  with  the  like  visionary 


forms ;  for,  often,  when  I  enter  it,  the  shades  of  Scipio,  of 
Cato,  and  of  Laelius,  rise  to  my  imagination.”11 — In  Sparta, 
an  oration  was  every  year  pronounced  at  the  tomb  of 
Leonidas.  In  such  a  scene,  and  with  such  an  object 
before  them,  we  cannot  doubt  that  deeper  emotions  were 
felt  by  the  orator  and  by  the  assembled  nation  who 
listened  to  him,  than  would  have  been  felt,  if  the  same 
language  had  been  addressed  from  any  other  place,  un¬ 
connected  with  so  sacred  a  remembrance. 

The  connection  between  cause  and  effect  is  so  intimate 
that  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  direct  our  thoughts  to  either 
of  them  singly.  When  we  hear  of  extraordinary  conduct 
in  any  person,  we  naturally  conjecture  the  reasons  of  it, 
and  the  probable  consequences :  when  we  see  a  wound, 
we  think  of  the  accident  that  caused  it,  and  of  the  pain 
that  follows; — when  we  hear  of  a  battle,  our  thoughts  are 
turned  to  the  causes  which  have  preceded,  and  to  its  pro¬ 
bable  effects. 

Lastly,  ideas  that  have  been  often  joined  together  in 
the  mind,  though  they  have  no  natural  connection,  become 
so  associated  that  one  of  them  will  naturally  introduce  the 
others,  from  the  influence  of  habit .  In  language  spoken 
or  written,  the  mind  passes  imperceptibly  from  the  words 
heard  or  the  characters  seen  to  the  things  signified.  Habit 
gives  to  those  who  have  long  been  practised  in  extem¬ 
porary  elocution  the  command  not  of  words  merely,  but 
of  thoughts  and  judgments  which  appear  like  the  calcula¬ 
tions  of  long  reflection.  All  the  divisions  of  a  subject 
present  themselves  to  the  orator  at  once ;  image  after 
image  arises  to  illustrate  it ;  and  proper  words  in  proper 
places  embody  his  sentiments,  without  any  apparent  effort 

k  De  Finibus,  Lib.  V.  ad  init. 


of  his  own.  Other  proofs  of  the  power  of  habit  may  be 
observed  in  the  feats  of  the  circus,  and  in  playing  upon 
instruments  of  music.  The  musician  must  direct  innu¬ 
merable  motions  of  the  fingers  in  one  particular  succession. 
There  is  only  one  arrangement  of  those  motions  that  is 
right,  while  there  are  thousands  that  are  wrong  and 
would  spoil  the  music.  Yet  the  arrangement  of  those 
motions  gives  him  no  trouble  of  thought :  having  a  dis¬ 
tinct  idea  of  the  tune,  and  a  will  to  play  it,  the  motions  of 
the  fingers  appear  to  arrange  themselves,  so  as  to  answer 
his  intention. 

31.  Since  the  moral  characters  of  men  as  well  as  their 
intellectual  attainments  depend  greatly  on  the  trains  of 
thought  which  are  allowed  to  occupy  the  mind,  it  is  of  the 
highest  importance  to  give  them  a  right  direction,  as  far 
as  the  direction  of  them  is  in  our  power.  For  though 
ideas  are  connected  with  one  another  by  the  laws  of  asso¬ 
ciation,  and  often  take  their  own  course  without  check  or 
direction,  yet  by  an  active  effort  of  the  mind  the  connection 
may  be  broken,  and  particular  objects  be  fixed  upon  for 
its  attention  in  preference  to  others.  Those  whose  minds 
are  occupied  with  a  train  of  low  and  base  thoughts,  or  with 
visionary  speculations,  are  not  likely  to  become  qualified 
for  any  noble  or  active  employment ;  while  others  gain  the 
command  over  their  thoughts,  regulate  them  in  the  pursuit 
of  right  objects,  and  arrive  at  excellence  in  morality  and 

32.  When  any  ideas  occur  in  connection  with  one  an¬ 
other,  it  is  important  to  inquire  whether  there  be  any  real 
ground  for  the  connection,  in  reason  or  nature.  If  there 
be,  it  is  the  office  of  our  reason  to  keep  them  united ;  for 
such  associations  constitute  the  greatest  part  of  useful 
truths,  and  the  mind  possesses  them  ever  ready  for  applica¬ 
tion.  But  other  connections,  formed  by  caprice  or  custom, 


are  often  the  sources  of  error,  superstition  and  misery  ;  and 
if  such  associations  "have  been  long  formed,  they  become  too 
strong  to  be  broken.  Thus,  if  children  be  frightened  with 
stories  of  ghosts  appearing  in  the  dark,  the  idea  of  ghosts 
becomes  in  time  so  associated  with  the  idea  of  darkness, 
that  it  is  often  not  in  their  power  to  separate  them  after  they 
have  become  men ;  and  it  is  difficult  for  them  to  retain  per¬ 
fect  composure  when  they  are  alone  in  darkness,  though 
they  are  fully  convinced  in  their  judgments  of  the  absurdity 
of  the  tales  which  originally  frightened  them.  In  like  man¬ 
ner,  many  remarkable  antipathies  may  be  observed  in  men, 
some  of  which  appear  to  be  natural,  and  to  depend  on 
original  constitution,  but  the  greater  part  of  them  may  be 
traced  to  some  accidental  association :  and  it  is  probable 
that  of  those  which  are  accounted  natural,  many  have 
arisen  from  early  impressions  which  would  have  been 
acknowledged  to  be  the  causes  of  them,  if  they  had  been 
noticed  and  remembered.  A  grown  person,  surfeited 
with  honey,  cannot  think  of  it  afterwards  without  dislike 
and  sickness  ;  had  this  happened  to  him  when  a  child, 
the  same  effects  would  have  followed,  but  the  cause  would 
have  been  mistaken,  and  the  antipathy  accounted  natural. 

A  person  who  has  been  injured,  or  fancies  that  he  has 
been  injured,  by  another,  sometimes  ruminates  upon  it  so 
much  that  the  idea  of  the  aggressor  never  afterwards 
occurs  without  being  accompanied  by  an  idea  of  the 
injury,  even  though  it  has  been  repaired,  and  its  effects, 
otherwise,  have  long  ceased  to  be  felt.  Hence  hatreds 
exist,  and  quarrels  are  propagated  and  continued,  often 
from  slight  occasions. 

When  a  painful  combination  of  ideas  is  settled  in  the 
mind,  it  is  frequently  beyond  the  power  of  reason  to 
relieve  us  from  the  effects  of  it.  The  Mother,  who  has 
lost  her  child,  receives  no  consolation  from  intimations  of 


the  uselessness  of  sorrow :  reason  cannot  prevail  over  it, 
however  apt  she  may  be  to  hearken  to  it  in  other  cases ; 
time  alone  can  wear  away  by  disuse  the  sense  of  former 
enjoyment  of  the  child’s  presence,  and  at  length  separate 
in  her  memory  the  idea  of  pain  for  its  loss  from  the  idea 
of  the  child. 

33.  The  effects  of  a  wrong  and  groundless  association 
of  ideas  are  perceived  in  matters  even  more  important 
than  those  which  have  been  mentioned.  What  evils  have 
accrued  to  mankind  from  the  idea  of  infallibility  having 
become  annexed  to  persons  or  societies  ! — whose  doctrines, 
through  the  influence  of  that  idea,  demanded  assent  with¬ 
out  inquiry,  and  held  the  world  for  many  centuries  in 
ignorance  and  bondage. 

In  the  schools,  no  philosophy  was  tolerated  in  op¬ 
position  to  that  of  Aristotle  ;  insomuch  that  decrees  were 
issued,  prohibiting  all  persons,  under  pain  of  death, 
from  teaching  any  maxim  contrary  to  Aristotle,  and  other 
ancient  authors  received  and  approved.  A  similar  dread 
of  inquiry,  with  worse  effects,  prevailed  with  respect  to 
religion.  Hence,  in  a  long  period  of  darkness,  Christianity 
was  corrupted  by  the  mixture  of  human  opinions  claiming 
equal  authority  with  the  word  of  God.  And  the  evil  of 
such  debasement  of  truth  is  far  from  being  confined  to  the 
mischief  of  the  error  while  it  continues :  if  ever,  by  any 
means,  that  part  which  is  erroneous  be  detected,  those 
who  have  weakly  and  passively  derived  their  most  im¬ 
portant  opinions  from  habit  or  authorit}^,  are  apt  to  lose 
their  reverence  for  the  truth  itself  on  which  the  error  has 
been  grafted,  and  rashly  fall  a  prey  to  that  sceptical  philo¬ 
sophy,  which  teaches  that  all  opinions  and  all  principles 
of  action  rest  on  authority  alone,  and  owe  their  influence 
to  education  and  example. 

d  3 


Again,  in  political  controversies,  what  effect  is  fre¬ 
quently  produced  by  a  name,  which,  without  any  just  or 
ascertained  grounds,  has  become  associated  with  particular  ^ 
opinions  ! — a  name  originally  affixed  by  the  invention  of 
enemies,  or  perhaps  from  accident.  Many,  who  are  Tm 
unable  to  understand  the  distinctions  which  may  have 
given  rise  to  opposite  names,  and  though  the  dispute  be 
on  subjects  which  neither  they  nor  their  opponents  com¬ 
prehend,  yet  are  impelled  to  mutual  dislike; — many,  who, 
but  for  the  invention  of  the  names,  would  scarcely  have 
known  that  their  opinions  differed.  That  which  thus 
captivates  the  reasons  of  men  is  the  association  of  ideas 
wdiich  have  no  real  or  natural  alliance  to  one  another,  but 
which,  by  education,  custom,  and  the  clamour  of  party, 
have  become  so  united  in  their  minds  that  they  appear  to 
be  one  idea,  and  have  the  force  of  an  established  and  cer¬ 
tain  truth.  This  wrong  association,  whilst  they  are  under 
the  influence  of  it,  makes  them  incapable  of  conviction, 
and  they  applaud  themselves  as  champions  for  truth,  while 
they  are  contending  for  error ;  their  reasonings  are  per¬ 
verted  by  it,  and  their  minds  disturbed  by  groundless 

34.  Words  are  the  arbitrary  signs  of  ideas.  Since  the 
communication  of  thought  can  only  be  made  by  external 
signs,  and  men  are  furnished  with  organs  fitted  to  frame 
articulate  sounds,  these  are  used  by  them  as  the  means  of 

1  On  the  subject  of  the  association  of  ideas ,  see  Professor  Brown’s 
Lectures,  vol.  II.  p.  196  ....  45G.  Reid  on  the  train  of  thought  in  the 
mind,  Es.  iv.,  ch.  ivt  Stewart’s  Elem.  Phil.  ch.  v. 


communication,  and  are  the  best  that  could  be  used  for 
that  purpose,  on  account  of  their  quickness  and  variety. 
There  is  therefore  no  natural  connection  between  words 
and  ideas,  for,  in  that  case,  all  nations  would  speak  the 
same  language  :  the  connection  is  arbitrary,  and  arises  from 
the  people  of  a  country  agreeing  to  express,  as  nearly  as 
possible,  the  same  idea  by  the  same  word,  which  by  con¬ 
stant  use  become  so  linked  together  that  the  word  in¬ 
stantly  brings  the  idea  to  the  mind. 

Words  are  properly  the  signs  of  ideas  in  the  mind  of 
the  speaker.  The  purpose  of  language  requires  that  they 
should  be  so ;  for  when  a  man  speaks  to  another,  it  is 
with  the  intention  of  communicating  his  own  ideas,  and 
not  other  ideas  of  which  he  has  no  knowledge.  Hence 
the  same  word  is  sometimes  used  by  different  persons  with 
different  ideas  annexed  to  it.  A  child,  having  noticed 
nothing  in  gold  but  a  yellow  colour,  applies  the  word  gold 
to  the  colour  only,  and  therefore  applies  it  to  all  objects 
which  have  that  colour  :  another  observes  great  weight  in 
gold,  and  understands,  by  the  word,  a  heavy,  yellow 
substance :  a  third  adds  fusibility  and  malleability  to 
these  qualities,  and  understands,  by  the  word,  a  heavy, 
yellow,  fusible,  and  malleable  substance.  Each  of  these 
uses  the  word  to  express  the  exact  idea  which  he  has 
applied  to  it,  and  no  other. 

But  though  words  can  properly  signify  nothing  but 
ideas  that  are  in  the  mind  of  the  speaker,  yet  in  their 
thoughts  men  give  them  a  tacit  reference  to  two  other 
things.  First,  they  suppose  their  words  to  be  marks  of 
the  same  ideas  in  the  minds  of  those  with  whom  they  com¬ 
municate,  otherwise  the  purpose  of  language  would  be 
defeated;  and,  in  truth,  many  disputes  have  arisen  in  con¬ 
sequence  of  the  hearer  and  speaker  attaching  different 
ideas  to  the  same  word.  Secondly,  they  suppose  that  the 


ideas,  expressed  by  their  words,  correspond  to  the  reality 
of  things ;  as,  when  the  word  sun  is  used,  they  suppose 
that  a  real  object  exists,  which  has  excited  the  idea 
denoted  by  that  word. 

35.  It  is  evident  that  the  purpose  of  language  cannot 
be  gained,  unless  the  same  word  stand  for  the  same 
idea  in  the  minds  of  the  speaker  and  hearer.  To  effect 
this,  it  is  necessary  that  words,  for  the  most  part,  be 
general  terms,  so  that  one  name  may  comprehend  a  great 
number  of  individual  objects.  If  every  object  had  a  dis¬ 
tinct  name  applied  to  it,  it  would  not  only  be  impossible 
for  the  human  mind  to  retain  the  innumerable  names  that 
must  be  framed,  but,  if  it  were  possible,  it  would  be  use¬ 
less  ;  for  no  two  persons  would  have  the  same  idea  in  their 
minds,  with  the  same  name  annexed,  of  any  particular 
thing  which  was  known  only  to  one  of  them;  so  that  a 
great  part  of  their  knowledge  would  not  be  communicable 
to  each  other.  Particular  things  are  therefore  not  distin¬ 
guished  by  names,  except  where  convenience  requires  it ; 
as,  in  their  own  species,  men  make  use  of  proper  names, 
because  they  have  perpetual  occasion  to  distinguish  one  per¬ 
son  from  another:  countries  also,  cities,  rivers,  and  other  the 
like  distinctions  of  place  have  usually,  for  the  same  reason, 
peculiar  names;  they  being  things  which  men  have  often 
occasion  to  mark  particularly,  in  their  discourses  with  one 

36.  Since  there  is  no  natural  connection  between 
words  and  ideas,  it  is  often  necessary  to  have  the 
meaning  of  words  explained.  This  may  be  done  in  four 
ways,  which  are  severally  taken  according  to  the  nature  of 
the  word,  or  as  the  occasion  requires.  1.  A  word  may  be 
explained  by  another  word  synonimous  with  it ;  thus,  if  a 
person  wished  to  learn  the  meaning  of  the  word  albus,  he 
might  be  told  that  it  meant  white.  2.  By  naming  the  ob- 


ject,  to  the  idea  of  which  the  word  is  annexed ;  thus  he 
might  be  told  that  albus  denoted  the  colour  of  snow  or 
milk.  3.  By  presenting  to  his  senses  the  object  itself;  as 
by  shewing  him  snow  or  milk,  and  saying  that  albus 
denoted  their  colour.  4.  By  definition,  that  is,  explaining 
the  meaning  of  one  word  by  the  use  of  several  other  words 
not  synonimous  with  it.  The  word  albus ,  being  the  sign 
of  a  simple  idea,  cannot  be  explained  by  this  method, 
because  the  several  terms  of  a  definition  signify  distinct 
ideas,  and  therefore  cannot  represent  together  an  idea 
which  has  no  composition. 

Words  denoting  complex  ideas  may  be  defined,  by 

enumerating  the  simple  ideas  of  which  they  are  composed. 

_  * 

Thus  the  idea  of  a  rainbow  may  be  communicated  to  a 

person  who  has  never  seen  one,  by  describing  its  figure 
and  the  arrangement  of  its  colours ;  but  this  cannot  be 
done,  unless  he  be  able  to  conceive  the  several  simple  ideas 
corresponding  to  the  particular  parts  of  the  description. 
If,  being  born  blind,  he  has  never  gained  the  idea  of 
colour,  it  is  evident  that  no  description  could  communicate 
to  him  a  complex  idea  of  which  the  idea  of  colour  is  ne¬ 
cessarily  a  component  part. 

37-  Though  language  furnishes  the  best  means  that 
we  possess  for  the  communication  of  our  thoughts,  its  re¬ 
presentation  of  them  is  in  many  respects  imperfect ;  and 
besides  the  unavoidable  imperfections  attached  to  it,  men 
are  guilty  of  several  faults  and  neglects,  by  which  words 
are  rendered  less  clear  in  their  meaning  than  naturally  they 
need  be. 

One  fault  is  the  use  of  words  without  any  distinct 
meaning  at  all,  though  perhaps,  properly,  very  important 
meanings  belong  to  them.  Such  words  as  liberty,  glory,  en¬ 
thusiasm,  are  in  frequent  use ;  but  if  many  of  those  who  use 
them  were  asked  what  they  mean  by  them,  they  would  be 


at  a  lo&s  for  an  answer.  This  insignificancy  in  their  words 
makes  the  discourse  of  men  often  unintelligible,  especially 
in  moral  matters,  where  the  words  for  the  most  part  stand 
for  arbitrary  collections  of  ideas  not  regularly  and  per¬ 
manently  united  in  nature,  and  are  therefore  frequently 
used  without  any  thought  of  their  meaning,  or  at  least 
with  very  obscure  and  uncertain  ideas  annexed  to  them. 
Hence,  in  disputation  with  men  who  use  words  without  a 
fixed  meaning,  it  is  impossible  ever  to  convince  them  that 
they  are  in  the  wrong ;  it  being  as  difficult  to  draw  those 
men  out  of  their  mistakes,  who  have  no  settled  notions,  as 
it  would  be  to  dispossess  a  vagrant  of  his  habitation,  who 
has  no  settled  abode. 

Another  fault  is  inconstancy  in  the  use  of  words.  In 
many  books,  especially  of  controversy,  we  may  observe 
the  same  words  used  sometimes  for  one  collection  of  ideas, 
and  sometimes  for  another ;  the  effect  of  which  is  a  per- 
plexity  similar  to  that  which  would  take  place  if  men,  in 
their  accompts  with  one  another,  made  the  characters  of 
numbers  stand  sometimes  for  one,  and  sometimes  for  an¬ 
other  collection  of  units. 

A  third  abuse  of  language  is  an  affected  obscurity,  by 
either  applying  old  words  to  new  and  unusual  significa¬ 
tions,  or  introducing  new  terms  without  need,  or,  where 
there  is  need,  introducing  them  without  explanation. 
Since  words  are  no  man’s  private  possession,  but  are  de¬ 
signed  to  be  the  means  of  common  intercourse,  it  is  not 
for  any  one,  at  his  pleasure,  to  change  their  meaning ;  or 
at  least,  if  there  be  a  necessity  of  using  any  word  in  a  new 
sense,  he  is  bound  to  give  notice  of  it.  Propriety  of 
speech  chiefly  consists  in  adherence  to  the  common  use  of 
words  ;  it  is  that  which  makes  our  thoughts  communicable 
with  the  greatest  ease  and  advantage,  and  therefore  de^ 
serves  some  part  of  our  attention  and  study, 


The  use  of  figurative  language  in  subjects  which 
require  to  be  treated  with  accuracy  and  plainness,  is  a 
great  cause  of  obscurity.  If  the  aim  of  a  speaker  or  writer 
be  to  give  delight  rather  than  information  and  improve¬ 
ment,  such  ornaments  can  scarcely  be  condemned :  but 
where  truth  is  concerned,  and  in  all  discourses  which 
profess  to  convey  accurate  knowledge,  figurative  ex¬ 
pressions  tend  to  mislead  the  judgment,  and  ought  to  be 
avoided,  as  being  unsuitable  to  such  subjects. 

38.  A  knowledge  of  these  and  other  abuses  of  lan¬ 
guage  implies  a  knowledge  also  of  the  remedies  which 
may  be  applied  to  them ;  and  a  powerful  motive  will  not 
be  wanting  to  apply  the  obvious  remedies,  if  we  consider 
what  evils  have  arisen  from  such  abuses,  what  bitter  and 
frivolous  contests  owe  their  origin  to  them,  and  how  the 
prevalence  of  real  knowledge  and  truth  has  been  thereby 
impeded.  Most  disputes  are  merely  verbal.  If  the  terms 
used  in  them  were  defined,  and  the  same  meaning  affixed 
to  them  by  both  parties,  disputes  would  generally  end  of 
themselves,  and  the  way  to  knowledge  as  well  as  peace  be 
more  open  than  it  is.  In  the  mean  time,  where  shall  we 
find  any,  either  controversial  debate,  or  familiar  discourse, 
j  concerning  government,  liberty ,  faith,  justice,  and  the  like, 
without  observing  the  different  ideas  which  the  disputants 
have  annexed  to  these  words  ?  Hence  in  the  interpreta- 

Ition  of  laws,  human  or  divine,  there  is  no  conclusion  ; 
comments  have  furnished  matter  for  other  comments : 
and  this  evil  is  chiefly  owing  to  caprice  or  negligence  in 
limiting,  distinguishing,  and  varying  the  signification  of 

39-  Knowledge  consists  chiefly  in  the  perception  of 
the  agreement  or  disagreement  of  our  ideas.  When  we 
know  that  white  is  not  black,  we  perceive  that  these  two 
ideas  do  not  agree  ;  when  we  know  that  the  three  angles 


of  a  triangle  are  equal  to  two  right  angles,  we  perceive 
that  equality  to  two  right  angles  has  a  necessary  agree¬ 
ment  with  the  three  angles  of  a  triangle. 

Knowledge  is  of  two  kinds,  actual  and  habitual.  Ac¬ 
tual  knowledge  is  the  perception  which  the  mind  has  of 
the  agreement  or  disagreement  of  any  ideas,  from  its  pre¬ 
sent  view  of  them,  without  the  assistance  of  memory. 
Habitual  knowledge  is  that  which  is  lodged  in  the 
memory,  and  is  such  that  whenever  it  is  recalled,  the 
mind  apprehends  and  assents  to  it  without  hesitation. 
Thus  a  man  may  be  said  to  know  all  those  truths  which 
are  lodged  in  his  memory ;  having  been  acquired  by  a 
foregoing  clear  perception,  and  of  which  the  mind  is  fully 
assured,  as  often  as  it  has  pccasion  to  reflect  on  them. 
For  our  finite  understandings  being  able  to  think  distinctly 
hut  on  one  thing  at  a  time,  if  men  had  no  more  knowledge 
than  what  actually  occupied  their  thoughts,  they  would 
all  be  very  ignorant,  since  he  that  knew  most  would  know 
but  one  truth. 

Habitual  knowledge  is  of  two  kinds  :  the  first  is  of 
such  truths  laid  up  in  the  memory  as  the  mind  actually 
and  fully  perceives,  whenever  they  occur  to  it ;  and  this  is 
the  case  with  all  truths  of  which  we  have  an  immediate 
knowledge,  such  as  that  the  whole  is  greater  than  its  part , 
where  a  view  of  the  ideas  immediately  discovers  their 
agreement.  The  other  kind  of  knowledge  is,  when  hav¬ 
ing  once  been  convinced  of  the  agreement  or  disagreement 
of  any  ideas,  we  retain  the  memory  of  the  conviction, 
without  the  proofs.  Thus  a  man,  to  whom  it  has  once 
been  proved  that  the  three  angles  of  a  triangle  are  equal 
to  two  right  angles,  still  knows  this  to  be  true,  though  he 
may  have  forgotten  the  proof.  And,  if  reliance  can  be 
placed  upon  the  memory,  this  kind  of  knowledge  is  as 
certain  as  the  other.  For  the  immutability  of  the  same 



relations  between  the  same  immutable  things,  makes  it 
certain  that  what  was  once  known  to  be  true  must  always 
be  true. 

39>  Knowledge,  considered  with  respect  to  its  evidence, 
is  intuitive ,  demonstrative,  or  sensitive.  Intuitive  knowledge 
is  when  the  mind  perceives  the  agreement  or  disagreement 
of  two  ideas  immediately  by  themselves,  without  the 
intervention  of  any  other.  Thus  we  have  an  intuitive 
knowledge  that  two  straight  lines  cannot  inclose  a  space, 
and  that  the  whole  is  greater  than  any  of  its  parts.  Such 
truths  the  mind  perceives  at  first  sight,  and  this  kind  of 
knowledge  is  the  clearest  and  most  certain  of  which  we 
are  capable. 

Demonstrative  knowledge  is  that  perception  of  the 
agreement  or  disagreement  of  two  ideas,  which  is  acquired 
by  the  help  of  intermediate  ideas.  Thus,  we  cannot  im¬ 
mediately  perceive  that  the  three  angles  of  a  triangle  are 
equal  to  two  right  angles,  because  they  cannot  be  brought 
to  an  immediate  comparison  by  the  application  of  one  to 
another,  or  juxta-position  ;  but  finding  some  other  angles 
which  are  equal  to  the  three  angles  of  a  triangle  and  at  the 
same  time  to  two  right  angles,  we  thus  gain  a  proof  of  the 
proposition  that  the  three  angles  of  a  triangle  are  equal  to 
two  right  angles. 

Demonstrative  knowledge  is  dependent  on  intuitive ; 
for  in  the  above  process  it  is  necessary  that  the  perception 
of  the  agreement  between  the  three  angles  of  a  triangle 
and  the  other  angles,  and  of  these  with  two  right  angles, 
should  be  gained  by  several  successive  steps,  the  know¬ 
ledge  of  each  of  which  is  intuitive.  Hence  demonstra¬ 
tive  knowledge  is  not  so  easily  gained  as  intuitive;  for 
there  are  often  many  steps  in  a  demonstration;  all  of 
which  it  is  necessary  to  remember,  that  we  may  at  last 
perceive  the  agreement  or  disagreement  of  the  ideas  in 



question :  whereas  intuitive  knowledge  contains  only  one 
self-evident  step.  And  for  this  reason  also,  demonstrative 
knowledge  is  not  always  so  clear  as  intuitive ;  for  since  the 
intuitive  perception  of  the  agreement  or  disagreement  of 
the  intermediate  ideas,  in  every  step  of  the  demonstration, 
must  be  carried  exactly  in  the  mind,  and  we  must  be  careful 
that  no  part  is  left  out,  which,  in  long  deductions  and  the 
use  of  many  proofs,  we  cannot  be  certain  that  the  memory 
will  always  exactly  accomplish,  therefore  it  comes  to  pass 
that  this  is  not  so  clear  as  intuitive  knowledge,  and  men 
sometimes  embrace  error  for  demonstration. 

Lastly,  sensitive  knowledge  is  derived  from  the  percep¬ 
tion  of  external  objects,  which  correspond  to  ideas  formed 
of  them  in  the  mind.  Since  perception  by  the  senses  is 
sometimes  fallacious,  and  misleads  men  to  think  that 
objects  affect  their  senses  when  no  such  objects  exist,  this 
kind  of  knowledge  is,  in  particular  cases,  less  certain  than 
the  former.  But  when  the  evidence  of  one  sense  is  con¬ 
firmed  by  other  senses,  and  when  we  have  the  accumulated 
evidence  of  all  men,  agreeing  that  their  senses  are  affected 
in  the  same  manner  by  particular  objects,  our  knowledge 
of  the  existence  of  such  objects  amounts  to  certainty,  if 
we  are  capable  of  arriving  at  certainty  in  any  thing. 

40.  If  knowledge  consists  in  the  perception  of  the 
agreement  or  disagreement  of  our  ideas,  it  follows  that  our 
knowledge  may  be  less  extensive  than  our  ideas,  since  the 
perception  of  their  agreement  or  disagreement  is  also 
necessary.  Our  intuitive  knowledge  is  evidently  very 
limited,  there  being  few  things  whose  agreement  or  dis¬ 
agreement  we  can  see  without  the  help  of  intermediate 
ideas.  Nor  does  our  demonstrative  knowledge  reach  to  the 
whole  extent  of  our  ideas ;  because  the  intermediate  ideas, 
necessary  to  form  the  connection  between  any  two  ideas 
which  we  wish  to  compare,  cannot  always  be  found.  We 


cannot,  for  example,  find  intermediate  ideas  to  prove  why 
thought  in  the  mind  should  produce  bodily  motion ;  of 
which  therefore  we  should  have  no  knowledge,  were  it  not 
proved  by  experience.  Sefisitive  knowledge,  reaching  no 
farther  than  to  the  actual  existence  of  things  present  to  the 
senses,  is  more  limited  than  either  of  the  former. 

41.  The  causes  therefore  of  the  narrow  extent  of  our 
knowledge  appear  to  be  chiefly  three;  the  want  of  ideas ; 
the  want  of  a  discoverable  connection  between  the  ideas  we 
have ;  and  the  want  of  tracing  and  examining  our  ideas3 
to  see  whether  they  agree  or  not. 

v  First,  we  are  ignorant  of  many  things  from  the  want  of 
ideas.  Our  senses,  which  are  the  chief  inlets  of  know¬ 
ledge,  are  disproportionate  to  the  vast  extent  of  things ; 
some  of  which  are  hid  from  us  by  being  too  remote,  and 
others  by  being  too  minute.  When  we  consider  the  dis¬ 
tance  of  the  known  visible  parts  of  the  world,  and  the  rea¬ 
sons  we  have  to  think  that  what  lies  within  our  view  is  but 
a  small  part  of  the  universe,  we  become  sensible  to  what 
a  point,  in  comparison  with  the  rest,  our  knowledge  of 
external  objects  is  limited.  Even  if  we  confine  our  con¬ 
templation  to  this  system  of  our  Sun  and  the  bodies  that 
move  around  it,  what  innumerable  vegetables,  animals,  and 
intellectual  beings,  different  from  those  of  our  earth,  pro¬ 
bably  exist  in  other  planets,  from  the  knowledge  of  wdiich 
we  are  who  ly  excluded !  And  if  numerous  objects  in  the 
universe  are  so  remote  as  to  escape  our  notice,  others  are 
no  less  concealed  from  us  by  being  minute.  Our  want  of 
precise  and  distinct  ideas  of  the  primary  qualities  of  bodies, 
keeps  us  in  ignorance  of  their  powers  and  operations.  If 
we  could  discover  the  figure,  size,  texture,  and  motion  of 
the  constituent  particles  of  bodies,  we  should  know,  with¬ 
out  trial,  their  operations  upon  one  another  as  well  as  we 
know  the  properties  of  a  watch  or  a  steam-engine.  Thus, 


if  we  knew  the  mechanical  affections  of  the  particles  of 
hemlock  and  opium ,  we  should  be  able  to  say  beforehand 
that  hemlock  will  kilb  and  opium  cause  sleep,  as  well  as  a 
watchmaker  can  say  that,  if  certain  parts  of  a  watch  be 
filed  off,  it  will  lose  its  motion  and  be  useless,  or  that  if 
any  thing  be  laid  on  the  balance,  it  will  prevent  the 
watch  from  going,  as  long  as  it  remains  there.  It 
would  then  also  be  no  more  difficult  to  understand  why 
silver  and  gold  are  dissolved  by  particular  fluids,  than 
it  is  for  a  smith  to  understand  why  the  turning  of  one 
key,  and  not  the  turning  of  another,  will  open  a  lock. 
I^ut  while  we  are  destitute  of  senses  acute  enough  to 
discover  the  minute  particles  of  bodies,  and  to  give  us 
ideas  of  their  mechanical  affections,  we  can  have  no 
knowledge  of  their  properties  and  ways  of  operation 
beyond  that  which  is  acquired  by  slow  and  limited 

And  if  our  knowledge  is  thus  imperfect  with  regard  to 
material  things,  it  is  still  more  so  with  regard  to  the  exist¬ 
ence  and  nature  of  spirits.  By  reflecting  on  the  operations 
of  our  own  minds,  we  are  able  to  form  a  few  superficial 
ideas  of  spirit,  and  thence,  the  best  we  can  collect,  of  God 
the  eternal  author  of  all  Spirits ;  but  we  have  no  certain 
information  even  of  the  existence  of  other  Spirits,  except 
by  Revelation ;  much  less  have  we  distinct  ideas  of  their 
several  powers  and  conditions,  wherein  they  differ  from 
one  another  and  from  us. 

Secondly,  another  cause  of  ignorance  is  the  want  of  a 
discoverable  connection  between  the  ideas  we  have.  In  some 
of  our  ideas,  there  are  certain  relations  and  connections 
so  implied  in  the  nature  of  the  ideas  themselves,  that  we 
cannot  conceive  them  separable  by  any  power  whatever. 
Thus  the  equality  of  the  angles  of  a  triangle  to  two  right 
angles  is  known  to  be  an  immutable  relation,  not  depend- 


ent  on  any  arbitrary  power  which  of  choice  made  it  so,  or 
could  make  it  otherwise.  But  the  case  is  different  with 
respect  to  many  of  our  ideas.  We  have  ideas  of  the  bulk, 
figure,  and  motion  of  several  objects  around  us,  and  we 
have  also,  by  sensation,  the  ideas  of  colours,  sounds,  tastes, 
smells,  pleasure  and  pain,  excited  by  those  objects;  but 
we  cannot  discover  any  affinity  between  these  mechanical 
affections  of  bodies  and  the  ideas  which  they  produce  in 
us ;  there  being  no  conceivable  connection  between  any 
impulse  of  a  body  and  the  perception  in  our  minds  corres¬ 
ponding  to  it.  And  the  action  of  thought  on  matter  is  to 
us  equally  inexplicable.  We  are  so  far  therefore  from 
being  able  to  comprehend  the  whole  nature  of  the  uni¬ 
verse,  that  we  cannot  attain  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the 
bodies  that  are  about  us  and  make  a  part  of  us :  concern¬ 
ing  their  secondary  qualities  and  operations  we  have  no 
universal  certainty.  For  though  several  effects  produced 
by  them  are  daily  presented  to  our  notice,  and  by  analogy 
we  conjecture  what  effects  similar  bodies  are,  upon  other 
trials,  likely  to  produce,  yet  the  causes,  manner,  and  cer¬ 
tainty  of  their  production  cannot  be  ascertained.  We 
observe  many  things  proceed  regularly,  as  if  by  certain 
laws ;  we  observe  causes  act,  and  effects  constantly  flow 
from  them ;  but  the  nature  of  these  connections  not 
being  discoverable  by  human  faculties,  we  have  only  an 
experimental,  and  therefore  very  limited  knowledge  even 
of  bodies  with  which  we  are  most  acquainted. 

Thirdly,  where  we  have  adequate  ideas,  and  where 
there  is  a  certain  and  discoverable  connection  between 
them,  yet  we  are  often  ignorant,  for  want  of  tracing  those 
ideas  ivliich  we  have ,  or  may  have ,  and  for  want  of  search¬ 
ing  out  those  intermediate  ideas  which  may  shew  us  what 
agreement  or  disagreement  they  have  with  one  another. 
Thus  many  are  ignorant  of  mathematical  truths,  not  from 

e  3  _ _ 


any  imperfection  of  their  faculties,  but  from  disinclination, 
and  other  causes. 

42.  Since  our  knowledge  is  gained  by  the  interven¬ 
tion  of  ideas,  and  is  therefore  real  only  so  far  as  there  is  a 
conformity  between  our  ideas  and  the  reality  of  things,  it 
may  be  asked,  w  hat  shall  be  the  criterion  ?  How  shall  the 
mind  know,  that  its  ideas  agree  with  things  themselves  ? 
The  answer  is,  first,  that  all  knowledge  must  ultimately 
rest  on  some  self-evident  principles ;  one  of  which  is,  that 
when  ideas  of  external  objects  are  received  by  the  senses, 
and  the  testimony  of  one  sense  is  confirmed  by  the  other 
senses  with  innumerable  repetitions,  those  ideas  must  be 
the  product  of  objects  which  exist,  operating  on  our  minds, 
and  producing  therein  those  perceptions  which  the  will  of 
our  Maker  has  ordained  and  adapted  them  to  produce.  It 
follows  that  our  simple  ideas,  gained  by  the  senses,  are  not 
fictions  of  the  fancy,  but  are  the  natural  productions  of 
things  without  us,  and  have  therefore  all  the  conformity 
which  our  state  requires ;  for  they  represent  things  to  us 
under  those  appearances  which  they  are  fitted  to  produce, 
whereby  we  are  enabled  to  distinguish  the  particular  sorts 
of  substances,  to  discern  their  qualities,  and  so  apply  them 
to  our  use. 

Secondly,  all  our  complex  ideas,  except  those  of  sub¬ 
stances ,  being  made  by  the  mind  itself  and  not  intended 
to  be  the  copies  of  any  thing,  nor  referred  to  the  existence 
of  any  thing  as  their  original,  cannot  but  have  all  the  con¬ 
formity  that  is  necessary  to  real  knowledge.  They  are 
combinations  of  ideas  which  the  mind  puts  together  by  its 
free  choice,  without  requiring  that  they  have  any  connec¬ 
tion  in  nature.  Hence  such  ideas  are  not  referred  to 
things ;  but  things  are  referred  to  them,  and  their  con¬ 
formity  is  thence  admitted  or  denied.  Thus  if  a  man  have 
formed  in  his  mind  a  certain  idea  of  justice,  he  includes  no 


acts  under  that  name,  except  those  that  agree  with  the  idea 
which  he  has  previously  affixed  to  it. 

Thirdly,  our  complex  ideas  of  substances,  consisting  of 
simple  ideas  that  are  supposed  to  be  taken  from  objects 
actually  existing,  may,  it  is  true,  vary  from  them,  by  hav¬ 
ing  more  or  different  ideas  united  in  them  than  are  united 
in  the  things  themselves :  and  so,  our  knowledge  may,  and 
often  does  fail  of  being  exactly  conformable  to  things  them¬ 
selves.  The  reality  of  our  knowledge  of  substances  re¬ 
quires  that  our  complex  ideas  of  them  be  such  and  such 
only  as  are  made  up  of  simple  ideas  which  have  been  dis¬ 
covered  to  co-exist  in  nature.  And  if  our  ideas  be  thus 
true,  though  not  perfect  copies,  they  are  the  subjects  of 
knowledge ;  which,  in  comparison  with  the  extent  of 
things,  is  very  limited,  but  so  far  as  it  does  reach,  it  is  real  / 

43.  Every  man  has  an  intuitive  knowledge  of  his' 
own  existence,  and  he  is  convinced  of  the  existence  of 
external  objects  by  a  species  of  evidence  equally  certain. 

These  things  being  admitted,  a  knowledge  of  the  ex¬ 
istence  of  God  may  be  acquired  by  demonstration. 

If  any  thing  exists  now,  something  must  have  always 
existed ;  otherwise  that  thing  which  now  exists  must 
either  have  been  created  by  nothing,  or  it  must  have 
created  itself,  acting  before  it  existed;  both  which  suppo¬ 
sitions  are  absurd.  We  must  therefore  admit,  either  that 
there  is  some  independent  being  which  now  exists,  and 
always  has  existed,  or  that  the  things  which  we  know  to 
exist  at  present  were  produced  by  something  which  had  its 
existence  from  something  else,  and  so  on  in  an  infinite 
series  of  successive  beings.  But  this  last  supposition  is  as 
absurd  as  the  two  former.  For  of  this  infinite  series,  either 
some  one  part  has  not  been  successive  to  any  other,  or  else 
all  the  several  parts  of  it  have  been  successive.  If  some 


one  part  of  it  was  not  successive,,  then  that  was  the  first 
part ;  which  is  contrary  to  the  supposition  of  the  infinity 
of  the  series.  If  all  the  several  parts  of  it  have  been  suc¬ 
cessive,  then  have  they  all  once  been  future  ;  and  if  so,  a 
time  may  be  conceived  when  none  of  them  had  existence, 
from  which  it  would  follow  that  all  the  parts,  and  conse¬ 
quently  the  whole  of  this  infinite  series  must  have  arisen 
from  nothing;  which  is  absurd.  From  the  impossibility 
therefore  of  such  an  infinite  series  of  successive  beings,  we 
conclude  that  there  must  have  existed  from  eternity  some 
independent  Being ;  independent,  because  that  which  never 
had  a  beginning  of  existence  cannot  possibly  have  any 
cause  of  that  existence,  or  in  any  manner  depend  upon 
any  other  being,  but  must  be  independent  and  self-existent. 

This  Being  must  also  be  omnipotent.  That  such  a 
Being  has  power  in  some  degree,  is  proved  by  the  same 
means  that  we  prove  his  existence ;  and  since  he  depends 
upon  no  cause  for  his  existence  or  his  power,  he  cannot 
depend  upon  any  for  the  exertion  of  that  power,  and 
therefore  no  limits  can  be  applied  to  it.  Limitation  is  an 
effect  of  some  superior  cause,  which  in  the  present  case 
there  cannot  be :  consequently  to  suppose  limits  where 
there  can  be  no  limiter,  is  to  suppose  an  effect  without  a 
cause.  For  a  Being  to  be  limited  or  deficient  in  any 
respect  is  to  be  dependent  in  that  respect  on  some  other 
Being,  which  gave  it  just  so  much  and  no  more  :  therefore 
that  Being  which  in  no  respect  depends  upon  any  other  is 
in  no  respect  limited  or  deficient.  In  a  Being  naturally 
capable  of  perfection  or  infinity,  all  imperfection,  or  finite¬ 
ness,  as  it  cannot  flow  from  the  nature  of  that  Being, 
seems  to  require  some  ground  or  reason  ;  which  reason,  as 
it  is  foreign  from  the  Being  itself,  must  be  the  effect  of 
some  other  external  cause,  and  consequently  cannot  have 
place  in  the  first  cause.  That  the  self-existent  Being  is 

5  7 

capable  of  perfection  or  infinity  must  be  granted ;  since  he 
is  evidently  the  subject  of  one  infinite  attribute,  viz. 
eternity.  His  other  attributes  must  therefore  also  be  infi¬ 
nite  ;  for  to  suppose  them  finite,  when  they  are  capable  of 
infinity,  would  involve  the  forementioned  absurdity  of 
positive  limitation  without  a  cause.  As  therefore  it  is 
evident  that  a  Being  which  is  the  fountain  of  all  power, 
must  itself  have  power  in  some  degree  ;  we  conclude  far¬ 
ther,  from  the  argument  above  stated,  that  this  power 
must  be  unlimited  or  infinite.”1 

The  omniscience  of  the  Deity  may  be  proved  in  the 
same  manner.  We  know  that  we  possess  thought  and  in¬ 
telligence,  and  we  also  know  that  we  have  not  had  them 
from  eternity.  They  must  therefore  have  had  a  beginning 
and  consequently  some  cause,  for  the  same  reason  that  a 
Being  beginning  to  exist  must  have  a  cause.  This  cause, 
as  it  is  necessarily  superior  to  its  effect,  must  have  superior 
thought  and  intelligence ;  and  if  it  be  the  first  cause ,  it 
must  have  them  in  an  unlimited  degree,  since  limitation 
without  a  limiter,  would,  as  was  shewn  before,  be  an 
effect  without  a  cause. 

It  is  indeed  manifest  that,  as  all  things  depend  upon  the 
Supreme  Being,  and  have  received  their  existence  and  all 
their  powers  and  faculties  from  him,  he  must  know  not 
only  all  things  that  are,  but  all  the  possibilities  of  things, 
that  is,  all  effects  that  can  be.  For  having  given  to  all 
things  all  their  powers  and  faculties,  he  must  know  per¬ 
fectly  what  those  powers  and  faculties,  derived  wholly  from 
himself,  can  produce.  And  seeing  at  one  view  all  the 
possible  changes,  circumstances,  and  dependencies  of 
things,  all  their  possible  relations  one  to  another,  and  their 
fitnesses  to  certain  ends,  he  must  know  what  is  best  in 


tkC,  ' 

King’s  Origin  of  Evil :  remarks ,  ed.  1731?  P-  G2* 


every  possible  method  of  disposing  things,  and  understand 
perfectly  how  to  order  means,  so  as  to  effect  what  he 
knows  to  be,  on  the  whole,  the  best  and  fittest  end.  This 
is  what  is  meant  by  infinite  wisdom  or  omniscience  ;  and  it 
is  the  attribute  of  the  eternal  Being,  the  creator  and  ruler 
of  all  things.11 

Thus,  from  the  consideration  of  the  existence  of  our¬ 
selves  and  of  other  things.  Reason  leads  us  to  the  know¬ 
ledge  of  this  certain  truth,  that  there  is  a  God  ;  an  eternal, 
omnipotent,  and  omniscient  Being.  That  such  a  Being 
must  be  incomprehensible  by  us,  is  self-evident;  for  if  we 
do  not  understand  the  operations  of  our  own  finite  minds, 
we  must  be  much  less  able  to  comprehend  the  operations 
of  that  infinite  mind  on  which,  as  their  Author  and 
Preserver,  all  other  existences,  material  and  spiritual, 

44.  The  truths  that  fall  within  human  knowledge 
may  be  reduced  to  two  classes.  They  are  either  necessary 
and  immutable  truths,  whose  contrary  is  impossible;  or 
they  are  contingent  and  mutable,  being  the  effect  of  some 
will  and  power,  which  caused  them  to  have  a  beginning, 
and  may  cause  them  to  have  an  end.  The  axioms  in 
Euclid,  and  all  the  conclusions  drawn  from  them,  are  ne¬ 
cessary  truths.  They  are  immutably  true,  and  depend  not 
upon  the  will  and  power  of  any  being.  That  the  Sun  is 
the  centre  about  which  the  Earth  revolves,  is  a  contingent 
truth;  for  it  depends  upon  the  power  and  will  of  the 
Being,  who  has  so  ordained  it. 

It  is  impossible  to  establish  any  either  contingent 
or  necessary  truth  without  assuming  some  self-evident 
principles  as  the  foundation  of  our  reasoning.  If  doubt 

n  Encyc.  Brit.  Met.  Part  III,  ch,  vi.  Clarke  on  the  Being  and  At¬ 
tributes  of  God,  Prop.  11. 


arise  with  regard  to  any  principle,  whether  it  is  self- 
evident  or  not ; — still  more,  if  one  or  two  sceptical 
persons  deny  that  a  principle  is  self-evident  which  the 
rest  of  mankind  have  always  thought  to  be  so,  it  be¬ 
hoves  them  to  take  care  that  the  principles  which  they 
assume  as  the  foundation  of  their  own  reasoning  be  at  least 
equally  evident. 

As  one  of  many  principles  which  are  generally  allowed 
to  be  self-evident,  the  following  is  selected,  both  as  an 
instance,  and  also  because  the  remarks  upon  it  may  serve 
as  an  illustration  of  the  argument  stated  in  the  preceding 
article.  This  principle  is,  That  design  and  intelligence  in 
the  cause,  may  be  inferred,  with  certainty,  from  marks  of 
them  in  the  effect.  Intelligence  is  not  an  object  of  the 
senses ;  it  can  only  be  discerned  by  the  effects  which  it 
produces.  A  man’s  wisdom  is  known  only  by  the  marks 
of  it  in  his  conduct ;  his  courage,  and  all  his  virtues  and 
talents  are  estimated  in  the  same  manner.  From  the  con¬ 
duct  of  one  person,  we  are  sure  of  his  folly  and  ignorance  ; 
from  that  of  another,  we  are  sure  that  he  possesses  great 
attainments  and  understanding.  It  is  no  less  a  part  of  the 
human  constitution  to  judge  of  men’s  characters,  and  of 
their  intellectual  powers,  from  the  marks  of  them  in  their 
actions  and  discourse,  than  it  is  to  judge  of  external 
objects  by  our  senses.  Such  judgments  are  absolutely 
necessary  in  the  conduct  of  life ;  and  every  judgment  so 
made  is  only  a  particular  application  of  the  general  prin¬ 
ciple,  that  intelligence  in  the  cause  may  be  inferred  from 
marks  of  it  in  the  effect.  As  this  inference  is  unavoidable, 
and  is  made  with  perfect  security  by  all  men,  it  has  there¬ 
fore  the  strongest  marks  of  being  a  self-evident  principle. 
And,  agreeably  to  it,  the  evidence  of  wisdom  and  power  in 
the  constitution  of  the  world  as  an  argument  for  the  being 
and  providence  of  the  Deity,  is  that  which  has  in  all  ages 


made  a  stronger  impression  than  any  other,  and  been 
allowed  by  most  men  to  be  conclusive.  The  notices  which 
God  has  given  us  of  himself, — in  the  order,  beauty,  and 
harmony  of  the  several  parts  of  the  world  ;  in  the  struc¬ 
ture  of  our  own  bodies,  and  in  the  powers  of  our 
minds, — are  so  forcible  and  obvious,  that  an  acknow¬ 
ledgment  of  Him  appears  to  be  unavoidable.  Meta¬ 
physical  demonstrations  of  the  Being  and  Attributes 
of  God  must  fail  in  impressing  conviction  on  the 
minds  of  those  who  are  unable  to  comprehend  them  ; 
but,  for  the  same  reason,  men  are  bound  not  to 
suffer  themselves  to  be  unsettled  by  the  sophistries  of 
sceptical  men,  which  they  cannot  perhaps  answer,  because 
they  cannot  understand :  they  are  bound  to  adhere  to 
those  plain  evidences  and  reasons  of  which  they  are  able 
to  form  a  judgment ;  and  these  are  sufficient  to  guide  the 
opinions  and  practice  of  considerate  men.0 

45.  In  demonstrative  reasoning,  the  inference  is 
necessary ,  and  we  perceive  it  to  be  impossible  that 
it  should  not  follow  from  the  premises.  Hence  this 
kind  of  reasoning  has  no  degrees ;  nor  can  one  de¬ 
monstration  be  stronger  than  another,  though,  in  relation 
to  our  faculties,  one  may  be  more  easily  comprehended 
than  another.  On  the  other  hand,  probable  evidence  has 
all  degrees,  from  the  highest  moral  certainty  to  the  very 
lowest  presumption.  In  common  language,  this  is  often 
considered  as  an  inferior  degree  of  evidence,  and  is  op¬ 
posed  to  certainty ;  but,  properly,  it  is  a  species  of  evi¬ 
dence  opposed,  not  to  certainty,  but  to  another  species  of 
evidence  called  demonstration. 

Demonstrative  reasoning  can  be  applied  only  to  neces~ 
sary  truths ;  these  are  sometimes  capable  also  of  probable 

0  Reid,  Es.  VI.  ch.  vi.  Clarke  j  conclusion  of  the  Demonstration. 


evidence ;  and  contingent  truths  are  capable  of  probable 
evidence  alone. 

Probable  reasoning,  for  the  most  part,  depends  not 
upon  any  one  argument,  but  upon  many,  which  unite 
their  force,  and  lead  to  the  same  conclusion.  Any  one  of 
them  by  itself  might  be  insufficient  to  convince  ;  but  the 
whole  taken  together  may  have  a  force  that  is  irresistible, 
so  that  to  desire  more  evidence  would  be  absurd.  Some¬ 
times  the  judgment  may  be  in  suspense  between  two  con¬ 
tradictory  opinions,  when  there  is  no  evidence  for  either,  or 
equal  evidence  for  both.  The  least  preponderance  on  one 
side  inclines  the  judgment  in  proportion.  Belief  is  mixed 
with  doubt,  more  or  less,  until  we  come  to  the  highest 
degree  of  evidence,  when  all  doubt  vanishes,  and  the 
belief  is  immoveable.  This  degree  of  evidence,  the  high¬ 
est  the  human  faculties  can  attain,  amounts  to  certainty. 

46.  Since  in  many  speculations,  and  in  all  the  con¬ 
cerns  of  life,  men  cannot  arrive  at  demonstrative  know¬ 
ledge,  it  is  necessary  for  them  to  be  guided  by  probability; 
and  the  ground  of  probability  is  experience.  If  the  ques¬ 
tion  relate  to  a  matter  of  fact ,  the  first  thing  to  be  con¬ 
sidered  is  the  previous  probability  of  the  fact,  which  will 
vary  according  to  our  experience  of  the  like  having,  more 
or  less  frequently,  taken  place  under  the  like  circum¬ 
stances.  For  in  order  to  establish  the  same  probability,  it 
is  manifest  that  stronger  evidence  is  necessary  for  one  kind 
of  fact,  than  for  another.  When  the  previous  probability 
has  been  determined,  we  proceed  to  estimate  the  testi¬ 
mony  which  is  given  respecting  the  fact  in  question ;  and 
the  probability,  thence  arising,  will  vary  according  to  our 
experience  of  the  like  testimony  having,  more  or  less  fre¬ 
quently,  been  found  accurate  in  other  cases. 

First ,  therefore,  if  the  previous  probability  be  very 
great,  and  the  testimony  also  unimpeachable,  the  resulting 


6  2 

probability  is  the  highest  possible.  Thus  if  a  number  df 
credible  persons  testify  that  there  was  frost  in  England 
last  winter,  our  belief  so  grounded  arises  to  certainty. 
Secondly ,  if  the  fact  be  indifferent,  that  is,  if  in  the 
nature  of  the  thing  there  be  nothing  either  for  or  against 
it,  yet  when  it  is  vouched  by  the  concurrent  testimony  of 
unsuspected  witnesses,  our  assent  is  unavoidable.  Thus, 
that  there  is  such  a  city  as  Rome ;  that  there  once  lived  in 
it  a  man  called  Julius  Caesar  ;  that  he  was  a  General,  and 
conquered  Pompey ;  these  or  the  like  facts  being  related  by 
many  Historians,  and  never  contradicted,  our  belief  of 
them,  as  in  the  first  case,  amounts  to  certainty.  Thirdly,  if 
the  fact  agree  with  out  general  experience,  and  it  be  attest¬ 
ed  by  many  undoubted  witnesses,  the  probability  is  ex¬ 
tremely  great.  Thus,  if  experience  has  taught  us  that  the 
authors  of  civil  commotions  are  generally  profligate  and 
wicked  men,  and  if  all  Historians,  who  write  of  Catiline, 
say  that  he  and  his  associates  were  of  that  character,  our 
assent  arises  to  a  high  degree  of  confidence. 

In  these  cases,  probability  carries  so  much  evidence 
with  it,  that  there  is  little  or  no  room  for  doubt.  The 
difficulty  is,  when  testimonies  contradict  common  experi¬ 
ence,  and  the  reports  of  history  and  witnesses  clash  with 
the  ordinary  course  of  nature,  or  with  one  another ;  these 
are  the  cases  in  which  diligence  and  exactness  are  required 
to  form  a  right  judgment,  and  to  proportion  the  assent  to 
the  probability  of  the  thing,  which  rises  or  falls  according 
as  common  observation  in  like  cases,  and  particular  testi¬ 
monies  in  that  particular  instance,  favour  or  contradict  it. 

47.  In  estimating  the  previous  probability  of  a  fact 
which  has  reference  to  the  conduct  of  men,  we  are  guided 
bv  our  experience  of  the  general  principles  of  human 
action,  or  by  our  knowledge  of  the  individuals.  If  men  be 
of  sound  mind,  we  depend  upon  a  certain  degree  of  regu- 


larity  in  their  conduct;  and  could  imagine  a  thousand 
different  eases,  wherein  we  should  feel  the  utmost  conf¬ 
idence  that  they  will  act  in  a  particular  way,  and  not  in  the 
contrary.  If  men  had  no  confidence  in  one  another  that 
they  will  act  such  a  part  in  such  circumstances,  it  would 
be  impossible  for  them  to  live  in  society :  for  that  which 
makes  men  capable  of  living  in  society,  and  uniting  in  a 
political  body  under  government,  is  the  assurance  that 
their  actions  will  always  be  regulated  in  a  great  measure 
by  the  common  principles  of  human  nature.  It  may 
always  be  expected  that  they  will  regard  their  own  inter¬ 
est  and  reputation,  and  that  of  their  families  and  friends ; 
that  they  will  repel  injuries,  and  have  some  sense  of  good 
offices ;  and  that  they  will  have  some  regard  to  truth  and 
justice,  so  far  at  least  as  not  to  swerve  from  them  without 
temptation.  It  is  upon  such  principles  as  these,  that  all 
political  reasoning  is  grounded.  Such  reasoning  is  never 
demonstrative;  but  it  may  have  a  very  high  degree  of 
probability,  especially  when  applied  to  great  bodies  of  intel¬ 
ligent  men .p 

48.  Probabilitv,  so  far  as  it  rests  on  uncontradicted 
human  testimony,  varies  according  to  the  number  of  the 
witnesses,  their  known  integrity,  their  apparent  motives, 
their  power  of  judging,  and  the  consistency  of  the  parts 
of  their  narration. 

As  a  reason  for  distinguishing  between  the  general  in¬ 
tegrity  of  witnesses  and  their  apparent  motives  in  any  par¬ 
ticular  case,  it  may  be  observed  that  the  belief  we  give  to 
testimony  in  many  cases  is  not  solely  grounded  upon  the 
general  veracity  of  the  testifier.  In  a  particular  testimony. 

p  See  Reid’s  Essays  on  the  first  principles  of  truths ,  and  on  probable 


we  consider  the  motives  a  man  might  have  to  falsify.  If 
there  be  no  appearance  of  any  such  motive,  much  more  if 
there  be  motives  on  the  other  side,  his  testimony  has 
weight  independent  of  his  moral  character. 

If  the  testimony  be  circumstantial,  we  consider  how  far 
the  circumstances  agree  with  each  other,  and  with  things 
that  are  known.  It  is  so  difficult  to  fabricate  a  story 
which  cannot  be  detected  by  a  careful  comparison  of  the 
circumstances,  that  it  acquires  probability,  by  being  able 
to  bear  such  a  trial.  And  when  there  is  an  agreement  of 
many  witnesses,  in  a  great  variety  of  circumstances,  with¬ 
out  the  possibility  of  previous  concert,  the  evidence  is 
equal  to  that  of  demonstration. 

49.  In  traditional  testimony,  each  transmission 
weakens  the  force  of  the  proof.  It  is  evident  that  no  pro¬ 
bability  grounded  on  testimony  can  rise  higher  than  its 
first  original.  What  has  no  other  evidence  than  the  testi¬ 
mony  of  one  witness,  must  stand  or  fall  by  his  testimony 
alone ;  and  though  cited  afterwards  by  a  multitude  of 
others,  it  is  so  far  from  receiving  strength  that  it  is  only 
the  weaker.  Passion,  interest,  inadvertency,  and  a  num¬ 
ber  of  other  supposeable  reasons  may  make  one  man  mis¬ 
quote  the  words  of  another.  Hence,  what  in  one  age 
was  affirmed  upon  slight  grounds,  instead  of  becoming 
more  valid  in  future  ages  by  being  often  repeated,  becomes 
less  so,  the  farther  it  is  removed  from  the  original  source. 
And  this  shews  the  great  value  of  numerous,  independent, 
and  early  documents  in  which  important  events  are 

50.  If  the  question  relate  to  a  matter  of  speculative 
opinion ,  which  is  not  capable  of  human  testimony,  our 
belief  is  directed  by  analogy.  Thus,  knowing'  that  the 
whole  earth  abounds  with  animated  beings,  we  think  it 
probable  that  other  bodies  in  the  universe  are  similarly 


inhabited.  Also,  if  all  nature,  from  a  plant  to  a  man,  is 
filled  with  diverse  kinds  of  creatures  rising  one  above 
another  by  so  easy  an  ascent  that  the  transitions  from  one 
to  another  are  almost  insensible,  if  the  scale  of  beings  rises 
by  such  a  regular  progress  as  high  as  man,  we  may,  by 
analogy,  suppose  that  it  still  proceeds  gradually  through 
beings  of  a  superior  nature  to  him ;  since  there  is  an  infi¬ 
nitely  greater  space  for  different  degrees  of  perfection 
between  the  Supreme  Being  and  man,  than  between  man 
and  the  lowest  insect.  In  these  and  similar  cases  it  is  not 
likely  that  men  will  ever  arrive  at  certain  knowledge,  and 
therefore  our  inferences  from  analogy  are  limited  to  con¬ 
jecture  ;  but  in  subjects  also  which  are  proper  for  experi¬ 
ment,  and  in  which  certain  knowledge  may  at  length  be 
attained,  analogy  is  the  best  guide ;  and  cautious  reasoning 
from  it  has  led  to  the  discovery  of  many  truths  which 
would  otherwise  have  lain  concealed.11 

51.  Error  is  sometimes  unavoidable,  because  it  is 
often  necessary  to  form  opinions  on  uncertain  grounds.  In 
many  cases  the  probabilities  on  opposite  sides  are  so  nearly 
balanced,  that  the  preponderance  either  way  is  not  easily 
determined,  and  the  danger  of  deciding  Avrong  must  be 
greatly  increased  if  the  judgment  be  biassed  by  any  previ¬ 
ous  inclination.  Error  does  not  therefore  necessarily  im¬ 
ply  a  defect  of  the  understanding,  since  the  means  of  form¬ 
ing  a  right  decision  may  be  beyond  the  reach  even  of  those 
who  have  both  the  will  and  leisure  to  seek,  and  the  ability 
to  apply  them.  Errors  are  unavoidable  where  proof  no 
where  exists,  and  therefore  cannot  be  procured  ;  they  are 
also  unavoidable,  where  men,  bound  to  the  necessity  of 
gaining  their  subsistence  by  manual  labour,  have  not  the 
opportunity  of  observation,  nor  leisure  to  search  for  the 

q  Addison,  Spec.  N°.  519. 
f  3  , 


proofs  which  are  necessary  to  establish  right  opinions. 
But,  when  every  allowance  has  been  made  for  unavoidable 
errors,  many  will  remain  to  be  otherwise  accounted  for, 
and  which  must  be  imputed  to  some  disorder  of  the  un¬ 

52.  To  every  bias  of  the  mind  by  which  it  may  be 
drawn  into  error.  Lord  Bacon  gives  the  name  of  an  idol. 
The  mind,  in  its  sound  and  best  state,  pays  homage  to 
truth  only.  The  causes  of  error  are  therefore  considered 
by  him  as  so  many  false  deities,  who  receive  the  homage 
which  is  due  only  to  truth.  Without  attempting  to  give 
an  enumeration  of  errors,  which  would  be  impossible  from 
their  almost  infinite  diversity,  he  refers  them  all  to  four 
classes,  to  which  he  gives  the  names  of  idola  tribus ,  idol  a 
speeds,  idola  fori,  idola  theatri. 

The  first  are  such  as  beset  the  whole  human  species  ; 
so  that  every  man  is  in  danger  from  them.  They  arise 
from  principles  of  the  human  constitution  which  are  useful 
and  necessary  in  our  present  state ;  but  by  their  excess  or 
defect,  or  wrong  direction,  may  lead  us  into  error.  As 
instances  of  this  we  may  take  the  following : 

1.  Men  are  prone  to  fix  their  opinions  too  much  by 
authority.  In  the  early  part  of  life  we  have  no  other 
guide ;  and  without  a  disposition  to  receive  what  we 
are  taught,  we  should  be  incapable  of  instruction.  Also, 
when  the  faculties  are  matured,  there  are  many  things  in 
which  we  must  be  incompetent  to  judge.  In  such  cases, 
it  is  reasonable  to  rely  upon  the  judgment  of  others  whom 
we  believe  to  be  competent  and  disinterested. 

Authority  ought  to  have  more  or  less  weight  in  any 
case,  according  to  the  evidence  on  which  our  own  judg¬ 
ment  rests,  and  the  opinion  we  have  previously  formed,  on 
good  grounds,  of  the  judgment  and  integrity  of  those  who 
differ  from  us,  or  agree  with  us.  Those  who  have  a 


strong  sense  of  their  own  fallibility  in  judging,  are  in 
danger  of  yielding  too  much  to  authority ;  others  more 
arrogant  are  in  danger  of  yielding  too  little.  As  therefore 
our  regard  to  authority  may  be  either  too  great  or  too 
small,  the  bias  of  human  nature  seems  to  incline  to  the 
first  of  these  extremes ;  and  it  is  certainly  good  for  men 
that  it  has  that  inclination  rather  than  the  other.  Much 
respect  is  due  to  authority  in  matters  of  opinion :  but  there 
is  a  tendency  to  pay  it  in  excess.  Of  a  great  part  of  man¬ 
kind  it  can  hardly  be  said  that  they  form  any  judgment  of 
their  own,  except  in  things  which  concern  their  immediate 
temporal  interest ;  in  other  important  matters,  we  may 
conjecture,  with  a  near  approach  to  certainty,  what  their 
opinions  are,  when  we  know  where  they  were  born,  how 
they  have  been  educated,  and  in  what  society  they  have 


2.  Men  are  too  much  disposed  to  estimate  things 
less  known  and  less  familiar,  by  those  that  are  better 
known  and  more  familiar.  In  this  instance  as  in 
the  former,  the  principle  is  correct  to  a  certain  de¬ 
gree,  but  there  is  a  tendency  to  excess  in  the  application  of 
it.  As  it  forms  the  foundation  of  all  analogical  reasoning, 
to  which  we  owe  a  great  part  of  our  knowledge,  it 
would  be  absurd  to  lay  it  aside  altogether ;  the  difficulty 
is  in  determining  how  far  we  may  venture  upon  it.  The 
bias  of  our  nature  seems  to  lead  us  to  trust  too  much  to  it, 
and  to  decide  from  too  slight  analogies.  For  example,  the 
objects  of  sense  having  engrossed  our  thoughts  in  the  first 
part  of  life  and  been  most  familiar  through  the  whole  of 
it,  men  in  all  ages  have  been  prone  to  attribute  the  human 
figure  to  superior  intelligences,  and  even  to  the  Supreme 
Being.  Again,  for  the  same  reason,  there  is  a  disposition 
in  men  to  materialize  every  thing ;  that  is,  to  apply  the 
notions  we  have  of  material  objects  to  things  of  a  different 


nature.  Hence  thought  is  considered  as  analogous  to 
motion  in  a  body ;  and  as  bodies  are  put  in  motion  by 
impulses,  we  are  apt  to  conclude  that  the  mind  is  made  to 
think  in  the  same  manner. 

The  mistakes  in  common  life,  which  arise  from  the 
erroneous  application  of  this  principle,  are  innumerable. 
Men  judge  too  hastily  of  others  by  themselves,  or  by  the 
small  circle  of  their  acquaintance.  The  selfish  man 
ascribes  all  professions  of  benevolence  and  public  spirit  to 
hypocrisy  or  self-deceit.  The  generous  and  honest  be¬ 
lieve  plausible  pretences  too  readily,  and  are  apt  to  think 
men  better  than  they  really  are.  The  profligate  can  hardly 
be  persuaded  that  there  is  any  such  thing  as  real  virtue. 
The  rustic  forms  his  notions  of  the  characters  of  men  from 
those  of  his  own  village,  and  is  easily  deceived  on  his  first 
arrival  in  a  great  city. 

3.  In  avoiding  one  extreme,  men  are  apt  to  rush 
into  the  opposite.  Thus,  in  rude  ages,  they  ascribe  every 
uncommon  appearance  to  the  immediate  interposition  of 
invisible  beings ;  but  when  philosophy  has  discovered 
natural  causes  of  many  events  which,  in  the  days  of 
ignorance,  were  ascribed  to  the  immediate  operation  of 
gods  or  daemons,  they  are  apt  to  think  that  all  the  phaeno- 
mena  of  nature  may  be  accounted  for  in  the  same  way, 
and  that  there  is  no  need  of  an  invisible  Maker  and 
Governor  of  the  world.  In  this  manner,  by  an  immediate 
transition  they  pass  from  the  extreme  of  superstition  to 
that  of  atheism.  And  in  general,  when  men  abandon 
opinions  which  they  have  held  on  weak  grounds,  they  are 
seldom  seen  to  take  a  moderate  course,  but  hasten  to 
maintain,  with  equal  earnestness,  and  on  grounds  perhaps 
equally  insufficient,  opinions  directly  opposite  to  those 
which  they  held  before. 

53.  By  the  idola  speeds  are  meant  causes  of  error  not 

arising  from  the  constitution  of  human  nature,  but  from 
something  peculiar  to  the  individual.  As  in  a  cave,  ob¬ 
jects  vary  in  their  appearance  according  to  the  form  of  the 
cave  and  the  manner  in  which  it  receives  the  light,  and, 
from  these  circumstances,  often  assume  a  delusive  appear¬ 
ance  ;  so,  in  the  mind,  errors  arise  from  the  particular  way 
in  which  a  man  has  been  trained,  or  from  his  particular 
profession,  or  from  something  singular  in  the  turn  of  his 
mind.  One  whose  thoughts  have  been  confined  to  a  cer¬ 
tain  track,  is  apt  to  judge  wrong  when  he  ventures  out  of 
that  track.  He  is  apt  to  refer  every  thing  to  the  maxims 
of  his  own  profession,  and  to  judge,  by  them,  of  things 
that  have  no  relation  to  it.  It  is  a  common  remark  that 
those  who  have  been  much  accustomed  to  demonstrative 
reasoning,  often  require  it  in  subjects  to  which  it  is  not 
applicable.  And,  from  a  like  reason,  men  who  are 
warmly  devoted  to  a  particular  pursuit,  are  apt  to  hold  all 
other  pursuits  in  undue  contempt. 

Some  men  have  a  great  admiration  of  antiquity,  and 
contempt  of  whatever  is  modern ;  others  go  into  the  con¬ 
trary  extreme.  Some  are  afraid  to  venture  a  step  out  of 
the  beaten  track,  and  think  it  safest  to  go  with  the  multi¬ 
tude;  others  are  fond  of  singularities  and  paradox.  Some 
are  changeable  in  their  opinions ;  others  obstinate.  These 
things  shew  how  important  it  is  for  every  man  to  examine 
the  tendencies  of  his  own  mind,  and  not  cherish  pecu¬ 
liarities  which  must  vitiate  his  judgment. 

54.  The  idola  fori  are  fallacies  which  arise  from  the 
imperfections  and  the  abuse  of  language.  On  this  sub¬ 
ject,  little  need  be  added  to  the  remarks  which  have  been 
already  made. 

As  language  was  not  made  by  philosophers,  but  was 
gradually  formed  by  popular  use,  it  has  some  imperfec¬ 
tions  which  might  be  avoided  if  it  were  possible  to  bring 

it  to  a  new  beginning ;  but  to  others  no  remedy  could  be 
applied,  while  our  knowledge  itself  is  imperfect.  In  the 
mean  time  these  imperfections  are  the  manifest  cause  of 
many  errors.  For  language  is  an  instrument  of  thought 
as  well  as  of  the  communication  of  our  thoughts,  and  we 
find  it  impossible  to  pursue  a  train  of  thought  without  the 
use  of  it :  the  bad  effects  therefore  of  ambiguous  and  inde¬ 
finite  language  are  not  confined  to  our  communications 
with  others,  but  extend  to  our  private  speculations.  The 
signs  are  so  associated  with  the  things  signified,  that  the 
last  can  hardly  present  themselves  to  the  mind  without 
drawing  the  other  along  with  them.  Hence,  that  which 
was  intended  to  assist  and  minister  to  the  understanding 
frequently  assumes  the  mastery  :  we  cannot  shake  it  off, 
and  therefore  must  direct  our  course,  in  some  degree,  as  it 

55.  The  last  class  of  idols  in  Lord  Bacon’s  division 
are  the  idola  theatri,  by  which  he  meant  hypothetical  sys¬ 
tems,  in  which  we  have  been  trained,  or  which  we  have 
adopted.  Before  his  time,  the  slow  method  of  induction 
from  observation  and  experiment  was  little  understood, 
and  men  of  genius  had  long  been  occupied,  to  little  pur¬ 
pose,  in  framing  hypotheses  to  account  for  the  phaenomena 
of  nature.  These  were  considered  by  Bacon  as  worthy  of 
no  more  regard  than  fictitious  representations  produced  in 
a  theatre.  The  world  had  been  so  long  deceived  by  hypo¬ 
theses  in  all  parts  of  philosophy,  that  he  renounced  them 
as  the  fictions  of  fanciful  men,  who  thought  themselves 
able  to  unfold  the  mysteries  of  nature  by  the  mere  force 
of  their  genius.  When  men  first  began  to  inquire  into 
the  causes  of  things,  it  was  natural  for  them  to  indulge 
conjecture  ;  and  accordingly,  the  most  ancient  systems  of 
philosophy  were  nothing  but  the  conjectures  of  men 
famous  for  their  wisdom,  whose  name  gave  authority  to 

their  opinions.  Some  conjectured  that  this  Earth  is  a  vast 
plain,  surrounded  by  a  boundless  ocean ; — that  from  this 
ocean,  the  Sun,  Moon,  and  stars  emerge  at  their  rising, 
and  plunge  into  it  again  at  their  setting.  Others  in  more 
recent  times  have  conjectured  that  the  heavenly  bodies 
are  carried  round  by  a  vortex  of  subtle  matter,  as  straws 
are  carried  round  in  a  vessel  of  water.  Thus,  the  experi¬ 
ence  of  all  ages  has  shewn  how  prone  men  are  to  invent 
hypotheses  founded  on  slight  probabilities,  and  how  eager 
they  are,  by  a  kind  of  anticipation,  to  discover  the  secrets 
of  nature.  This  tendency,  it  is  true,  has  been  at  length 
checked  by  perpetual  failures.  The  rule  laid  down  by 
Newton  is  acknowledged  and  followed,  that  no  causes  of 
natural  things  ought  to  be  assigned  but  such  as  can  be  proved 
to  have  a  real  existence ;  and  that  the  proper  method  of 
philosophy  is,  to  collect  the  laws  of  nature  by  just  in¬ 
duction  from  ascertained  facts,  and  to  apply  the  laws  so 
discovered  to  the  explanation  of  phaenomena.  It  may  be 
expected  that  men  will  persevere  in  this  course,  in  which 
happy  progress  has  been  already  made ; — that  in  all  in¬ 
quiries  into  the  constitution  of  nature,  they  will  be  content 
to  act  a  subordinate  part ;  to  combine,  not  to  fabricate ;  to 
collect  evidence,  and  not  to  supply  the  want  of  it  by  con¬ 

Lord  Bacon,  having  explained  the  nature  of  these 
idols ,  and  shewn  what  delusions  are  caused  by  the  respect 
which  is  paid  to  them,  exhorts  men,  resolutely  to  abandon 
them ;  to  free  their  minds  from  prejudice ;  and  to  seek 
truth  with  the  docility  of  children/ 

r  Bacon  de  augmentis  scientiarum,  lib.  5,  cap.  iv.  Novum  Or- 
ganum,  Aph.  xxxix.  Reid  on  Hypotheses,  Es.  II.  ch.  iii.  and  on  Pre¬ 
judices,  Es.  VI.  ch.  viii.  See  also  Stewart.  Elem.  Phil.  vol.  II.  ch.  iv. 
1.  on  the  difference  between  gratuitous  and  legitimate  hypotheses. 


56.  That  part  of  Logic  which  treats  of  the  exer¬ 
cise  of  the  mind  according  to  practical  rules,  and  by  pro¬ 
per  methods  of  reasoning,  is  called  Dialectics. 

In  explaining  this  Art,  the  operations  of  the  mind  are 
commonly  classed  under  three  divisions,  simple  apprehen¬ 
sion,  judgment,  and  reasoning. 

The  simple  apprehension  of  an  object  means  the  same 
as  having  a  notion,  an  idea,  or  a  conception  of  it.  It  is  ex¬ 
pressed  by  a  word,  or  by  a  part  of  a  proposition,  not  mak¬ 
ing  a  complete  sentence  ;  as  a  king,  the  king  of  a  faithful 
people .  Such  words,  taken  alone,  denote  simple  apprehen¬ 
sions  :  they  neither  affirm  nor  deny ;  they  imply  no 
opinion  of  the  thing  signified  by  them,  and  therefore  can¬ 
not  be  said  to  be  either  true  or  false. 

By  the  operation  of  judgment  the  mind  compares  any 
two  objects  of  thought,  and  determines  their  agreement 
or  disagreement.  This  operation  is  expressed  by  a  propo¬ 
sition,  in  which  the  agreement  of  the  things  compared  is 
affirmed  or  denied :  as  when  we  say,  God  is  omnipotent ; 
man  is  not  perfect. 

The  third  operation  is  reasoning  ;  in  which,  from  two 
or  more  judgments,  which  are  called  premises,  we  deduce  a 
new  and  distinct  judgment,  which  is  called  the  conclusion. 
Reasoning  may  consist  of  many  steps ;  the  first  conclusion 
being  a  premise  to  a  second,  that  to  a  third,  and  so  on. 
Hence,  separate  judgments  may  be  compared  to  separate 
stones  prepared  for  the  purposes  of  the  builder;  upon 
each  of  which,  while  lying  on  the  ground,  a  person  may 
raise  himself  to  a  small  elevation.  The  same  judgments, 
when  combined  into  a  train  of  reasoning,  resemble  the 
formerly  unconnected  stones  when  converted  into  the 
steps  of  a  staircase,  leading  to  a  summit  which  would  be 
otherwise  inaccessible. 

57.  Since  a  judgment  includes  two  ideas,  the  propo¬ 
sition  which  expresses  a  judgment  must  have  terms  cor- 


responding  to  them.  The  term  expressing  the  idea  of 
which  we  affirm  or  deny,  is  called  the  subject  of  the  pro¬ 
position.  The  term  expressing  the  idea  affirmed  or  denied, 
is  called  the  predicate.  Thus  in  the  proposition,  God  is 
omnipotent ;  God  is  the  subject,  it  being  of  Him  that  we 
affirm  omnipotence ;  and  omnipotent  is  the  predicate,  be¬ 
cause  we  affirm  that  the  idea,  expressed  by  that  word, 
belongs  to  God. 

That  word  in  a  proposition  which  connects  two  ideas 
together,  is  called  the  copula  ;  and  if  a  negative  particle 
be  annexed,  we  thereby  understand  that  the  ideas  are  dis¬ 
joined.  The  substantive  verb  is  made  use  of  for  the  copula  ; 
as  in  the  proposition,  God  is  omnipotent ;  where  is  repre¬ 
sents  the  copula,  and  signifies  the  agreement  of  the  ideas 
of  God  and  omnipotence.  In  the  proposition,  man  is  not 
perfect,  the  negative  particle  is  inserted  after  the  copula,  to 
signify  the  disagreement  between  the  ideas  expressed  by 
the  subject  and  predicate.  In  popular  language,  proposi¬ 
tions  do  not  always  appear  in  the  logical  form  above  stated, 
but  they  may  be  reduced  to  it  by  the  substitution  of 
equivalent  terms.  The  copula  and  predicate  are  often  in¬ 
cluded  in  the  same  word ;  as  he  comes,  which  is  the  same 
as  he  is  coming :  and  in  Latin,  one  word,  as  venit,  some¬ 
times  includes  the  whole  proposition.  For  whenever  two 
ideas  are  joined  or  disjoined,  though  the  expression  be 
only  a  single  word,  it  may  be  resolved  into  an  equivalent 
expression  containing  a  subject,  predicate,  and  copula, 
according  to  the  logical  form  of  a  proposition.5 

58.  A  proposition  is  called  affirmative,  when  the  ideas 
expressed  by  the  subject  and  predicate  are  affirmed  to 
agree  ;  and  negative,  when  they  are  affirmed  to  disagree. 

s  The  substance  of  this  and  of  some  of  the  following  articles  is  taken 
from  Duncan’s  Elements  of  Logic. 


r  hus  of  the  propositions,  God  is  omnipotent ,  and,  man  is 
not  perfect ,  the  first  is  affirmative,  the  second  negative . 

A  proposition  is  universal,  when  the  subject  is  a 
general  term  without  any  limitation,  and  the  predicate 
agrees  or  disagrees  with  each  of  the  things  comprehended 
under  the  subject.  Thus,  men  are  mortal,  is  an  universal 
proposition  ;  for  mortal  ity  is  affirmed  of  every  individual 
of  the  species  man. 

A  proposition  is  particular,  when  the  subject  is  a 
general  term,  but  with  a  mark  of  limitation  added,  to 
denote  that  the  predicate  agrees  only  with  some  of  the 
things  comprehended  under  the  subject.  Thus,  some  men 
are  virtuous,  is  a  particular  proposition ;  for  the  idea  ex¬ 
pressed  by  the  predicate  agrees  with  only  a  part  of  the 
general  idea  of  the  subject. 

A  proposition  is  singular,  when  the  subject  signifies 
one  thing  only ;  as  when  we  say  Aristides  was  just . 
Some  logicians  have  classed  these  among  universal,  and 
others  among  particular  propositions.  They  may  be 
reckoned  universal,  when  the  predicate  agrees  with  the 
whole  of  the  subject  in  its  fullest  extent ;  as  when  we  say, 
Ccesar  was  a  Homan  :  but  if  some  qualifying  word  be  in¬ 
serted,  to  denote  that  we  are  not  speaking  of  the  whole  of 
the  subject,  as  when  we  say,  Ccesar  was  not  wholly  a 
tyrant,  the  proposition  may  be  reckoned  particular.  Since 
therefore  every  proposition  must  be  either  affirmative  or 
negative ;  universal  or  particular ;  hence  has  arisen  the 
fourfold  division  of  them  into  universal  affirmative,  and 
universal  negative;  particular  affirmative,  and  particular 
negative  ;  which  includes  all  their  varieties. 

59.  Some  qualities  in  bodies  are  essential,  that  is,  in¬ 
separable  from  them  ;  others  are  accidental.  Thus  weight 
is  an  essential  quality  of  a  stone,  as  it  is  of  all  matter ;  but 
heat  is  accidental.  From  this  distinction  arises  the  divi- 


sion  of  propositions  into  absolute  and  conditional.  A  pro¬ 
position  is  absolute,  when  the  predicate  is  affirmed  to  agree 
always  with  the  subject,  as  being  essential  to  it ;  and  con¬ 
ditional,  when  the  agreement  of  the  predicate  with  the 
subject  is  not  essential,  but  depends  on  some  condition. 
Thus,  a  stone  has  weight ,  is  an  absolute  proposition ;  if  a 
stone  be  exposed  to  the  rays  of  the  Sun ,  it  will  contract  heat, 
is  conditional. 

60.  A  simple  proposition  is  that  which  has  only  one 
subject  and  one  predicate.  A  compound  proposition  has 
more  than  one  subject,  or  more  than  one  predicate,  or 
more  than  one  of  both.  Thus  in  the  proposition,  God  is 
infinitely  wise  and  infinitely  powerful,  there  are  two  predi¬ 
cates,  both  affirmed  of  the  same  subject;  and  the  proposi¬ 
tion  may  be  resolved  into  two  others,  affirming  these 
predicates  severally.  In  like  manner  in  the  proposition, 
neither  kings  nor  people  are  exempt  from  death,  the  pre¬ 
dicate  is  denied  of  both  subjects,  and  may  be  denied  of 
them  separately,  in  distinct  propositions.  If  we  say, 
riches  and  honours  are  apt  to  elate  the  mind,  and  increase 
the  number  of  our  desires,  as  there  are  two  subjects  and  two 
predicates,  the  proposition  may  be  resolved  into  four : 
riches  are  apt  to  elate  the  mind :  riches  are  apt  to  increase 
the  number  of  our  desires.  And  so  of  honours. 

61.  Some  compound  propositions  are  called  copula¬ 
tive,  others  disjunctive.  A  proposition  is  copulative,  when 
the  subjects  and  predicates  are  so  linked  together  that  they 
may  be  all  severally  affirmed  or  denied  one  of  another. 
Of  this  nature  are  the  examples  given  above.  Riches  and 
honours  are  apt  to  elate  the  mind,  and  increase  the  number 
of  our  desires.  Neither  kings  nor  people  are  exempt  from 
death.  In  the  first  of  these,  the  two  predicates  may  be 
affirmed  severally  of  each  subject ;  in  the  other,  the  same 


predicate  being  denied  of  two  subjects  may  be  also  denied 
of  them  in  separate  propositions. 

A  proposition  is  disjunctive,  when,  comparing  several 
predicates  with  the  same  subject,  we  affirm  that  one  of 
them  necessarily  belongs  to  it,  but  leave  the  particular 
predicate  undetermined.  Thus  if  we  say,  the  world  is 
either  self-existent ,  or  is  the  work  of  some  wise  and  power¬ 
ful  cause,  the  proposition  is  disjunctive.  In  all  propositions 
of  this  sort,  if  we  determine  the  particular  predicate,  the 
rest  are  of  course  removed ;  or  if  we  remove  all  the  predi¬ 
cates  except  one,  that  one  is  necessarily  established.  As 
in  the  example  just  given,  if  we  allow  that  the  world  is  the 
work  of  some  wise  and  powerful  cause,  we  of  course  deny 
it  to  be  self-existent ;  or  if  we  deny  it  to  be  self-existent, 
we  must  necessarily  allow  that  it  is  the  work  of  some  wrise 
and  powerful  cause.  These  propositions  take  their  name 
from  the  disjunctive  particles  which  it  is  necessary  to  use 
in  stating  them. 

62.  Reasoning  has  been  defined  above  to  be  that 
operation  of  the  mind  by  which,  from  two  or  more  judg¬ 
ments,  a  new  and  distinct  judgment  is  deduced. 

In  comparing  ideas  together,  it  often  happens  that 
their  agreement  or  disagreement  cannot  be  discerned  at 
the  first  view.  When,  for  instance,  we  wish  to  determine 
the  equality  or  inequality  of  two  figures  of  a  different 
form,  it  is  evident  that  by  merely  considering  the  figures 
themselves  we  cannot  arrive  at  an  exact  determination, 
because  it  is  impossible  to  apply  them  to  one  another  so 
that  their  several  parts  shall  coincide.  But  as  all  right- 
lined  figures  are  reducible  to  squares,  we  may,  by  means  of 
them,  measure  the  areas  of  such  figures,  and  compare  them 
exactly  in  respect  to  magnitude.  Thus  if  we  find  that  one 
figure  is  exactly  equal  to  some  square,  and  that  another  is 


less  than  the  same  square  by  a  square-inch,  we  conclude 
that  the  area  of  the  first  figure  is  a  square-inch  greater 
than  that  of  the  second. 

Every  act  of  reasoning  necessarily  includes  three  dis¬ 
tinct  judgments ;  two,  wherein  the  ideas,  whose  relation 
we  want  to  discover,  are  severally  compared  with  the 
middle  idea,  and  a  third,  wherein  they  are  themselves 
joined  or  disjoined  according  to  the  result  of  that  compa¬ 
rison.  And  as  our  judgments,  when  expressed  in  words, 
are  called  propositions,  so  the  expressions  of  our  reason¬ 
ings  are  called  syllogisms. 

63.  If  the  question  be  proposed  whether  man  is  ac¬ 
countable  for  his  actions,  since  the  relation  between  the 
ideas  of  man  and  accountableness  comes  not  within  the 
immediate  view  of  the  mind,  it  is  necessary  to  find  some 
third  idea  that  will  enable  us  to  discover  the  relation. 
First,  therefore,  on  considering  what  hind  of  beings  are 
accountable  for  their  actions,  we  determine  that  all  are 
accountable  who  possess  reason  to  distinguish  right  from 
wrong,  and  liberty  to  pursue  the  one  and  avoid  the  other. 
Secondly,  we  know  from  experience  that  reason  and  liberty 
belong  to  man.  Having  thus  formed  two  judgments,  viz. 
that  man  is  possessed  of  reason  and  liberty,  and  that  reason 
and  liberty  imply  accountableness,  a  third  necessarily  follows, 
viz.  that  man  is  accountable  for  his  actions.  And  these 
propositions,  placed  in  due  order,  form  the  following  syllo¬ 
gism  : 

Every  creature  possessed  of  reason  and  liberty  is 
accountable  for  his  actions : 

Man  is  a  creature  possessed  of  reason  and  liberty : 

Therefore  man  is  accountable  for  his  actions. 

64.  The  two  first  propositions  in  a  syllogism  are 
called  the  premises,  and  the  third  proposition  is  called  the 
conclusion.  Also,  the  two  terms  expressing  the  two  ideas 

g  3 


whose  relation  we  are  tracing  (as,  in  the  above  syllogism, 
man  and  accountableness )  are  called  the  extremes :  and  that 
which  expresses  the  intermediate  idea  (viz.  the  possession 
of  reason  and  liberty')  is  called  the  middle  term.  That  ex¬ 
treme  which  is  the  predicate  of  the  conclusion,  is  called 
the  major  term  :  the  other  extreme,  which  is  the  subject 
of  the  conclusion,  is  called  the  minor  term.  And  from 
this  distinction  of  the  extremes,  arises  a  distinction  be¬ 
tween  the  premises  in  which  the  extremes  are  severally 
compared  with  the  middle  term.  That  proposition  which 
compares  the  major  extreme,  or  predicate  of  the  conclu¬ 
sion,  with  the  middle  term,  is  called  the  major  proposition : 
the  other,  wherein  the  minor  extreme,  or  subject  of  the 
conclusion,  is  compared  with  the  middle  term,  is  called 
the  minor  proposition.  When  a  syllogism  is  proposed  in 
due  form,  the  major  proposition  is  placed  first,  the  minor 
next,  and  the  conclusion  last. 

65.  A  syllogism  is  called  conditional,  when  the  major 
proposition  is  conditional :  thus 

If  God  is  infinitely  wise  and  powerful ,  he  does  nothing 
but  what  is  best : 

But  God  is  infinitely  wise  and  powerful: 

Therefore  he  does  nothing  but  what  is  best. 

In  every  conditional  proposition  there  are  two  parts,  viz. 
the  antecedent  and  consequent,  the  first  being  that  in  which 
the  condition  is  stated,  and  the  other  making  a  consequent 
assertion.  As  in  the  instance  above  given ;  if  God  is  infi¬ 
nitely  wise  and  powerful,  is  the  antecedent ;  and,  he  does 
nothing  but  what  is  best,  is  the  consequent.  In  syllogisms 
of  this  kind,  it  is  evident  that  if  we  admit  the  antecedent 
we  must  admit  the  consequent,  and  if  we  reject  the  con¬ 
sequent  we  must  reject  the  antecedent.  But  the  reverse 
process  of  reasoning  is  not  legitimate  ;  that  is,  we  cannot 
argue  from  the  rejection  of  the  antecedent  to  the  rejection 


of  the  consequent,  or  from  the  admission  of  the  consequent 
to  the  admission  of  the  antecedent.  For  although  the 
antecedent  always  expresses  some  cause  or  condition 
which,  if  admitted,  necessarily  implies  the  consequent,  yet 
it  does  not  follow  that  there  is  no  other  cause  or  condi¬ 
tion  ;  and  if  there  be,  then  after  rejecting  the  antecedent, 
the  consequent  may  still  remain.  Thus  when  we  say  :  if 
a  stone  is  exposed  to  the  rays  of  the  Sun,  it  will  contract  heat  ; 
the  proposition  is  true,  and  admitting  the  antecedent,  we 
must  also  admit  the  consequent.  But  as  there  are  other 
ways  by  which  a  stone  may  contract  heat,  it  will  not 
follow,  from  the  removal  of  the  above-mentioned  condi¬ 
tion,  that  therefore  the  consequent  cannot  take  place :  we 
cannot  argue,  bid  the  stone  has  not  been  exposed  to  the  rays 
of  the  Sun  ;  therefore  neither  has  it  any  degree  of  heat ; 
inasmuch  as  there  are  many  other  ways  in  which  heat 
may  have  been  communicated  to  it. 

And  if  we  cannot  argue  from  the  removal  of  the 
antecedent  to  the  removal  of  the  consequent,  no  more  can 
we  from  the  admission  of  the  consequent  to  the  admission 
of  the  antecedent.  For  the  consequent  may  arise  from 
any  one  of  a  great  variety  of  causes,  and  therefore  the  ad¬ 
mission  of  it  does  not  determine  the  precise  cause,  but 
only  that  some  one  of  them  must  take  place.  Thus  in  the 
foregoing  proposition,  admitting  the  consequent,  viz.  that 
the  stone  has  contracted  heat,  we  are  not  therefore  bound 
to  admit  the  antecedent,  that  it  has  been  exposed  to  the 
rays  of  the  Sun;  because  there  are  many  other  causes 
whence  that  heat  may  have  proceeded. 

These  two  modes  of  arguing  therefore  are  not  correct, 
unless  the  antecedent  expresses  the  only  condition  on  which 
the  consequent  can  take  place ;  in  which  particular  in¬ 
stance,  they  may  be  applied  without  error. 


66.  A  syllogism  is  called  disjunctive ,  when  the 
major  proposition  is  disjunctive,  as  in  the  following 
example  : 

The  world  is  either  self -existent,  or  the  work  of  some 
finite,  or  of  some  infinite  Being  : 

But  it  is  not  self -existent,  nor  the  work  of  a  finite 

Therefore  it  is  the  work  of  an  infinite  Being. 

In  a  disjunctive  proposition,  we  affirm  that  one  of 
several  predicates  necessarily  belongs  to  the  subject,  to 
the  exclusion  of  all  the  rest.  Hence,  as  soon  as  the  par¬ 
ticular  predicate  is  determined,  all  the  rest  are  of  course 
to  be  rejected ;  or  if  we  reject  all  the  predicates  except 
one,  that  one  necessarily  takes  place.  When  therefore,  in 
a  disjunctive  syllogism,  the  several  predicates  are  enumer¬ 
ated  in  the  major  proposition,  if  in  the  minor  any  one 
of  these  predicates  is  established,  the  conclusion  ought  to 
reject  all  the  rest ;  or  if  in  the  minor  all  the  predicates, 
except  one,  are  rejected,  the  conclusion  must  necessarily 
establish  that  one.  Thus  m  the  syllogism  given  above, 
the  major  affirms  that  one  of  three  predicates  belongs  to 
the  earth,  viz.  self-existence,  or  that  it  is  the  work  of  a 
finite,  or  that  it  is  the  work  of  an  infinite  Being.  Two  of 
these  predicates  are  rejected  in  the  minor,  viz.  self -exist¬ 
ence,  and  the  work  of  a  finite  Being.  Hence  the  conclusion 
necessarily  ascribes  to  it  the  third  predicate,  and  affirms 
that  it  is  the  work  if  an  infinite  Being.  If  the  minor  had 
established  one  of  the  predicates,  by  affirming  the  Earth  to 
be  the  work  of  an  infinite  Being,  then  the  conclusion  must 
have  rejected  the  other  two,  by  affirming  it  to  be  neither 
self -existent,  nor  the  work  of  a  finite  Being . 

67.  It  often  happens  that  one  of  the  premises  of  a 
syllogism  contains  an  evident  and  familiar  truth ;  in  which 


case  it  is  sometimes  omitted,  and  the  syllogism,  having 
only  two  propositions,  is,  in  respect  to  its  form,  incom¬ 
plete.  Thus  if  we  say:  all  tyrants  deserve  death ;  there¬ 
fore  Nero  deserved  death:  the  minor  ( Nero  was  a  tyrant J  is 
omitted,  as  being  a  truth  so  well  known  that  it  need  not  be 
expressed.  Syllogisms  of  this  abridged  form  are  called 
enthymemes . 

68.  The  sorites  is  a  compendious  mode  of  reasoning, 
in  which  a  number  of  propositions  are  so  linked  together 
that  the  predicate  of  one  becomes  continually  the  subject 
of  the  next  following,  until  at  last  a  conclusion  is  formed 
by  bringing  together  the  subject  of  the  first  proposition 
and  the  predicate  of  the  last.  Of  this  kind  is  the  follow¬ 
ing  argument :  The  son  of  Themisiocles  governs  his 
mother ;  his  mother  governs  Themisiocles ;  Themisiocles 
governs  Greece ;  Greece  governs  the  world ;  therefore  the 
son  of  Themistocles  governs  the  world. 

This  sorites  may  be  resolved  into  three  syllogisms ; 
and  in  general,  a  sorites  may  be  resolved  into  as  many 
syllogisms  as  there  are  middle  terms  in  it ;  and  if  such  re¬ 
solution  be  made,  it  will  always  be  found  that  the  conclu¬ 
sion  of  the  last  syllogism  is  the  same  as  the  conclusion  of 
the  sorites.  This  kind  of  argument  therefore  stands  on 
the  same  foundation  with  the  syllogisms  of  which  it  con¬ 
sists,  and  may  be  continued  to  any  length,  without  weak¬ 
ening  the  ground  on  which  the  conclusion  rests. 

A  series  of  conditional  syllogisms  may  be  condensed  in 
the  same  manner.  If  a  number  of  conditional  propositions 
be  joined  together  so  that  the  consequent  of  one  becomes 
continually  the  antecedent  of  the  next  following ; — by 
establishing  the  antecedent  of  the  first  proposition  we  shall 
establish  the  consequent  of  the  last,  or  by  rejecting  the 
last  consequent,  we  shall  reject  also  the  first  antecedent. 
The  following  is  an  example  of  this  kind  of  argument : 


If  the  dead  rise  not ,  then  is  Christ  not  raised ;  if  Christ  is 
not  raised,  oar  faith  is  vain  ;  if  our  faith  is  vain,  our  hope  is 
confined  to  the  present  life ;  if  our  hope  is  conf  ixed  to  the 
present  life,  we  are  of  all  men  most  miserable  :  therefore,  if 
the  dead  rise  not,  we  are  of  all  men  most  miserable.  It  is 
evident  that  this  sorites,  as  well  as  the  former,  may  be 
resolved  into  a  series  of  distinct  syllogisms,  and  that  the 
conclusion  of  the  last  syllogism  in  the  series  will  be  the 
same  as  the  conclusion  of  the  sorites. 

69.  A  dilemma  is  a  conditional  syllogism,  by  which 
we  prove  the  absurdity  of  some  assertion.  In  order  to  this, 
we  assume  a  conditional  proposition,  the  antecedent  of 
which  involves  the  assertion  which  we  wish  to  disprove, 
and  the  consequent  is  a  disjunctive  proposition  enumera¬ 
ting  all  the  possible  suppositions  upon  which  the  assertion 
can  take  place.  If  then  it  appears  that  all  these  supposi¬ 
tions  ought  to  be  rejected,  it  is  evident  that  the  antecedent, 
or  the  assertion  itself,  must  also  be  rejected.  Euclid  fur¬ 
nishes  many  examples  of  this  kind  of  argument.  When 
he  is  about  to  show  that  two  figures  are  equal,  or,  which  is 
the  same  thing,  to  prove  the  absurdity  of  asserting  them  to 
be  unequal,  it  is  very  common  with  him  to  assume,  that  if 
the  one  is  not  equal  to  the  other,  it  must  be  either  greater  or 
less  ;  and  having  destroyed  both  these  suppositions,  upon 
which  alone  the  assertion  of  their  inequality  can  stand,  he 
concludes  that  the  assertion  itself  is  false.  The  following 
is  a  dilemma,  in  syllogistic  form  : 

If  the  world  be  not  the  work  of  an  infinite  Being,  it  must 
be  either  self-existent,  or  the  work  of  a  finite  Being. 

But  it  is  not  self-existent,  nor  the  work  of  a  finite  Being. 

Therefore  it  is  the  work  of  an  infinite  Being. 

Here,  the  major  is  a  conditional  proposition,  whose  con¬ 
sequent  contains  all  the  suppositions  upon  which  the  ante¬ 
cedent  can  take  place ;  and  as  all  these  suppositions  are 


rejected  in  the  minor ,  it  is  evident  that  the  antecedent 
must  be  rejected  in  the  conclusion. 

By  comparing  this  example  of  the  dilemma  with  that 

given  above  of  the  disjunctive  syllogism,  it  appears  that 
they  may  easily  be  reduced  to  the  same  form. 

70.  Argument  by  induction  is  the  derivation  of  a 
general  proposition  from  a  number  of  particular  instances. 
It  is  evident  that  this  kind  of  argument  will  amount  to 
demonstration,  if  it  be  founded  on  an  enumeration  of  all 
the  instances  which  the  general  proposition  comprehends  : 
but  it  is  also  evident  that  in  this  case  the  value  of  the 
induction  would  cease,  considered  as  a  means  of  gaining 
knowledge  beyond  that  which  is  intuitive  or  demonstrative. 
For  to  predicate  of  the  whole  what  has  been  already  pre¬ 
dicated  of  all  the  parts  conveys  no  additional  information. 
Thus,  if  we  suppose  the  whole  tribe  of  animals  to  be  di¬ 
vided  into  men,  birds,  beasts,  fishes  and  insects,  and  then 
argue  in  this  manner  :  all  men  have  the  power  of  motion  ; 
all  birds,  beasts ,  fishes  and  insects,  have  the  power  of  motion  ; 
therefore  all  animals  have  the  power  of  motion  :  the  argu¬ 
ment  is  just,  but  it  adds  nothing  to  our  knowledge.  In¬ 
duction  therefore  is  generally  and  properly  understood  to 
be  a  process  of  reasoning  by  which,  from  observation  of  cer¬ 
tain  known  instances ,  we  draw  an  inference  with  respect  to 
others  that  are  unknown.  By  means  of  this,  we  are  enabled 
to  supply  in  some  degree,  by  probability,  the  defects  of  our 
certain  knowledge,  and  to  conjecture  truths,  which  have 
not  been  certified,  and  perhaps  cannot  be  certified  by 
actual  experiment. 

An  induction  in  which  every  individual  case  is  enu¬ 
merated,  is  a  perfect  demonstration.  And  in  general,  the 
more  nearly  we  approach  to  the  entire  enumeration,  the 
higher  is  the  degree  of  probability  attained  by  the  induc¬ 



The  common  error  is,  too  great  haste  in  drawing  a  con¬ 
clusion,  without  having  premised  a  sufficient  number  of 
individual  cases.  Thus,  many  are  apt  too  hastily  to  form 
an  opinion  of  a  whole  nation,  from  the  characters  of  a  few 
who  have  fallen  within  their  imperfect  observation.  Thus 
also,  the  medicine  of  an  empiric  becomes  popular,  by  in¬ 
duction  drawn  from  a  few  cures  ;  which,  even  if  the  report 
of  them  wrere  true,  ought  not  to  have  much  weight,  espe¬ 
cially  if  it  be  considered  how  many  cases,  in  which  trial 
has  been  made  of  it,  are  not  'published ;  the  majority  of 
which,  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose,  were  failures.  On  the 
contrary,  where  experiment  is  the  only  test  that  can  be  ap¬ 
plied  of  the  utility  of  any  art,  it  ought  to  be  established  by 
a  great  number  of  instances  of  success,  proper  account  also 
being  taken  of  instances  of  failure.  And  when  the  pro¬ 
portion  of  failures  to  the  successful  cases  has  been  ascer¬ 
tained  with  the  utmost  care,  and- found  to  be  small,  the 
beneficial  effects  of  the  art  are  far  more  undeniably  estab¬ 
lished,  than  they  could  be  by  vague  assertions  of  its 
universal  and  unerring  efficacy. 

Argument  by  induction  is  the  same  as  a  syllogism  in 
which  the  major  proposition  is  suppressed.  And  in  all 
arguments  by  induction,  the  suppressed  proposition  is  sub¬ 
stantially  the  same,  viz.  that  what  belongs  to  the  individuals 
we  have  examined,  belongs  to  the  whole  class  to  which  they 
are  referred.  The  argument  therefore,  placed  in  the  form 
of  a  complete  syllogism  would  be  this  : 

What  belongs  to  the  individuals  we  have  examined 
belongs  to  the  whole  class  : 

But  a  certain  quality  belongs  to  the  individuals  we 
have  examined : 

Therefore  the  same  quality  belongs  to  the  whole  class. 

Induction  therefore,  so  far  as  it  is  an  argument,  may 
be  stated  syllogistically ;  but  so  far  as  it  is  a  process  of 


inquiry  with  a  view  to  obtain  the  premises  of  an  argument, 
it  comes  not  within  the  province  of  syllogistic  reasoning. 
The  difficulty  consists  in  determining  whether  the  major 
proposition  is  duly  established.  Whether  the  induction 
has  been  drawn  from  a  sufficient  number  of  individual 
cases, — whether  the  character  of  those  cases  has  been  cor¬ 
rectly  ascertained, — and  how  far  the  individuals  we  have 
examined  are  likely  to  resemble  the  rest  of  the  class,  are 
points  that  require  judgment ;  but  this  judgment  cannot 
be  assisted  by  syllogistic  rules,  because  it  is  employed  in 
deciding  whether  or  not  it  is  allowable  to  lay  down  certain 
premises  ;  and  syllogistic  rules  have  no  concern  with  the 
truth  or  falsity  of  the  premises,  but  merely  teach  us  to 
determine  whether  from  given  premises  the  conclusion  is 
rightly  inferred.4 

71.  Some  arguments  are  called  direct ,  others  indirect . 
A  direct  argument  is,  when,  setting  out  from  self-evident 
truths  and  definitions,  we  proceed  till  we  arrive  at  the 
proposition  which  we  wish  to  prove.  The  argument  is 
indirect,  when  we  assume  a  proposition  contrary  to  that 
which  is  to  be  proved,  and  proceed  till  we  arrive  at  a  con¬ 
clusion  from  which  we  are  able  to  infer  that  the  assumed 
proposition  is  false,  and  the  contrary  true.  Of  this  kind 
is  the  argument  ah  impossibili ,  or  reductio  ad  absurdunj. 
This  mode  of  arguing  depends  on  two  principles;  first, 
that  we  never  can  arrive  at  an  absurdity  by  reasoning 
justly  from  true  principles  ;  secondly,  that  when  two 
propositions  are  directly  contrary  to  one  another,  and  one 
of  them  is  proved  to  be  false,  the  other  must  be  true. 

One  mode  of  argument  is  said  to  be  a  priori ;  another 
a  posteriori .  The  former  is,  when  we  argue  from  causes 

*  Encyc.  Metr.  Art.  Logic. 
1823,  p.  175. 

Artis  Logicae  Rudimenta.  Oxford  ed. 



to  effects  ;  as  from  a  man’s  disposition  to  his  actions ;  from 
a  writer’s  known  style  and  ability,  that  he  is,  or  is  not,  the 
author  of  a  certain  book  :  from  the  existence  of  a  God 
with  certain  attributes,  some  have  argued  that  the  world 
would  be  formed  in  this  or  that  manner.  The  argument 
a  posteriori  is  directly  the  reverse :  by  it,  we  argue  from 
effects  to  causes ;  from  a  man’s  actions  to  his  motives ; 
from  the  existence  of  the  world  and  marks  of  power 
and  wisdom  in  it,  to  the  existence  and  attributes  of 


This  mode  of  argument  necessarily  precedes  the  other. 
For,  in  arguing  from  cause  to  effect,  as  from  a  man’s  dis¬ 
position  to  his  actions,  the  question  occurs,  how  is  a  man's 
disposition  to  he  known  ?  It  can  only  be  known/rom  some 
jwevious  actions  ;  but  when  these  have  furnished  sufficient 
ground  for  determining  his  disposition,  we  are  then  able 
to  draw  an  inference  from  it  as  to  his  future  actions , 
and  the  argument  a  priori  becomes  both  legitimate  and 

72-  Sophisms  are  fallacious  arguments,  disguised  under 
the  appearance  of  truth.  Some  of  them  may  be  re¬ 
futed  by  the  application  of  syllogistic  rules  ;  others  arise 
from  the  ambiguity  of  language,  and  cannot  be  detected 
except  by  definition,  and  careful  regard  to  the  meaning  of 

One  common  error  in  argument  is,  to  infer  the  falsity 
of  a  conclusion  from  the  falsity  of  certain  premises ;  and, 
reversely,  to  infer  the  truth  of  certain  premises  from  the 
truth  of  the  conclusion. 

This  is  the  same  as  to  argue  from  the  removal  of  the 
antecedent  to  the  removal  of  the  consequent,  or  from  the 
admission  of  the  consequent  to  the  admission  of  the  ante¬ 
cedent  :  both  which  modes  of  argument  have  been  already 
shewn  to  be  fallacious.  If  we  attempt  to  establish  any 


conclusion  by  arguments  which  are  proved  to  be  falla¬ 
cious,  nothing  farther  ought  to  be  inferred  than  that  this 
conclusion  cannot  be  established  by  those  particular  argu¬ 
ments  :  the  detection  of  the  fallacy  of  one  argument  ought 
not  to  invalidate  other  better  arguments  which  may  be 
fully  sufficient  to  warrant  the  conclusion.  Yet  it  may  be 
observed  that  this  is  generally  the  effect  of  such  detection. 
The  guilty  often  escape  by  having  too  much  laid  to  their 
charge,  or  by  the  production  of  a  witness  against  them 
who  is  discovered  to  be  unworthy  of  credit ;  though 
perhaps  if  that  part  of  the  evidence  had  been  omitted, 
the  rest  would  have  been  sufficient  for  conviction. 

7 3.  That  sophism  which  is  called  ignoratio  elenclii ,  or 
mistake  of  the  question,  is  also  of  frequent  occurrence.  It 
consists  in  advancing  arguments  which,  even  if  admitted 
io  be  just,  are  not  applicable  to  the  matter  in  dispute. 
This  sophism  is  often  practised  in  eases  in  which  the  ques¬ 
tion  relates  to  the  choice  between  two  evils,  or  to  the  com¬ 
parison  of  two  plans  either  of  which  is  likely  to  produce 
some  good  effects.  The  sophist  dwells  on  the  magnitude 
of  one  of  the  evils,  or  the  excellence  of  one  of  the  plans, 
and  takes  little  or  no  notice  of  the  comparison ,  which  forms 
the  essential  part  of  the  question.  Hence,  when  any  plan 
is  proposed,  he  brings  into  exercise  this  fallacy,  which  may 
be  called  the  fallacy  of  objections  ;  that  is,  he  shews  that 
there  are  objections  against  the  plan,  and  thence  infers 
that  it  ought  to  be  rejected ;  wdien  the  proper  question 
is,  whether  there  are  more  and  stronger  objections  against 
the  adoption  of  the  plan  than  against  the  rejection 
of  it.  This  fallacy  is  commonly  resorted  to  by  the 
enemies  of  Revelation;  a  belief  in  which,  they  say,  is 
attended  with  great  difficulties.  But  even  if  this  be  ad¬ 
mitted  to  be  true,  the  inference  is  fallacious  ;  for  the  pro¬ 
per  question  is,  which  is  attended  with  greater  difficulties. 


the  supposition  of  the  truth  of  Revelation,  or  the  supposi¬ 
tion  of  its  falsehood  ? — The  same  fallacy  is  adopted  by 
two  other  classes  of  men,  very  opposite  to  one  another  ; 
one  composed  of  those  who  are  for  overthrowing  what¬ 
ever  is  established,  as  soon  as  they  can  prove  an  objec¬ 
tion  against  it,  without  considering  whether  more  and 
weightier  objections  may  not  lie  against  their  own 
schemes :  the  other  composed  of  men  who  oppose  all 
alterations  indiscriminately  ;  not  reflecting  that  their  state¬ 
ment  even  of  real  objections  ought  not  to  be  conclusive, 
since  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  propose  any  plan,  however 
excellent,  against  which  strong  and  even  unanswerable  ob¬ 
jections  may  not  be  urged ;  so  that  unless  the  opposite 
objections  be  allowed  their  due  weight,  no  improvement 
could  ever  be  made. 

74.  The  sophisms  called  petitio  principii  and  reason¬ 
ing  in  a  circle  are,  for  the  most  part,  easily  detected.  The 
first  consists  in  taking  for  granted  the  proposition  which 
we  undertake  to  prove,  disguised  perhaps  under  some 
different  form  of  words :  as  when,  in  order  to  prove  that 
the  soul  always  thinks,  we  assume  that  thinking  is  essen¬ 
tial  to  the  soul ;  which  is  the  same  in  reality  as  the  original 
proposition,  and  equally  difficult  to  be  proved.  The  other 
sophism  is  nearly  similar,  and  consists  in  making  two  pro¬ 
positions  serve  mutually  as  proofs  of  each  other.  Men 
are  most  likely  to  be  misled  into  these  sophisms  when 
they  attempt  to  prove  things  which  are  scarcely  capable 
of  proof ;  such  as  their  own  existence,  the  existence  of 
matter,  and  other  like  truths  which  are  generally  allowed 
to  be  self-evident. 

75.  The  sophism  called  non-causa  pro  causu  consists 
in  assigning  a  false  cause ;  that  is,  in  referring  any  effect 
to  a  cause  which  either  does  not  exist  at  all,  or  does  not 
exist  as  a  cause  in  the  case  in  question.  To  this  class 


belong  the  false  theories  that  have  been  formed  respecting 
the  constitution  of  mind  and  matter ;  such,  for  instance,, 
as  the  ancient  method  of  explaining  the  operations  of  the 
mind  by  supposing  the  existence  of  substantial  forms ,  and 
the  modern  theory  of  vibrations,  and  many  others  which 
have  been  assumed  without  sufficient  ground  for  the  prin¬ 
ciples  on  which  they  are  founded.  The  same  fallacy  is 
often  introduced  also  into  moral  reasonings,  and  misleads 
men  to  consider  as  a  cause  what  is  merely  accidental  and 
adventitious.  Through  this  error,  Christianity  has  some¬ 
times  been  decried  as  the  cause  of  persecutions  and  other 
great  evils  ;  whereas  it  ought  to  have  been  called  the  pre¬ 
text  ;  and  the  same  or  greater  evils  would  probably  have 
been  wrought  on  some  other  pretext.  For  the  real  cause 
of  such  calamities  is  the  wickedness  of  the  authors  of  them, 
and  wickedness  will  seldom  be  at  a  loss  for  some  pretext, 
more  or  less  plausible,  to  disguise  its  operations.  In  like 
manner  the  opponents  of  the  Reformation  assumed  that  it 
was  the  cause  of  the  troubles  which  took  place  at  that 
period,  and  thence  inferred  that  it  was  an  evil.  But  the 
reply  wras  twofold  :  first,  the  fact  was  denied,  that  the 
Reformation  was  at  all  the  cause  of  those  troubles ;  and 
secondly,  that  even  if  it  were  the  cause,  the  evil  was  less 
than  that  which  the  Reformation  had  removed. 

In  determining  therefore  the  causes  of  events,  it  is  a 
very  necessary  caution  not  to  assume  too  hastily  that  one 
thing  is  the  cause  of  another,  when  perhaps  it  is  only  an 
accidental  concomitant .u 

76.  The  ambiguity  of  language  furnishes  numerous 
opportunities  for  sophistical  reasoning.  Many  fallacies  of 

*  Butler’s  Analogy,  Part  II.  ch.  i.  Encyc.  Metr.  Art.  Logic,  ch.  y* 

H  3 


this  class  are  founded  on  the  supposition  that  words 
derived  from  the  same  root  have  a  precisely  correspondent 
meaning :  which  is  by  no  means  universally  the  case,  as 
will  appear  from  observing  the  meanings  which  custom 
has  annexed  to  such  words  as  project  and  projectors,  pre¬ 
sume  and  presumption,  design  and  designing,  art  and  artful. 
The  sophist  proceeds  on  the  supposition  that  he  who  forms 
a  project  must  be  a  projector,  and  argues  thus  :  projectors 
are  unfit  to  be  trusted:  this  man  has  formed  a  project ; 
therefore  he  is  unfit  to  be  trusted  :  whereas  the  bad  sense 
of  one  of  these  words  is  not  at  all  implied  in  the  other. 
Again  he  argues :  to  be  acquainted  with  the  guilty  is  a 
presumption  of  guilt ;  this  man  is  so  acquainted ;  there¬ 
fore  we  may  presume  that  he  is  guilty.  This  argument 
proceeds  on  the  supposition  of  an  exact  correspondence 
between  presume  and  presumption,  which  however  does 
not  exist ;  for  presumption  is  commonly  used  to  express  a 
slight  supicion ;  whereas  to  presume  amounts  to  absolute 
belief  In  this  manner,  the  sophist  will  often  be  able  to 
misinterpret  the  propositions  which  his  opponent  admits 
or  maintains,  and  employ  them,  so  misinterpreted,  against 

Nearly  allied  to  this  fallacy  is  another,  which  arises 
from  supposing  that  the  meaning  of  every  word  ought  to 
be  determined  by  its  etymological  derivation.  Thus  the 
sophist,  assuming  that  the  right  meaning  of  the  noun,  re¬ 
presentative,  must  correspond  exactly  with  the  original 
sense  of  the  verb,  represent,  argues  that  a  representative 
ought  to  be  guided  in  all  points  by  the  opinion  of  his  con¬ 
stituents,  and  to  be  merely  their  deputy  ;  whereas  law  and 
custom,  which  in  this  case  ought  to  be  considered  as 
fixing  the  meaning  of  the  term,  require  no  such  thing,  but 
enjoin  the  representative  to  act  according  to  his  own  judg- 


ment,  and  on  his  own  responsibility.  Custom,  which  is 
generally  the  arbiter  of  language,  is  variable ;  and  there¬ 
fore  there  can  be  no  authority  competent  to  pronounce 
that  the  meaning  of  a  word,  now  and  for  ever,  must  be 
that  which  it  originally  bore. 

77-  There  are  some  other  modes  of  argument,  which 
often  have  effect  in  disputation,  but  are  not  conclusive  for 
the  determination  of  truth.  One  of  these  is  to  appeal  to 
common  opinion,  or  allege  the  decisions  of  men  whose 
learning  lias  gained  a  name,  and  invested  them  with  a 
kind  of  authority.  When  opinions  are  recommended  by 
such  high  sanction,  it  is  thought  presumptuous  to  question 
them ;  and  the  disputant,  who  is  able  to  support  his  tenets 
by  such  authorities,  is  inclined  to  charge  with  a  breach  of 
modesty  the  adversary,  who  refuses  to  yield  to  them. 
This  is  called  argumentum  ad  verecundiam.  All  that  can 
be  said  against  it  is,  that  it  is  not  conclusive :  it  must  be 
allowed  that  there  is  a  strong  presumption  in  favour  of  any 
opinion  which  has  received  the  consent  of  learned  men  for 
many  ages ;  but  this  presumption  may  be  overcome  by 
stronger  reasons  on  the  contrary  side. 

Another  mode  of  argument,  by  which  men  endeavour 
to  gain  assent  to  their  opinions,  is  to  require  the  adversary 
either  to  assent  to  them,  or  to  assign  others  more  satisfac¬ 
tory.  This  is  called  argumentum  ad  ignorantiam ;  and  is 
of  little  value  ;  for  the  ignorance  of  one  person  affords 
no  presumption  in  favour  of  the  accuracy  of  another 
person’s  knowledge. 

A  third  way  is  to  press  a  man  with  consequences 
drawn  from  his  own  principles  or  concessions.  This  is 
called  argumentum  ad  hominem ;  and  is  sometimes  an 
allowable  expedient  for  silencing  those  who  will  not  yield 
to  fair  argument. 


That  which  is  called  argumentum  ad  judicium  is  differ¬ 
ent  from  all  these  ;  being  derived  from  the  proper  founda¬ 
tions  of  knowledge  or  probability.  This  alone  brings 
true  instruction  with  it,  and  advances  us  in  our  way  to 
knowledge.  It  argues  not  that  one  man’s  opinion  is  right, 
because  others,  from  respect,  or  from  any  other  considera¬ 
tion,  will  not  contradict  him.  Nor  does  it  prove  that  one 
man  is  in  the  right  way,  because  others  know  not  a  better, 
or  have  been  shewn  to  be  in  the  wrong.  But  it  appeals  to 
just  proofs  and  arguments,  and  to  evidence  derived  from 
the  nature  of  things  themselves ;  not  to  the  modesty, 
ignorance,  or  errors  of  those  to  whom  it  is  addressed. 

78.  Method  is  the  arrangement  of  the  thoughts,  so 
that  their  mutual  relation  and  dependence  may  be  most 
easily  seen.  The  chief  objects  of  method  are,  the  inves¬ 
tigation  of  truth,  and  the  communication  of  it.  There  are 
accordingly  two  species  of  method,  the  analytic  and  the 
synthetic,  respectively  adapted  to  these  two  objects :  the 
analytic  being  usually  the  method  of  invention,  and  the 
synthetic  the  method  of  instruction. 

In  Geometry,  every  proposition  consists  of  two  parts  : 
one,  in  which  certain  suppositions  are  made ;  and  another, 
in  which  a  certain  consequence  is  affirmed  to  follow  from 
those  suppositions.  If  the  particulars  stated  in  the  hypo¬ 
thetical  part  of  the  enunciation  be  assumed  as  the  princi¬ 
ples  of  our  reasoning,  and  from  these  principles  a  series  of 
consequences  be  deduced,  till  we  at  last  arrive  at  the  con¬ 
clusion  which  the  proposition  affirmed,  the  demonstration 
is  called  synthetic.  If  the  steps  of  this  reasoning  be  ar¬ 
ranged  in  the  reverse  order,  we  assume  hypothetically  the 
truth  of  the  proposition  which  we  wish  to  demonstrate, 
and  proceed  to  deduce  from  this  assumption  the  conse¬ 
quences  to  which  it  leads.  If,  in  this  deduction,  we  arrive 


at  a  consequence  which  we  already  know  to  be  true,  we 
conclude  that  the  principle  from  which  it  was  deduced  is 
also  true.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  we  arrive  at  a  conse¬ 
quence  which  we  know  to  be  false,  we  conclude  that  the 
assumption  on  which  the  reasoning  has  proceeded  is  false 
also. — Such  a  demonstration  of  the  truth  or  falsity  of  a 
proposition  is  called  analytic . 

The  meaning  of  the  terms  analysis  and  synthesis,  when 
applied  to  Natural  Philosophy  and  Metaphysics,  has  little 
resemblance  to  that  in  which  they  are  are  applied  to 
Geometry;  except  that  in  those  sciences,  as  in  Geometry, 
analysis  is  usually  the  method  of  discovery,  and  synthesis 
the  method  of  instruction.  In  them,  the  analytic  method 
begins  with  those  things  which  are  most  known  ;  ex¬ 
amines  their  properties  and  relations ;  proceeds  from  effects 
to  causes ;  and  from  particular  causes  to  the  most  general. 
The  synthetic  method  proceeds  from  general  to  particular 
truths,  from  causes  to  effects.  In  acquiring  the  know¬ 
ledge  of  any  physical  science,  we  may  adopt  either  of 
these  methods  :  we  may  either  examine  all  the  particular 
things  to  which  the  science  relates  ;  ascertain  their  various 
properties ;  classify  them  by  placing  together  those  in 
whicli  there  exists  a  striking  similarity ;  review  the 
classes,  and  re-arrange  them  according  to  more  compre¬ 
hensive  similarities;  and  so  on  repeatedly,  until  we  have 
formed  classes  of  the  most  general  nature: — or,  we  may 
begin  by  learning  the  most  general  classes,  with  their  di¬ 
visions  and  subdivisions,  and  the  distinguishing  proper¬ 
ties  of  each,  till  we  descend  to  the  lowest  species,  and 
thence  to  individuals.  This  is  the  synthetic,  the  former 
is  the  analytic  process.  The  original  discoverer  of  the 
science  must  proceed  by  analysis.  But  in  communi¬ 
cating  the  science  to  others,  the  synthetic  mode  is 

generally  adopted,  as  it  displays  the  whole  science 
at  one  view ;  and  the  general  arrangement,  seen  from 
the  beginning,  greatly  assists  the  mind  in  apprehending 
and  remembering  the  several  parts.x 

x  Artis  Logic®  Rudimenta.  de  methodo.  Stewart’s  Elements  of  Phi¬ 
losophy,  vol.  II.  ch.  iv.  3. 


Art.  1.  There  are  two  meanings  of  the  word  idea,  a  popular  and 
philosophical.  In  popular  language,  an  idea  is  the  same  as  a  thought, 
or  a  notion.  But  according  to  the  meaning  of  the  word,  as  it  was 
formerly  used  by  philosophical  writers,  an  idea  is  some  object  of 

Aristotle  taught  that  all  the  objects  of  thought  enter  at  first  by 
the  senses ;  and  since  the  sense  cannot  receive  external  material 
objects  themselves,  it  receives  their  images  or  forms  without  the 
matter  ;  as  wax  receives  the  form  of  a  seal  without  any  of  the 
matter  of  it.  In  like  manner,  many  modern  philosophers  conceived 
that,  since  external  objects  cannot  be  the  immediate  objects  of  thought, 
there  must  be  some  image  of  them  in  the  mind  itself,  in  which,  as  in  a 
mirror,  they  are  seen.  And  the  name  idea,  in  the  philosophical  sense 
of  it,  is  given  to  those  internal  and  immediate  objects  of  our  thoughts. 
The  external  thing  is  the  remote  or  mediate  object;  but  the  idea,  or 
image  of  that  object  in  the  mind,  is  the  immediate  object,  without 
which  we  could  have  no  perception  of  the  other. 

This  opinion  seems  to  have  been  held  by  Locke ;  but  it  was  con¬ 
futed  by  Reid,  and  is  now  generally  abandoned.  Reid  expresses  his 
belief  that  no  man  is  able  to  explain  how  »we  perceive  external 
objects,  any  more  than  how  we  are  conscious  of  those  that  are 
internal.  For  this  reason,  after  having  shewn  that  the  theories  of 
farmer  philosophers  on  this  subject  are  ill-grounded  and  insufficient, 
he  does  not  attempt  to  substitute  any  other  theory  in  their  place. 
(See  Reid’s  Essays  on  the  Intellectual  Powers  of  Man,  1,  2.) 

Some  writers  have  made  a  distinction  between  ideas  and  notions ; 
and,  as  a  reason  for  it,  they  appeal  to  the  derivation  of  the  words ; 
the  root  of  one  being  eihoj  to  see,  and  the  other  yivcoaKco  to  know  or 
understand.  In  their  primary  sense,  therefore,  notion  is  more  com- 



prehensive  than  idea,  because  we  blow  many  things  which  cannot 
be  seen.  It  is  probable  that,  at  first,  the  word  idea  was  used  to  denote 
only  those  images  of  external  objects  which  are  received  through  the 
sense  of  sight.  Its  signification  was  afterwards  extended  to  im¬ 
pressions  produced  through  the  other  senses;  and,  finally,  it  was  con¬ 
founded  with  notion ,  which  denotes  the  apprehension  of  whatever 
may  be  known.  We  are  told  that  Dr.  Johnson  was  indignant  at  the 
use  of  the  word  idea  in  this  last  sense,  when,  properly,  it  can  only 
signify  something  of  which  an  image  may  be  formed  in  the  mind. 
“  We  may  have  an  idea  or  image  of  a  mountain,  a  tree,  or  a  building? 
but  not  of  an  argument  or  proposition.”  (Encyc.  Brit.  Art.  Metaph . 
and  Boswell’s  Life  of  Johnson,  vol.  III.  p.  406.)  There  is  however 
little  probability  that  this  distinction  will  ever  be  generally  attended 
to,  in  popular  use. 

The  term  Logic  also  is  used  by  some  writers  in  a  sense  much 
more  extensive  than  by  others.  It  is  by  some  defined  to  be  an  art, 
which  treats  of  practical  rules  for  the  exercise  of  the  mind  in  reason¬ 
ing.  In  this  sense,  it  is  called  an  art,  not  a  science,  because  it  relates 
to  something  which  is  to  be  done,  not  to  any  thing  which  is  merely  to 
be  known;  to  practice,  not  to  theory ,  By  others  it  is  made  to  con¬ 
tain  a  description  of  the  mental  faculties,  as  well  as  the  rules  above- 
mentioned.  Others  extend  it  so  far  as  to  comprehend  all  that  relates 
to  the  philosophy  of  the  mind.  When  there  exists  such  a  variance  in 
the  meaning  of  a  word,  it  is  proper  for  every  writer  who  uses  it,  to 
explain  the  meaning  which  he  himself  intends  to  annex  to  it. 

Art.  2.  Though  Locke  has  written  at  great  length  against  the 
doctrine  of  innate  ideas,  it  is  not  easy  to  determine  in  what  sense  the 
word  innate  was  understood  by  him.  If  by  innate  be  meant  coeval 
with  our  birth,  it  can  hardly  be  supposed  that  any  person  ever  held 
the  doctrine  which  he  controverts ;  but  if,  in  denying  that  man  has 
innate  ideas,  he  meant  that  the  mind  is  not  so  framed  as  that  certain 
ideas  will  necessarily  accompany  the  exercise  of  its  faculties,  and 
certain  principles  be  approved  by  it  in  preference  to  others,  he  is  not 
only  opposed  to  almost  all  other  philosophers,  but  is  inconsistent  with 
himself.  “  The  First  Book  (says  Dr.  Beattie)  of  the  Essay  on  the 
Human  Understanding  tends  to  establish  this  dangerous  doctrine,  that 
the  human  mind,  previous  to  education  and  habit,  is  as  susceptible  of 
any  one  impression  as  of  any  other  : — a  doctrine  which,  if  true,  would 
go  near  to  prove,  that  truth  and  virtue  are  no  better  than  human  con¬ 
trivances;  or,  at  least,  that  they  have  nothing  permanent  in  their 
nature  ;  but  may  be  as  changeable  as  the  inclinations  and  capacities  of 
men.  Surely  this  is  not  the  doctrine  that  Locke  meant  to  establish ; 
but  his  zeal  against  innate  ideas  and  innate  principles,  put  him  off  his 


guard,  and  made  him  allow  too  little  for  instinct,  for  fear  of  allowing 
too  much.” 

The  word  connatural ,  as  proper  to  denote  certain  of  our  ideas,  is 
given  by  Lord  Shaftesbury,  “  Innate  (he  observes)  is  a  word  which 
Locke  poorly  plays  upon :  the  right  word,  though  less  used,  is  connatural. 
For  what  has  birth  to  do  in  this  case? — the  question  is  not  about  the 
time  the  ideas  entered ;  but  whether  the  constitution  of  man  be  such, 
that,  being  adult  and  grown  up,  at  such  a  time,  sooner  or  later  (no 
matter  when)  the  idea  and  sense  of  order,  administration ,  and  a  God, 
will  not  infallibly,  inevitably,  necessarily  spring  up  in  him.” 

That  Locke  was  far  from  holding  such  opinions  as  his  language 
respecting  innate  ideas  might  lead  us  to  attribute  to  him,  appears 
from  his  distinct  disavowal  of  them  in  different  parts  of  his  Essay. 
“  There  is  a  great  deal  of  difference  (he  says)  between  an  innate  law, 
and  a  law  of  nature ;  between  something  imprinted  on  our  minds  in 
their  very  original,  and  something  that  we,  being  ignorant  of,  may 
attain  to  the  knowledge  of,  by  the  use  and  due  application  of  our 
natural  faculties.”  (Book  I.  ch.  iii.  §.  13.)  Again  (Book  IV.  ch.  iii. 
§.  20.)  he  speaks  “of  the  candle  of  the  Lord  being  set  up  by  himself 
in  men’s  minds,  which  it  is  impossible  for  the  breath  or  power  of  man 
wholly  to  extinguish.”  (For  an  account  of  Locke’s  opinions  on  this 
subject  and  the  discussions  which  they  have  excited,  see  Stewart’s 
First  Dissertation  prefixed  to  the  Supplement  of  the  Encyclopedia 
Britannica,  vol.  V.  p.  30.) 

Locke  refers  the  origin  of  all  our  ideas  to  two  sources,  sensation 
and  reflection :  some  writers  have  referred  them  to  sensation  alone. 
Nihil  est  in  intellectu  quod  non  fuerit  in  sensu ,  was  the  maxim  of  these 
writers';  and  many  of  them  have  so  far  misinterpreted  Locke  as  to 
ascribe  to  him  the  credit  of  having  established  it.  This  maxim,  ex¬ 
tended  by  Leibnitz,  became  :  nihil  est  in  intellectu  quod  non  fuerit  in 
sensu,  nisi  ipse  intellectus  ;  which  conveys,  in  a  concise  form,  the  sub¬ 
stance  of  Locke’s  doctrine. 

But,  taken  in  its  most  extensive  sense,  this  account  of  the  origin  of 
our  ideas  falls  short  of  the  truth.  There  are  many  ideas  which  cannot 
be  directly  referred  either  to  sensation  or  reflection  ;  and  all  that  can 
be  said  of  them  is,  that  the  exercise  of  some  particular  faculty  furnishes 
the  occasion  on  which,  by  the  laws  of  our  constitution,  they  are  present¬ 
ed  to  the  mind ;  nor  does  it  seem  possible  for  us  to  trace  the  origin  of 
them  any  farther  than  to  ascertain  what  the  nature  of  the  occasion  was, 
which,  in  the  first  instance,  introduced  them  to  our  notice.  The  feel¬ 
ings  of  pleasure  and  pain,  of  desire  and  passion,  are  born  with  us,  and 
necessarily  exist  in  a  percipient  mind.  Thus,  we  are  not  only  fur. 


nished  by  the  constitution  of  our  nature  with  capabilities  of  knowledge, 
and  proper  organs  for  the  attainment  of  it,  but  the  principles  which 
impel  us  to  the  acquisition  of  knowledge,  viz.  the  desire  of  pleasure  and 
the  consciousness  of  enjoyment,  are  implanted  in  us,  and  exist  in  the 
mind  before  it  is  excited  by  external  objects.  (See  Stewart’s  Ele¬ 
ments  of  Philosophy,  vol.  I.  ch.  i.  §.  4.  and  Philosophical  Essays,  I. 
cli.  ii.  also  the  Edinburgh  Encyclopedia,  Art.  Logic.) 

Art.  7.  Extension  and  figure  are  classed  by  Locke,  along  with 
hardness,  softness,  roughness,  and  other  similar  qualities,  under  the 
general  title  of  the  primary  qualities  of  matter.  The  propriety  Of 
making  some  distinction  between  them  has  been  pointed  out  by  Pro¬ 
fessor  Stewart,  who  gives  to  extension  and  figure  the  title  of  the 
mathematical  affections  of  matter;  restricting  the  phrase  primary 
qualities  to  hardness,  softness,  and  other  properties  of  the  same 
description.  “And  (he  adds)  the  line  which  I  would  draw  between 
these  primary  qualities  and  secondary  is  this ;  that  the  former  neces¬ 
sarily  involve  the  notion  of  extension ,  and  consequently  of  externality 
or  outness;  whereas  the  latter  are  only  conceived  as  the  unknown 
causes  of  known  sensations,  and,  when  first  apprehended  by  the  mind , 
do  not  imply  the  existence  of  any  thing  locally  distinct  from  the  sub¬ 
jects  of  its  own  consciousness.”  (Philosophical  Essays,  IT.  ch.  ii.) 

Art.  9.  The  name  of  every  secondary  quality  signifies  two  things, 
a  sensation  in  the  mind,  and  the  unknown  quality  which  excites  that 
sensation.  When  therefore  a  question  is  made  whether  fire  is  hot,  or 
grass  green,  the  answer  is  given  by  explaining  the  meaning  of  the 
words  heat  and  colour.  If  we  understand  by  them  some  unknown  dis¬ 
position  or  motion  of  the  insensible  particles  of  bodies,  by  which  tlte 
perception  of  heat  or  colour  is  caused  in  us,  then  fire  is  hot,  and  grass 
green.  But  if  we  understand  by  those  words,  what  we  feel  by  fire,  or 
•what  we  see  in  grass, — in  that  sense,  fire  is  not  hot,  nor  grass  green ; 
for  the  heat  wre  feel,  and  the  colours  we  see,  are  only  in  the  soul. 

Art.  10.  It  is  remarked  by  Professor  Stewart,  that  there  is  an 
inseparable  connection  in  every  person’s  mind  between  the  notions  of 
colour  and  of  extension.  The  former  of  these  words  expresses  a  sensa¬ 
tion  in  the  mind  ;  the  latter  denotes  a  quality  of  an  external  object ; 
so  that  there  is  no  more  natural  connection  between  the  two  notions, 
than  between  pain  and  solidity  ;  and  yet,  in  consequence  of  our  always 
perceiving  extension  at  the  same  time  at  which  the  sensation  of  colour 
is  excited  in  the  mind,  we  find  it  impossible  to  think  of  that  sensation, 
without  conceiving  extension  along  with  it. 

Similar  to  this  misconception,  by  which  we  refer  the  sensation  of 
colour  to  an  external  object,  is  the  reference  which  w  e  always  make  of 


the  sensations  of  touch  to  those  parts  of  the  body,  where  the  exciting' 
causes  of  the  sensations  exist.  If  the  hand  be  struck  against  a  hard 
object,  we  naturally  say  that  we  feel  pain  in  the  hand;  though  the 
truth  is,  that  we  merely  perceive  the  cause  of  the  pain  to  be  applied  to 
that  part  of  the  body.  The  sensation  itself  cannot  be  referred  in  point 
of  place  to  the  hand,  unless  it  be  supposed  that  the  soul  is  spread  over 
the  body  by  diffusion.  The  misconception  is  still  more  remarkable, 
when  sensations  of  touch  are  referred  to  a  place  beyond  the  limits  of 
the  body;  as  in  the  case  of  pain  which  seems  to  be  felt  in  an  ampu¬ 
tated  limb.  (Elements  of  Philosophy,  Part  II.  eh.  v.  §.l.  and  Note  P. 
Professor  Brown’s  Lectures,  25.) 

The  difference  between  perception  and  sensation  (briefly  stated  in 
Articles  10,  11.)  is  explained  at  great  length  by  Dr.  Reid  ;  whose 
opinions  on  this  subject,  as  on  every  other  of  which  he  treats,  have  the 
recommendation,  not  only  of  their  great  intrinsic  worth,  but  also  of 
being  expressed  in  a  plain  and  direct  manner,  and  the  most  perspicu¬ 
ous  language. 

Art.  16.  Since  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  understand  how  the  mind 
acquires  the  first  perception  of  ideas,  it  must  be  equally  impossible  to 
understand  how  it  retains  them.  Wliat  Locke’s  opinions  were  on  this 
subject  cannot  be  ascertained  with  certainty,  for  he  expresses  them  in 
metaphorical  language,  and  he  has  not  clearly  explained  whether  he 
intended  the  metaphors  which  he  uses  to  be  understood  as  merely 
illustrative,  or  as  representing  literally  the  mental  operations  to  which 
they  are  referred.  He  speaks  of  ideas  as  pictures  drawn  in  our  minds, 
and  laid  in  fading  colours ;  and  of  the  brain  retaining  the  characters 
drawn  on  it,  in  some  cases  like  marble,  in  others  like  freestone,  and  in 
others  little  better  than  sand ; — which  expressions  are  sufficiently 
accordant  with  the  opinion  held  by  him  and  by  many  other  philoso¬ 
phers,  that  we  perceive  external  objects  by  means  of  images  of  them 
conveyed  to  the  brain. 

It  has  always  been  the  common  opinion  that  sensation,  perception, 
and  all  the  other  operations  of  the  mind  are  produced  by  impressions 
made  on  it  by  external  objects.  This  opinion  could  only  take  its  rise 
from  observing  the  constant  connection  which  exists  between  certain 
impressions  made  upon  our  senses,  and  our  perception  of  the  objects 
by  which  the  impression  is  made  ;  from  which  it  is  inferred,  that 
those  impressions  were  the  proper  efficient  causes  of  the  corres¬ 
ponding  sensation.  But  because  two  things  are  always  conjoined, 
it  is  by  no  means  a  necessary  consequence  that  one  must  be  the  cause 
of  the  other.  Day  and  night  are  joined  in  constant  succession,  but  we 
do  not  conclude  from  this,  that  day  is  the  cause  of  night,  or  night  the 

I  2 


cause  of  day.  Therefore  it  is  not  only  impossible  to  conceive,  but  also 
there  is  no  real  ground  for  supposing,  that  matter,  by  any  motion  or 
modification,  produces  thought. 

And  if  the  nature  of  perception  be  thus  inexplicable,  we  have  equal 
reason  to  make  the  same  acknowledgement  with  respect  to  memory. 
It  is  an  original  faculty  given  us  by  the  Author  of  our  being,  of  which 
we  can  give  no  account  but  that  we  are  so  made.  We  are  told  by 
Locke  “  that  laying  up  our  ideas  in  the  repository  of  the  memory  sig¬ 
nifies  no  more  than  this,  that  the  mind  has  a  power  to  revive  percep¬ 
tions  which  it  once  had,  with  this  additional  perception  annexed  to 
them,  that  it  has  had  them  before;  and  in  this  sense  it  is,  that  our  ideas 
are  said  to  be  in  our  memories,  when  indeed  they  are  actually  nowhere.” 
But  when  a  thing  is  nowhere ,  the  same  thing  cannot  be  again  pro¬ 
duced  ;  though  another  thing  similar  to  it  may.  Hence,  an  ability  to 
revive  our  ideas,  after  they  have  ceased  to  be,  can  signify  no  more  but 
an  ability  to  create  new  ideas  similar  to  those  we  had  before.  Again, 
he  says,  “that  the  mind,  as  it  were,  paints  the  ideas  anew  upon  itself.” 
This  expression  must  imply  that  the  mind,  which  paints  the  things 
that  have  ceased  to  exist,  has  the  memory  of  what  they  were ;  as  a 
painter  must  have  a  copy,  either  before  his  eye  or  in  his  imagination 
and  memory.  On  the  whole,  Locke’s  chapter  on  memory,  though  con¬ 
taining  some  fine  remarks  on  the  importance  and  the  varieties  of  this 
faculty,  does  not,  in  the  least  degree,  enable  us  to  understand  'how 
we  retain  ideas  by  it.  (See  Reid,  Essay  II.  ch.  iv.  and  Essay  III. 
ch.  vii.) 

Art.  18.  Since  it  was  the  prevailing  opinion  among  ancient  phi¬ 
losophers  that  the  qualities  of  external  objects  are  perceived  by  means 
of  images  transmitted  to  the  mind  by  the  organs  of  sense,  and  that  these 
images  are  the  objects  about  which  our  thoughts  are  employed,  it 
naturally  became  a  question,  what  is  the  nature  of  the  idea  or  image 
corresponding  to  a  general  term.  When  we  think  of  any  particular 
object  such  as  a  particular  man,  tree,  or  mountain,  we  can  understand 
what  is  meant  by  an  image  of  such  objects.  But  what  account  can  we 
give,  upon  the  principles  of  this  theory,  of  the  objects  of  our  thoughts, 
when  we  use  the  words,  man,  tree,  mountain,  as  general  terms  ?  For 
all  the  things  we  have  ever  perceived  are  individuals;  and  therefore  the 
ideas  denoted  by  general  words,  cannot  be  copied  from  any  originals  that 
have  fallen  under  our  observation.  In  answer  to  this  question,  it  was 
taught  for  many  ages,  by  the  followers  of  Plato  and  Aristotle,  that, 
although  these  general  ideas  are  not  copied  from  any  objects  perceiv¬ 
able  by  sense,  yet,  as  all  the  individuals  which  compose  a  genus  must 
possess  something  in  common,  this  common  thing  forms  the  essence  of 


each,  and  is  the  object  of  thought,  when  we  reason  concerning  the 
genus.  Plato  held  that  of  every  species  of  things  there  is  one  idea  or 
form,  which  existed  from  eternity,  before  any  individual  of  the  species 
was  formed:  that  this  idea  is  the  exemplar  or  pattern,  according  to 
which  the  Deity  formed  the  individuals  of  the  species :  that  every  indi¬ 
vidual  of  the  species  partakes  of  this  idea,  which  constitutes  its  essence; 
and  that  this  idea  is  an  object  of  thought,  when,  by  due  abstraction,  we 
discern  it  to  be  one  in  all  the  individuals  of  the  species.  In  this  man¬ 
ner,  according  to  Plato,  we  -form  universal  or  abstract  ideas. 

In  the  eleventh  century  a  new  doctrine  was  introduced,  that  these 
abstract  ideas  have  no  existence  ;  that  words  or  names  are  universal 
signs,  but  that  every  idea  must  be  particular.  The  advocates  of  this 
new  opinion  were  called  Nominalists ,  to  distinguish  them  from  the 
Realists ,  who  adhered  to  the  ancient  opinion  that  universal  ideas  exist, 
corresponding  to  the  universal  words  which  are  used  to  denote  them. 
A  few  formed  themselves  into  a  third  sect  called  conceptualists ,  who 
seem  to  have  agreed  with  the  Nominalists  in  denying  the  existence  of 
universal  things ,  but  to  have  thought  in  opposition  to  them,  that,  by 
means  of  its  conceptions ,  the  mind  has  the  power  of  reasoning  con¬ 
cerning  genera ,  without  the  use  of  words ,  as  signs  of  those  concep¬ 
tions.  The  dispute  among  these  sects  was  carried  on  with  the 
greatest  animosity,  not  by  arguments  only,  but  by  bloody  affrays,  until 
the  Reformation  turned  the  attention  of  men  to  more  important  sub¬ 

Dr.  Reid  has  classed  Locke  among  the  conceptualists ;  as  having 
maintained,  not  that  there  are  things  universal,  but  that  we  have 
general  or  universal  ideas,  which  we  form  by  abstraction.  In  speaking 
of  these  abstract  ideas,  Locke  says  that  it  is  not  so  easy  to  form  them, 
as  it  is  to  form  particular  ideas.  “  For  example,  does  it  not  require 
some  skill  to  form  the  general  idea  of  a  triangle  ?  For  it  must  be  nei¬ 
ther  oblique,  nor  right-angled,  neither  equilateral,  nor  scalene  ;  but 
all  and  none  of  these  at  once.  In  effect,  it  is  something  imperfect 
that  cannot  exist,  an  idea  wherein  some  parts  of  several  different  and 
inconsistent  ideas  are  put  together.”  Surely  (to  use  the  words  of 
Campbell)  the  bare  mention  of  this  hypothesis  is  equivalent  to  a  con¬ 
futation  of  it.  (Campbell’s  Philosophy  of  Rhetoric,  vol.  II.  p.  110. 
Locke,  Book  IV.  ch.  vii.  Reid,  Essay  V.  ch.  vi.  Stewart.  Elem. 
of  Phil.  vol.  I.  ch.  iv.) 

Art.  39.  It  is  stated  in  this  Article  that  our  knowledge  chiefly 
consists  in  the  perception  of  the  agreement  or  disagreement  of  our 
ideas :  and  perhaps  it  would  have  been  proper  to  make  even  a  stronger 
modification  of  Locke’s  doctrine,  who  refers  all  our  knowledge  to  the 


perception  of  such  agreement  or  disagreement.  The  accuracy  of  this 
proposition  depends  on  the  sense  in  which  the  word  idea  is  to  be  taken. 
Sometimes  it  is  used  by  Locke  as  synonymous  with  thought  ;  in  one 
place  he  defines  it  to  be  whatever  is  the  object  of  thought ; — a  defini¬ 
tion  which  would  comprehend  both  things  which  have  a  real  existence, 
and  things  which  we  either  believe  never  existed,  or  which  we  think 
of  without  regard  to  their  existence ;  and  in  this  sense  it  is  undoubtedly 
true  that  all  knowledge  consists  in  perceiving  the  agreement  or  dis¬ 
agreement  of  ideas.  But  we  have  a  knowledge  of  external  objects ; 
and  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  Locke  held  the  opinion,  which 
was  subsequently  professed  by  Berkeley,  that  external  objects  are 
nothing  but  thoughts  or  ideas.  We  must  conclude  therefore  that,  in 
this  proposition,  he  understood  the  word  in  a  third  sense,  in  which  he 
frequently  takes  it,  viz.  as  the  image  or  representative  of  an  object,  by 
means  of  which  image  the  object  is  perceived.  But  in  this  sense  of 
the  word,  the  proposition  is  untenable;  for  if  these  ideas  or  images  be 
the  only  objects  of  knowledge,  we  could  have  no  knowledge  of  the  ex¬ 
istence  either  of  ourselves,  or  of  external  objects,  or  of  the  Supreme 

The  illustrations  given  by  him  of  this  proposition  are  borrowed 
chiefly  from  mathematics,  and  the  relations  about  which  that  science 
is  conversant.  When  applied  to  these  relations,  it  is  possible  to  annex 
some  meaning  to  such  expressions  as  comparing  ideas ,  the  juxta-position 
of  ideas,  the  perception  of  the  agreement  or  disagreement  of  ideas;  but 
in  most  other  branches  of  knowledge,  this  language  will  be  found  to  be 
without  meaning.^  (Reid,  Essay  VI.  cb.  iii.  Stewart,  vol.  II.  ch.  ii. 
§.  1.) 

Art.  43..  This  Article  contains  a  very  brief  example  of  the  meta¬ 
physical  arguments  which  Clarke  and  others  have  advanced  as  a  proof 
of  the  existence  of  God.  As  the  summary  of  them  is  here  given,  it 
agrees  in  substance  with  the  proof  given  by  Locke,  but  is  not  placed  in 
the  same  form  nor  expressed  in  the  same  language. 

Locke  comprises  his  proof,  at  first,  in  a  few  sentences,  and  then 
restates  and  amplifies  it.  As  it  appears  in  its  first  form,  it  has  little 
force;  and  in  its  second  form,  it  is  diffuse  and  ill-arranged,  and  some 
parts  of  it  inconclusive.  For  example,  towards  the  conclusion  of  it, 
he  professes  to  prove  that  matter  is  not  coeternal  with  an  eternal  mind ; 
but  his  proof  amounts  only  to  this,  that  the  contrary  proposition  cannot 
be  proved. 

These  remarks,  and  others  which  precede,  directing  the  reader’s 
attention  to  some  of  Locke’s  opinions  which  are  now  generally  deemed 
erroneous, — are  made  because  they  seem  to  be  required  by  the  occa- 


sion ;  and  are  certainly  not  offered  with  any  disposition  to  disparage 
the  fame  of  that  great  Author.  Any  attempt  of  that  sort,  if  such  a 
disposition  should  exist,  must  be  fruitless.  For  those  errors  are  pointed 
out  with  proper  freedom  by  Reid,  Stewart,  Campbell,  and  other  emi¬ 
nent  philosophers ;  but  their  animadversions  are  accompanied  with 
such  strong  expressions  of  their  general  admiration  of  him,  that  we 
may  conclude,  from  the  ample  testimony  rendered  by  men  so  capable 
of  forming  a  correct  judgment,  that  the  fame  of  Locke,  as  one  of 
the  greatest  ornaments  of  our  nation,  rests  upon  grounds  which  cannot 
be  shaken. 

Art.  63.  By  the  syllogistic  art,  we  are  taught  how  to  draw  just 
conclusions  from  given  premises.  But  the  chief  opportunity  for  the 
exercise  of  judgment,  is  in  determining  whether  the  premises  ought  to 
be  granted  or  not ;  and  in  this  difficulty,  the  art  of  syllogizing  affords 
little  assistance.  In  many  examples  which  are  given  of  syllogisms,  the 
premises  contain  affirmations  which  are  not  more  evident  or  more  easy 
to  be  established  than  the  conclusion  which  is  deduced  from  them.  Fre¬ 
quently  the  major-premise  expresses  a  general  truth,  and  the  conclu¬ 
sion  expresses  merely  a  particular  instance  of  it.  But  those  who  admit 
the  general  truth,  will  probably  admit  the  particular  instance,  without 
being  impelled  to  it  by  the  force  of  a  syllogism.  For  example,  when 
it  is  said  :  All  tyrants  deserve  death ;  Nero  teas  a  tyrant ;  therefore 
Nero  deserved  death :  if  we  suppose  the  three  propositions  of  this 
syllogism  each  to  require  proof,  it  is  probable  that  the  greatest  difficulty 
would  be  found  in  proving  the  first;  which,  in  the  syllogism,  is  assumed 
without  proof.  Hence,  the  common  remark  appears  to  be  well-ground¬ 
ed,  that  the  syllogistic  art,  however  useful  it  may  be  in  enabling  us  to 
detect  error,  cannot  assist  us  to  the  discovery  of  any  new  truth.  And 
so  great  has  been  the  change  of  opinion  as  to  the  utility  of  this  art  that, 
after  having  been  for  a  long  period  considered  the  bulwark  of  reasoning, 
it  is  now  generally  neglected ;  the  authority  of  Bacon,  of  Locke,  of 
Reid,  of  Stewart  having  been  sufficient  to  shake  the  credit  of  a  system 
which  had  been  founded  by  Aristotle,  and  adopted  by  all  learned 
men,  during  many  centuries,  as  the  only  test  of  just  reasoning  and 
of  truth. 

Stewart,  having  expressed  his  opinion  of  the  real  value  of  the 
syllogistic  art,  concludes  with  observing  that  he  wishes  it  not  to  be 
supposed,  that  he  considers  a  general  acquaintance  with  it  as  of  no 
value,  even  in  these  times.  “  The  technical  language  connected  with 
it  is  now  so  incorporated  with  all  the  higher  departments  of  learning 
that,  independently  of  any  consideration  of  its  practical  applications, 
some  knowledge  of  its  peculiar  phraseology  may  be  regarded  as  an 


indispensable  preparation  both  for  scientific  and  for  literary  pursuits.” 
He  then  quotes,  with  approbation,  the  following  passage  from  the  In¬ 
troduction  to  the  Compendium  of  Logic  used  in  the  University  of 
Dublin  :  Utrum  haecce  ars  per  se  revera  aliquem  praestet  usum,  qui- 
dam  dubitavere,  Quoniam  vero  in  Auctorum  insigniorum  scriptis 
saspe  occurrant  termini  Logici,  hos  terminos  explicatos  habere,  ideoque 
etipsiusartis  partes  praecipuas,  omnino  necessarium  videtur.  (Stewart, 
Elem.  Phil.  vol.  II.  ch.iii.  3.  Ed.  Encyc.  Art.  Logic.) 







HEYNE,  LOWE,  &c.  &c. 













■  i 




ettel  p  E7rl  vrja  KarrjXdofiEv  rfcc  OciXacr&av, 
rrja  /iev  dp  Trdp'KpwTOv  EpvaactfXEv  sir  aXa  c~iav, 
ev  S’  larov  tlOe/jiegO a  kcli  laria  vr(i  peXaivy ‘ 
ev  cie  ra  fiijXci  XcifiovTEQ  EfirjcrafUEV,  av  tie  Kat  avrol 
j3aivo/JLEy  dyvvjJLEvoi ,  OaXcpoy  Kara  cjdk-pv  j^eovteq.  5 

rjuiy  S'  civ  /j.et6tvig6e  VEog  Kvcix'07rpwpoin 


2.  Slav.  This  epithet  is 
frequently  given  to  the  sea  both 
in  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey, 
and  signifies,  “great  and  ter¬ 
rible,”  from  oito,  “  to  fear.”  If 
derived  from  Ai'os,  the  genitive 
of  Zel's,  it  has  the  signification 
of  “  godlike,  excellent,  to  be 
reverenced  or  feared  as  a  god.” 
But  Clarke  thinks  that  it  means 
nothing  more  than  “vast,  wide 

3.  Icttov,  “  the  mast.” 
Every  ship  had  several  masts  ; 
but  we  are  told  by  Aristotle, 
that  at  first  there  was  only  one 
mast,  which  being  fixed  in  the 
middle  of  the  ship,  the  hole 
into  which  the  foot  of  it  was 
inserted,  was  named  p-caoSop. p, 
in  Latin,  modius s.  When  the.y 
landed,  the  mast  was  taken 
down,  as  appears  everywhere  in 
Homer,  and  placed  on  a  thing 
called  lcttoSokti,  which,  accord¬ 
ing  to  Suidas,  was  a  case, 

wherein  the  mast  was  reposited ; 
but  Eustathius  will  have  it  to 
be  nothing  but  a  piece  of  wood, 
against  which  it  was  reared. 
Potter’s  Archaeol.  B.  3.  ch.  xvi. 

4.  epijcra/uLEv,  “  we  put  them 
on  board.”  Bati/w,  ftppi,  2nd 
aor.  tfinv,  perf.  fitfipKa,  plus- 
quam-perf.  \kelv,  are  all 
used  as  neuters,  “  I  go,  &c. ;  ” 
but  Epi]<ra  is  always  active,  “  I 
made  to  go.” 

5.  dx^v/xEvoi,  “  grieved,” 
because  instead  of  sailing  di¬ 
rect  home,  they  had  to  go  to  the 
infernal  regions,  according  to 
Circe’s  directions,  to  consult 
the  spirit  of  Tiresias,  the  fa¬ 
mous  Theban  seer. 

6.  KVaVOTTpchpOLO  1/EOS,  “  the 

ship  with  dark-blue  prow.”  It 
was  customary  to  beautify  the 
prow  with  gold  and  various 
sorts  of  paint  and  colours.  In 
the  primitive  times,  red  was 
most  in  use ;  whence  Homer’s 



0AY22EIA2  A.  7—17. 

'tKf-ievov  ovpov  ui  'K\y]cri(rTiovi  egQXov  irciipov , 
Kipiai  £V7r\6icapiOQ,  Se ivi)  0£O£,  avhijeirira. 
npt~ig  c'  07c\a  EKacrra  TvovpGdfiEvoi  /caret  vrja 
ij/ieda’  rpv  c  avefiog  te  KV^EpvpTpg  r  'iOvvev. 
T1]Q  Se  TravppEpi'pg  T£Ta&  IffTlCt  7T0PT07T0p0V or/g’ 
CVffETO  T  IJEXlOg,  (TKLOIOVTO  TE  710.(70.1  (lyVlOl. 

H  c'  eg  7TEipa6'  7/care  fiaOvppoov  £1keovo~io . 
evOa  l )e  K ifxfiEpiMv  aVBpwr  hrjpog  te  7r oXig  te , 

1]Epi  /Cat  VECpsXp  KEKaXvpp.£VOl'  0V()£  7 TOT  OVTOVg 

II iXiog  (j) aidiov  /cara^ep/cerat  a’/crtVeacrtr, 

*f  /\1  f  f  9  *»\ 


07ror  ar  otei^t]oi  Trpog  ovpavov  oorEpoEVTO, 



ships  were  commonly  dignified 
with  the  titles  of  p.i\.TOTrd.pyoL 
and  ( poLviKoiraprioi ,  or  red-faced. 
The  blue  likewise,  or  sky- 
colour,  was  frequently  made 
use  of,  as  bearing  a  near  resem¬ 
blance  to  the  colour  of  the  sea, 
whence  we  find  ships  called  by 
Homer  KuavoTrpwpoi,  and  by 
Aristophanes,  Kvavip.fio\oi. — 
Potter  Arch.  B.  3,  ch.  xv. 

7.  LKpLEVOV  ovpov  'Lbl  7rX?/<Tt<r- 
t lov,  “sends  a  favourable  fresh 
breeze,  filling  the  sails.”  "Itj pu, 
imperf.  Vee  or  Is/. 

8.  Stiv j;,  “  formidable,”  be¬ 
cause  she  turned  into  swine 
those  sailors  who  were  ship¬ 
wrecked  on  her  coast.  She 
dwelt  on  a  promontory  of  Italy, 
called  “  the  cape  of  Circe.” 

auSi]Ecr<Ta.  This  difficult  word, 
on  the  meaning  of  which  com¬ 
mentators  have  been  so  much 
divided,  is  translated  bv  Clarke, 
Dunbar,  Cowper  and  others, 
by  “  melodiously,  sweetly  sing¬ 
ing.”  But  Loewe  and  Damm 
have  shown  that  it  is  an  epithet 
of  mankind  in  general,  because 
speech  is  peculiar  to  man  and 

distinguishes  him  from  the 
other  animals.  Applied  to  Cir¬ 
ce,  it  means  “  using  the  lan¬ 
guage  of  men,”  (for  the  other 
deities  conversed  with  men  by 
omens,  prodigies,  dreams,  &c.) 
and  shows  that  though  she  was 
immortal,  and  therefore  0eos, 
though  she  had  power  over  those 
who  fell  into  her  hands  and 
was  therefore  Stun),  yet  she  was 
not  an  inhabitant  of  heaven  ; 
but  living  upon  the  earth  she 
conversed  with  men  and  used 
the  language  of  men. 

9.  o7r\a  k.  t.  X.  “  having 
carefully  adjusted  all  the  tackle 
of  the  ship.” 

11.  TEVa0’,  for  TtTffTO, 

which  is  for  et i-raTo,  the  plu- 
perf.  pass,  of  teAeo,  were  ex¬ 
panded  and  filled  with  the  wind. 

15.  yipi  Kal  uecpaXy,  “with 
darkness  and  clouds,”  for  “with 
dark  clouds,”  by  the  figure 
Hendiadys;  vvp,  ytpos  Ionic 
for  clyp ,  atpo's. 

17.  Compare  with  this  pas¬ 
sage  Virg.  Georg,  iii.  357. 
Turn  sol  pallentes  haud  unquam 
discutit  umbras  ;  Nec  cum  in- 



IX  Lt-  croc 

Ji  t*,  v  y  ,cc  t 


OCy  Vl  (XL 

OcLiQ^a  c, 




0?e*  jc  ji 

ox  V 

v  (f  4/ 

Qj  S/C4.  /CC xtf-p-t  CUC 

*  , 

/'  /z  vr  c  e  — 



(>  l  O  (’  /A- VO  ’  / ' .1  0/^-  ^ '<^£- 

Q^-a.y  ,  /6  oc  y  co . 

■ftry  X  ?  ^  A  Cj  . 

CX.  rXxX^-  /%_.  j'/ficS's**  ■ 

<Tc  —  /Y  o/u^^y. 


y  y  v  ic  i  x  i  o~o  co 

OX  ooq 

* '  />  ^ 

OX X  ZI/^l 


ZX  cp  i  o  /a  'v  /?  /•  [0 '  ’  * 

r  a<p0(;  ^.^i.  - 

?  y 

.  O' 

^  '-X _ 

<  o. 

zv  oq  ■ 

0AY22EIA2  A.  18—29. 


cud’  or  civ  a\p  €7 rt  yaiccv  citt'  ovparodev  irporpuTnirai' 
tt\X’  eVi  oXorj  irerarcu  deiXolai  (dporo~icnv. 
vrja  /xev  evd'  eXOovreg  eiceXcra^iev'  eic  de  r a  [xrjXa 
tiXopteO ’*  avroi  d'  a vre  irapa  poov  ’klKeavoto 
rjo/xev ,  dcpp'  eg  X^P0V  depend  fied’,  ov  cppacre  Kipicrj. 

’"EvS’  iepijia  ptev  Uepifxpcpg  E opoXo^dg  re 
eayov'  £yw  ^  dop  oqv  epvaadfjievog  rrapa  /j.ppov 
foodpov  dpv?,  ocrcrov  re  irvyovcnov  evOa  tca'i  evda' 
dfi(j)  a vru>  de  x°r\v  \edp7]v  irdocv  veKveamv, 
irpddra  fieXitcppro),  [xereireLrci  de  rjcei  o'iva), 
rd  rpirov  avd ’  vdcirt *  eVt  d'  dXtyira  Xevnd  i rdXvvov. 

7 roXXd  de  yovvuvfir}v  veKvwv  dfievr]vu  icdprjva , 



vectus  equis  altum  petit  aethe- 
ra,  nec  cum  Praecipitem  Oceani 
rubro  lavat  sequore  currum. 
And  Ovid,  Metamorph.  xi.  592. 
Est  prope  Cimmerios  longo 
spelunca  recessu  Mons  cavus, 
ignavi  domus  et  penetralia  som- 
ni ;  Quo  nunquam  radiis  oriens 
mediusve  cadensve  Phoebus  ad- 
ire  potest.  Nebulas  caligine 
mixtae  Exhalantur  hurao,  dubi- 
aeque  crepuscula  lucis. 

18.  air’  ovpavoOnv,  “from 
heaven.”  In  Plomer  ovpavo- 
Bzv  is  very  frequently  joined 
with  airo,  as  here ;  so  that 
air’  ovpavodev  is  the  same  as 
dir’  ovpavov. 

19.  vv%  oXorj,  “sad  night.” 
It  is  to  be  observed,  says  Eusta¬ 
thius,  that  the  night  is  here 
called  oXorj,  because  it  was  an 
unnatural  one.  To  the  proper 
night  Homer  generally  gives 
the  epithet  of  apfipocrir]. 

21.  irapd  poov  ’Qiczavoio, 
“  along,  by  the  side  of  Ocean’s 

24.  dop  6£u  ipvrrcrdfxzvo s 

irapd  fxppov,  “  having  drawn  my 
sharp  sword  from  my  thigh  ;  ” 
dop,  dopos,  neuter,  “  a  sword,” 
from  dzLpcv,  “  to  lift  up,”  be¬ 
cause  the  sword  is  “  lifted  up,” 
when  used. 

25.  ocrarov  k.  t.  X.  “as  far 
as  an  ell  on  this  side  and  that,” 
i.e.  “  an  ell  square.”  nvyouo-ioi' 
is  “the  space  from  the  elbow 
to  the  knuckles  of  the  clenched 

26.  xoi>u  X*dp.nv,  “  I  poured 
a  libation.”  The  libations  to 
the  gods  above  were  called 
airovdal,  or  Xoif3ai  •  those  to 
the  gods  below  xoai •  A  verb 
is  very  frequently  followed  by 
an  accusative  of  the  same  deri¬ 
vation,  or  of  kindred  significa¬ 
tion  ;  as  II.  o.  673.  irapd 
vi]v<ri  p.dx*iv  zpaxovTO. — Plato 
Protag.  p.  117.  iirip.e.Xovv'rat 
irdcrav  eiripiXeiav.  See  Matth. 
Gr.  Gr.  §.  415. 

27.  pzXiKpi] to,  “  a  mixture 
of  wine  and  honey.” 

29.  yovvovpii]v.  The  verb  yov- 
voopat  means  both  to  “pray  to,” 
B  2 


0AY22EIA2  A.  30—39. 

eXQojv  elg  lOdxrjv  artlpav  fiovv,  rjTig  dpicTp,  30 

pet,ELV  ev  /.lEyapoun  7 rvprjv  t  EixirX^(TEfiEV  eadXwv' 

Teipeaip  o’  «7rav£u0£v  otV  lEpEvaepiEP  uio) 

7vafXfiE\av\  og  fiijXoLGi  jU£ra7TjO£7m  rf/jETEpounv. 
ruvg  c'  £7T£t  Ev^diXrjai  Xcrpai  te,  e&veci  vetcpwv, 
eXXordfiriv,  rd  (He  fipXa  Xafjiov  dTEE^EtpoTOfi^Ga  35 

Eg  I Sodpov ,  pee  o  alfi a  KEXcnvEfpEg'  at  3’  ayepoPTo 
l/vya'i  vivEt,  ’EjOf/Jfug  pekvmp  fcaraTEdrrjo^rujy. 

\_vvfx<pai  r  d'iQsot  te  TroXvrXrjTo'i  te  yspoPTEQ 
rrapbEVLKai  t  draXac,  vEOTrevdea  Qvpiop  eyovaat' 

and  “to  vow;”  in  this  place 
the  two  meanings  are  joined 
together  ;  “  I  prayed  to  many 
empty  shades,  and  vowed  that 
when  I  had  come,  &c.” 

K dpi]va  vekvcov  for  vekves  is 
a  very  frequent  circumlocution, 
11.  t.  407.  KTiyrol-  8i  TpiTTodt^ 

*T£  Kai  'Linvwv  £avOd  ndpi]va. 
Hesiod.  Sc.  H.  104.  t ip.a  cn'iv 
KE(j)aXi]v.  Soph.  G5d..  Tyr.  950. 
u>  (pLXTaTov  yvvaiKQ'i  ’loKd<rri]<s 

Kapa.  Mattli.  Gr.  Gr.  §.  430 — 6. 

30.  tXOuyp  pt^ELv,  “  that 
when  I  had  come  ....  I  would 
sacrifice.”  Here  dXdoJu  is  in 
the  nominative  case,  according 
to  the  Greek  idiom.  If  the 
infinitive  has  a  subject  of  its 
own,  it  is  put  in  the  accusative; 
but  if  this  is  the  same  with  the 
object  which  stood  in  the  pre¬ 
ceding  sentence,  upon  which 
the  infinitive  depended,  the 
subject  is  put  in  the  same  case 
as  in  the  preceding  instance. 
But  when  the  subject  is  the 
subject  also  of  the  preceding 
finite  verb,  then  it  is  omitted 
with  the  infinitive,  except  when 
an  emphasis  is  laid  upon  it; 
e.  g.  dicebat  se  esse  ducem,  means. 

s(pi j  tlvai  o-TjoaTfj'yo?,  but  dice- 
bat  se  esse  ducem,  non  illosv 

8  (pi]  a’uTO?  Eivai  (TTpCCTliyoS,  OVK 

ekeIvov s.  Matth.  Gr.  Gr.  §.  535. 
5.  d.  See.  v.  236. 

31.  pf^Eiv,  fut.  from  ptX,(u, 
facere.  With  izpd  understood, 
it  comes  to  signify,  rem  sacram 
facere,  sacrificare. 

f.p.',  for  epcTrXvcrzLV,  a 
form  of  the  infinitive  very  com¬ 
mon  in  Homer.  Instead  of  the 
form  -elv  and  -ziv  the  termi¬ 
nation  -pee vat  and  short  -p.e v, 
was  frequently  used  in  the  old 
language  (in  Homer  and  He¬ 
siod,)  and  in  the  iEolic  and 
Doric  dialect.  Matth.  Gr.  Gr. 
§.  196.  8.  b. 

35.  iXXLaap.i]u,  for  iXicrd- 
p.i]v,  first  aor.  mid.  from  XLaco- 
fiai ;  “  and  when  I  had  called 
upon  these,  the  tribes  of  the 
dead,”  &c. 

37.  ’Epzftzvs,  Ionic  for  ’Ept- 
fiov s,  from  ’Epe^Sos,  -eos,  to. 

38.  pidzoi,  “  young,  unmar¬ 
ried  men.”  It  is  from  the  same 
root  as  dify] os  (£  and  0  being 
often  interchanged)  from  dtl 
and  'iz.ELv,  “  always  ardent,” 
influenced  by  the  fire  of  youth. 

a  /*. 


z  Si  ti 



/i.  lC 

2  /fUy,  i  &  /'~&  , 


ocyc<?  o  y  2  o 

OL  l  OL  A.  0  <J  ,  01  SI  OL  vX.  0  2 

O!  O  y  /fLC 

Z_  , 

c c  c  y , 

^0,^1'.  J&t..  -firr  _ 


—  si<'6 

(?•  &  f<r . 

1  w  <)  i 

<p  &  J  ~lo  q  /^/  ^  } 


^  ^  "'W'^  ^  -^4  /.V 

^cW~U  /f^) 

0AY22EIA2  A.  40—51. 

TroXXol  o  ovrafiEvoL  % aXiajpEcriv  iy^Etpaiv,  40 

dvSpeQ  ’ Aprfi(paTOi ,  j3ej3poT(j)p.£va  tev^e’  eyovTEQ' 

Ot  7 roXXot  7T£jo!  fioQpOV  ECpOlTOJV  d XXodev  dXXog 

OEffTTEah]  l<xyrj'  EfXE  (}£  %X copor  ()£OQ  ppft.] 

Clj  TOT  ETTEld'  ETapoanv  ETTOTpVVag  EKeXeVGCL 

fjLrj^a,  tci  fa)  KCLTEKEiT  EanpaypEva  v^Xei  ^ciXkcv,  45 

CEipavTag  KaTaKE~tcti ,  £7r£vt,aadcu  Se  d£o7aiy, 

IcpOipu)  t  ’Aidrj  iccii  ETtaivrj  II EpaECpovEip’ 
civtoq  Se  llipog  6% v  IpvaadpEVOg  7rapci  pppov 
rjpr]v,  ovK  s’lcoy  vekvmv  dpEvpvd  ndprjya 
alpciTog  curoov  ’tpEP,  ivp\v  T EipEaiao  7 TvdEcrdai.  50 

YlpcoTp  ce  \pv%7]  EXTrrjyopog  i)X0ev  ETcdpov' 

41.  uvSpEs  ’Apiftcp.  “he¬ 
roes  slain  in  war.”  ”  Av^popwos 
means  “a  man,  i.e.  one  of  the 
human  race,  of  any  age  or  of 
either  sex;”  hut  dvi)  p  is  a  “man, 
a  hero,”  in  opposition  to  a 
woman,  or  child,  or  feeble  pex*- 
son ;  in  the  Latin  there  is  the 
same  distinction  between  homo 
and  vir;  homo  corresponds  to 
dvOpwTTos,  and  vir  to  avijp. 

42.  dXXodsv  aAAos,  “  from 
different  parts,  one  from  one 
part  and  another  from  another ;” 
dXXode  v,  TrdvTodev,  oiKodev,  are 
the  only  exceptions  to  the  rule, 
that  words  ending  in  o  6  e  v  have 
the  acute  accent  on  the  penultima, 
as  kvtt pod  ev,  ovpavoQev. 

43.  0£(nr£criT?  taxi h  “with 
immense  clamour,  with  such 
as  a  god  might  raise.” 

44.  orj  tot'  £7 r£t0’.  These 
words  are  to  be  referred  to  v. 
34.  Ton's  8'  e7teI  k.  t.  X.  when 
• . . .  o  .then.  In  Homer,  if  the 
protasis  contains  a  determina¬ 
tion  of  time,  8p  often  stands  at 
the  very  beginning  of  the  apo- 

dosis,  as  in  this  passage.  It 
is  only  in  Homer  and  Pindar 
that  op  stands  at  the  begin¬ 
ning  of  a  proposition  or  clause. 
Matth.  Gr.  Gr.  §.  603. 

46.  KdTaKEiai,  “  to  burn,” 
1  aor.  act.  inf.  fl.  KaTaKaiw. 
Katw,  fut.  rcavcroj,  1  aor.  pass. 
EKavdi]Vf  perf.  pass. 
The  aorists  eki]o  and  e Kar\v  in¬ 
dicate  another  form  of  the  fut. 
Kadi.  From  Eict]a  a  new  present 
Kiiai,  Od.  i.  553.  appears  to 
have  arisen.  For  Ki)a<s  in  the 
part,  the  Attics  said  also  kews, 
iEschyl.  Again,  858,  and  this 
was  lengthened  into  tcstas,  ke ta- 
pEvos,  KscavTo.  Matth.  Gr.  Gr. 
§.  239. 

47.  E-rraiVT),  “  relentless,  se¬ 
vere,  cruel,”  from  £7ri  inten¬ 
sive,  and  alvos,  which  is  deri¬ 
ved  from  at,  at. 

49.  ijpnv,  “  I  sat.”  ~llpatt 
“  I  sit,”  and  ijpvv,  “I  sat,”  are 
properly  the  perf.  and  pluperf, 
pass,  from  eo>,  “  I  set,  or  places” 
Matth.  Gr.  Gr.  §.  235. 

B  3 


0AY52EIA2  A.  52— < 12 

00  y up  Kto  erEdciTTO  in ro  yQovog  Enpvo^Eipg' 
vufM  yap  iv  KipKrfg  /xeyclpo)  KaTeXELTrofXEV  rjfxt~ig 
ukXcivtov  rat  aQenrrov'  ettei  ttovoq  aXXog  ETTEtyer. 
tov  jxev  Eyuj  catcpvera  icajv  eXetjct cl  te  dv/xai  5i> 

vai  f_ up  epojvrjaag  gVea  TTrepoevTa  i rpoerpvhwv' 

’ $L\7rij vopf  7 rwg  f)X6eg  vtto  £6(f)oy  T}ep6£vra  } 
t(f)Qpg  TTE^og  £u>v  rj  eyo)  avv  vrfi  fxeXaivr]  ; 

£lg  iepelfxrjy’  6  Se  fx'  olputliag  rifXEtfiEro  pivOtf 
[ AioyEvtg  AdEpTiexcr) ,  TroXvjxrj-^av  ’OtWrreu,]  C® 

acre  jxe  daifxovog  alera  k am)  rat  aOegeparog  oivog' 

K tpKrjg  c  ev  /xEycipep  KaraXeypiEVog  ovie  Evorjera 

52.  The  ancients  were  very 
solicitous  about  the  interment 
of  the  dead,  since  they  were 
strongly  possessed  with  the  opi¬ 
nion,  that  their  souls  could  not 
be  admitted  into  the  Elysian 
shades,  but  were  forced  to  wan¬ 
der  desolate  and  without  com¬ 
pany,  till  their  bodies  were 
committed  to  the  earth;  and  if 
they  never  had  the  good  fortune 
to  obtain  human  burial,  the 
time  of  their  exclusion  from  the 
common  receptacle  of  the  ghosts 
was  no  less  than  a  hundred 
years ;  whence,  in  most  of  the 
poets,  we  meet  with  passionate 
requests  of  dying  men,  or  of 
their  ghosts  after  death,  for  this 
favour.  Potter’s  Archaeol.  B. 
4.  ch.  i. 

53.  crcufxa,  “his  corpse.” 
Homer  always  calls  the  body 
of  a  living  creature  ot/xa?,  but 
the  body,  after  life  has  depart¬ 
ed,  he  always  calls  aw/ia.  Dio¬ 
nysius  Halicarn. 

58.  £</j6?;v.  The  verb  (pdavw 

has  always  a  signification  of 
anticipation,  of  doing  or  suffer¬ 

ing  something  before  hand,  or 
of  celerity  or  of  ease.  It  is 
commonly  joined  with  a  parti¬ 
ciple  in  place  of  an  infinitive. 
Sometimes  the  part,  with  <p6a vu> 
is  followed  by  y  signifying  be¬ 
fore,  with  an  infin.  In  Horn. 
Odyss.  X.  58,  where  (pQdveiy 
signifies  to  get  to  a  place  before 
another  person,  it  is  followed  by 
V  without  an  infinitive,  t<pt bj? 
TrEj^o's  emv  j]  iyco  <rvv  vi)i  /xtXai- 
vy  ;  “  have  you  got  hither  by 

land,  sooner  than  I  by  sea?” 
Seager’s  Viger.  ch.  v.  §.  xiv„ 
R.  ii,  (iv). 

61.  gcte,  “deceived,  misled.” 
’A au),  fut.  dacrw,  1  aor.  yaara, 
i i<tu,  or  dcra. 

62.  KaTaXiypivo 5  for  ica.Ta ~ 

Xtydptvo<s ;  “  sleeping  in  the 

house  of  Circe,  coming  to  the 
long  flight  of  steps,  I  did  not 
think  that  I  was  coming  down 
again,  and  I  fell  headlong  from 
the  roof.”  Elpenor,  on  the 
night  before  Ulysses  left  the 
island  of  Circe,  had  gone  to 
sleep  on  the  house-top,  in  a 
state  of  intoxication ;  hearing  iu 


OL  1  0} 

'dt/ccr .  yujyinn*<*  ^  ■ 

oil  (Toe 

c  ' 

ps  Co  . 


(X&'ZQxy  cLoio  q 



r*  ^  **<*r 


P  o  a  (p  t  c/  nc  X.C'JQcc, 

.  Ut c  /  -  f<rr  Zloc. e oc  A  c7oc  i .  w 

A'JL  X-7c  £.  i  <x  / 

0AY22EIAS  A.  63—74. 


dipoppoy  KaTCififjvcu,  Idr  ig  icXipaica  paicprjv , 
a XX a  KaravriKpv  tt error'  ek  Se  poi  avyrjv 
darpaydXwr  idyr ],  ipv)(i]  S’  ’A'icoaSe  KarrjXdep. 
rvr  Oe  (te  rd>r  otvlQev  yovrd^opai ,  ov  rrapEorrcor, 
rrpog  t  dXoyov  kcu  7 rarpog,  o  a  E~p£(j)£  rvrdor  eovra, 
T pXepd-^ov  0  ,  or  povror  er\  peyapoimr  eXEnreg' 
o Ida  yap,  cJg  evQev^e  ravr  copov  ec,  ’A tdao 
rrjaor  Eg  A lair/r  cyr\(T£ig  evEpyea  vfja.' 

evQ a  O  E7TEITU,  ClVUt,,  KEXofiai  f.LVT](TaaQaL  i/JL£~lO' 

pi]  p  uuXavTor,  ddaTETor,  loir  omOer  KaraXEL7rtiy, 
ro(T(j>icrd£ig,  prj  tol  ti  dEcor  piinpa  y EvoipaC 
dXXd  ps  KaKKE~iai  avr  tev^egiv,  dcrcra  poi  ecttiv, 



the  night  the  noise  of  his  com¬ 
panions  departing,  he  started 
up,  forgetting  where  he  was, 
and  fell  over  the  roof.  Od.  x* 

65.  do-TpayaXcor  dayt],  “  was 
broken  out  of  joint;”  idyrj, 
2  aor.  pass,  from  dyu>,  “  I 
break,”  for  which  in  the  pre¬ 
sent  only  dyvvpi ,  dyvvpai  is 
used.  It  takes  the  syllabic  in¬ 
stead  of  the  temporal  augment, 
to  distinguish  its  tenses  from 
those  of  dyco,  “  I  carry.”  Matth. 
Gr.  Gr.  §.  161  and  221. 

66.  two  oiridsv,  ( i.e .  nrpos 
twv  oTTidsv  ovtcov ,)  “by  those 
whom  you  have  left  at  home 
behind  you.”  The  article  with 
a  substantive  (either  expressed 
or  to  be  understood  from  the 
context)  is  often  joined  to  ad¬ 
verbs,  to  which  it  gives  the 
signification  of  adjectives;  as, 
y)  dvu)  7rd\is,  “the  upper  city;” 
cl  tote  dvdpcoTTOL,  or  merely, 
cl  tote,  “  the  men  of  tliatday;” 
ot  ottiOev,  “those  behind.” 
Matth.  Gr.  Gr.  §.  270.  a. 

Tuyv  ottlQev.  When  a  pre¬ 
position  should  stand  twice  with 
two  different  nouns,  it  is  often 
put  only  once  by  the  poets,  and 
that  too  with  the  second  noun. 
Od.  p.  27.  v  aXos  rj  ettI  y?js. 
Eurip.  Hec.  143.  aXX’  i&i 
raous,  Wi  rrpo s  fioopov?.  Matth. 
Gr.  Gr.  §.  595. 

70.  vijrrov  AiaLi)v,  the  is¬ 
land  of  iEsea,  where  Circe  dwelt, 
and  where  Elpenor’s  corpse 
lay  still  unburied. 

72.  KaTaAELTTELV  for  KELT  <X- 
Xeltte,  “leave.”  The  infinitive 
is  sometimes  put  for  the  impe¬ 
rative  in  supplications;  as,  Qeol 
r roXiTai,  pi)  ps  SovAelcis  Tvyslv. 
vEsch.  Suppl.  255.  Matth.  Gr. 
Gr.  §.  545. 

73.  pi J  TOL  TL  6eU)1/  pijiupu 
yEvuipai ,  “lest  I  become  to  you 
the  anger  of  the  gods,”  i.  e.  lest 
I  be  the  cause  of  their  anger 
coming  upon  you.  The  same 
phrase  occurs  11.  x*  658. 

< ppa^EO  VVV ,  pi)  TOL  TL  6eC0V 

pi)vLpa  yivoapai. 


0AY22EIA2  A.  75—94. 

up  fid  te  fioi  yevcu  izoXiifg  E7rl  diyl  OaXdaGpg,  75 

dyOpog  ovarr/yoio,  Kai  EcrcrofitvoKTi  irvdecrdcu' 

Tavra  re  jioi  raXearai  Trrj^ai  r  eVt  rvfif 3u>  epETfiuy, 
ro>  kciI  2,w6q  eoeggop,  iu )v  jiet  Efioig  Erdpoiaiy. 

£lg  £(pa.T‘  avrdp  iyio  piy  dfisifiu/iEvog  TzpoaEEnruv' 
ravrd  tol ,  io  Sua rpv£}  TeXevrrjmo  re  Kai  sp^oj.  SO 

N (o'i  flEV  log  ETTEEGGiy  dflElfioflEVU)  GTVyEpolcTiy 
yfiEd'4  iyw  fi£y  dy£vd£y  £<ft  a'lfiari  (pavyayoy  ’icr^a;)', 
eicioXov  o'  ETEpiodEy  iratpov  nuXX ’  clyopevEy. 

HXOe  S’  etti  ipv x rj  fiprpog  KararEOypvipg , 

AvtoXvkov  Ovydrifp  fiEyaXrjropog ,  A yriKXEia,  85 

rrjy  ^iopy  KartXEnroy ,  hoy  tig  ’  IXioy  iptjy. 

rrjy  fitv  iyio  daKpvara  ifiioy  iXtijaa  te  6v/k5 * 

dXX ’  ovo'  log  Eiioy  wpoTEppy  TrvKiyoy  TVEp  d^Evioy 

aifiarog  away  ’ifiEV,  tt ply  Tc ipsaiao  7rv&Eadai. 

’II\0£  S’  etti  xpvxrf  Q^fiaiov  TeipEGiao,  90 

XpvaEoy  GKrjTrrpoy  e/jle  S’  eyvio  Kai  irpocEEnrEv' 

[Atoyevfc  Aatpriaop,  TToXvfipx^  ’Oouo-o-eu,] 
tixt  a vr,  to  OvjrrjyE,  Xnuoy  (f>dog  peXiolo 
r/XyOsg,  ocppa  ’ifoj  VEKvag  Kai  drsp-Ea  x^poy  ; 

76.  dvdpo s  dvcr'rijvoio,  (ipov 
ovto's,')  the  genitive  absolute, 
where  we  misdit  rather  have 
expected  dvdpl  dva-n-iiinp  in  ap¬ 
position  with  pou. 

Kai  icrcropivoicn  n rvdecrdai, 
“a  monument  for  posterity  also 
to  hear  of  and  to  know.” 

S2.  avtvQ&v  ....  et epcodsy, 

“  I  on  the  one  side . and 

the  shade  of  my  companion  on 
the  other  side.  ........  ” 

85.  ’A vTiKXsia,  the  nomi- 
nat.  case,  as  if  7/XOs  pvrr]p  had 
preceded  instead  of  ijXOs  pi jTpos 

i/sox’i.  So  in  line  91,  £XW"  is 
used,  as  if  he  had  said,  in  verse 
90,  yXOe  Te ipscrias. 

88.  aXX’  ovo’  dis,  but  not 
even  under  these  circumstan¬ 
ces  did  I  permit  her  . . 

before  that  I  had  enquired  of 

91.  The  (TKijTrTpoy  seems  to 
have  been  a  thick  stall' or  scep¬ 
tre,  carried  only  by  kings,  pro¬ 
phets,  and  heralds.  See  Loewe 
on  Odyss.  ii.  37,  and  Koppen 
on  II.  i.  13. 




*/*■  **  ^  e  rv  V  c<y  . 


<*-  fX.  CcJ/C  O  C,  . 

I)  Js  / 

d  i  ^  <Jj  /4^0L  I  SSfsA;  . 

^  / 

*  <?/<*:  i/Z  £  o  <  ac^l^  nc  ^  C  o  <, 

>  / 


tfr-ouj  .-_ 

0AY22EIA2  A.  95— 105. 


u’AA’  air  oyd^EO  foodpov,  amoye  £e  (pacryavoy  ot,v ,  95 


'  £1  (f)dr  *  eyoj  h'  dvaya(7(jdixEV0Q  fycpoQ  dpyvpdr\Xov 
kovXem  EyKcvrETnr)%'  6  3’  etteX  7 tlev  alpa  keXcuvov } 

K(U  TOTE  S rj  fJL  E7TEE(T(Tl  7Tp0arjvda  fidvTlQ  dfXVpHi)V' 

N 6(ttov  (ti£r)cn  fjLEXirjdea,  (patoip. ’  ’O cWoreu*  100 

top  Ce  tol  dpyaXEOV  OrjcrEi  Oeoq'  ov  ydp  cllo 
Xpaeiv  ’Evyocdyaiov,  d  tol  kotov  evQeto  Ov/jlo, 
y(i)df.L£V0Q  otl  ol  vidv  (f)iXov  E^aXdojaag. 

Cl  A  A’  ETL  flEV  KE  KCLL  WQ  KCLKa  7 TEp  'KUCTyOVTEQ  LKOLoOe, 

at  K  tdsXrjQ  (Toy  Qvpov  EpVKCLKEELV  KCLL  ETCllplOy,  105 

96.  at/ictTO?  ocppa  7tl(jo,  “  that 

I  may  drink  some  of  the  blood.” 
The  genitive  is  put  with  verbs 
of  all  kinds,  even  with  those 
which  govern  the  accusative, 
when  the  action  does  not  refer 
to  the  whole  object,  but  to  a 
part  only.  In  English  this  is 
expressed  by  the  omission  of 
the  article  in  the  singular,  or 
by  the  word  “  some.”  II.  t.  214. 
Tracers  S’  aAos  dsioio,  “  he 
sprinkled  salt  over  it.”  Od.  o. 
98.  oTTcrjcai  KpsMv,  “  to  roast 
some  of  the  flesh.”  Matth.  Gr. 
Gr.  §.  356. 

99.  Kal  cots  Srj,  “  then  at 
length.”  //// 

102.  ’Ei/j/oo-tyato?,  “the sha¬ 
ker  of  the  earth,”  an  epithet 
of  Neptune  ;  6  svc&dojv  T?ji>  ydi- 
av ;  “who  shakes  the  earth,” 
i.  e.  by  earthquakes  ;  for  earth¬ 
quakes  were  always  thought  by 
the  ancients  to  be  caused  by 
the  sea;  several  other  epithets 
are  applied  to  Neptune,  of  the 
same  signification;  as  ivoci- 

y0o)i/,  csiclyQwv,  yaKLvas,  from 
Y>)v  and  klvIu>,  &c. 

103.  ol  VLOV  (J)  IXoV  S^aXciOD- 
cras,  “  you  blinded  his  dear 
son,”  i.e.  Polyphemus.  He 
was  son  of  Neptune  and  Tho- 
osa  and  king  of  the  Cyclopes. 
He,  like  the  other  Cyclopes, 
had  but  one  eye,  and  that  in 
the  middle  of  his  forehead  ;  he 
fed  on  human  flesh,  and  when 
Ulysses  and  his  companions 
were  driven  on  his  coast,  he 
seized  them,  and  having  con¬ 
fined  them  in  his  cave,  daily 
devoured  two  of  them.  Ulys¬ 
ses  would  have  shared  the  fate 
of  his  companions,  had  he  not 
intoxicated  Polyphemus,  and 
put  out  his  eye  with  a  firebrand 
while  he  was  asleep.  Polyphe¬ 
mus,  awakened  bv  the  sudden 
pain,  stopped  up  the  mouth  of 
his  cave ;  but  Ulysses  made 
his  escape  by  creeping  between 
the  legs  of  the  rams  of  the  Cy¬ 
clops,  as  they  were  led  out  to 
feed  on  the  mountains.  See 
the  whole  account  in  b.  ix. 


0AY22EIA2  A.  106-114. 

ottttote  ke  7rp(i)TOv  TrEXdapg  EVEpyea  vrja 
QpivaKtri  vr](Tu),  irpotyvycov  losihea  tv ovtov' 

(jocko  fJLEvag  £)’  evprjTE  (jdag  KCtl  icpui  pirjXa 
HeXiov,  og  TvavT  E(j)opa  teal  iravT  ettclkovei. 

Tag  el  fiEV  k  daiveag  idag  voctov  te  fXE^rjtii,  110 

KCLl  KEP  ET  Eig  ’I deuerjv  KCIKC t  TTEp  TrdcyOVTEg  ' IKOtadE ’ 
ft  Se  KE  (TlVTICll ,  TOTE  TOL  TEKf.lClipOfX  oXfOjOOV 

vrft  te  Kal  ETapoig'  avTog  0  eiirEp  kev  aXvEpg, 
o\Ie  KaKujg  ve~lcu,  oXscag  aVo  TtavTCig  ETCtipovg , 

106.  oiTTroTE  k.  t.  X.  “  when 
first  you  shall  have  brought 
your  ships  to  the  island  of 
Sicily;”  i.e.  as  soon  as  you 
have  arrived  with  your  ship  at 
the  island,  n rsXa'aq??,  1  aor. 
subj.  from  ti-eXo^cd,  “  to  make 
to  come  near,”  which  is  deri¬ 
ved  from  7 rg'Xas  “near.” 

107.  OpivctKir),  Sicily,  com¬ 
monly  called  Trinacria,  but 
euphonice ,  by  Homer,  Thrina- 
cia.  It  took  its  name  from 
(t,ohs  aKpn t)  its  three  promon¬ 
tories,  Pelorus,  Pachynus  and 

108.  tvppTE,  “and  shall 
have  found.”  From  having 
£0£Xt7s  and  TrtXd<nj<s  in  the  pre¬ 
ceding  lines,  we  might  have 
expected  Evpys;  but,  as  Ernesti 
remarks,  such  a  change  of 
number,  where  the  sense  per¬ 
mits,  is  elegant,  and  not  un¬ 
frequent  in  the  poets. 

109.  ’HeXlou.  “  Serranus,” 
says  the  learned  Riccius,  in  his 
dissertations  on  Homer,  p.  447, 
“has  expended  much  time  and 
labour  in  seeking  out  the  cause, 
why  these  flocks  were  assigned 
to  Phoebus.  But,  setting  aside 
his  remarks  altogether,  I  think 
that  the  sheep  and  oxen  were 

consecrated  by  the  inhabitants 
of  Sicily  to  Phoebus,  because 
he  once,  in  the  guise  of  a  shep¬ 
herd,  fed  the  flocks  of  Adme- 
tus,  king  of  Thessaly.” 

110.  Dionysius  Halicarn. 
and  others  have  brought  for¬ 
ward  this  passage  to  show  that 
Homer,  notwithstanding  he 
says  more  than  once  Aids  o' 
eteXeleto  fiovXy,  and  notwith¬ 
standing  he  frequently  speaks 
of  MoZpa  and  Alcra  being  ab¬ 
solute  and  irresistible,  yet  was 
not  in  the  strict  sense  of  the 
word  a  fatalist,  but  understood 
man  to  be  a  free  agent,  and  to 
have  an  option  respecting  all 
those  points  of  his  conduct  with 
which  his  future  happiness  or 
misery  was  connected. 

112.  TEic^aLpopai,  “I  de¬ 
termine,  or  appoint ;”  here,  “  I 
denounce.”  It  is  only  in  later 
authors  that  it  is  used  to  sig¬ 
nify,  “  I  conjecture.” 

114.  oik?.  After  the  com¬ 
panions  of  Ulysses  had  slain 
the  herds  of  Phoebus,  Ulysses 
was  detained  seven  years  in 
the  island  of  Calypso,  and  after 
that  was  shipwrecked  and  cast 
on  the  shore  of  the  Phseacians. 


/  o  q 

QL  c  l  >>  7)  $  ■  /j-tc  f^U)  ,  /^  2  y  6  °y^~  <*. 

Oi-  7J  6  3c  CJ  £*/ C Ci^^JL  /  0(.  «-^-  2j  t*J  £j  .'  <X«-2.  X)^  G'Cj  ^ 

w  *As}t^  0~C  C-4aSi^4  fr-fr.  c*c  ■  Jf.  iZ./O. 

3  n  / 

/U.  V  U)  OyU-  OL  l  i  _  ^ 

yev  kxdvov  , 



'<rn, . 

^  /  ‘zjf. 

vy  a. 

<X  /  <_  Q>  <k:  $■■  ons 

ft  dm  q  /plrP .  &c  (’-&**-**' ii''- 

4,  nl^<,. 

acrat  (p  <y  d' o<j  f  ocroc(f*.TrJ'o£  gxtciycj. 

<a  fhi  < 


ytsLie)  i  jlco  f 

0AY22EIA2  A.  115  —  128.  \[ 

vr/og  £7r’  aXXoTpirjg'  Srjeig  h'  iv  mj/xara  o’lkoj ,  115 

aydpag  inr£p(j)idXovg,  oi  toi  (3iotov  KctT£()ovoiy,>pevoi  dvTiOkr)v  dXoyov  kcli  eCya  cidovreg' 
dXX'  t\tol  keivio v  ye  fiiag  diroriaeai  eXOiov. 
avrap  ETzrjy  fxyijCTrjpag  evl  piEydpoici  TEolciy 
KTEiryg,  r]E  doXo)  rj  dpicpadoy  dt,Ei  \a Xku>,  120 

epy^ecOcu  c)?/  tVetra,  Xafjujy  EvrjpEg  ipETpidy, 
ei coke  tovq  d(piKi]cu,  ot  ovk  ’ icaci  OdXaccay 
sdvEpEQ,  OvSe  O'  CiXeCCI  /JLEfUyfJlEVOV  Eldap  ECOVCIV ' 
ovC '  dpu  roiy  icaci  viag  (poiviKonappovg , 
outT  Evrjpe’  IpETfxd ,  rare  nrEpd  vrjvci  7 teXovtcu.  125 

arjpa  ()e  roi  ipiio  fiaX ’  dpi^padig,  ovds  ce  XrjcEi' 

OTTTTOTE  KEV  Clj  TOI  t,V fifiXrj jJlEVOQ  ClXXoQ  odlTTJQ 
(fir/p  aOpprjXoiyoy  EyEiv  ayd  (paibipup  aljuw, 

115.  OfjEts  5’  iv  •Tri'i/iaTa 

oiKio ,  avdpas  inrEptpidXovs,  “and 
at  home  you  will  find  calami¬ 
ties,  viz.  proud  and  insolent 
men  who  devour  your  sub¬ 
stance.”  Sijoo,  “  to  find,”  seems 
to  be  always  used  by  Homer 
in  a  future  signification.  Com- 
pu  -Q  II.  i.  418,  681,  v.  260. 
Od.  S.  544,  l  291 ,  v.  407,  it.  44. 
It  was  from  this  word  that 
Ceres  derived  her  name  v 
for  when  she  was  seeking  her 
lost  daughter  Proserpine,  she 
asked  all  that  she  met,  whether 
they  had  seen  her;  and  they 
perceiving  that  she  was  in  great 
distress  of  mind,  comforted  her 
with  saying  “you  will 

certainly  find  her.” 

121.  epx^cdaL,  the  infini¬ 
tive  mood  for  the  imperative, 
as  above  v.  72. 

123.  dv£p£9,  put  in  the  re¬ 

lative,  instead  of  in  the  ante¬ 

cedent  clauses;  eIctoke  toi!? 
avipas  d(pLKi]ai)  oi  dvlpts  ovk 
Icracri  ddXaacrav.  Thus  in  Vir¬ 
gil,  Urbem  quam  statuo,  ves- 
tra  est,  (iEn.  i.  577)  for,  urbs, 
quam  urbem  statuo,  vestra  est. 

124.  (poivLKO'waptjov’i,  “  red¬ 
faced.”  See  note  v.  6. 

125.  t ute  TrTEpa,  “which 
are  the  wings  of  the  ships.” 

127.  £vp.{3AripLEVos,  “  meet¬ 
ing  you  ;  ”  the  pres,  middle, 
from  £ vp.(3\fip.a.L ,  one  of  the 
forms  of  %up.(3d\\u).  This  form 
(£vp.(,  “to  meet,”)  is  very 
frequent  in  Homer. 

128.  (pvii,  Ionic  for  <t)anh 
pres,  optat.  of  0rj«t. 

ddi'ipt]XoLryov  (for  adEprjXoi- 
ydv,  on  account  of  the  metre,) 
“  a  fan  for  winnowing  corn.” 
The  traveller’s  mistaking  the 
oar  which  Ulysses  was  carry¬ 
ing  on  his  shoulder,  was  a  sure 
indication  of  his  ignorance  in 


0AY22EIA2  A.  129—145. 

teal  tote  bp  yah)  ivplag  Evppsg  bpETpov, 

pilag  ispd  KaXcl  UoaEibaiovi  uvaKTi  130 

dpvEidv  ravpov  te  aviov  r  em/Spropa  teaxpov, 

ddeab'  axoarELyEiv  Epbsiv  O’  lEpag  £iearbp/3ag 

dOavaroicri  0eo~uti,  to),  ovpavov  Evpvr  Eyovaiv, 

tvugl  paX'  i^Etpg'  davarog  be.  tol  el,  aXog  avrto 

dfiXpxpog  pdXa  roiog  EXevaErai,  dg  ke  ge  7 ve^vy  1 35 

yppa  vivo  Xnvaptp  dpppEvov’  apcfi  be.  Xaol 

oXfDioL  EGcorrai'  rabe  tol  vpptprea  e'Ix w. 

£lg  Etpar’  c ivrdp  eyoj  per  dpeiflopEVog  xpoGEELxav' 
TeipeGh ),  rd  pev  dp  7 rov  itCEtcXtOGav  Oeol  avroL. 
dlXX  dyE  pot  TOOE  EL7VE  KUL  CLTpEK£U)g  KaTaXel,OV'  1  40 

pprpog  rpvb'  opdo)  xpv^pv  KararEdvpvipg' 
t)  C  ukeovg  pGrai  Gyecbv  ajparog,  ovb'  idv  vldv 
etXt]  Eaavra  Ibeiv  ovbe  xporipvdpGaGdai. 

EL7VE,  aval,,  7 viZg  kev  ps  dvayvoh )  rov  eovra. 

£lg  £(j)dpr)Vl  6  be  p  UVTLK  dpELfdopEVOg  TVpOtJEELTVEV'  145 

maritime  concerns;  and  there¬ 
fore  Ulysses  instructing  a  na¬ 
tion,  which  before  had  been 
altogether  ignorant  of  the  sea 
and  of  naval  affairs,  and  there¬ 
by  inducing  them  to  worship 
Neptune,  would  propitiate  that 
god,  who  was  still  angry  with 
him  for  blinding  Polyphemus, 
v.  103. 

134.  aXo's,  for  a\os, 
“  remote  from  the  sea,”  i. 
shall  not  die  in  the  sea,  though 
you  meet  with  great  dangers 
therein.  Some  however  sup¬ 
pose  that  QdvuTos  aXo's  sig¬ 
nifies  a  death  which  should 
come  from  the  sea  to  him,  or 
by  means  of  the  sea;  and  they 
say  that  Ulysses  was  slain  by 

his  son  Telegcnus,  whom  he 
had  by  Circe.  He  had  wan¬ 
dered  far  in  quest  of  his  father, 
when  arriving  at  Ithaca,  and 
not  being  permitted  to  land, 
he  fought  with  his  opposers, 
who  knew  him  not,  and  killed 
Ulysses.  But  this  interpreta¬ 
tion  but  very  ill  accords  with 
the  epithet,  afiXiixpos,  gentle, 
peaceful,  more  like  sleep  than 

144.  7r ws  kzv  ps.  dvayvoh] 
to v  zovtu  ;  “  how  will  she  re¬ 
cognise  me  and  know  that  it 
is  truly  myself?  ”  Thus  in 
Od.  co.  158.  ovSe  tis  ijpsUuv 
Svvaro  yvoovai  tov  iovTa,  “nor 
could  any  of  us  know  that  it 
was  he  himself.” 

<*73  X  <y\  'X  <f  0  £  •  ^  C,.  pi  7)  X  ^  a  <•  — 

cc  Vn*$l  X  '  filoL^ej  -£  rz*tJU+-  . 

pJL  oc  £  J^lkc-U-OC  .  Polyol  pX  ?!  Xqo  i  .  ,  tfXaC. 

jzeq/ytj ,  (p£  r  cj ,  (pirc<£>. 

7*  . 

^yt-tro  £  &H>A4.le^)  ,  £v /*+<-«/&*  <^e  v^o'^oct 

Jl  j9i- 

(X  P  O'T' 

«-  £  <£.  t 

'  Xt*£.  yVd . 


*  ? 
ol  r 

<2"  oc  ^2/. 

0z  0//u<3Lr  ,  .!&>-;  //^K 

a/  u 

JtClc  Z  to  —  *'  '*  •-'*■  '  ? 

»/r  Ar  ^ 

^j£.£  ;  *l  ^ 

^  ^.zk  ***  ^73f\.  ^  ■  l* ■ 

£yi  g'&co  . 

£<<*-*>  L/C,  c\  <5  i 

yy°<j>j<;f  fro?cif  f  rzpoq 

/><-<.  A. 

£,0  (poc, 

0AY22EIA2  A.  146—165. 


OrjiSlOV  TOl  ETTOQ  EpElO  KCll  EVL  typEM  Oljfflt)' 
ovTLva  [lev  Key  syg  vEKvcjy  Kara~e6yr]0)T(t)y 
aiparoQ  dcraoy  ’ ipiev ,  oSe  to l  yp/uepreg  eyl^ei' 
tp  Se  k  ETrupdoytOLQ,  ode  7 rot  irdXiy  eicny  ottlctgu). 

"ilc  ipapeyt]  \pw)(rj  piey  e(3t]  Sofioy  ”  AiSog  e’icuo 
T eipeaiao  dyacrog,  Steel  koto  dSacpaT  EXeicy. 
avrap  eyojy  avrov  pSyov  EpTccSoy ,  o(j)p'  eVi  prjrr]p 
t]Xv6e  kcu  tv  lev  alpa  K£Xaiv£(j)£g *  avTLKa  S’  cyvio 
Kal  fx  oXotyvpofiEyii  etteo  7 rrcpoEyra  7cpoffrjvSa' 

Tekvov  Spov ,  7 rwg  rjXdEg  vied  (otyov  rjEpoEyra, 

'(wog  Ei>)v  ;  % oXettov  Se  to.Se  £wot<xiv  opdcrdai. 

[/l ie(T(to)  yap  pcyaXot  tvotojmA  kol  Ssiya  pSeOpa, 
'Q,K£av6g  p.£V  TrptZTa ,  Toy  oviuyg  ecetl  vcEpr/aac 
7 T£%dy  eovt\  rjy  pt]Tig  e\ij  Evspyc a  yrja.J 
i)  vvv  St j  TpotrjdEy  dXojpEvog  evQdS'  iKavEig 
vrf'C  te  kol  irdpoun,  7 roXvy  y^poyoy  ;  ovSe  7 rw  rjXOEg 
tig  * WaKrfy ;  ovS ’  d^££  tVt  pEydpoun  yvya~iKa  ; 

'He  £(j)aT‘  avTap  iyoj  piv  apEifiopcyog  TtpocTEELTrov' 
prjTEp  Sprj,  XpEic)  fA£  KHTrjyayEy  Eig  ’ A'lSao , 
yjpTqaopEyov  Qr)flaiov  Teipecr/ao. 





155.  Compare  Virg.  iEn.  vi. 
531.  “  Sed  te  qui  vivum  casus, 
age,  fare  vicissim,  Attulerint ; 
pelagine  venis  erroribus  actus, 
An  monitu  Divum?  an  quae  te 
fortuna  fatigat,  Ut  tristes  sine 
sole  domos,  loca  turbida,  ad- 
ires?”  And  indeed,  if  the  whole 
account  of  the  descent  of 
iEneas  into  Hades  were  read 
and  compared  with  this  descent 
of  Ulysses,  they  would  throw 
great  light  upon  each  other. 

158.  Trpwra,  “especially, 
above  all.” 

165  xp^ao/uevov,  “to  con¬ 
sult.”  The  middle  voice  often 
signifies,  “  to  get  any  thing 
done  for  one’s  self.”  Thus  in 
II.  I.  it  is  said  of  Chryses, 
Xvaopevos  dvyaT pa,  “  to  get  his 
daughter  released  by  Agamem¬ 
non,  on  the  payment  of  a  ran¬ 
som,”  i.  e.  “  to  ransom  his 
daughter.”  Whereas,  of  Aga¬ 
memnon  it  is  said,  OuS’  chreXva-E  | 
Gvyarpa,  sc.  too  Xpvcnj.  So  J 
Sidao-KEiv  t6v  viov,  “  to  instruct 
one’s  son,”  diSdcrKscrticu,  “to 
get  him  instructed  by  others;” 



0AY22EIA2  A.  166— 179 

ov  yap  7 rio  a^edoy  rfXQoy  ’A^aiidog,  ovde  7ra>  dfirjg 
yrjg  eVe/3 rjy,dXX  aley  eywy  dXaXr)/  oi£vy, 

£s  ov  ret  TTpeorurd'  hr 6 fir] v  ’ Ayafie/ivovi  dtu) 

IAtoj^  tig  evtuoXov,  tva  Tpuieaai  fiayo'ifxr]y. 
dXX'  dye  fioi  rode  ehre  Kal  arpeicectjg  KardXe&y' 
rig  vv  <x£  K rjp  ecdfxauGe  Tavrfkeyeog  dayaroto ; 

?/  coXc^T)  yovaog ;  ?/  ” Apre/jag  loyeaipa 

oig  dyayolg  (^eXeeggiv  iTroiyofievri  Kareneffiyey  ; 

e'nre  ce  fioi  rrarpog  te  k ai  vleog,  oy  icareXenroy , 

7/  eri  7r dp  keivolgiv  tfiov  yepag ,  T)e  Tig  ijdrj 
dvdpulv  uXXog  exeLf  £V£'  ovicsti  ^>c tet  vetadai. 
ehre  de  poi  fiv^GTrjg  dXoyov  fiovXijy  te  yoov  te, 
rj£  pevei  irapa  7raidl  Kal  E/jnreha  iravTa  (pvXdiraEi 
rj  rjdrj  fuy  tyrjfiEy  ’A^cuwt'  oang  dpioTog. 



Xpvo-cu,  “to  utter  a  response,” 
Xpvoraadai,  “  to  get  a  response 
uttered,  i.  e.  to  consult  an  ora¬ 
cle  or  a  prophet.”  See  Thea¬ 
tre  of  the  Greeks,  on  the  prin- 
^  cipal  usages  of  the  middle  voice 
of  the  Greek  verb. 

171.  tl<s  K i)p,  “what  kind 
of  fate.”  That  t/s  is  here  used 
in  the  signification  of  ti-oIos, 
“  what  kind  of  fate  ?  ”  appears 
evident  from  what  follows.  It 
occurs  in  the  same  sense  and 
in  the  same  expression,  v.  398 
of  this  book. 

172.  "ApTi/xis,  “Diana.” 
Homer  attributes  the  sudden 
deaths  of  men  to  Apollo — of 
women  to  Diana. 

174.  ElirE  Se  flOl  'TTCLTpo'S, 
“  and  tell  me  of  my  father.” 
The  genitive  is  sometimes  put 
with  substantives  and  verbs 
absolutely,  where  otherwise  tt tpl 
with  the  genitive  is  used.  Thus 

Thucyd.  viii.  15.  ayysXta  tt/s 
Xlov,  “  the  report  concerning 
Chios.”  Soph.  Hid.  Col.  307. 

kXvwv  gov  Stvp'  dcpi^t'ra.i'Tayy  : 
“  hearing  of,  about,  or  concern¬ 
ing  you,  he  will  come  hither 
quickly.”  Matth.  Gr.  Gr.  §. 
cccxx.  2. 

176.  E/AE  d  OVKETL  (paGl  VL- 
eadcu,  “  and  they  say  that  I 
shall  no  more  return.”  It  is  to 
be  carefully  observed  that  the 
negative  belongs  to  vszadai,  not 
to  <{>aaL :  and  ou  (pppi  with  an 
infinitive  mood,  means,  “  I  say 
that  I  will  not  do  it,”  and  never, 
“  I  do  not  say  that  I  will  not 
do  it.” 

179.  v  k.  t.  X.  “  or  has 
he,  whoever  is  noblest  of  the 
Achaeans,  already  married  her.” 
The  active  voice  yaptziv  is  used 
when  speaking  of  a  man,  the 
middle  voice  yaptztadai,  of  a 
woman.  The  difference  is  very 

C ,  Q  / 

X  ^  i  eiX*X.‘il<rfioc.  l  ^ocX  C  rc%  —  ‘‘  ‘  ' ; 


£'Xoc,  -fa/y^L-V  ftr>" 

fsLy^Zty  H  4 


Oq  ,  £TCi'KcJ>  ;  Jlcya. 

OU  . 

toe,  ')CaC/'  H  " * 


ut  t*  y*  *  ’i  dc-Z . 

Zl^zr  o  $  (Zal  7&.  *{£<>{£ <^h.  /a.,c2  /tXtO-iy  •  /<_ 



;£  ^  ArastT'z^n’'',  ys 

/  ' 

aAty  vrc\\\  A&Xt  C0LAA  {/ ,  -*  //'te/’^K--  -yT  XaCj-C  ir'f  ■  ^X)  t 

y  c  /  •  v-  i  o  v  ’  <*_ 

•  C*~£  O-L^  t 

"/jXoTl  y  <x  __  (t  f/t't'jtceu.  /  .'  fcvlotvtf  A 

^  cA^kia/. _  /hte-  2y//3tjy  //L,  XIuaXCX.  /fyl.  /jJz 

jl  l  .  ’  //  ^  ,■/  ^  r-x 

\A  tJyyu<nu:  £&■/ *.  //tozP/Z'y  /&.  ^.4##: 


WJlfy  r  0  f  jyt-trff  ;  %  Ay^'raXt  ^'yn/  ■  —  -X  Jl  &/<;? 

‘&U-+K  y,>n+<~  XtA  &vc.f  /A  tyyt  y  /  x  *  0$  ,Xyt  S  <x 'f&f  JtyX  al, 

j  A .  e 

^qyoq  A-  </V*y€  \  Ztuy/Ccrz*.,  fry  .  ,V^<_  <2<>c%a?£  O-  ^UlcI 

j  s 

f3  <>  V- 1c&j ,  —  A'Xcucc  JazZcUJAi  '£x-y  £<?oot^f  6s  y 

f  /  /  •  ,  '*  j  jt  /  f  q 

TLytoujLoz  cy  <  ^  ft&jleq  A,  ;  /?-<>//  lO'/v . 

XLOYk  Ar?t-  <£(??■  It  A  sift  avXUs  tzvy£c^6y  ^ 

/t  tas  r  ft  £  z  as  f  jL-cy  c  ay 

oficvQ^c  XXl  Aci~y#a.  cA  sdz  aXfXays  _  aXctq  ZcryasX 
1  ^ryituj  v  Ar>-  ‘,/r  0]  ]y  f.<urs-  —  XAtsa^zXjty 

aLCfces  <?X  A  --cYZ  tii-  c  ~  OCv  £  cJ. 

//  ?l  ^IvUAc'  *  ^4r<^A-  -V 


0AY22EIA2  A.  180—196. 


hpdprjp'  rj  3’  avriK  dpsi^ETO  xorvLa  prjrrjp’  180 
Kai  Xit]v  ke'ipt]  ye  f. level  tetXt^oti  Qvpuj 
(roil o' iv  ivi  pEyapoioiv'  di£vpai  dl  ol  ahi 
(pOivovoiv  vvkteq  te  Kai  rj  para  daKpv^EOvop. 
odv  t)’  ov7T(o  rig  £)(€i  KaXop  ylpag"  aXXa  EKtiXog 
TrjXspa^og  TEplprj  reperai  Kai  dairag  iicrag  1 85 

haivvrai,  dg  etteoike  hiKaorzoXop  dpdp’  dXEyvvEiv' 

7r avTEQ  yap  koXeovoi.  Trarrjp  t)e  crog  avroOi  pipvEi 

dyptp,  ov()£  7 toXiv^e  KaripyEraC  ovcl  oi  svvai 

Zlpvia  Kai  x Xaivai  Kai  fnjysa  cnyaXoEvra’ 

a XX’  oye  X£~lH-a  l*£V  evSei  oQi  SpiZeg  ivi  oiKio  190 

iv  kovi  dyx<-  nvpog ,  /caica'  ds  XP04  eipara  eItuC 

avrap  ETrrjp  eXOpoi  Qlpog  reOaXvla  r  oiroopr], 

xdvTrf  oi  Kara  yovvov  aXiorjg  oivoTzlhoio 

(pvXXu)v  KEKXipEVOJV  x^a/^aXai  (^E^X-tjarai  Evvai * 

evO'  oye  ke~it  a’xew^,  ply  a  cl  (ppeoi  TrlvOog  ae£ei,  195 

crop  toot pov  yooiov’  xa^-£7ro^  d  £Vt  y rjpag  ikupsi. 

clearly  shown  in  verses  272, 
273,  of  this  hook.  There  was 
no  name  in  the  time  of  Homer 
which  comprehended  all  the 
inhabitants  of  Greece:  under 
the  title  of  ’A X“L0L)  or  Achae- 
ans,  were  included  only  the 
people  of  the  southern  part  of 

181.  Knivr),  “she,”  i.e.  your 
wife  Penelope. 

184.  aXXd  £K7)Xo s  TrfX.  x. 
t.  X.  “  But  Telemachus  pos¬ 
sesses  his  lands  in  peace,  and 
feasts  upon  equal  feasts,  with 
which  it  is  fitting  to  entertain 
a  judge  and  a  prince.”  as  is 
governed  by  /caxa'  understood, 
and  auSpa  is  the  accusative  case 

after  dXzyvvf.iv ;  and  the  pas-  ) 
sage  alludes  to  the  custom  of 
the  ancients  of  inviting  their  v 
princes  and  judges  to  all  their  \ 
public  entertainments.  The 
death  of  Anticlea  seems  to 
have  happened  prior  to  the 
intrusion  of  the  suitors,  and 
the  havoc  they  made  of  the 
substance  of  Ulysses. 

194.  KEnXipLEvcov,  “  strewed 
upon  the  ground,”  perf.  pass, 
part,  from  kXlvoo. 

(3E(3\iiaTcu,  3rd.  pers.  plur. 
of  the  perf.  pass,  of  (3d\\u >, 
for  {3e(3\iivt at,  which  is  for 
(3£(3Xrip.£vcu  ELoi.  Matth.  Gr. 
Gr.  §.  198. 


c  2 


0AY2ZEIA2  A.  197—213. 

uvrco  yap  /cat  iyiov  oXdprjv  /cat  tv orpov  etvecttvov’ 

ovte  ps  y  ev  peyapotatv  evvkotvoq  loyeaipa 

oig  ayavoiQ  ^eXeeggiv  ETvoiyppevr)  KarsTvetprEv' 

ovte  rig  ovv  fxoi  vovaog  ETvrjXvdev ,  rjrE  pdXiara  200 

rrjKeSovi  arvyepp  peXeivv  e^eiXeto  dvpor' 

a’XXa  pe  aog  te  t vodog  act  te  prjSea,  cfxxichp  OSvaaev, 

<rrj  r  dyavotypoavvr)  peXirjSea  dvpov  di vrjvpa.  -j. 

*£lg  eepar'  avrcip  eywy'  eQeXov  (ppeal  peppppi^ag 
pr)rpog  ipfjg  \pv%rjv  eXeelv  tcarareQvr]vir]g'  205 

rpig  plv  Ecpwppr/dpy,  eXeeiv  te  pe  dvpdg  dvdyei, 
rpig  Se  pot  ek  % Etpuir  aiarj  e'ikeXov  rj  /cat  ovEiptp 
ZTvrar'  zpoi  S'  dj/og  d£v  yzvzcrKETO  icppoOi  puXXov * 

/cat  pi v  cpiovriaag  evvea  wrepoevra  TvpocnyuSojv' 

Mijrrjp  epi),  ri  vv  p  ov  pipvEtg  eXeelv  pepawra,  210 
dippa  /cat  elv  ’ AiSao ,  cfiiXag  rvept  y/ipE  (3a Xovre 
tipcpoTEpio  KpvEpcno  rerapwiopEada  yooio  ; 
i]  rt  pot  e’lSooXov  rot)’  clyavrj  IIepc7£^)oj/£ta 

197.  “And  thus,”  i.e. 
through  grief  on  your  account. 
The  comparison  is  between  her 
grief  and  that  of  Laertes,  not 
between  the  effects  of  it.  His 
grief  enfeebles  and  wears  him 
out  gradually ;  hers  impelled 
her  at  once  to  an  act  of  des¬ 
peration.  She  is  silent,  how¬ 
ever,  concerning  the  manner  of 
her  death,  on  account  of  the 
guilty  nature  of  it,  which  would 
have  shocked  her  son,  had  she 
owned  it.  She  had  hanged 
herself  in  consequence  of  hear¬ 
ing  a  false  report  of  the  death 
of  Ulysses. 

202.  The  genitive  frequently 
expresses  the  object  of  an  ac¬ 
tion  or  feeling  expressed  in. 

another  noun,  and  is  used  ob¬ 
jectively,  as  in  Latin — a  rela¬ 
tion  which  in  English  is  some¬ 
times  expressed  by  preposi¬ 
tions;  as  '7ro0os  vlov,  desiderium 
filii,  not,  “thy  son’s  regret,” 
i.e.  which  the  son  feels,  but 
“regret  for  the  son.”  In  a 
similar  manner,  the  pronouns 
possessive  are  put  objectively, 
though  rarely,  in  the  same 
sense  ;  as  <ros  t roOos,  Od.  X.  201. 
not  “  thy  regret,”  but  “  my  re¬ 
gret  for  thee.”  Matth.  Gr.  Gr. 
§.  213  and  466,  ii. 

208.  ytvkcTKtTo,  Ionic  for 
iyevETo,  “  arose.” 

/udXXov,  “  more  (than  I  can 
speak.)  ” 

l5ll6KJc&(r  £<pcjcio 

1  ij  X+C  t  lt\£ 

Sir ,  huh.  -1 

V  .  ^ 


(\)  jr>i*c  '-*.»  *,£*■  * 


Jjy  A  /  <?/u 

.  /7  iCr  . 

cuffc.^  ^  **  • 

uy  oc'Y  <3  (f  Q^O  <T O  y  'if  Sok- Ycc  i-\~<-  S  <?/—  ^Jcuyi.  tr-iS(.  ~ZSin<. 

&  .  '  ;  /  I 

Q£*?t  Qj  *1/  (^^C.  ^  ’  SttyCcA^/.  Jnth.  Oil /t  Oil'  ^  aJ fa-G-cu  ptSC  -  -  C-c-u^ 

//u-SSj  A'^/S  £££  S''  C’/ftc.  uS  /* stif  ,  < /sM.c c<S  S&S,  £  hS#*-* 

6  r-  ji( ’J'iS.p-} l.  ,  w  .  *  '/7/tC  i  ’ it-  if  ‘  i-i  £  ■  y  i- S  <*■  :/ 

/  /  /  •  / .  -  /'  . 

/Cl^/C.  SucJ:  aClc.  /UCtfUr  —  ■-  '•', 

/  -  j  C  ^ 

..  /  4/  C  c  ' i :  r  ii,  ^  S’- ■£  Jcc. .  £&Zu-  ?  '•  2&*>T.  fat*.  a«.  iu.c^oc* 

%  / 

AA.Su.Tut  />r^  jut ru-  *4  f'*yre> 

7  t  /  ' 

ji-cu.  cj  /  OUA  cix.  0u-cJLc4.sC  S  , 

Jy  &  €f<?  f  ScJSy  t  SjSJSStj- ,  Jy?Z'£  tj  y^'  *  *-• 
^  ./  /  y  ' 

Cff<£^.w«  ^  ^  Ae4f/tis  S 

J  Ji  A*<-  yaZ^/acxZizc .  _  ,.  w?.v.  ,4" 

''  /  /  , 
o-j'Quup^  /  Ju.a  Afc  w  ___  'tsSjcc^Sbc  .  u  m  c-tuS  £<_  >  ! 



or  /ttKA/-<. 

ZaZti { 



: x*%Sotq>xco  7*  o6>A<_}hl  Qi^/s  •  c 

T  ,  __  ot&'&ij  ,  <K(f  X{ 

<>  —  <£  •-'  C4uu*>-  j  £  x/^y>,.  Jtff  —  */  z7 

1  -»  .'• 

^i'ec  AW :  f&T*. :  os  fec'c.  C\,rc  </o  scS,  rw  r  Kc  * 

//?  ;*i.  gf  /  £^r£.  /g£ . 

Po&jq  (pcoq  .  JQ//  *2i,  Sl;oc\~'  A^cf.  yccc^U^y 

7  $  / 

*- e,  l  s' Z  ij  z  q  ^  <n*~  y^7^-  oz^ltvc^^  <rt</  <*<? 

i  <r  £  a  <£  , 


x.oXX^i  (^  _  OCu^QL  f  Btjlco, 

%<Ll«.vo-0{  a_  oUa-Z^c.  £*^<oS^.  ^ 

f()f«.auM.  *3  /  ^  ■  "V  t , 


?Kry  -  ^  ri  ?  -  t^c  ^-cZ  .  i  %~yo>uJi;  V  or  'O  _,  v '*'  ».* 

A  / 

?Vi  <j  I  ^VX  V- 

i^-LuJ-  ,  £'/•  ^  i  ^ c  ,  £  l/Ca-  4 
»  * 

0AY22EIA2  A.  214—233. 


<orpvy’,  ocpp’  krt  pciWov  odvpopEVog  (Treva^i^u) ; 

*£lg  icpdprjv’  rj  c)’  avrlie  dpei/deTO  noma  prjrrip’  215 

id  l XOi ,  TEKVOV  e/JLOV,  7TEpi  ndvTiOV  KappopE  (p(OT(OV, 

ovn  <te  UspaEcpovEia,  Atog  dvydrrjp,  an a(pioKEi, 

ciXX’  avTf]  diKT]  ierrl  (3por(dv,  ote  kev  te  dartoffiv' 

ov  yap  ETi  ffdpieag  te  iea\  dffrka  ivsg  ’k^ovcrir, 

aXXa  ret  pkv  te  nvpog  lepctTEpov  pkvog  a Wopkvoto  220 

dapva,  ettel  ke  npiora  \inr)  \evic  6 area  Qvpog' 

ilvx?]  yvr  ovetpog  dnonrapkvri  nenorprat' 

a’XXa  (bo (off be  ra^tora  XiXateo*  ravra  he  ndvra 

’ lffO\  tV a  /ecu  pETontffQe  TErj  E’tnyjffOa  yvvaud. 

Nan  pkv  a>£  inEEfffftv  dp£ifiopE&'  at  Sk  yvyaiieeg  225 
r/Xvdov — (orpvvEV  yap  ayavrj  Ilcptre^oVeia — 
dffffai  dpiffTi](ov  dXoxpt  kffav  rfee  dvyarpEg’ 
al  <T  apef  aipet  teeXatvov  doXXkeg  ijyEpkOovro. 
avrdp  eyed  (3ovXevov,  dnoog  epkoipt  EKaffrpv' 
rjde  <kk  pot  Kara  Ovpov  dpiffrr]  (paivETO  (3ovXr]‘  230 

ffnaffffdpevog  ravvrjKEg  dop  nax^og  napd  pr]pov 
ovie  e’Icjv  7 TiEEtv  dpa  ndffctg  a l pa  KEXatvov. 
at  c)£  7rpopvrjffT~ivat  knrjiffctv ,  r/3e  kiedffTTj 

216.  KUflfJLOpi,  for  KaKOpOpt, 
i.e.,  “ill-fated,  un¬ 
fortunate  ;  ”  nspl  “  beyond, 
above  all  men.” 

218.  aXX’  avTtj  fiiKt]  icrnl, 
“  but  this  is  the  lot  of  mortals, 
when,  &c.”  Al/cri  is  used  in 
the  same  sense.  Od.  xiv.  59. 
where  Eumaeus  says,  “  I  have 
but  little  to  give  to  you  ;  tj  yap 
epuxtiv  Siiai  £cn-t,  for  this  (viz. 
to  have  but  little,)  is  the  lot 
of  servants.” 

220.  ffd  plv  “these,”  i.e. 
capKas,  te  Kal  Santa,  opposed 
to  fi’  in  v.  222.  When 

the  particle  ptv  in  one  clause, 
has  fit  corresponding  to  it  in 
another,  it  is  not  to  be  trans¬ 
lated  into  English ;  net  ptv, 
“  these,”  (not  “  these  indeed,”) 
....  ([si’XV  “  but  the  soul.” 

223.  XtXatEo,  (for  XiAatoi/, 
imperat.  of XiXalopai,)  “  desire, 
i.  e.  strive  to  come  to  the  light ;  ” 
iKtadai  is  understood. 

233.  npopvrianlvai ,  “one 
after  another;”  the  Greek 
scholiast  says,  npoptvtnlvoi,  oi 
TrpoptvovT&s  dXXpXous,  /cat  pd 
dpa  'irdvTt's  npoiovat’s ;  “those 
who  wait  for  one  another,  and 
c  3 


0AY22EIA2  A.  234— 251, 

oy  yovov  e£a ybpevev'  eyu>  8’  epeeivov  ct7ra<rae* 

E yd  TfTOL  7 rpiorriv  Tvpuj  ’ibov  £V7rarepeiav, 
(pdro  SaXpiovrjoQ  dfivnovoq  etcyoyog  eivat , 
<pij  be  Kj orjOrjog  yvyrj  epifxevaL  A loXibao' 

rj  IT orapov  rjpdaaar,  ’ JLynrrjog  Oeioio, 

bg  7 roXv  KaXXurrog  7 TOTcifiujy  iirl  yata y  'Ipdiy’ 

Kai  p  ex  ’EvinrjoG  7 rwXecrKero  Ku\d  petdpa * 
r<5  8’  dp ’  eeiadfxevog  ya ipoyog  ’ Eyyocriyaiog 
iv  7 rpoyorjg  irorafxov  TvapeXelaro  bivrjevrog' 
Tropcpvpeov  b ’  a  pa  Kv/ia  irepirrrdOrf,  ovpe’i  laov, 
KvprcjOev'  icpvxpev  be  deoy  Ovrjrrjv  re  yvvaJ/ca. 
[Xvcre  be  rrapdeyirjy  ^ujypv,  Kara  8’  xnrvov  e^evev.} 
avrdp  £7 tel  p  ireXecrcre  Oeog  (piXorijcna  epy a, 

3/  19/  *  •  ~  \  *f  »  */  ,  *  Ilf  y 

tv  r  a/ja  oi  (pv  X£lPl  f7r°C  r  e#c  r  ovofia^ev* 

Xulpe,  yvvai,  <piX6rrjTi ,  TrepcKXofxeyov  c  iviavrov 
T£l,£iq  a’yXaa  tekv a'  errei  ovtc  aTrotytoXiOL  evv at 
dOaydrojy'  av  be  rovg  KOfieeLV  drLTaXXejjievai  re. 
vuv  8 ’  epx£U  7r| bd>p.a  /cat  tayeo,  p,r]b'  ovo/jnjvflG’ 





go  not  all  at  once,  but  one  after 
another;”  from  irpop-zvco,  or 
7T pofxevfw,  f.  vz<roo,  and  Vl}(TOO  ; 
from  which  last  form  comes 
Tr^o/tEio/a-Tii/os,  and  by  syncope, 

'TrpOp.V1](TTrLVO S. 

234.  ot»  yovov  z^ay.  “  told 
me  accurately  of  her  family,” 
i.  e.  of  what  family  she  was 
born  ;  yovo?,  which  in  general 
signifies  “a  son,  a  descendant,” 
here  means,  “a  race,  or  family;” 
as  in  Od.  xix.  166.  ovk  W 
aTroXXfi^Ets  tov  zp.ov  yovov  t£z- 
pzovaa ;  “  will  you  not  yet 

cease  asking  me  of  my  birth, 
or  parentage  ?  ” 

236.  V  (pctTo  ....  iicyovos 
ilvat,  “who  said  that  she  was 

the  daughter  . ”  Here 

z.K.yovo<i  is  the  nominative  case, 
according  to  the  rule  given  v. 
30  -j  if  Ulysses  had  said,  “  she 
told  me  that  some  one  else  was 
the  daughter  ....”  it  would 
have  been  ixyovov. 

239.  'ir\criv,  sc.  vSwp,  “sends 
forth  its  water,”  i.e.  “flows.” 

244.  KvpTtvOti/,  “curled  over 
them,  like  an  arched  or  vaulted 
bridal  chamber.” 

247.  iv  t’  oi  pa  ol  cpv  X£lPl> 
“and  he  grew  to  her  hand,” 
i.  e.  “  his  hand  grew,  as  it  were, 
to  hers,  so  heartily  did  he  clasp 
it.”  ’Evzfpv,  imperf.  from 

£  V  Jc'OL  Z  ?/  ^  . 

JZcoX  9c  O^oc 

iftol  t  <?' /sC  oc  l 

s  / 

7e ^Ale^rcc^c^A , 

y?£0)coi ?  /&£■  0*i<ru^7  A  /tr&r- 

n  /  . 

/tvp?o$  Ao/oJ- ,  Ctou^coc . 

i&c  ,  oq>zX  o<;  __  (r>  <*fto  $(ol  to .  £c  e  ,  *hj^i*£a 

9c  ojt, c  £6J  /  ^  - 

ZFlZuIAco  d  hour  $L&.c<xXUj  ,  /***-%,  *  *c  ^  *^cfe 

/!•?<»  <£  <y„  X ^Zyyu^tr-). Sf  A9tXf  •>  -  *  <-< 

7  '  ' 

/A~*-' c<, 

ca  C-£*--t  t  i'L  Cy^X-  C  W"  *C  A  '  ^ 

.'<  o-r  -  '-  .  '  <_  <*v 

^  / 


Vjto  co 




ftcXvc,  at^'h-v'  —  £*d-X"  /^c  S^yC. 

<  / 

^  ^ a:  ^  ij  0^~tZX  . 


<*y%-okYqf  acy 




ju  c  -ycj 


£/  £_ 

K'tCi(^jl  ^ 

OAYSSEIAS  A.  252—2 70. 


avrap  eyio  roi  eI/u  Uoaetijdwv  evoai^dojv. 

*£lg  zhviov  vtto  ttovtov  zdvaaro  Kvuaivovra . 
t)  d  vTiOKVtjapsvr]  II eX'l^v  teke  ml  N^Xpa* 

Tio  Kpcirepio  OepaTrovre  A loq  psyaXoio  yevea Ot)v  255 

(ifMpOTzpio *  HeXirjQ  pzv  eV  Evpvyopu)  ’IawXtcw 
vale  TcoXvppfirjvoQ'  d  d  ap  eV  IIvA&>  ijpaOoevTL. 
tovq  (T  trepovg  K pr]0i)i  tekzv  (jcutiXeici  yvrcuKuiv , 

A'taovd  t  rjde  ^eppr’  ’ Afxvdaovd  O'  'nrKioyctpfir)V' 

Tr/v  c>e  jueV’  ’ AvTLOTrtjv  ’idov,  ’AcaoTrcuo  Ovyarpa ,  2GQ 
p  (5r)  *cai  Atoc  zv-^Er  ev  dyKOLvrjcrLV  lavcraC 
ml  p  etekev  dvo  Tra~ic\  ’ Aptyiovdi  te  ZrjOov  re, 
ot  vpuiTOt  Q{i(3rjg  eSoq  EKTirrav  zTrrarrvXoLO, 

Tvvpywadv  r  *  eVei  ov  pzv  divvpywrov  y’  zdvvavro 
VCUE[JIZV  EVpV')(OpOV  Qljj3r]V,  KpCI.TEpiO  7 T£p  EOVTE.  265 

Tpv  be  jueV  ’AX/Cjupvpv  ic)ov,  ’A pfpirpvcjyot;  dmiriy, 
rj  p  HpakXpa  Opaavpzpvova,  OvpoXzovra, 
yzivar,  eV  dyicoivijai  A  toe  jueyaXoto  fiiyE~icra' 

<ai  Meyappv,  Kpe/ovro?  vffEpOvfioio  Ovyarpa , 

rpv  e^ev  ’ Ap^trpvojyog  vlog,  /jlevoq  a ?eV  drziprjQ.  27 0 

251.  ngXiijs.  After  the  death 
of  Cretheus,  Pelias  unjustly 
took  possession  of  the  kingdom 
of  Iolchos,  which  by  right  be¬ 
longed  to  iEson,  the  son  of 
Cretheus.  When  afterwards 
Jason,  iEson’s  son,  came  to 
Iolchos  and  asserted  his  right 
to  the  crown,  Pelias,  conscious 
that  his  claims  were  well  found¬ 
ed,  and  wishing  therefore  to 
divert  his  attention,  told  him 
that  he  would  voluntarily  re¬ 
sign  the  crown  to  him,  if  he 
would  go  to  Colchis  to  avenge 
the  death  of  Phryxus,  the  son 
of  Athaenas,  whom  iEetes  had 

cruelly  murdered;  and -this 
gave  rise  to  the  celebrated  ex¬ 
pedition  of  the  Argonauts. 

269.  M eydprjv.  Megarawas 
the  daughter  of  Creon  king  of 
Thebes,  given  in  marriage  to 
Hercules,  because  he  had  de¬ 
livered  the  Thebans  from  the 
tyranny  of  the  Orchomenians. 
Some  years  afterwards,  Hercu¬ 
les  being  rendered  delirious  by 
Juno,  who  was  displeased  with 
him  on  account  of  the  murder 
of  Lycas,  killed  Megara  and 
the  three  children  he  had  by 
her  in  a  fit  of  madness,  think-* 
ing  them  to  be  wild  beasts. 


0AY2SEIA2  A.  271—283. 

WrjTepa  t  Oi7nroccto  ' icov ,  KciXr/p  E^ucatm?*', 
rj  peya  epyov  epe^ev  di^peipai  vooio, 
yrjpapevrj  a>  vle~i'  6  B’  ov  i rarep  et,£vapi^ag 
yrjpev.  ctcpcip  o’  dvciTTvara  Oeol  deaav  dvOpuinoiaiv. 
aW  o  fie v  iv  Q{]j3rj  TroXvppdrM  dXyea  Trdayjjjv  275 

K aBpeiiov  rp>a aae  Oeivv  oXoaQ  (ha  /3ovXdg’ 
jj  B  e/3p  elg  ’A iBao  7rvXdprao  KparepoTo, 
axpapevp  (jpo-^ov  ahrvv  d(f  vif^pXoio  peXdOpov, 

<v  ^XopLevp'  tu)  cT  dXyea  KaXXnr  oV/crera* 

TToXXd  pdX\  oaaa  re  pprpog  ’ Epivveg  eKTeXeovcnv.  280 
Kai  XX<5j oiVf  eloov  TrtpiKaXXea’  rpy  tt ore  N rjXevg 
yrjpev  idv  Bid  icdXXog ,  ettei  7 rope  pvpia  edva, 
o^Xorarpy  Kovppv  ’A/jl (jiiovog  ’I aaiBao, 

272.  v  fJLsya  epyov  eps^s v, 
“  who  committed  a  heinous 
crime.”  "Epyov  is  used  in  the 
same  sense  book  xii.  373,  where 
Ulysses  says,  oi  o'  tTapoi.  ply  a 
spyov  Ip-ifriaavTo,  “  but  my 
companions  have  perpetrated 
a  great  crime,”  viz.  in  slaying 
the  oxen  which  wrere  consecrat¬ 
ed  to  Phoebus.  Epicasta  is  more 
generally  known  by  the  name 
of  Jocasta. 

273 — 4.  ynpaplvp  ....  yrj- 
p.E v.  The  distinction  between 
the  active  and  middle  voices  of 
yaplur  is  very  clearly  marked  in 
these  two  lines.  See  note  on 
v.  179. 

27 5.  TroXvppctTw  (from  7roA.1l 
and  Epctu>)  “  very  lovely,”  or 
(from  71-0X0  and  dpd )  “  very 
much  to  be  prayed  for,  very 
desirable.”  But  dpd  signifies 
“  a  curse,”  and  “a  misfortune,” 
as  well  as  “a  prayer;”  and 
Damm  thinks  that  the  context 
requires  'jroXwppd.TM  here  to 
mean  Trj  ttoXXccs  dpds,  i.  e.(3Xa- 

/3as,  OeoOev  viropiELvdcrij,  “which 
has  suffered  many  curses  or 
misfortunes  from  the  gods.” 

277.  els  ’A tSao,  sc.  dopov, 
“  to  Pluto’s  abode.”  The  word 
which  governs  the  genitive  is 
often  wanting.  These  words 
are,  besides  1 no's,  e.  g.  Qovkv6l- 
Sps  6  ’ OXopov ,  especially  oIkos 
or  otopa,  ex.  gr.  Od.  ii.  19 5.  pn- 

TEpa  rj v  Is  TruTpos  avcoyETOj 

dirovEsadaL,  “  let  him  bid  his 
mother  return  to  her  father’s.” 
Matth.  Gr.  Gr.  §.  379. 

278.  axpapEvr]  fipoxpv  ai - 
ttvv,  “  having  fastened  a  noose 
on  high.”  Euripides,  in  his 
tragedy  of  the  Phoenician  Vir¬ 
gins,  says  that  Jocasta  went 
out  of  the  city  of  Thebes  with 
the  intention  of  preventing  her 
sons  Eteocles  and  Polynices 
from  fighting  ;  but  coming  too 
late,  and  finding  that  they  had 
slain  each  other,  in  a  paroxysm 
of  grief  she  seized  the  sword  of 
one  of  them  and  killed  herself. 

’uti'iqci  ol  x  ID x 

//!,  *?  <r->-Cc.  t.<-CCs 

/  / 

£  ^  £  YX(^  L  ^  .  sti  'y^-4~t-£ . 

/  S  S  '  Jf  ‘  r  ■  s  / 

S  /f'/t^TcsT*-.  1/  c 

Oi  YX&tfS 

///?','  *  _^r  • 

2e  $  /UO'/ucr^.  //i  &■£</&<?  a£.s 

'  f  f 

tiJloc  <;  z\tc.  l  . 

i£&J.  'Ij  &f>£o  _ _  Atx  /<&&  --/#*/& M/l-i 


/'*r.  ..  //U  r/a/£  -  yV<v>».  *- 



Xi/Z  V  fry/uJ  o£  Ti:  &  ? 

*  y  y’  ( 

/-■LVDLOr  .y##  -  /*<-  ra.£  l>  .  ■//t',-.-UA.t' 

^  /  /  ‘ 


CaXo^  thyo-'f-  w  ■£/ i/5LC  qoO^Si  iol  f?TCo 

/I.  A 

/  ,  ™  /  /a-  yt-^y<^A- 

'**ri~'1  •'/-  <^L  rtftA  9*y  ^  ■ 

*'■  •'"•••  “''• 

CiaL°  **»  A  /y*  '  ^ 

<Wf  Si 




S/t-c  /ry  ,  .  /  y 

i  / 

*  O'  * -  ^  £  or  ^  '  ,-  , 

,  /W  ^  J 

’/  /  sa  4  ,  y~  /*c  q  ?y  u-(A.9^> 

VVV^ocx;  cc 

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^  AyL±4L  &  c*-*f 

Je. _ / 

.sx/  i£*~>  £, 


a  „  yjLt. 

j£_  '  "  y 

>  (-CCXA-  &t.. 

/  ^  "v 



L-  T 

0AY22EIA2  A.  284—301. 


og  7 tot  iv  'Opxp/jiEvu)  M Lvvrj'icp  lepi  avaaaev' 

>/  ds  IIuXov  /3 aaiXevE,  tekev  M  ol  dyXaa  reicva, 
Nioropa  te  Xpoyutov  te  UspitAv /jlevov  r’  dyspwyov.  ^ 
rotai  o’  ett  i(pdlfir]v  Upped  teke,  Qavfia  fiporoienv, 

Tt]V  TrdvTEg  fXVbJOVTO  7 TEpiKTLTCU'  OvSe  Tl  N T]XeVQ 

Tuj  eSiSov ,  oV  ju/y  sXiKag  j3oag  Evpv/jLETCoTrovg 
ek  <&vXctKr)g  iXdasiE  joirjg  ’IcpiKXpeipg 
a’pyaXeag*  rag  d'  olog  vTreayETO  fxdvng  djxvfiwv 
efcXaav*  'yaXs'Krj  ds  Oeov  Kara  MoTp’  ETridpuEV, 
dEcrfxot  t  apyaXsoi  /cai  (jovkoXol  aypoLcHrut. 
dXX ’  ore  tb)  fipvEg  re  /cat  p/jispai  e^eteXevvto , 
a\p  7T epiTEXXo/UEVOV  ETEOQ  /Ctt'l  ETTpXvdoV  Jpat, 

/cat  rore  ()//  fiiv  eXvge  flip  ’1 (pucXpsip, 
dEffcpara  Travr  Enrovra'  Atog  d’  eteXeieto  fiovXp. 

Kat  Apdpv  eidov,  ty)v  T vvdapeov  7rapa/cotrtv, 

7/  p’  V7TI)  T VPCapEM  Kpa.T£p6(ppOVE  y eivcito  Trends, 
Kdoropd  0’  Imrodafiov  /cat  ttvH,  ayadov  UoXvdsvK£a‘ 
rovg  dfj.(^h)  £cjovg  /care^et  tyveri^oog  ata* 





290.  /3t ’I<pi/cAqEnjs,  “  of 
the  powerful  Iphiclus.”  The 
substantives  /Sta,  is,  /ntvos,  are 
very  frequently  used  in  circum¬ 
locution  ;  as  /3it)  'HpaKXjjgO/,  t 
Aivtiao  fill],  l<3  T ^Xe/xcc^olo, 
k.  t.  X.  for  Hjoa/cXi/s,  Aiveias, 
Tj/Xt/xaxos,  but  with  the  colla¬ 
teral  idea  of  “strength”  or 
“power,”  as  in  Latin  ;  Perru- 
pit  Acheronta  Herculeus  labor. 
Hor.  Od.  i.  3.  36.  Narratur  et 
prisci  Catonis  saepe  mero  calu- 
isse  virtus.  Id.  Od.  iii.  21.  11. 
See  Matth.  Gr.  Gr.  §.  430.  6. 

291.  (xavTis  dfxv/j.(DV,  Me- 
lampus.  His  brother  Bias, 
who  was  one  of  the  suitors  of 

Pero,  engaged  him  to  steal  the 
oxen  of  Iphiclus  and  deliver 
them  to  him.  Melampus  was 
caught  in  the  attempt  and 
imprisoned,  and  nothing  but 
his  services  as  a  soothsayer  and 
a  physician  to  Iphiclus,  would 
have  saved  him  from  death. 
However,  after  a  year  he  so 
much  pleased  Iphiclus  by  ex¬ 
plaining  to  him  certain  myste¬ 
rious  oracles,  ( dtcrepaaa  7raW’ 
E’nrovTa,)  that  he  not  only  ob¬ 
tained  his  liberty,  but  the  oxen 
also,  and  with  them  he  compel¬ 
led  Neleus  to  give  Pero  in  mar¬ 
riage  to  Bias. 


0AY22EIA2  A.  302—311. 

oi  Kal  vepdev  y rjg  rtfirjv  7rpdg  Zrjvog  eyovTEQ 
dXXoTE  /UEV  £wOV(T  ETEpi'l/J-EpOL ,  ClXXoTE  d’  CIV7E 
TEdvuffiv'  Tiprjv  de  AeXoy^acr  iaa  Qedlmv. 

Tt/v  dk  fiET  '  1(f)  i/xld  stay,  ’AX ojfjog  -rrapaKOLTLy ,  305 

e'laridoy,  rj  dr)  (pdcrKE  II oGEiddiovL  piyrjyai' 

Kal  p  etekev  dvo  7ra7c>£,  [xiyvvdadiio  di  yEVEcrdrjv, 

’Qroy  t  avridtov ,  tt)XekXelt6v  t  ’E (j)LdXrr)v' 

ovg  dy  [ir)Ki(TTOvg  OpexfsE  ^eidojpog ” Apovpci 

Kal  7 toXv  KaXXitTTOvg,  fiercL  yE  kXvtov  ’Optiova.  310 

EWEOjpoL  yap  roiys  Kal  EvvEaniiyEEg  r)crav 

303.  clXXote  fxiv  X,coovcr’  STE- 
pi’lfxepoi,  “at  one  time  live,  and 
again  at  another  time  are  dead, 
on  alternate  days.”  Castor 
having  been  slain  by  Idas, 
Pollux  avenged  his  death  by 
killing  Idas ;  and,  as  he  was 
immortal  and  tenderly  attached 
to  hisbrotlier,he  entreated  Jupi¬ 
ter  to  restore  Castor  to  life, or  to 
he  deprived  himself  of  immor¬ 
tality.  Jupiter  permitted  Castor 
to  share  the  immortality  of  his 
brother  ;  and  consequently,  as 
long  as  the  one  was  upon  earth, 
so  long  was  the  other  in  the  infer¬ 
nal  regions,  and  they  alternate¬ 
ly  lived  and  died  every  day. 
Thus  the  mythologist  allegoriz¬ 
ed  the  alternate  appearance 
and  disappearance  of  the  two 
stars  called  Castor  and  Pollux, 
one  of  which  declines  into  the 
southern  hemisphere,  while  the 
other  is  seen  in  ours. 

305.  ’I  (pLpiSEiav,  Iphime- 
dia,  the  daughter  of  Triopas, 
and  wife  of  the  giant  Aloeus, 
was  the  mother  of  Otus  and 
Ephialtes.  These  two  formed 
the  scheme  of  dethroning  Ju¬ 
piter,  and  to  attain  their  object 

placed  Ossa  and  Pelion  upon 
Olympus.  From  thence  they 
menaced  the  gods  of  heaven; 
presumed  to  demand  the  com¬ 
pany  of  Juno  and  Diana  ;  and 
bound  Mars  for  thirteen  months 
with  chains,  in  a  prison  of  brass, 
for  having  resisted  their  pro¬ 
ceedings.  The  gods  finding  it 
impossible  to  overcome  them  by 
force,  Diana  changed  herself 
into  a  dog,  and  bounded  upon 
them,  while  in  the  act  of  driv¬ 
ing  their  chariot.  This  expe¬ 
dient  had  the  desired  effect; 
for  Otus  and  Ephialtes,  in  at¬ 
tempting  to  discharge  their  ar¬ 
rows  at  the  supposed  dog,  kill¬ 
ed  each  other,  and  were  preci¬ 
pitated  by  Apollo  into  Tartarus. 

310.  p.E'rct  yi  kXvtou  ’O p'lw- 
va ,  “at  least  next  to  the  cele¬ 
brated  Orion.”  Orion,  the 
son  of  Neptune  and  Euryale, 
daughter  of  Minos,  was  famous 
for  his  beauty  and  gigantic  sta¬ 
ture.  With  an  accusative  p-etcc 
frequently  signifies  “  after, 
next  to.”  oi  vop.oi  /xexa  tovs 
0£Oi)s  crco^ovcn  ttoXlv,  “  the  laws 
after  the  gods  preserve  the 

ytir  v  r  fioL  ,  Ajfo.  /tTf**~  y.c  nrt/<;  f  — 


O^  A ~  . 

y  /  ^  s*  ^ 

]i<9~tVp0t?  AzSZFZtU!^-  ^/~  i^LL<Si  ,  ^  ?1L  ,  .  yyifccushi, 

JiTh-tA.  </<JLy  !’  /c  £  %.  o  f  /U-cy/Cf. 

>  '  ,  /,  ^-/  4 

tyre  fi,'fff$ 

a.  {  7&c  £-  c  .' 

/  ✓ 



o  e  y  'i  x 




i  H  2~u) 

ffiJkin*.  ;  y/ta_^ 

>  , 

£  /cj  , 

**.tiA,<chv  4* W  4r  txia*^ 

rjf  n'  '  ’  -;  '  -  **"•“  *  *Mbt; 

*****  *Y  ~ 



•*'  *iv™'  - 
<-*lo:  o/c^j  isul.  . 

'  ' - ^ 

,&  u*yC4 ,  Aftet*,-,  J  4  ,4-  4&3g.' 

/  <?7V? 

y  ZtO'it-  ;  C/Zccs  farter# 

Si^\  v  lt  /sv-rt  >  Sl&^ry  /t'y^q  c4^>l  . 

0AYS2EIA2  A.  312—323. 


£vpoc>  arap  firjKog  ye  yevea dijv  ivveopyvioi. 
oi  pa  Kal  dOardroLfnv  d7reiXr]Tr]v  ev  ’OXy/nro) 

(pvXoTnfia  GTYjaeLV  7roXvdiicoQ  -koXe/xoio' 
uO(T(mv  eV  OvXvfi,7r(i)  fiefiaaav  Oe/iev,  avrap  ett  Offer)  315 
Tlr]Xiov  elvooLtyvXXov,  tv  ovpavdg  d^ifdarog  e’Itj. 

Kal  vv  Ktv  ifcreXecraav,  el  rjflrig  fxerpov  'Ikovto' 
aXX ’  oXecrev  A idg  vlug,  ov  rjvKOfxog  teke  Arjrw, 
apaporepit),  7r piv  a<p(d’v  vtto  Kporatyoicnv  lovXovg 
avOrjaai  nvKaaai  te  yevvg  EvavOei  Xd^vr],  320 

re  II poKpiv  te  'dov  KaXrjv  r  Apidbvr]Vy 
Kovprjv  M/vwoc  oXo6(pporog,  rjv  7 tote  Orjaevg 
ek  Kj orjTr]g  eg  yovvov  ’A drjvaiov  lepacov 

315.  ocrcrav  eV’  OvXv/unrw. 
Strabo  takes  notice  of  this 
judgment  of  Homer  in  placing 
the  mountains  in  this  order : 
they  all  stand  in  Macedonia; 
Olympus  is  the  largest,  and 
therefore  he  makes  it  the  basis 
on  which  Ossa  stands,  that 
being  next  to  Olympus  in  mag¬ 
nitude  ;  and  Pelion  being  the 
least,  is  placed  above  Ossa ; 
and  thus  they  rise  pyramidical- 
ly.  Virgil  follows  a  different 
regulation.  See  iEn.  vi.  784. 

316.  tivo(TL<pvXXov ,  literally, 
“shaking  its  leaves,”  which 
may  either  imply  “  leafy, 
woody,”  or  “lofty  and  exposed 
to  the  wind  which  shakes  the 
leaves.”  The  latter  is  the  in¬ 
terpretation  given  by  Damm. 

317.  si  ij[3r ]S  /ULET-pOV,  “to 
manhood.”  On  these  words 
Ernesti  says:  ptTpov  e st 
ipsa  pubertas,  ut  peTpa  OaXda- 
<rvs,  ipsum  mare. 

321.  ^aiSprjv.  Phaedra, 
daughter  of  Minos  and  Pasi- 

phae,  and  wife  of  Theseus.  Her 
attachment  to  Hippolytus  has 
been  a  favourite  subject. ..... 

which  she  effected  by  hanging 
herself,  p.  323.  line  6 — 17. 

UpoKpiv.  Procris,  daughter 
of  Erectheus,  king  of  Athens, 
and  wife  of  Ceplialus,  king  of 
Thessaly.  She  ultimately  fell 
a  victim  to  the  jealousy  excited 
by  her  fondness  for  her  hus¬ 
band,  who,  she  had  been  in¬ 
formed,  was  in  tbe  habit  of 

visiting . (Ovid’s  Met. 

b.  vii.  p.323,  line  37 — 44.) 

’ApiaSvrjv.  Ariadne,  daughter 
of  Minos  and  Pasiphae,  and  sis¬ 
ter  of  Phaedra,  became  ena¬ 
moured  of  Theseus,  when  he 
visited  that  country  for  the  pur¬ 
pose  of  destroying  the  Mino¬ 
taur,  and,  by  some  ingenious 
contrivance  with  a  clue  of 
thread,  enabled  him,  after  kill¬ 
ing  that  monster,  to  extricate 
himself  from  the  labyrinth. 
Theseus  married  Ariadne,  and 
then,  accompanied  by  her,  left 
Crete  for  Athens.  Their  ship 


0AY22EIA2  A.  324—334. 

r)ye  fXEV,  ovl'  an toptjto'  napog  he  fiiy’'  AprE/ug  etcra 
An/  ev  a/uKpipvTy,  A lovvaov  fxaprvpirjffLy ,  325 

Ma/pay  te  K.XvfXEvrjy  te  t(W  arvyeprjy  r  ’Ej oajivXpy, 
f)  ‘xpvcrov  <f>iXov  clySpog  i^i^aro  nprjeyra. 

7rdaag  c  ovk  dy  iy a>  /jLvOrjao/jLai  ovS’  oyofxrjyw, 

ocrcrag  ypioioy  dXo\ovg  ’idoy  //£)£  Ovyarpag' 

irpiv  yap  kev  kul  yv£  (pO~ir  d/jflporog'  a’XXa  /cat  wprj  330 

ev^eiv,  rj  E7rl  yfj a  dorjy  iXOdyr  ig  kratpovg 

3?  avrov’  7rop7rrj  t)e  Qto~ig  v/uy  te  /LiEXrjoret. . 

r£lg  E(par‘  at  o  dpa  TrdvTEg  dn]y  iyEvovTO  aiw-nrij' 
KpXrjdpap  3’  ECjyovTO  Kara  fxiyapa  a KiOEvra. 

however  was  driven  to  Dia,  an 
island  near  Crete,  afterwards 
called  Naxos,  which  was  sacred 
to  Bacchus.  Bacchus  accused 
Ariadne  to  Diana  of  having  re¬ 
ceived  the  embraces  of  Theseus 
in  his  temple  there,  and  the 
goddess  punished  her  with 

324.  vys  fitv,  “  he  was  tak¬ 
ing  her,  he  attempted  to  take 
her.”  The  imperfect  is  very 
frequently  used  in  the  sense  of 
a  wish  or  attempt  to  do  any 

326.  Malpav.  Mera  was 
daughter  of  Prsetus  and  the 
nymph  Ausia,  and  one  of  the 
companions  of  Diana.  While 
she  was  attending  the  goddess 
in  the  chase,  she  was  carried 
off  by  Jupiter  under  the  form 
of  Minerva  ;  whereupon  Diana 
being  irritated  by  the  circum¬ 
stance,  shot  the  nymph  with 
her  arrows,  and  changed  her 
into  a  dog. 

KXu/xeVijv.  Clymene  was 
daughter  of  Minyas,  and  mo¬ 
ther  of  the  famous  Atalanta, 

who  distinguished  herself  so 
much  at  the  chase  of  the  Caly- 
donian  boar,  which  had  been 
sent  to  Diana  to  ravage  the  do¬ 
minions  ofCEneus,  king  ofCaly- 
don  in  iEtolia. 

’EpicpvXiiv.  Eriphyle,  sister 
of  Adrastus,  king  of  Argos, 
married  Amphiaraus.  When 
her  husband  concealed  himself 
that  he  might  not  accompany 
the  Argives  in  their  expedition 
against  Thebes,  where  he  knew 
he  was  to  perish,  Eriphyle  suf¬ 
fered  herself  to  be  bribed  by 
Polynices  with  a  golden  neck¬ 
lace,  and  discovered  where 
Amphiaraus  was.  This  treache¬ 
ry  of  Eriphyle  compelled  him 
to  go  to  the  war ;  but  before  he 
departed,  he  charged  his  son 
Alcmseon  to  murder  his  mother 
as  soon  as  he  was  informed  of 
his  death.  Amphiaraus  perished 
in  the  expedition,  and  his  death 
was  no  sooner  known  than  his 
last  injunctions  were  obeyed, 
and  Eriphyle  was  murdered  by 
the  hands  of  her  son. 

„  >•  ->  9  aj  ft 0~v f  y  u  i*~  L 

t&oY-n  e«  A  **"'■■  -  ^ 

,,£  A  ^  X  ^  ^  ^  ^  *“  /^''/  ^ 

inr'te,,  **  ^  A--A  ^  ^ 





■&.**■  &?  A*y  Sa£y *.*£**. 

VfcC'tf-  &*-  'A''*'  ^^***^‘ 

acx-h  V  ■  41  1  ^*£'1  ' 

-f«aou« ,  £ 

tct1!t  a>l& .  j.  , 

■  F  ‘i  ”  it>.  c\u. 

.*4  4  •  i 


jos  ertj 

?'■  >  ,0-K 

Jon  ‘>b 


.  rm  os 
j\r  ]■.  sort 

QAY22EIA2  A.  335—344. 


roiuiv  S’  ’A prjrrf  XevkojXevoq  i/p^Ero  fivOiov'  S3 5 

<$>airiK£g ,  7 r<j)Q  vfifuv  dvrjp  obe  <paiv£Tai  eivai 
iiSog  te  fiEyedog  te  Ice  (ppevag  evbov  Haag  ; 

c,£~lVOQ  <T  CLVT  EpLOQ  EffTlV  *  EKCICFTOQ  <T  EfXfjLOpE  Tip.r\g% 

rw  pnrj  iTTELyofiEvoi  d'lroTTEix'KETE ,  fxr^E  ret  bypa 

ovru)  y^prji^ovTi  koXovete '  7roXXa  yap  vfif.uv  340 

tcrtjfiar  ivl  fieyapoiat  dewy  loTrjn  keovtcu. 

Tolai  be  kcu  fiETEEnrE  yepwv  rjpog  ’E^eV^o^” 

[of  br}  <bcwjic(t)v  arSpiby  7 rpoyePEarepog  jjei'*] 

’£1  (f>i\oi ,  ov  fxav  rjfuv  awo 

337.  '  (ppevas  tvSov  etcras, 
“  his  mind  within  him  equal, 
or  corresponding  to  his  perso¬ 
nal  appearance.” 

338.  EKaaTOS  3’  EfXflOpE 
aipijs,  “  and  each  of  you  has  a 
share  in  the  honour  of  having 
so  noble  a  guest;”  or,  “each 
of  you  has  a  share  in  the  honour 
of  being  able  to  relieve  him  ;  ” 
for  this  is  Tiprj  (3a<riXr)is ,  royal 
dignity,  when  a  prince  is  able  to 
relieve  the  distresses  of  others. 
M Eipw,  f.  pepd),  1.  aor.  £p.Eipa , 
perf.  act.  pepapua,  perf.  m.  pe- 
popa,  and  Attic  sppopa.  In 
the  active  voice,  “  to  divide,  to 
allot,  to  share  ;  ”  in  the  middle, 
“  to  have  a  share  or  allotment 
to  one’s  self,  to  be  a  partaker 

339.  tiS,  “  therefore.”  II. 
ii.  250.  Tip  vvv  ’ATpEiBy  ’  Aya- 
pipvovi  nroipEVi  Xau) v,  qaai 

340.  pt]8£  koXovete,  “  and 
do  not  abridge  your  gifts,  do 
not  give  by  halves,  to  a  man 
so  much  needing  them.”  “  Do 
not  withhold  your  gifts  ”  would 
have  been/«*)Xu£Tf, not  koXovete. 

In  prohibitions  with  prj,  the 

aKQTtov  ovc  dno  cot,r)g 

present  imperative  only  is  used. 
If  the  aorist  is  used,  the  con¬ 
junctive  must  be  put.  Porson 
on  Eurip.  Hec.  1166,  says,  “It 
is  right  to  say  pv  pipepov,  (pres, 
imper.)  pi)  ptp\\rp,  (aor.  con¬ 
junct.),  but  not  right  to  say  pv 
pipipij  (pres,  subj.);  with  re¬ 
gard  to  pv  pkpypai,  (aor.  imper.) 
it  is  not  decidedly  a  solecism, 
but  of  such  rare  occurrence, 
that  Grammarians  have  noticed 
few  similar  instances,  and 
those  as  very  remarkable.” 

344.  OVK  aVo  (TKOTTOV ,  ou<$’ 
airo  Souris,  “  not  far  from  the 
mark,  nor  from  our  opinion  of 
her  character.”  He  is  said  to 
speak  aVo  o-kottov ,  who  spoke 
what  was  foreign  to  the  subject, 
and  he  arro  Sog ijs,  who  spoke 
what  might  hardly  be  expected 
from  him.  ’At ro  frequently 
signifies,  incongruity,  unsuitable¬ 
ness,  distance,  disagreement,  fyc. 
as  aVo  Kaipov,  “  unseasonable.” 
aVo  TpoTrov,  “  absurd,  prepos¬ 
terous,”  arro  too  elkotos,  “  at 
variance  with  probability,” 
aVo  dvpov,  “unacceptable,”  &g. 
See  Yiger’s  Gr.  Idioms,  c.  ix. 
§.  ii.  K.  17,  and  II.  iv.  26.  v. 



0AY22EIA2  A.  345— 360. 

jivQeTrai  ficicriXeia  7repi(f)pu)v'  dXXd  TriQtoQe*  345 

\\Xklvoov  3’  £/c  rou3’  e^erai  epyov  re  eirog  te. 

T ov  h?  avr  ’ AXictvoog  d7rafietj3eTO  (jriovrjcrev  re' 
tovto  [lev  ovt(o  hr]  ecrrai  cVoc,  at  kev  eyioye 
Cwog  $>air]K£(Tcri  (friXifperfiOLcnv  dvdavio. 

£e7vog  he  rXrjrojy  fiaXa  7 rep  voaroio  yaTiCuiVy  350 

E[nrr)Q  ovv  fVtjuetvat  eg  a vpiov,  elaotce  tt array 

Ciorivr) v  teXego)’  Trofim)  8’  uvhpecrai  fieXprrei 

tvcwl ,  jiclXiffra  8’  epoi *  rov  yap  icparog  ear  evl  hrjpu). 

Top  C  d.7vapEL(36[.LevoQ  tv poaeejrr]  TroXvfiqrLg  ’O SvGGEvg' 
AXklvoe  Kpe'iov,  7vcivT(t)V  dpLh>eiK£T£  Xaurv,  355 

e't  fie  /cat  eiq  evlcivtov  a vidyoir  avroOi  fiifiveiv 
Trofimjv  t  orpu  volte  /cat  dyXaa  6wpa  hiholre, 

/cat  /ce  ro  (3ovXoi[ir]v,  kcli  kev  7toXv  Kephnov  e'er], 

TrXeiorepri  avv  X£LPl  tyhXrfv  eg  7r arpt'8’  ikegOoli' 

/cat  k  a Ihoiorepog  /cat  (piXrepog  dvhpacriv  e'ltjv  360 

18.  x.  324.  S/coTros  is  “the 
mark  at  which  a  person  aims 
or  shoots.” 

346.  ek  gov8’  t-%ETcu,  for 
’&Xe'rai  rovSe,  “depends  on 
Alcinous  here.”  This  is  a  very 
common  meaning  of  the  pro¬ 
noun  68 e,  especially  in  the  tra¬ 
gedians.  Thus  Eurip.  Alcestis 
24.  <5e  tov8e  QavaTov  e’kt- 

opco  7TE\as,  “  but  now  I  see 
death  here  at  hand.” 

353.  tov  E(TTi,  “belongs  to 
this  man,”  i.  e.  to  myself.  The 
pronoun  is  here  used  Selkti- 
kws,  as  the  Grammarians  term 
it,  that  is,  pointing  to  the  per¬ 
son  referred  to.  Eurip.  Ale. 
690.  /xrj  dvrjcrxv'KEp  'rood’  dv8po<s' 

OV  0  Eyot)  7T  pO  (TOV  (iOr  VT TEp 

Efwv)  “for,  this  man,”  pointing 

to  himself.  Plat.  Gorg.  p.  92. 
ov'too’i  avrjp  ov  TravcrETai  (p\va- 
pwv,  EL7TE  flOL,  (X)  2t0/C,0aT£S,  OVK 
aio-xvvr],  k.  t.  X.,  (for  <rv  ov 
•7rai/crEt;)  “  this  man,”  pointing 
to  Socrates,  whom  he  is  ad¬ 
dressing.  See  Matth.  Gr.  Gr. 
§.  471.  6. 

356.  Telemachus,  in  the 
fourth  book,  pays  a  similar 
compliment  to  Menelaus,  when 
invited  by  him  to  remain  some 
time  at  his  court:  Kalyap  k  etc 
Eviavrov  Eyco  it apa  (roly ’  avE- 
Xpipriv  rjfjLEi/os,  ov8e  ke  fi  ikov 
eXol  Trodos,  ov8i  to/ctjmj/,  v. 

360.  aidoioTEpos ,  “  more 

worthy  of  reverence.”  Thus 
Hesiod  says,  ttXovtlo  8’  apETi) 
/cat  kv8os  oTrrjfoT:  and  Theog- 



/  y  /  x 

X<x.Tit,^  ~£r  CffK f  &f  ^  -  ;  %*■*>■ 


ZfcJltyS  c  ^  A'y  £jic£LiX  $ .  ^  •TZky'c  .'V 

l  ( <r  o  x  i  /2c*-*'ir££*£ . 

vy  o iZL 

9  *  1 

^  £-v<;  c^Joeicj  36 & a.  £  ot  c j  Optu^  o ^  -t'U' 

*  y  ~  .y  -)  ^  *>  f  / 

x  ’Cy^AJ:  i'&or  GL&ISCO,  7-jftVCJ,  & 

Syi-'i)  $ 

^  £  .  * _  / 



V|(?  Z  S'  3  ^  /  y/U  '^dC. 

■>  ■ 

s-  tm  y  /  ■  I  '  * 

/V?  ,ir-*-\.\  *y^  # 

4ft  Am^ti- 


■  t .  ^  c 

4--  h^/ .  — 

ujc.6'q>QL  £04 

.  .  _  t-v  ^  ’'Jt'is^e y.L,  /<rroe> 


^Cdf,  Isx. 

CO  . 


0AY22EIA2  A.  361—377. 


Tracriv,  oaoi  jx  ’lOcLKrjvde  Idoiaro  voarrjffavra. 

Toy  3*  avT  ’A Xidvoog  a-ira fieifiero  (fHiivrjaEV  te ’ 
ix>  Odvcrev,  to  juev  ovn  o’  iiaicopiEV  EiaopowvTEg 
tlTTEpOTrrjd  T  EjlEV  KOI  cVt/cXoTTOV,  OlCl  TE  7ToXXovg 
fdoctKEi  ya~ia  fiEkaiva  iroXvGTVEpEag  dvQpoiTrovg  36 5 

xpevced  t  dprvvovTag,  oder  ke  Tig  ovCe  'i  colt  o' 
fTOl  a’  ETTl  fl£V  [XOpiprj  E7TEIOV,  EVl  <J)p£V£g  iffdXat* 
fivOov  0  (vq  ot  aoidog  £7rt(TTajUEyujG  fcareXe^ag, 

7 TavTiov  r  ’ApyEiuv  geo  t  avTOv  icrjEea  Avypa. 

dXX’  aye  /xoi  ro3e  ei7te  feat  aTpeiCEiog  fcaraXetjoy,  370 

et  Tivag  avTiOeiov  g'ra’pwy  ’i^sg,  o'i  toi  dpi  a vtu> 

’IAlOy  £ig  Ufl  E7TOVTO  K<XL  avTOV  7 TOTflOV  ETTEGITOV. 

vv£  a’  r/Ss  jxdXa  piaicprj,  ddeaipaTog *  ovc)£  ttoj  loprj 
evCelv  ev  fXEydpo)'  gv  3e  pioi  Aeye  OegkeXci  epya. 

Kcti  kev  ig  r}<jj  ciav  dvaa^oipirjv,  ote  poi  gv  375 

rXairjg  ev  piEyapo)  Ta  ad  lajdEa  fivdijaaadai. 

Toy  a’  d'KafiEi^opiEvog  7 rpoalipr]  TroXvfiriTig  ’O dvaGEvc" 

nis,  Gnom.  v.  621.  7ras  tis 
TrXovcnov  avSpa  t'iei,  cItiei  8e- 
iriviypov.  So  likewise  Ovid, 
de  Art.  Amator.  II.  277.  Plu- 
rimus  auro  venit  honos. 

364.  tpiv  infin.  for  eIvcu. 
“  We  do  not  suppose  you  to  be 
a  hypocrite  and  a  dissembler.” 
’E7rt/c\o7ros  from£7ri  and  kXett- 
tw,  “  to  steal,  to  deceive.” 

367.  fir  1  and  Ivi,  for  ettsg- 
t i  and  eveo-tl,  “  there  is  to  or  in 
you,”  i.  e.  “you  have ;  ”  popipy} 
is  here  rightly  explained  by  the 
Scholiast  to  mean  EinrpETreia, 
“elegance ;”  exactly  correspond¬ 
ing  to  the  sense  in  which  species 
is  used  by  Cicero.  See  Ernest. 
Clav.  Cicer. 

368.  ws  gte  aoidos  kcctuXe- 

yst,  “  thou  hast  skilfully  re¬ 
lated  the  tale,  as  when  a  bard 
relates,”  i.  e.  as  skilfully  as  a 

mf/9  >  »  If  .  >  V 

.  a/UL  CtVTU) £19  afk  £- 

ttovto,  “  went  to  Troy  together 
with  you  at  the  same  time.” 
The  first  dp.a,  says  Ernesti, 
tottlkov,  refers  to  place — the 
other,  xpoviKov,  refers  to  time. 

373.  vv%  p.dXa  uaKprj ,  aWcr- 
1 paTos .  This  circumstance, 
according  to  Eustathius, is  men¬ 
tioned  by  the  poet  in  order  to 
ascertain  the  time  of  the  year, 
which  must  have  been  in  the 
winter,  for  at  the  end  of  the 
fourteenth  book  it  is  evidently 
a  winter’s  night  which  Ulysses 
spends  with  Eumaeus. 


0AY22EIA2  A.  378—392, 

AXkivoe  KpEiuVy  7r dvTitiv  apicelKETE  Xawv, 

uipr]  piv  TroXiojy  pvdwy,  wpr]  Si  ical  vtcvov' 

ti  S'  et  aKOVEpLEvai  ye  XiXa/gae,  ovk  dy  cyojye  3801 

rovrojy  (tol  tyOoyiotpi  ical  ohcTporep'  aXX’  dyopevaai, 

tcrfCe  ipdiy  irdpojy,  oi  Sr}  psroTnadey  oXovro' 

ot  T pojcoy  piv  v'KE^icpvyov  gtovoeggolv  dvrrjv, 

£ v  vo(TT(p  S'  dizoXovTO ,  icaicrjg  ldrr]7i  ywcutcog. 

A vrap  etteI  \pv%dg  piy  arTEcr/ciSaa'  ciXXvSlq  dXXr)  385- 
dyyrj  Uepaecpoveia  ywcuKoiv  dijXvTEpdoiy, 
rjXOe  S'  £7ri  Aycipipyoyog  ’ ArpetSaa 

dyvvpivi ]'  Trepi  ciXXat  dyrjyepad',  oacrai  dpi  avrtp 
diKU)  iv  Aiy'iodoio  da voy  ical  Tiorpoy  iiriaTroy. 
iyvu)  S'  al\p'  ipi  icsTyog,  etteI  tclev  alpa  iceXaivov'  390" 
yXale  S'  aye  Xiygoae,  daXepov  Kara  Sdicpvov  e'i(3u)V9 
niTvag  e ig  ipi  ^edpag,  opit, aaOai  pevEaiviov * 

383.  dvT7},.  properly,  “the 
shout  of  battle,  the  war  cry,” 
and  hence  it  came  to  signify 
the  battle  itself. 

384.  KaKrj §  loTffri  yvvaLKo'i, 

“  by  the  counsel  of  a  base  wo¬ 
man.”  Here  may  be  meant 
either  Helen,  who  was  the 
cause  of  the  death  of  all  the 
Greeks,  or  it  may  refer  to  Cly- 
temnestra,  who  killed  Agamem¬ 
non  and  his  companions  on 
their  return.  The  latter  seems 
more  probable. 

385.  aXXvSis  aXXp,  “  in 
different  directions,  one  this 
way,  and  another  that.” 

386.  \\fvyd<i  yvvctLKtov  617X1/- 
-TEpdiov,  “the  souls  of  thefemale 
women.”  The  comparative  is 
often  used  for  the  positive; 

6t]\vTEpO^  for  617X11?,  VSMTEpOS 

I  for  t>£09,  & c. ;  and  because 

the  name  ywn  is  applied  to  , 
any  weak  or  timid  person,  the 
poet  adds  the  epithet  617X1*- 
Tspacov,  to  show  that  he  is  ' 
speaking  of  the  sex,  and  not* 
metaphorically,  of  weak  per¬ 
sons  in  general. 

388.  dynpipad’  for  aynysp- 
aTo,  plusquam  perf.  pass,  from 
dyEipa),  with  the  Attic  redupli¬ 
cation,  and  the  Ionic  and  Attic 
termination  for  nyEpvTo,  and 
that  for  rjysppEvcu  per av.  See 
Matth.  Gr.  Gr.  §.  198. 

392.  it LTvd?  “  expanding,” 
pres.  part,  from  TriTvripu,  a- 
nother  form  of  TTErdvvvpL  from 
TTETaa),  which  appears  to  have 
arisen  from  iriTopai,  by  which 
was  expressed  “  the  spreading: 
of  the  wings  in  flying,”  and 
afterwards  merely  “spreading.” 
See  Matth.  Gr.  Gr.  §.  245. 

J  •'/.  a  <■ 

>3  '• 

tfto/oc  i<;  ,  (retvtff  _ 

7  ?  '  o  ,  /  .-■  n  /  r,  /  y .  s  ,  j 

y/iiy  c  ^  ^ ,  Xjy&>,  X  i/u  ,  ssia ^oty  J  x^yu^oclj  ^  i  £  cj ,  U  i yy  cj  %>  *4 

UVYIOllY  &J  _  C4YX-C  Z  CYtsyiYJ'Zy.y . 

■  /  / 

*  .* 

•i.  }£,C:  c 


!. •  i Jli-3 ''..?  .■■  . 

—6  i  :  , 

JOfICfi  a  *>  :vi:  r 

vvs  i  :  nv.  -  • 

raV>  iH  *«■  ■•• 



'  y:  hi.  -■ ,  •  ’ 

(-  ■  »  iisr  _  -i 


i-yix.  uv'?  JC  l  ACV  C.  ^j,  yfl£.  Ocrt.-**.  -  A^C  A 

C-^£  ■  f  ■  .  -  \/(/  l{-jL£  ir  f  # 


-  Tist  /i  y 

L'  4^  ^ 


J  / 

‘caYv.cq  hr^c ;  ^iCJ-co  SZ-c^  -l  '. 

/Z'tr^4>  .  SfX.  $??£r&7^~J'<-0'''} x~z'y  \r  i's  -  ~%£.  y  /-zi,  • 

?  /  >  '  ■»  *  /  Si 

tf.voL^S't  o  f  ,  fy  ocqlG'  XACO  •  tSf?Mjt  Jtnrt-i-tp' j  t't-ocA.j 

JlcjV'  Coq  rdo.  /&}'$  .  tfcaccj  y  <■  &-<  'c^  . 

0AYSSEIA2  A.  393—410. 


V"v  N  9  5  /  *  >/  »  7  >/  ^  tT'  f  / 

ctAA  ou  yap  ot  er  7)v  i£  efti tscoq  ovce  tl  kikvq. 

oirj  ffep  ffdpoG  ectkev  ivi  yyaftffrolcri  fteXecraiy. 

tov  fxev  eyoj  baKpvcra  Iboty  eXerjcrd  re  Ovftu)  395 

Kai  fuv  (f)0)vrjaa£  effect  ffrepoevra  i Tpocrpvbutv' 

’A rpdbrj  kvSiots,  drat,  dybpcoy,  ’Aydfteftyoy, 

Tie  vv  ere  K rjp  ebdftacrae  ravrfXeyeoG  0a vcltoio  ; 

ije  aey  ev  vijecrcri  HoaeLcaioy  ibdftacraey, 

opaaG  dpyaXeu) v  dveftoty  dfteyaproy  dvrftrfv  ;  400 

ijs  a  dvapatoi  uybpeG  ibrfXrjacivr  bfft  ^spaov, 

fiovG  ffepLTctftvofievov  rfd  olwy  ffojea  tcaXa, 

tje  ffepi  ffroXiOG  ftcvyeovfteyoy  rjbe  yvyaucwy  ; 

'£Ig  £(pdfti]v *  o  be  ft  avTLK  d/teLfdofteyoG  ffpoffeenrey’ 

A toyeveG  AaeprLabr],  ffoXvfirj-^ay'  ’Obvcrcrev,  40 5 

ovre  fte  y  iy  yrjeorai  II oaeibdwy  ebd/tcKraev, 

bpaac  dpyaXiojy  uvefuov  dfteyaproy  dvrftrjy, 

ovre  ft  dydpvLOi  ctybpeG  ebrjXrfcrayr  bffl  % tpaov " 

dXXa  ftOL  A’lyiaOoG  rev^aG  Qdvarov  re  ftopoy  re 

eicra  arvy  ovXofteyrj  clXo^o),  oiKoybe  /caAeWac ,  410 

I  393.  Is  is  “  the  strength 
which  is  derived  from  nerves 
kikv-s  (from  kluj)  “  the  force 
i  which  moves  a  body.” 

394.  ivi  yvapffTolcn  piXtcr- 
<tlv}  “in  his  flexible  limbs,”  i.e. 
when  he  was  alive ;  for  the 
limbs  of  the  dead  are  not  flexi¬ 
ble,  but  stiff  and  rigid. 

400.  dpsyapr-ov,  “  great.” 
From  a  privitive,  and  ptyaipw 
invideo  :  it  signifies  literally, 
“  given  without  sparing,  with¬ 
out  grudging,”  and  therefore 
“  abundant,  great.”  "A cpOovos 
is  of  similar  derivation  and 
bears  the  same  meaning. 

402.  (3ov s  ffEpvrap.v6p.tvov, 

i.  e.  says  Eustathius,  fftpl£ 
Tijs  aAAorpias  yijs  r-ipyovra, 
“  slaying  oxen  in  others’  lands.” 
Ulysses  havingliimself  attempt¬ 
ed  at  Ismarus  to  seize  the 
flocks  and  herds,  but  unsuccess¬ 
fully,  and  with  the  loss  of  many 
of  his  companions,  naturally 
suspects  thatAgamemnonmight 
have  fallen  in  a  similar  enter¬ 

410.  ovXopivy.  The  word 
ovXoptvo's  has  generally  been 
translated,  “  destructive,  per¬ 
nicious;”  but  it  is  in  fact  pas¬ 
sive,  not  active,  and  answers 
to  our  English  expression. 
“  cursed.” 

D  3 


OAY22EIA2  A.  411—421, 

ieurriaacig,  dug  rig  re  Kareicraye  (3ovv  eVi  (parry . 
wc  davoy  oIkti(tt(o  Oavary'  7 repi  S’  uXXoi  eraipoi 

y(t)\efX£U)Q  KTEtVOVTO  (TVEQ  dug  C ipyiO()OVTEQ , 

01  pa  r  ev  d<pyeiov  aySpdg  pzya  fivyapevoio 

V  V  epdvu)  irf  eiXarrlyy  rzOaXvir),  415 

ydr]  fxev  7 roXewv  <p6vw  aVt)pwv  dyre(3oXri(Tagr 

pOVVClL,  KTElVOfXEVliiV  KCU  Zv\  KpClTEprj  VffpiVT}' 

zttXXd  ke  KE~iva  piaXtara  «3wV  oXocpvpao  Ovp<pr 

dg  ap.(f)i  Kprjrrjpa  rpa-Tre^ag  re  7rXrj0ovcrag 

KEtfieO'  £v\  fieyapip  dawedoy  c  array  a'l/xan  dvev*  420 

olfcrpordrrjy  S'  rjmvaa  ora  Upiajjioio  dvyarpog. 

411.  w?  T19,  k.  t.  X.  See 
book  iv.  535.  The  sense  is — 
rEgisthus  killed  me,  off  my 
guard,  expecting  no  danger,  in 
the  same  way  as  you  may  easily 
slay  oxen  which  were  feeding 
in  the  stall,  expecting  and  fear¬ 
ing  no  evil. 

414.  o’L  pa — KTEivovra  un¬ 

415.  spavo9  was  a  feast  in 
which  every  guest  contributed 
a  share  ;  EiXanriin /  was  a  great 
and  splendid  banquet,  in  which, 
Kwrct  etXa?  zirivov,  they  made 
merry,  dividing  themselves  in¬ 
to  a  number  of  small  parties. 

417.  fJLOVVa.%  KTElVOflEVCOV , 
slain  one  by  one. 

410.  dpL(pl xpinnpa,  “around 
the  bowl.”  Kpiyrrjp  was  a  large 
and  capacious  bowl, from  which 
they  drew  the  wine  in  cups  or 
goblets  for  the  guests;  it  was 
placed  at  the  top  of  the  banquet¬ 
ing  room;  and  by  it  they  placed 
those  guests  whom  they  wish¬ 
ed  to  distinguish  by  some  par¬ 
ticular  token  of  respect.  The 
words,  then,  ap<pi  K.pv\ri\pa  in 

this  line  imply — “  He  treated 
me  with  every  outward  demon¬ 
stration  of  respect ;  he  placed 
me  in  the  most  honourable  seat7 
so  that  I  could  not  doubt  of  his 
affection  and  loyalty ;  and  that 
seat  which  is  generally  consi¬ 
dered  the  place  of  honour,  was 
to  me  the  place  of  death,” 

420.  aipan  OCev,  “  ran 
with  blood.”  0vw,  from  6  too  to 
run,  has  its  primary  significa¬ 
tion  “  to  run,  to  move  quickly, 
to  flow.”  Then  used  actively 
in  the  sense  of  “  to  make  to 
run  or  flow,”  it  came  to  signi¬ 
fy,  “to  pour  out”  wine  in  liba¬ 
tions,  and  thence  it  was  trans¬ 
ferred  to  sacrifice  in  general. 

421.  oiKTp(rra.Tt]V',  k.  -t.  X. 
These  words  admit  of  a  double 
construction.  They  may  either 
mean,  “I  heard  the  sad  voice 
of  Cassandra,”  or,  “  I  heard  a 
sad  voice  or  speech  7 rspl  Kaor- 
cavdpr\9,  about  Cassandra,” 
namely,  the  voice  of  Clvtemnes- 
tra  upbraiding  and  triumphing 
over  her. 

Iw'tTZs  u  fytfoKf.Ctr.  C4.1X&-  V?  jZ’XiV.  t-tonsLs&f* CcS  ^Wu'/i 

f  ’  /  * 

VCjXc.U.  \  f  ,  'Pip  X  zuf?c*j  .  Uf-^u  C  tyCtfC&4u.  . 

u  qr  €  i  o  c,  ,  &.  tyzv  o  c,  Ssx.&JL'tA, .  <L  ’  cyo ^  r  vc^zy  . 

LpXY  O  Q  _ _  Pc*  A.  /Ccc-TxsLc.  ■  Jt*~  &.  /XrC'cPZax^L  dc*<J~xJ  IX  ccaJU^  o^tt^ 

^7i-c4^<r^*~  /  /*-P.  y  iXrCC-ac*^,  ^■c^C-cc-^-^X-c.y  •'  S/2  2  /L  <Pt^i*Xe>\ _ 

/#/■*,*$  &'  £p<xYe{  /'Uc'/Ucp  a.  si*  p  *<**t*XS~/  tftsl 

<L'V'£a  3  oXls**  —  /s-ic 4^T~  J-iLl**-  /POOS-c^t, 

v  6%,  ? v ,  ytrjU'tYti  /  rfr.S,  {t/x^Cul 

i4  A^fr. 

t  '  V'  /-  n  A 

O  CO  ,  *£> 

Xav^aLOS  J^_  ^ 

J  <Z  >'  s?£Of°<;  ;  _ 

(  /  y 

****“<  &~**  £  s- 

'tor  '•  '  V 

'O  Ct  ,C  ; 

/  ^  ' 

LC  '> 

>;  <7  r, 


^  s  s,  -  -  • ,  X 

/  - ^  /tA-S  l/SL+  J  j£ 

S _ 


■<■  t-C,' 

0AY22EIA2  A.  422—435. 


Kaffffdvcprjg,  ryv  Kreive  KXvraifivrjarpy  (hoXofiyrtg 
dfxty'  ifioi'  avrap  ey to  ttotl  yairj  X£lPaG  delpojy 
(3aXXoy  ct7rodyyarK(oy  7cept  (fuicrydya)'  y  tie  kwio mg 
vocrtpiaar  ou£e  fioi  erXy  lovri  it ep  Eig  ’Atfiao 
Xep(7i  tear  otpdaXjuovg  eXeelv  avv  re  (tto/x  epelaat. 

tog  ovk  alvorepov  kciI  Kvvrepov  ciXXo  yvvaueog, 
ymg  cy  rotavra  fiera  (ppeaiy  spy  a  fidXyraC 
oloy  h]  icai  KEivy  eayaaro  epyov  aeuceg, 

Kovpidiu)  rev^affct  tt6(T£l  tyoroy'  yroi  £<{>yv  ye 
dcnruffiog  TralcHecrcriy  Ids  dpuoeaaiy  epiulcTiy 
oiKat?  iXeixreaO at'  y  S’  e£o^a  Xvyp  cicJvta 
ol  re  tear  aicrxog  eX£v£  KCLL  £&a'0pl£rf1(TLV  OTriaato 
OyXvTEpycn  yvvait},  teal  y  tc  evepyog  epai v. 

*£lg  Etpar’  avrap  £y(o  /uy  a/xEL^opiEVog  7rpoffeearov ' 

42  5 



425.  voacpLa-aT,  “drew  back.” 
N ocrcpL^oo,  “  to  separate,”  in 
the  active  voice;  vo<r(pL^, 
in  the  middle,  “  to  separate 
myself  from  others,  to  leave,  to 

426.  kcit  6(pdd\fxod's  eXeelv, 
byThnesis,  for  ocpdaXfxovs  kcc6e- 
As.iv,  from  Kadaipsto,  “  to  com¬ 
press.”  “As  soon  as  any  per¬ 
son  expired,  they  closed  his 
eyes ;  this  they  termed  Kadai - 

ptiv ,  (TVVapfMOTTElV ,  auyxXELELV 

tous  ocpOaXpLovi.  Hence  kcltcl- 
pLvsLv  came  to  be  used  for  Qvijcr- 
kslv.  The  design  of  this  cus¬ 
tom  seems  to  have  been  not  on¬ 
ly  to  prevent  that  horror  which 
the  eyes  of  dead  men,  when  un¬ 
covered,  are  accustomed  to 
strike  into  the  living,  but  also 
for  the  satisfaction  of  dying 
persons,  who  are  usually  desi¬ 
rous  of  dying  in  a  decent  pos¬ 
ture.  See  Eurip.  Hec.  568. 

For  the  same  reasons  the  mouth 
of  the  dead  person  was  closed  ; 
and  when  this  was  done,  his 
face  was  covered.  Almost  all 
the  offices  about  the  dead  were 
performed  by  their  nearest  re¬ 
lations,  nor  could  a  greater 
misfortune  befall  any  person 
than  to  want  these  last  re¬ 
spects;  Electra  in  Sophocles 
seems  to  prefer  death  itself  be¬ 
fore  it.  Hence  the  ghost  of 
Agamemnon,  in  Homer,  com¬ 
plains  that  his  wife  Clytemnes- 
tra  had  neglected  to  perform 
this  ceremony.  Potter’s  Ar- 
chaeol.  b.  iv.  c.  3. 

433.  oi  -te  kcct'  aicryos  eXtv~ 
tv,  “  she  hath  poured  shame 
and  disgrace  both  upon  herself 

and . Homer  uses  the 

dative  after  xarayEvu},  later 
writers  the  genitive.  SeeMatth. 
Gr.  Gr.  §.  376.  Obs.  2. 


0AY22EIA2  A.  436—452, 

(o  ttotvoi,  i)  pidX a  dy  yovov  ’Arpeog  evpvo7ra  Z evq 
EKirayXiog  rj^drjps  y vvaiceiag  did  fiovXdg 
e£  apyj]g'  'YAevpg  fieV  axw\o/i£0’  elretca  iroXXoi’ 
cot  de  KXvTaipivrjirrprj  doXov  rjprvs  rr}Xo&  eovti. 

"Xlg  £(j)dfxpv’  6  ce  pi  avrtK  apieifjopiEVog  Trpocresnrev 
Tip  vvv  pipirore  kcu  av  yvvcwd  7 rep  rj-rriog  eivai, 
pipe'  oi  pivdov  airarra  ninety  a  ice  pier,  ov  ic  ev  eldrjg, 
dXXa  to  piev  tydaOcu,  ro  de  i:al  KeicpvppiEvov  eivai. 
dXX  ov  aoiy\  O dvaev,  (j)dvog  eua etch  ek  ye  yvvaiKog’ 
Xipv  yap  7nvvrrj  te  nai  ev  ippecri  pujdea  older 
xovpr)  ’IfcajotoiOj  7 vEpdjjpior  HrjvcXoTTEia. 
i )  pier  puv  vvpi(j)T]v  ye  verjv  KaTeXeiTvopiEV  ijpuug, 
epyijpievoi  i rdXepiovde'  irdig  de  oi  i)v  eVt  pia£<p 
vijiriog,  og  7 ~ov  vvv  ye  p.ET  avdpuiv  7£ft  dpiOpnv, 
oX(3iog‘  p  yelp  Tovye  7r arrjp  (piXog  cnpefai  iXOivv, 

Kai  KE~ivog  7 rare  pa  TrpoaTrTV^ercu,  rj  Otpug  eirriv. 

>j  d’  epirj  ovde  7 rep  vlog  EvnzXpadrjvai  dteoiTig 




437.  ywaiKtias  Sid  /3ov\as, 
“  by  the  counsels  of  women.” 
Though  only  Helen  and  Cly- 
temnestra  are  mentioned,  yet 
Ulysses  may  have  intended  a 
further  reference  to  Aerope, 
the  wife  of  Atreus,  Agamem¬ 
non’s  grandfather,  from  whose 
unfaithfulness  to  her  husband’s 
bed  sprung  many  of  the  woes 
which  afterwards  fell  on  the 
family  of  Atreus. 

441.  t(«  “  therefore.”  ehmi, 

the  infinitive  for  the  impera¬ 
tive.  “And  yet,  not  because 
she  was  a  woman,  but  because 
she  was  a  wicked  one,  Clytem- 
nestra  thus  dealt  with  her 
husband,  and  woman  is  not  on 
her  account  to  be  deemed  less 

wTorthy  of  trust  than  man.  liut 
it  is  natural  to  look  with  a 
suspicious  eye  to  the  quarter 
whence  came  the  mischief,  by 
which  we  ourselves  have  suf¬ 
fered,  and  to  caution  others 
against  it.” — Dio,  Orat.  74. 

449.  JUST’  dvSpWU  i^£l  dpidfuS , 

“sits  among  the  number  of 
grown  up  men,”  i.  e.  is  now 
grown  up. 

452.  v  S’  ipr j  ovoe,  k.  t.X. 
“but  my  wife  did  not  even 
allow  my  eyes  to  be  satiated, 
i.  e.  delighted  with  beholding  my 
son.”  YIos  is  contracted  for 
v'Uos,  the  genitive  case  of  v'Uvs, 
and  is  governed  by  the  verb 
Evnr\.r)crdrii/cuf  which  is  for 
EpTcX^crdiivai,  1  aor.  infin.  from 

£%-&X.y'Xcj  }  '■  <T<?~6J. 

tyJti  o  c  (°'  ^  J  t'c‘£**  * 

rfjqxkl T*.cjf  olv<?  %cu  ,  ifaccj  ,  ^OLffi<v 


A  •'  > 

~fr>>  ■ 

/  /  ' 


(f  <*:•£•  e?cr<r  a/ 

PLk,  2h%<--£f7' . 


Jj/u-u-  0o  Ci  4  cAr*-.  (L/x*.  0  <J  £.1  $  f  li/U.'sL  vfottJ. 

^ytuOj'Xio  4  ^  fcyc/x-oq :  __  jcrr  oir  t  u,  aj  r  c  o  $  y  d  <W  y 

fo<-4-  Ju.  <AiA"  S —-ft  <-^  /i<~  f}/a- J^CAS.  - 

cortet;,  tiiA.* 

Col  L  O  ^  £ks\^c~-  l\S yC-  x-  t\  ■'rT~*-ji^/r  #  it,'- 1  Jg«,-y£&i 

&S4,  :-<>.{ a. 

.-  y.,i  a* 

/.  /  -  yf, 

? CyU-tk  q  (JL  U&l^ct  J-£~.h.f  •  6~ tU/coc  A  Cff?y^L  r  A*-  c  A  '-r 

J*~  C  I 


io  av 

0AY22EIA2  A.  453— 469. 


0(}>da\[l(H(TlV  ECLffE *  TTCipOQ  3f  flE  7 TstyvE  KCll  aVTOy. 
a  XXo  3e  rot  Epsio,  crv  3’  ev\  (ppeori  /3(x\\eo  oijffiy* 

KpvfiSriv,  fir}^  ava tyavda,  (piXrjy  ig  Karpina  yaiay  4 55 

vrja  Ka.TLO'XEfiEvaC  ettel  ovketi  7rtorct  yvvaityv. 
a’XX’  aye  juoi  t6ce  eIke  /cat  arpEKEiog  ica raXs^ov, 

ft  7 TOV  ETL  £(6oVTOQ  Cl KOVETE  7TCll()6g  Efioio , 

77  7 rov  ev  Op\opiEy<vy  ?/  eV  IIvXw  piaOoEyn , 

t\  t rov  Trap  M eveXcxw  eVi  27t aprp  EVpEtrj'  460 

ov  yap  7 no  TEdyrjKEy  eVi  yOovi  3  toe  ’O pEarrjg. 

"Qe  Etyar'  avrap  e’yw  pay  dpiEiflo  piEyog  7rpo(T£Enroy' 

’ ArpEiCr i,  tl  piE  ravra  disipsai ;  ovSe  ti  ol 3a, 

(ioei  oy  fj  teQvtike’  /ca/cov  3’  dvEpaoXia  fid^Eiy. 

No j'i  piEy  (yg  ETTEEGtny  dpiEifiopiEyio  orvyepototv  465 

EffrafXEy  dyvv piEyoi,  OaXEpoy  Kara  cdk'pv  yiovTEQ. 

7HX0e  3’  eVi  \pv%r)  HrjXrjia^Eio  ’A%i Xijog 
/cat  narpo/cX/joe  /cat  apivpioyog  A vriXoyoio 
A \avTog  d\  og  dpiarog  Et]y  Eicog  re  dspiag  re 

“to  fill,  to  satiate.” 
Words  which  indicate  “fulness, 
defect,  emptiness,”  are  followed 
by  a  genitive.  See  Matth.  Gr. 
Gr.  §.  329,  330. 

453.  Kai  avTovf  not,  “and 
him,”  i.e.  my  son,  but,  “even 
myself;”  as  is  evident,  both 
from  history  and  from  v.  458. 

456.  ovketi  7T io’Tci  ywai^iv, 
“women  are  no  longer  to  be 
trusted.”  Commentators  in 
general  say  that  this  expres¬ 
sion  is  elliptical  for  ovketi 
Trurra  ra  toov  yvvaiKcov,  but  it 
seems  much  more  natural  to 
refer  it  to  that  blending  of  two 
constructions  into  one,  of  which 
the  Greek  poets,  and  especially 
the  Attics,  were  so  fond.  The 
two  constructions  here  blended 

together  are  ttlcttci  rd  tiHv 
yvvaiKuiv  and  ttkttevteov  yv- 
vat^L :  the  poet  having  begun 
wjUh  the  former,  and  then,  as  if 
forgetting  himself,  he  completes 
the  sentence,  as  if  he  had  used 
the  latter  construction.  Euri¬ 
pides  has  the  same  sentiment 
as  is  here  expressed,  in  Iphig. 
in  Taur.  1298,  uttkttov  ok- 
yvvaLKEiov  y ivo?, 

459.  'Opxofxsvui,  “in  Or- 
chomenus ;  ”  a  city  of  Boeotia, 
very  rich  and  well  fortified, 
and  proverbial  both  for  its 
wealth  and  its  safety  as  an 
asylum.  Agamemnon  expected 
that  Orestes  would  either  be  at 
Sparta,  in  the  court  of  Mene- 
laus,  or  in  Pylus,  with  Nestor, 
who  had  always  been  so  faithful 


0AY22EIA2  A.  470—482 

Ttjjy  dXXiov  Aayauiy  pef  dfxvpov a  Iir]Xei(jjva.  470 

eyvio  (he  ipv%rj  fie  7 roehwKeog  AlaidSao, 

tcai  p  oXotyvpo/jiEvr]  etteu  TvrepoevTa  tv pocrrjvda' 

ALoyeveg  Aaepriacr /,  7roXv/j.rj^ay  OSvggev, 

G^EtXiE,  TLTTT  ETL  f.lE~li,OV  Ev\  (ppEGL  /JLljaECU  zpyOV  J 

7r<jjg  etXtiq  Ado  ad e  icareXOspEy ,  evQa  te  yeicpol  47 5 

dfppaceeg  vaiovai,  fiporuiy  s’idwXa  capovraiv  ; 

EtyaT'  avrdp  eyuj  pay  dpsifiopevog  7 rpoffeenroy. 
d)  ’A^iXeu,  II rjXeog  vie,  fxeya  (j)£praf  ’A^a iwy, 
rjXOoy  Tetpeffiao  Kara  xpeoc,  et  nva  fiovXijv 
eittol ,  OTriog  ’ WaKrjv  eg  TraLiraXoEaaay  iKoipijy'  480 

ov  yap  7TU)  a^eddy  r/Xdov  ’A %audog,  ovde  7ro)  apyjg 
yrjg  ini  (3  r]y,  dXX ’  a  ley  e^m  fcaxa*  ae~to  h\  A^lXXev, 

a  friend  and  ally,  or  in  some 
secure  asylum,  such  as  Orcho- 

470.  fiET  dp.vp.ova  TlijXatco- 
va,  “  after,  next  to  the  noble 
son  of  Peleus.” 

471.  AiaKiSao.  Achilles  was 
the  son  of  Peleus,  and  grand¬ 
son  of  Abacus,  who  was  king 
of  the  island  of  (Enopia,  and  a 
man  of  such  integrity  that  the 
ancients  have  made  him  one  of 
the  judges  of  hell,  with  Minos 
and  Rhadamanthus. 

475.  ” AiSooSe,  els  tov  dopov 
"A'iSos,  “to  the  house  of  Hades.” 

476.  acppadsES,  “without 
intellect.”  This  is  plainly 
the  import  of  the  word,  since 
none  of  them  knew  Ulysses, 
or  could  articulate,  till  they 
had  drunk  at  the  trench  ;  after 
which  they  were  inspired  by 
Proserpine  and  enabled  to  con¬ 
verse  with  him. 

476.  Ka/iovTtov ,  “dead.” 

Literally  “who  have  laboured,” 

i.  e .  who  do  not  now  labour, 
whose  labours  are  past ;  in  the 
same  way  as  Troja  fuit  means 
“Troy  once  was,  but  now  is 

478.  ply  a  (pEprarEy  “  far 

the  best,”  Kcera  ply  a  &id<rrr\p.a 
“  the  best  by  a  great  distance.” 
In  the  Ionic  poets,  <?x«,  ’^°Xa, 
plya,  are  often  joined  with  the 
superlative  to  strengthen  its 
signification,  as  ox  dp  lotos, 
II.  i.  69.  dpioroL.  Od. 

iv.  629.  ply a  (plpTaTE.  Od.  xi. 
478.”  Matth.  Gr.  Gr.  §.  461. 

479.  KaTa  “on  account  of” 
is  often  put  with  verbs  of  mo¬ 
tion,  in  order  to  show  the  ob¬ 
ject  of  them.  As  Herod.  II. 
152.  K apas,  Kara  Xp'tpv  ek- 
irXuxravTas,  “the  Carianshaving 
sailed  out  in  order  to  collect 
plunder.”  Aristoph.  Nub.  240. 
i/X0as  Kara  tl,  “  for  what  pur¬ 
pose  are  you  come?”  XpEos 
means  either  “  need,  want,”  or 
“  an  oracle ;  ”  so  that  the  ex- 

~  x. 


<r;l+  , 


J&cudi  olXo £■  i 


_ _  /C  ,  t£Z  i.<-C 


^  <-^  <7  • 

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Sr>i  ZUxuj  tA.  ~  /buL.  Ost/y^*??  - 

^  //<-  o//  &-rfjt-ti-/,  s^tc  bzu&t^ 

jj&x^  '£<.  b  ^  .//  /jbb*  ^stt/Czcc^  £/J  ast£ 

••ctcC  S  —  /<*_<_  <f .  ^  '^c  5^ <!*  Is  yc  fxi7  A/V  /  y  A^c-cxs- 

fyt  l-Cl-£^C-{)  /^r/-t-i_~  tSc/^  /&tr~?v  J^?- r V  'tsCc  c  ? 


'utrtuy  ay  y^r^tu  7y  ^cbb  <ybb-ysr' k 

W^4.^<c  Cctv  /  /by  Ae-i^. 

^yb/  <*/  ytu-  ^cny. 

S/  *  /  ^  ,V 

(tpawaQ  \Ly  ow a  i-c  <S6 1  0-S  <^y  k^u.  u  i  — 

/  / 

u-o  p  /St-  ,  +&£  ■  -£/? ,  trr-  3}  s  u.  <*-  "J/^’i  • 

’</£.  it*,  ^ 

)  /  >  }  a  /  y.  . ) 

tfai  pcof  ff  ,  MV/6JJ"1.J  v  ‘/Irtsrr-  •  c/n  ,  o.^>  ,  y 

brc^  4cw*  ^  */*  ^Ay^ 


0AY2SEIA2  A.  483—498. 


ovng  dvrjp  TrpoTrapoiOE  /ucacaprcirog  ovr  ap  dir'iffffu), 

7rpiv  {lev  yap  cfe  £a>  ov  etlo/jev  iff  a  Qeoiffiv 

’A pysloi,  vvv  avre  fiey a  Kpareeig  vEKveffcnv ,  485 

ivOad’  eu)v'  rip  fir]TL  Oavidv  (IKayi^EV,  ’A yi\\EV. 

"Gig  £(pdpr]v'  6  ds  fi  avrtic  d/JELfio/JEVog  TrpoffEEnrEv' 
fit]  dr}  fiOL  OavaTOV  ye  Trapavda,  tyaidifi  O dvffffEv’ 
fiovXoifiriv  k  £7rdpovpog  iiov  OrfTEVEfJEv  aXXw, 
avdpl  7 rap’  aVXt^ow,  <p  pn }  fiiorog  TroXvg  dir],  490 

7J  TTClfflV  VEKVEffffl  KaratydiflEVOLfflV  dvdffffELV. 
aXX ’  aye  fioi  rov  7r atdog  dyavov  fivdov  'evlchte, 
rj  E7TET  ig  TvoXEpiOV  7rpdfiog  ejUjuevai  t}e  < cat  ovtd. 

E17TE  de  fioi ,  Ur]Xr}og  dpvfjovog  et  n  tettv ffffai, 

T)  ET  EX£l  Tip-W  TroXifflV  flETa  Ml ipfXldoVEfffftV,  495 

17  fj.LV  dTLfid(ovffiv  dv  'EXXac)a  re  Qdirjv  re, 
ovvEKa  fiiv  KaTa  yrjpag  e\el  x^ipdg  te  7r odag  re. 
ov  yap  iyujv  eVapwyo^  vir  avyag  ’HeX/oto, 

pression  in  this  line  may  either 
mean,  “  I  come  on  account  of 
my  need  of  Tiresias,”  or,  “  I 
come  for  the  oracle,  the  oracu¬ 
lar  directions  of  Tiresias.” 

483.  [MaKapTaTos  for  paKap- 
-rtpos,  “  happier.”  The  su¬ 
perlative  is  sometimes  put  for 
the  comparative.  Aristoph. 
Av.  823.  Xtotrrov,  rj  to  (hXgy- 
joa?  ttsSlov,  “  better  than  the 
plain  of  Phlegra.”  Matth.  Gr. 
Gr.  §.  464.  In  these  construc¬ 
tions,  however,  the  superlative 
always  retains  something  of  its 
own  signification,  and  is  stron¬ 
ger  than  the  mere  comparative; 
thus,  crtTo  oaVts  avi ip  p.a.K.dpTa- 
tos  implies,  “  no  man  was  ever 
happier  than  thou  art;  if  he 
were,  he  would  be  indeed  most 
happy;”  or,  “no  man,  even 

though  superlatively  happy, 
was  ever  happier  than  thou.” 

486.  T<p  pli\tl,  k.  t.X.  “there¬ 
fore  grieve  not  that  you  are 
dead.”  ’A /cayt^ea,  Ionic  for 
d/cay/£oa,  imperat.  from  d/ca^G 
Z)  “Verbs  which  indicate 
any  emotion  of  the  mind,  as, 
to  rejoice,  to  be  indignant, 
vexed,  ashamed,  to  repent,  &c. 
take  in  the  participle  the  ob¬ 
ject  or  operative  cause,  which 
in  Latin  is  expressed  by  quod, 
or  by  the  accus.  with  the  infi¬ 
nitive.  Soph.  Phil.  673.  ovk 
ayQopaL  a  idwv  te  /cat  Xa/3aj* 
< pLXov .  1021.  era  /liev  yiyriOas 
iuv.”  Matth.  Gr.  Gr.  §.  551. 

491.  v  for  /td\Xoa  17,  “rather 
than.”  The  adverb  paXXov  is 
often  omitted,  especially  after 
verbs  of  wishing,  as  /3ovXopai 


OAY22EIA2  A.  499—513. 

rolog  eiov,  oiog  tvot  ivl  Tpo/r/  evpEiy 

7r etyvov  Act ov  apicrrov,  dpvviov  ’A pyeioicriv.  500 

ft  Toioah'  eXOoi/xl  pivvvO a  irep  ig  7rarepog  £)<J, 
ry  K£  re<p,  (rrv^aifu  fiEwg  Kal  xElPaQ  dawrovg, 

Ol  KELVOV  (jlOlOVTCtl  EEpyovviv  t  axo  TlfJ.rjg. 

*£lg  Etyar  *  avrap  iyoi  piv  dpEifiopEvog  TrpoaEEnrov' 
r/TOL  fiEV  TlpXfjog  dfivfxovog  ovn  7T£7rv(rpai'  505 

avrap  roi  7r atdog  y£  NeotttoXejuoio  tyiXoio 
7racrav  dXrjdEirjy  pvdrjcropai,  wg  fi£  KeXEVEig' 
avrog  yap  piv  iyoa  KOtXrjg  eVt  rrjog  Eiarjg 
rjyayov  ek  'ZiKvpov  per  ivKvijpi^ag  ’A ^aiovg. 
rjroL  or  dpapl  ttoAiv  T poir)v  (ppa^oipeda  fiovXag,  510 

aul  7 rpoirog  e(3a^E  Kal  ov\  rjpdpravE  /jivOivv’ 

N tariop  r  avridEog  Kal  iyio  viKaarKopev  o”uo. 
avrap  or  ev  7rf&w  T piowv  papvoi/JLEda  Ak«, 

(re  amevai,  t)  nrapovTa  padv- 
P-ilv,  “  I  wish  you  to  depart 
rather  than,  &c.”  Andoc.  Or. 
de  Myster.  p.  62.  Tedvavcu 
vopLL^ovaa  XvaiTeXelv  rj  X,(\vi 
“  thinking  that  to  die  was  pro¬ 
fitable  more  than  to  live,”  i.e. 
that  death  was  better  than  life. 
“  It  seems  plain,  and  so  the 
answer  of  Achilles  was  under¬ 
stood  by  Dionysius  Halicarnas- 
sensis,  that  the  abhorrence  in 
which  he  holds  the  state  of  the 
dead,  and  the  emphatical  pre¬ 
ference  he  gives  to  life  when 
compared  with  it,  arose  from 
his  desire  of  still  greater  glory, 
and  from  his  inability  to  endure 
the  wearisomeness  of  a  condi¬ 
tion  so  inactive.  Therefore  it 
is,  that,  always  consistent  with 
himself,  he  had  rather  toil  for 
lean  wages  and  eat  scanty  bread, 

than  be  the  supreme  in  autho¬ 
rity  over  all  below.  In  the 
same  style  of  complaint  he  adds 
in  the  sequel — 

Oil  yap  iyuov  tTapwyov,  See. 

“  For  help  is  none  in  me,  the 
glorious  Sun 

No  longer  sees  me  such - ’’ 

What  advantage  have  we,  says 
the  critic  above  mentioned,  from 
the  possession  of  virtue,  where 
we  have  no  room  to  exert  it?” 

499.  t oios  icov  oios  irt<f>uov, 
“being  such,  as  being  I  slew,” 
i.e.  being  such  as  I  was  when 
I  slew. 

501.  by  apocope  for  tiiopa. 
II.  i.  426.  ei/ii  AiosttotI  (tt/jos) 
y^aXKO^a te's  <5ou. 

506.  N£07TToX£/iOlO,  “  of 

Neoptolemus.”  Neoptolemus, 
or  Pyrrhus,  was  Achilles’  son 
by  Deidamia.  He  was  brought 

ju.vvrA%.  .x-irv  .•  use.  s'.  u/vi/rAry  ■ 

<?2v%l>  jf~ru,  U'lAt^Lcd  ■  .7 "  tttiZ-A-c  d /-\  X-&4.-**  y  7 

/  '  /  /  s 

usljl.  . 

y  /  #  J  y  S  * 

u*yo  c  /ZH+~  c//'££uj?:/<-  ,  'TtAlAt  c 

'  7  ' 


hifc  For,  7 t't. cjt *c<c?t 7^7,  farA  A  O  ■*  f~r*"t*  *  TsA  /l—c.Aa  ,7 

7  •. 

t hoc.  n 

',  A  ftp  .ATc^cA?  <ry^-  /  CT (7  ^  _ 7yAA~^-  /t-ntel  /*"(//<' 

•  ./.  '  X.  ,  '.  ... 

7*1-7,  . — ;  /u-cA-  7>i  ±7,  ,  -  AsyA/  u(*£/U  r  /  ’  1<S Slut  A <7,  A#  a.<S  A 

/tfu-'iA’  SATaAATy; _ An^/A  oLo'fci  4  /7  T-tn^A)  A  Assy)  /_ 

T’T’zyct;,  aiyyu_SL  . 

/ty  Tjlo  t-j  A^*A f  A-uvAc-cc.  Js7H.-t:A7-b-  . - Ae.  7%7?"2f  /s.z  4:  /<7&S  /7fZyC*<. 

£x  A/A  y^  2>K  O  Ay  OL.W  ^  OL  ,  V  _  Jt  C  A*€y7.  /7>.  y\ 


fy/oCxf  ^  &J&. '  ,  ^tr  y^ay.  fy*o{ 

Aietrtf***,  ^ 

OAYSSEIAS  A.  514—521. 


tov7TOT  evi  7T \r)0v~i  fxkvtv  ctVcpwj/  ow’d’  £V  ofiiXu), 

d\\a  7 roXv  7rpoO££ffKe,  to  ov  jjievoq  ov()£Vi  £lkwv'  5 15 

7 roWovg  3’  avhpag  £7T£(j)V£V  iv  alvij  cfioTfjn. 

nra vrag  3’  ovk  dv  eyw  fivdrtcrofJLaL  ouS'  ovo/jrjvco, 

daaov  \aov  £7T£(pV£V,  dfivvwv  * Apyelounv’ 

aXX’  o\ov  tov  Tr)\£(j)icr}v  KarEvrjpaTO  Xa^K<P* 

■ijpoj  Evpv7rv\ov‘  7 roXXot  3’  a/z^’  avVoV  iraxpoi  520 

KrjrEioi  KTtivovro ,  ywatwv  tiv£Kct  Scopuiv. 

up,  and  remained,  at  the  court 
of  his  maternal  grandfather  Ly- 
comedes,  until  after  the  death 
of  his  father.  The  Greeks  then, 
according  to  an  oracle  which 
had  declared  that  Troy  could 
not  be  taken  unless  one  of  the 
descendants  of  iEacus  were 
among  the  besiegers,  dispatched 
Ulysses  and  Phoenix  to  Scyros 
for  the  young  prince.  He  had 
no  sooner  arrived  before  Troy 
than,  having  paid  a  visit  to  the 
tomb  of  Achilles,  he  was  ap¬ 
pointed  to  accompany  Ulysses 
in  his  expedition  to  Lemnos, 
for  the  purpose  of  prevailing 
on  Philoctetes  (see  Philoctetes) 
to  repair  with  the  arrows  of 
Hercules  to  the  scene  of  ac¬ 
tion.  Pyrrhus  greatly  signa¬ 
lized  himself  during  the  siege, 
and  was  the  first  that,  accord¬ 
ing  to  some  accounts,  entered 
the  wooden  horse. 

520.  Eurypylus  was  one  of 
the  most  considerable  of  the 
Trojan  allies,  and  was  equally 
remarkable  for  valour,  and  for 
the  strength  and  beauty  of  his 
person.  He  was  the  son  of 
Telephus,  the  son  of  Hercules, 
and  of  Astyochia,  the  sister  of 
king  Priam,  and  waskilled  in  the 
last  year  of  the  war  by  Pyrrhus 

the  son  of  Achilles.  He  was  king 
of  Mysia.  The  Cetaeans  were 
a  people  of  Mysia,  so  called 
from  the  river  Cetium,  which 
runs  through  their  country  and 
empties  itself  into  the  Caicus. 

521.  ywaitov  z'LvzKa  twpwv, 
“  on  account  of  women’s  gifts.” 
There  is  some  difficulty  in  this 
expression.  Some  (says  Eu- 
stathius)understand  the  expres¬ 
sion  as  applied  to  Neoptolemus, 
and  not  Eurypylus;  namely, 
Eurypylus  and  his  soldiers  fell 
by  means  of  the  gifts  of  women  ; 
that  is,  Neoptolemus  was  led  to 
the  war  by  the  promise  of  hav¬ 
ing  Hermione  in  marriage,  the 
daughter  of  Menelaus,  which 
promise  occasioned  the  death 
of  Eurypylus,  by  bringing  Ne¬ 
optolemus  to  the  siege  of  Troy. 
Others  understand  it  to  be  spo¬ 
ken  of  a  golden  vine,  sent  by 
Priam  to  his  sister  Astyoche, 
the  mother  of  Eurypylus,  to 
induce  her  to  persuade  her  son 
to  undertake  this  expedition  to 
Troy,  where  he  was  slain  by 
the  son  of  Achilles:  this  vine 
was  said  to  be  given  to  Tros, 
the  father  of  Priam,  by  Jupiter, 
as  a  recompense  for  his  carry¬ 
ing  away  his  son  Ganymedes 
to  be  his  cup-bearer;  but  this 



0AY22EIA2  A.  522— 542. 

KUVOV  h)  KClWlffTOV  tcW  fXET<i  M EflVOVO.  (TlOV. 
avrap  or  elg  'imvov  Kare^aivofxer,  or  Kap’  ’JLireiog, 

Apyetwr  oi  a  parrot,  spot  o’  ettl  rrdrr  ereraXro' 

(r/per  clvcikXlvcu  rrvKiror  Xoyov  rjt)’  irrideivaL*']  525 

trQ ’  dXXot  A arawr  rjyrjropeg  ijde  pedorreg 

CaKpvd  r  wpopyvvrro  rpepor  0’  vi ro  yv~ia  EKaarov" 

ke~lvov  h'  ovttote  Trdprrav  iywr  ’idor  ocpdaXpolair 

our  wyprjaravra  \p6a  KaXXipor  ovrE  7rapei(Jv 

daKpv'  opopidpEvov'  6  o£  pE  pdXa  7 roAA’  iketevev  530 

ImrodEv  ifypEvai,  tytyEog  (?  ErrEpaiEro  Kioirrjv 

Kal  Sopv  yaXKo/Sapsg,  /ca/ca  Be  TpioEavi  pEvoiva. 

dXX  ore  Sr}  Hpidpoio  rroXiv  SiETTEpffapEr  alicrjv , 

po~ipar  Kal  yspag  iaOXov  Eywv  ettl  vr]6g  kfiaivEV 

daKpQpg,  ovr  dp  (^E^X-ppivog  6£ei  ya Xkw  535 

our  a vro<ryE(dr)v  ovraopkvog *  old  rs  7ro\\a 

yiyvEraL  £r  iroXipa)'  E7npl%  c )e  re  paivErai  ”  Aprjg, 

£lg  £(J)dpr)v'  ipuy*}  S£  rr odcuKEog  AlaKiSao 
(fioira  paKpci  (oifiuja a  Kar  dff^o^sXor  Xsipulra, 
yrjdofrvrt],  6  ol  vlor  Etypv  dpt^EiKEror  elvaL.  540 

At  S’  aXXai  x[/vyal  vekvup  KararEdrrjojrujr 
Effraaav  ayyvpEvai ,  s'ipovro  Se'  Kijde  EKaarrj’ 

is  too  much  a  fable  to  be  follow¬ 
ed.  Others,  more  probably, 
assert  that  Priam  had  promised 
one  of  his  daughters  to  Eury- 
pylus,  to  engage  his  assistance 
in  the  war;  and  this  agrees 
very  well  with  Homer’s  man¬ 
ner  of  writing  in  many  places 
of  the  Iliad;  and  there  is  a 
great  resemblance  between  Eu- 
rypylus  in  the  Odyssey  and 
Othryoneus  in  the  Iliad,  lib. 
xiii.  461. 

‘Cassandra’s  love  he  sought, 

with  boasts  of  power,  And  pro¬ 
mis’d  conquest  was  the  prof¬ 
fer’d  dower.’ 

539.  aa-(j)od£X6v,  “  of  aspho¬ 
del.”  Asphodel  was  planted 
on  the  graves,  and  round  the 
tombs  of  the  deceased,  and 
hence  the  supposition  that  the 
Stygian  plain  was  clothed  with 
asphodel.  ' 

542.  tcrTacrav  by  syncope 
for  ilcrT^KEiarav,  plusquam  perf. 
from  'icTTrjfxi.  The  imperf.  is 
tarncrav,  not  zaracrav. 

x<k './M,  ZTcacjU-C  ,  ALOCyU.  TOJ  . 


Jla'fcoQ  £tit-  /t^'£c<y<rA&£ ,  /££  ^ 

^4°'  ^ci'v  -Z-AUe.  y<u*v  iU. 

0/co^f  <y  <L>/C^/i  { p  a-^*****^**' . 

4 )  jLQQLUJ  ^ jf'UrZJ?  /  ta^C  ;  cJjc  f^C 

£<&/  LA-  <X  6 f*-&-  L  AA'*iJl^!jL  / 

C  'TO  A  T  SL  CS>  /l^jCerJ’-e-,  9s^^tje.  —  /*-£  7  °  i  - 
a '*■}•& 2> ;  v  &.  0 . 

2 T9c  <?/  <0 ft.  f  __  Ia/LSC£t/2*2  _  o/  <?#,£  CO  J  r/c£v2< 

ov^v-^uj  7b  ,  AnTT^  A  £>€4-^4*-*-  /2cJ&  /tc  a2ol^c^  , 

j2ir  /£^/2/cA£c7o3c  7st£c*cci'<-  AJ'£*t7>- <%j 

Tcy  TJLA&- 

bftjL jU  i  £  /tx’277frt.c-£<7,  a£  pA+tAmu-  /  (/-* 

<L<rq?o  KzJl  o  7 _ _ /St-rtf  y  c^2c  /7£'v  2ty~  ;  (?<?>*c  ££  &  ao  •£/& 

f%2(2.  __  3u^; ^AJ,  y+ 

jUClJLi  %  s 0  f  /<?<T&  ;  ^U-Z'l  l  , 

&*/»?*%*  1  /^  Lrt*.  Zsctu.  '  Sffa' 

Z-Xi&oryJ-  &>  4  f  V]  <JiTCJ .  TtwiL'dLtuL&p  ,  £V 'iCci taL+A^t^. . 

0AY22EIAS  A.  543—562. 


mrj  3’  A'iavrog  ^vyr\  TsXa/jiojviddao 

voctyiv  acpscrrijiesi,  KexpXojfiEvri  e  viKrjg, 

rijv  fuv  sy (o  viiarjffa  diKa^ofxsvog  napd  vqvdiv  545 

TEvxemv  dfi(f  ’ AxiXrjog ‘  sdrjKs  fie  izorvia  /urjrrjp. 

[Vat^er  Tj oioiov  litcaoav  /cat  IlaXXac  ’AOr/vrjl] 

w£  § rj  firj  otysXov  vucdv  roiuid  eV  asOXu)' 
toitjv  yap  KsepaXrjv  svek  avrtxtv  yala  tears a^sv, 

A’iavO ’,  og  rrspi  fisv  sldog,  7 rspi  d  ep ya  tstvkto  550 

raiv  dXXcjv  Aavawv,  fxsr  a/Av/iova  TlrfXsioJva. 

TOV  fXSV  iytov  S7T££(TfTL  7TpO(7r)V()(iJV  flSlXl^lOlfflV' 

Aiav,  7ra l  T eXafiuivog  dfxvfiovoQy  ovk  dp ’  s/jLEXXsg 
ovds  davujv  XijffsaOai  ifiol  ^oXov,  stveKa  tev^eiov 
ovXofiEViov  ;  rd  de  Trij/xa  deol  detrav  ’ Apysiotaiv .  555 

roTog  yap  a (f>iv  Trvpyog  ai uoXso'  <te~io  d  ’Amatol 
l  (TOV  ’  AyiXXrjog  KstpaXrj  II rjXrjia^ao, 
d\yvfxeda  (pdifisvmo  diafjLTrspsg *  ov$e  rig  dXXog 
a’inog,  a'XXa  Z evg  Aavauiv  arparov  al^fxrjrd ojv 
e K7r ay Xwg  r\X drips’  rsiv  d  eVt  fioipav  sdrjKsv.  560 

a'XX’  ays  Ssvpo ,  aval tv  eirog  /cal  fxvdov  dieovarjg 
■fjfiETspov'  fidfiafrov  ds  pisvog  ayrjvopa  dvfxov. 

547.  7T  CU<$£9,  K.  t.  X.  At 
the  death  of  Achilles,  his  ar¬ 
mour  was  to  be  given  to  the 
best  of  the  Greeks,  and  Ajax 
and  Ulysses  were  the  two  can¬ 
didates  for  them.  Agamemnon, 
desirous  not  to  seem  partial 
to  either  of  them,  assembled 
the  Trojan  captives,  and  asked 
them  whether  Ajax  or  Ulysses 
had  occasioned  most  lamenta¬ 
tion  in  their  city.  They  replied 
that  their  city  had  suffered  most 
by  Ulysses.  When,  taking  that 
as  a  just  criterion  of  their  re* 

spective  merits,  to  Ulysses  he 
gave  the  armour. — B.  &  C.  The 
consequence  to  Ajax  was  such 
insupportable  disappointment 
and  mortification,  that  he  slew 

548.  cJe  fit]  ofpeXov,  “  I  wish 
that  I  had  not.”  'Qs  o<peXov, 
I  wish  that  I ;  «!s  ocp&Xt s,  I 
wish  that  you ;  ocptXe,  I  wish 
that  he. 

Trepl  tmu  aXXcou,  “  was  in  form 
and  in  actions  superior  to  the 
other  Greeks.” 


0AY22EIA2  A.  563—572. 

£(f>dfj.r]v'  6  fie  jx  ovSev  dfiElfisTO,  fifj  Se  [xet  aXXag 
ipv^ag  Eig  ’'TpE^og  vekvmv  KararEBpTjojroJV. 
evQcl  o/xiog  irpoaEtyrj  KEyoXwpLtvog,  ?/  kev  Eyio  roy,  565 
dXXd  fjoi  tjOeXe  6v/j.og  eVl  arrrjOecrcrc  (bcXoLcriy 
rtZy  uXXojy  xpv^ag  idisiy  KaraTEdvr]OJTU)v . 

’EvO’  rjTOL  MtVwa  ’cSor,  A idg  ayXaoy  vioy, 

XpvtTEoy  <ricr}7rrpoy  E\opra,  0£jutor£uorra  PEKvacriy, 

Tj jiEVOv'  ol  di  pay  dp(J)l  dltcag  E’ipopro  ayaKTCi,  57 0 

rfpEVOL  ioraoTEg  re}  tear  EvpvirvXEg  ”  Aidog  £k«7. 

Toy  ds  fiET  ilpiwva  TTEXujpiov  EiaEvorjcray 

568.  Mivwa,  Minos,  a  king 
of  Crete,  son  of  Jupiter  and 
Europa,  who  gave  laws  to  his 
subjects  B.  C.  1406,  which  still 
remained  in  full  force  in  the 
age  of  the  philosopher  Plato. 
His  justice  and  moderation 
procured  him  the  appellations 
of,  ‘  the  favourite  of  the  gods,’ 
‘  the  confidant  of  Jupiter,’  ‘  the 
wise  legislator,’  in  every  part 
of  Greece ;  and,  according  to 
the  poets,  he  was  rewarded  for 
his  equity,  after  death,  with 
the  office  of  supreme  and  ab¬ 
solute  judge  in  the  infernal 
regions.  In  this  capacity  he  is 
represented  sitting  in  the  mid¬ 
dle  of  the  shades,,  and  holding 
a  sceptre  in  his  hand.  The 
dead  plead  their  different  causes 
before  him,  and  the  impartial 
judge  shakes  the  fatal  urn, 
which  is  filled  with  the  desti¬ 
nies  of  mankind.  In  order  to 
give  greater  authority  to  his 
laws,  he  is  said  to  have  retired 
into  a  cave  in  Crete,  where  he 
feigned  that  Jupiter  his  father 
dictated  them  to  him;  and  every 
time  he  returned  from  the 
cave,  he  announced  some  new 

law.  The  poets  say,  that  in 
the  lower  world,  Minos,  as 
chief  president  of  the  court, 
decided  all  differences  that  a- 
rose  between  the  other  two 
judges,  iEacus  and  Rhadaman- 
thus,  of  whom  the  former  jud¬ 
ged  the  Europeans — the  latter 
the  Asiatics. 

572.  Tov  <5 s'  yutV  “and  after 

’Qpiwva,  Orion.  He  was 
son  of  Neptune  and  Euryale, 
daughter  of  Minos,  according 
to  Homer:  some  authors  assert 
that  his  mother  was  Terra.  He 
was  celebrated  for  his  love  of 
astronomy,  and  of  the  chase,  and 
for  his  beauty  and  gigantic  sta¬ 
ture.  He  married  Side,  and 
was  also  a  suitor  of  Merope,  or 
Hero,  daughter  of  CEnopion, 
king  of  Chios.  This  monarch 
promised  to  accede  to  the  suit 
of  Orion,  if  he  would  rid  the 
island  of  the  numerous  wild 
beasts  by  which  it  was  infested. 
When  Orion  had  discharged 
this  task,  the  treacherous  (Eno- 
pion  intoxicated  his  guest,  and 
put  out  his  eyes.  Orion  reco¬ 
vered  his  sight  by  directing  his 




2^/x-ro  q 


f.^Coc.  •/l'64^  ‘ 

&iu\u>etLO(j  ,  /ho^zfcrii^s  ;  Z£l2 

£-ol(j_)(? '  //t£^s2u~. 

.A <Xzto,  9irfo, 

ZxZlef  _  **'<,  <’>-’/  -  jkic/tr*,  ^  ~*V 

Jotfcc' lo>',  Ut-u<  y-sttzc? .  -  £l  /’  fayr,  Vr 

roc/  3f  <  ,  . 


Iqi  ,  ft  . 


y  fiiSi  c  ft  £  cr>'  StJit  0?6n> ,  J&f  e  ^  z/aJtyy^,  ^ 

•L^/.  __  £uu/ML*$?  /y  y*£f  Jif 

ZcMulS  /U  —  AM  'XJl  2*3,  - 

:Qif<rV  My  COyUL  (Ufrl-l'L^y  Mz  tu^F*^  -  d^fCcJ,  ?£(*/4.K,  V." 

0AY22EIA2  A.  573  —  582. 


Orjpag  of.iov  eIXevvtcl  /car  da(])oOEXdy  Xtifiuiya, 
rovg  avrog  KarETTEcfii'EV  iv  oloteoXoktlv  dpEcraiy, 

XEpcrii'  E\h)v  poivaXov  TrayyaXtCEOv,  auv  ciaysg.  575 

Kai  T ltvov  slSoy,  Talrjg  ipucvOEog  vloy, 

KElfJLEyOy  EV  Sa7T£C^)’  6  o’  £7r’  EWECl  KEITO  TTEXsOpU' 
yVTTE  Se  fuy  EKUTEpOs  TVUpT]piEV(x)  7j fJ.Up  Ek'ElpOy, 
t)EprpOy  £(UO  7)VV0VTEg’  6  o'  OVK  UTEa^lVVETO  yEptJLV' 

A  r/roj  yap  ijXKr)(T£,  A  tog  KvCpijy  TrapaKoiriy,  580 

IT vOuic)'  ip-xpuEyriy  end  KaXXc)(opov  UayoTrfjog . 

Kat  firjy  T dyraXoy  Ei(T£~idoy,  ^aXeTr’  aXye’  e\ovTa, 

face  towards  the  rising  sun,  and 
instantly  proceeded  to  punish 
the  perfidy  of  CEnopion.  Orion 
was  so  eminent  for  his  work¬ 
manship  in  iron,  that  even 
Vulcan,  when  building  for  him¬ 
self  a  subterraneous  palace,  did 
not  scruple  to  avail  himself  of 
his  skill  and  labour.  Orion  is 
said  by  Apollodorus  to  have 
constructed  a  palace  for  Nep¬ 
tune.  He  was  so  devoted  to 
the  pleasures  of  the  chase,  that 
the  poets  represent  him  as  pur¬ 
suing  the  same  occupation  in 
the  lower  world. 

576.  Tltvou ,  Tityus,  son  of 
Jupiter  and  Terra,  or  of  Jupiter 
and  Elara,  daughter  of  king 
Orchomenos ;  a  giant  of  such 
enormous  dimensions  as,  ac¬ 
cording  to  some,  when  his  body 
was  extended,  to  cover  nine 
acres  of  ground.  According 
to  Homer,  he  was  killed  by  the 
arrows  of  Apollo  for  offering 
violence  to  Latona,  and  was  pre¬ 
cipitated  into  Tartarus  where 
an  insatiable  vulture  continu¬ 
ally  preyed  on  his  heart  or 
liver.  (See  Mn.  vi.  804,  &c. 
and  Horace,  Ode  14.  b.  ii.) 

By  this  fable  is  implied,  ac¬ 
cording  to  some,  that  Tityus 
was  a  tower  or  pharos,  erected 
on  a  conical  mount  of  earth, 
which  stood  in  an  inclosure  of 
nine  acres,  that  he  was  im¬ 
mersed  in  worldly  cares,  and 
therefore  styled  the  son  of 
Earth ;  that  he  was  concealed 
in  a  cavern  of  the  earth  by  his 
mother  Elara,  who  dreaded  the 
jealousy  of  Juno;  or  that  he 
was  a  covetous  person,  who 
starved  amidst  plenty,  and  that 
the  fiction  of  his  covering  nine 
acres,  arose  from  the  inclosure 
of  such  a  space  of  ground  for 
the  place  of  his  burial. 

582.  TavraXov,  Tantalus, 
the  father  of  Niobe,  Pelops, 
&c.  His  sufferings  in  the  in¬ 
fernal  regions  are  a  favourite 
theme  with  the  poets,  though 
they  agree  neither  in  the  na¬ 
ture  nor  in  the  cause  of  them. 
Some,  with  Homer,  say  that  he 
was  punished  with  insatiable 
thirst,  and  placed  up  to  the 
chin  in  the  midst  of  a  pool  of 
water,  which  flows  away  as  soon 
as  he  attempts  to  taste  it ;  and 
that  there  hangs  above  his  head 


0AY22EIAS  A.  583-596'. 

eorctor  ev  Xipyyj'  rj  Si  7rpoae7rXa^E  yEVEiu)' 

(TTEVTO  Ce  7 TLEELV  C  OVIC  Eiyjiy  iXiaOai. 

offcraKL  yap  KvxpEi  o  yEpwv,  tvieelv  pEyeaiyojy,  585 

Toaady^  vSiop  aVoAeWer’  dyafjpoy^ev’  ctfiyl  Si  ttckjgiv 
yala  piXaiya  (pdvEGKE,  Kara^rjyacrKE  Si  Saijuioy. 
ceySpEa  S'  v\pi7TETT]Xa  karaicpTjOEy  %se  Kapnoy, 

°y\vai  koi  poLai  nat  firjXeai  dyXaoKapiroe 

<xvi;a~i  te  yXvKEpal  ical  iXaiai  TrjXedoiocrai'  590 

T<vy  ottot  lOvaEi  o  yEpioy  etv\  y£po\  pdaaadai, 

rag  S  avEpog  piirramcE  tvotl  yi(p£a  anciOEyTa. 

Kat  fxpy  2ii(rv(f)oy  e\(te~icov ,  Kparip'  dXys'  iyovra, 

Xauy  fiacrra^oyra  TCEXwpioy  dp<J>oripr](TLy. 

rjroi  o  fxtv  GKrjpnrTO fUEyog  yEpcriy  TE'irocriy  te  595 

Xduy  dvh)  ujOectke  7 rort  Xo<poy'  dXX *  ore  piXXot 

a  bough  richly  laden  with  deli¬ 
cious  fruits,  which,  as  soon  as 
he  attempts  to  seize  it,  is  car¬ 
ried  away  from  his  reach  by  a 
sudden  blast  of  wind.  Others 
say,  his  punishment  is  to  sit 
under  a  huge  stone,  hung  at 
some  distance  over  his  head, 
and  as  it  seems  every  moment 
ready  to  fall,  he  is  kept  under 
continual  alarms.  The  causes 
assigned  for  this  punishment 
are — his  stealing  a  favourite 
dog  that  belonged  to  Jupiter ; 
or,  his  stealing  the  nectar  and 
ambrosia  from  the  tables  of  the 
gods  and  giving  them  to  men  ; 
or,  his  revealing  the  mysteries 
of  the  worship  of  the  gods ;  or, 
his  killing  his  own  son  Pelops, 
and  serving  his  limbs  as  food  be¬ 
fore  the  gods,  whose  divinity  and 
power  he  wished  to  try,  when 
they  had  stopped  at  his  house  as 
they  passed  over  Phrygia. 

593.  '2icrv<pov,  Sisyphus,  a 
descendant  of  iEolus,  the  most 
crafty  prince  of  the  heroic  ages. 
On  his  death-bed  he  entreated 
his  wife  to  leave  his  body  un¬ 
buried;  and  when  he  came  in¬ 
to  Pluto’s  kingdom,  he  receiv¬ 
ed  permission  to  return  upon 
earth  to  punish  this  seeming 
negligence  of  his  wife,  on  pro¬ 
mise  of  immediately  returning. 
But  he  was  no  sooner  out  of 
the  infernal  regions  than  he 
violated  his  promise  ;  and  when 
he  was  at  last  brought  back  to 
hell  by  Mars,  Pluto,  to  punish 
his  want  of  fidelity  and  honour, 
condemned  him  to  roll  to  the 
top  of  a  mountain  a  huge  stone, 
which,  as  soon  as  it  had  reach¬ 
ed  the  summit,  fell  back  to  the 
plain  with  impetuosity,  and 
thus  rendered  his  punishment 

&-V  DC  ^ 

Ml'*L*,'>iroL6-^u>  Jrr  &*ZV%tu  ra>,  *i*i rv,  yL 

.52c  £  ijX  art- ,  3ZS-'2‘  V  wi err.  UJiy.  XotZoL  Sty^lltY—  t^r  /lc^Z> 

/tel ?~aL*<~c'&-  •  ■/*■■*  /</ 



TIj  /  o/rtj  (>a*  <*,  ££>*,  ft*  ^/xrhULf 

2*7 X  lX(XM,  JtM'U.  ^b~  1b«cMa>. 

7/vu)  '  "hSiTtL  *2.  ti/vf  . 

t  / 

U  x  <P  v  pav,,  ~;i  ^<&c£rf  X~  At  vOucs. 


%  $  *  &?CJ  -  (T&qiZZ^  . 

i'ct  f  *-'  X  /'Xyru^y'  ^ 

•Icq'tU}  _  JfuA-  y^  Xxxy/i  Z/CX^.  dtc  ,  >2?^  -  <. _  J/Z 

/  •  *  ^  y  i /< 

ftt///.  CyL  /*•  ,Z  C  2ti  J —  t/LC^'XuJ. 

f-  z 

£ir-cj . 

\fO<?  ^Cectr  j^Crt*-  &>■  ,  <U  Vh^,  £>&,  /jL/. 

typftrr  CU*4U-.  &l(Tni  err  f  t/cUiS)aJl . 

f  tfA'lC'juy  , *k/ivClMa£ J 

.cftn.XuK,  1zu<x& ,  Z-icrd**. 

*£lt£  /c/^s  iuf^p . 

ic^eJY f  cy€i-  ^ ,  6'c'Z Si- SI  • 


eziAaf  9i- S&-  9*°f  /V^. 

tfOQ. .Of-  %«.<$*.  ,b  ft—  ^lUT, 

T^iynj  (  i/S'^-t.y',  — 


0AY2SEIA2  A.  597— 615. 

4  3 

dtcpov  inrepfiaXeeiv,  tot  aTroarpex^acrKE  Kparaug 
avng'  etteitci  7 riSovSs  kvXivSeto  Xaag  dvaiSyg. 
avrap  oy  difs  uhtcktke  TiTCiLVO/AEVog’  Kara  5’  ISpiog 
eppEE v  Etc  /ieXeojv,  tcoviy  S’  Etc  tcparog  opwpEi .  600 

Toy  Si  fiET  EiffEyorjaa  ftirjy  'HpatcXyEiriv, 
eiSwXov *  avrog  Si  /xet  ddaydrotaL  Oeo'ktiv 
TEpiTETcu  iv  OciXiyg  /cat  iyEi  tcaXXi(T(f)vpov  "Wfiyv. 

[7raT^a  A  tog  fiEyaXoio  /cat  "YLpyg  •^poffonESiXov.'] 

dficfi  Si  fuy  icXayyr)  veiojoji >  tip  oimvoUv  wg,  605 

Travroo  drv^o/jLEVUiy'  6  S\  ipE/ivy  vvkti  iouctog, 

yvfxvov  rotpv  Entity  /cat  eVt  v£vpy(piv  oIotov , 

Selvov  7ra7TTaiyo)y,  at ei  (jaXiovn  ioactog. 

(T/xEpSaXiog  oi  oi  a/upi  TEpl  oTtjdEOOiy  uopTrjp, 

yjpvvEog  rfv  TeXa/xtoy’  'iv a  diffKsX a  epya  virvtcro,  610 

dptCTOi  t  dyporepoi  te  avEg  ^apoiroi  te  XiovrEg 

vafuvai  te  ixdyaL  te  (j)ovoi  r  avSpotCT acriai  te. 

fit]  TEypriodpLEvog  |J.r}S,  a XXo  ri  TE^yrjaaiTo, 

tog  tcsivov  TEXa/judva  irj  iyicarOETO  TE^vy, 

iyvw  S’  avTiKa  K£~ivog ,  ettel  ’ iSev  6(pdaXj.Lo1(ny  6 1 5 

597.  KpaTaiis  is  the  pro¬ 
per  name  of  a  goddess,  as 
appears  from  book  xii.  124. 
K paTauv,  priTspa  t fis  2/oiXXrjs, 
and  signifies  “  force.”  If  how¬ 
ever  it  be  read,  KpaTai  is,  for 
upaTaia.  is,  it  means  “a  strong 

598.  a’i>ai5t]s,  “obstinate.” 
Homer  often  applies  to  inani¬ 
mate  things,  terms  and  epithets 
which  properly  belong  only  to 
those  which  are  animate. 
Aristotl.  Rhetor,  iii.  11. 

613.  pi]  Teyvr](rdp.EVO<s,  k.t. 
X.  “  He  who  had  worked  that 

belt  by  his  art,  having  contri¬ 
ved  it,  would  never  contrive 
any  other  equal  to  it”  The 
two  negatives  pi]  and  pr^oi  be¬ 
long  both  to  TEyv^crdiTo,  and 
strengthen  the  negation ;  so 
in  book  iv.  684;  ptj  putjcttev- 
cavTE'i  pr]d’  aXXo0’  dpiXpaav- 

T£S,  XXJTaTa  kcll  TTopaTa  vvw 

ivddde  Stiirvdcrtiav.  “  Having 
become  suitors,  may  they  now 
dine  for  the  last  time,  never 
meeting  together  elsewhere  ;  ” 
pv  and  piidi  being  both  joined 
to  6piXi}cravTEi2. 


0AY22EIA2  A.  616—634. 

KCtl  fJL  6\o(pVp6fX£VOg  £7T£tt  7 TTEpOEPTa  7TpO(TrjVCa' 

Atoysptg  Aa£pridSrjy  7r oXv/ip^av  ’ OivaaEu , 
u  ^£<A’,  ?7  rim  /cat  try  kcikov  popov  rjyrjXd^Eig, 
dviT£p  iydp  o^UffKov  V7r  avydg  ’HfA loio. 

Z rjpog  pip  tccuq  r)a  lipopiopog,  avrdp  oi^vv  620 

Eiyov  d7T£ip£(Tir)v'  pdX a  yap  ttoXv  yEipovt  (purl 
isippppp,  6  ci  poi  xaX£7rov£  fVerfAAfr’  aiOXovg’ 

/cat  7ror£  p  tpoao  £7T£p\p£  kvp  atovr  ov  yap  et  aXXov 
(ppd^Ero  rovii  tl  poi  x aX£7r(x)TEpov  Eivai  cleQXop. 
top  pip  iyiop  dvEVEiKa  /cat  rjyayop  it,  ’Aiiao*  625 

’Eppttug  ii  p  ETTEp^Ev  He  yXaviao7rig  'Adrjvp.  ^ 

'  £lg  eittwp.  o  pip  avng  e(jt]  iopop  ’Aiiog  Ada/. 
avrap  iyajp  avrov  pivop  ’ipnEiop,  e'l  rig  et  eXOol 
dpCpiop  dptJajp,  oi  ir]  to  7r poadtp  oXopto . 

/cat  PV  K  ETL  TrpOTEpOVQ  'Hop  CLPEpag ,  ovg  eOeXvP  7TEp’  630 
[0t7<T£a  HeipiOoov  te ,  Oeujp  ipucviia  tekp a*] 
aXXd  7r pip  E7r'i  eQpe  ayEipETo  pvpia  PEicp&p, 

VXV  QzffKEcriri'  ipi  it  xXcopop  Hog  rjptt, 
prj  pot  Vopy£U)p  KE(f)aXrjp  i£ipo~io  TTtXwpov 

621.  ttoXv  x£LPOVL  (p(j0T'Lt 
“  to  a  much  inferior  man,”  i.e. 
Eurystheus.  Hercules  was  sub¬ 
jected  to  Eurystheus,  the  son 
of  Sthenelus,  king  of  Argos  ; 
who,  at  the  instigation  of  Juno, 
imposed  on  him  those  hard¬ 
ships,  so  well  known  by  the 
name  of  the  twelve  labours  of 

623.  Kvua,  Cerberus,  the 
three-headed  dog,  which  guard¬ 
ed  the  entrance  of  the  infernal 
regions,  as  well  as  the  palace 
of  Pluto.  To  bring  this  dog 
upon  earth  was  the  twelfth  la¬ 
bour  imposed  upon  Hercules 
by  Eurystheus.  The  following 

description  of  Cerberus  is  given 
in  Carey’s  translation  of  the 
Italian  poet  Dante — 

“  Cerberus,  cruel  monster,  fierce 
and  strange,  Through  his  wide 
threefold  throat,  barks  as  a  dog 
Over  the  multitude  immersed 
beneath.  His  eyes  glare  crim¬ 
son,  black  his  unctuous  beard, 
His  belly  large,  and  claw’d  the 
hands  with  which  He  tears  the 
spirits,  flays  them,  and  their 
limbs  Piecemeal  disparts.” 

634.  ropytii]v  KE(paXijv 
deivolo  TrtXuipov,  “  the  Gorgon 
of  horrid  figure.”  Topytir] u 
KE.<fia.\i}v  for  Topyova ,  as  /Si'fj v 
'Hpa/cXiiEnji/,  for  'HpahXsa.  v. 

^  ^  4^  ~  L-^cJU^C  £ ,  l4to6ccC4-  .  d^£>  . 

">-  f 

’  ^cxs/lf. a^-e^ /  /*-&£  '£>  t -''/c . 



3/j££/q  £  6s  l  o  <£  //uju^ccjC^  f  ,  %_  sSZfaCt, :„ 

i:  £  j-  r*  £*  <*£, 

aLrv-rt < Xu>  (u-L  fa  t!U^  i Lu^c^j 

«2r<scq>if&* — Jz'-faL  i^l  Lt^ut-uv. 


1  / 

t/tc.,  /2%MZJ7<3' 



0AY22EIA2  A.  035— 640. 

ti;  ’  AiSoq  7rt/u\peuy  dyavrj  Hepvecpdveia.  635 

avTLK  t7rei r  etv\  yrja  kiwv  ekeXevov  iraipovg 

avTovQ  t  dpfiaivEiv  ava  te  TTpu/j-ypoia  XvcraC 

oi  ti’  al\p’  Eiafiaivov  Kai  eirt  icXpiat  Kadt^oy. 

rrjv  di  Kar  ’{iKEaydy  TvoTapidv  (pepE  KVfxa  puoio' 

7r pwra  pEV  EipErrip,  fiETETTEira  d i  mXXifiog  ovpoQ.  640 

601.  Whoever  looked  upon 
one  of  the  Gorgons  was  im¬ 
mediately  turned  into  stone. 
There  were  three  of  them,  Me¬ 

dusa,  Itheno,  and  Euryale. 

639.  ’Qtaavov  TTOTa/uLOu  “  the 
river  Oceanus.”  The  Nile  is 
called  by  this  name.  —  c^S£ 





Q  U  I  N  €  T  ILIA  N 






:  ••  .  v.  cr\:u  :■ 





^  But  our  design  is  not  here  to  give  instructions  for 
the  manner  of  training  up  an  orator.  We  have  done 
that  sufficiently,  at  least  to  the  utmost  of  our  abilities, 
already.  But  as  a  candidate  in  the  games,  who  has 
already  thoroughly  learnt  all  things  from  his  master, 
viz.  by  what  kind  of  exercise  he  is  to  be  prepared  for 
the  contest ;  so  let  us  instruct  him,  who  shall  know  how 
to  invert  and  dispose  things  and  have  learnt  the  method 
of  choosing  and  arranging  words,  let  us  instruct  him  by 
what  means  he  may,  in  the  best  and  easiest  manner  pos¬ 
sible,  be  able  to  execute  what  he  has  learned.  It  can- 
not  then  be  doubted,  but  that  he  must  acquire  a  certain 
stock  of  wealth,  in  order  to  have  it  ready  for  use  when¬ 
ever  wanting  ;  and  this  stock  of  wealth  consists  in  a 
plentiful  provision  of  things  and  words. 

II.  But  things  ar$  peculiar  to  each  cause,  or  com¬ 
mon  to  few  ;  words  must  be  provided  for  all  subjects. 
If  each  word  was  precisely  significative  of  each  thing  : 
they  would  require  less  care,  as  then  words  would  im¬ 
mediately  present  themselves  with  things  ;  but  since 
some  are  more  proper  than  others,  or  more  ornamental, 
or  more  emphatical,  or  more  harmonious  ;  all  ought,  not 
only  to  be  known,  but  kept  ready,  and  (so  to  say)  in 
sight,  that  when  they  shew  themselves  to  the  orator’s 
judgment,  he  may  easily  make  a  choice  of  the  best./ 

I  know  that  some  make  a  practice  -'of  classing  to¬ 
gether  all  synonymous  words,  and  getting  them  by  heart. 

1.  In  the  first  and  second  books. 


that  one  might  the  easier  occur  out  of  many  ;  and  when 
they  have  used  a  word,  if  shortly  after  they  should  want 
it  again,  to  avoid  repetition,  they  take  another  of  the 
same  signification.  A  pains-taking  of  this  sort,  must  be 
childish,  wretched,  and  of  little  or  no  utility ;  for  it  only 
collects  a  crowd,  out  of  which  the  orator  seizes  indiscri¬ 
minately  the  first  at  hand  ;  but  copiousness  of  language 
must  be  acquired  with  judgment  by  us,  looking  (who 
look)  to  the  force  of  eloquence,  and  not  to  the  volubility 
of  strolling  players  or  mountebanks.  But  this  we  shall 
obtain  by  hearing  and  reading  the  best  things  ;  and  it  is 
by  our  attention  herein,  that  we  shall  not  only  know  the 
appellation  of  things,  but  what  is  fittest  for  every  place. 
For  there  is  room  in  an  oration  for  nearly  all  words, 
except  a  few,  whjch  savour  of  immodesty ;  for  though 
the  writers  of  rambles  and  of  the  old  comedy  were  fre¬ 
quently  praised  even  in  these,  yet  we  orators  are  to  look 
to  ourselves  and  guard  against  all  reproach.  So  that 
all  words,  those  excepted  which  I  spoke  of,  are  some¬ 
where  as  good  as  need  be,  for  there  is  sometimes  an  oc¬ 
casion  for  the  low  and  vulgar,  and  those  which  seem 
mean  in  a  more  elegant  part  of  the  discourse ,  are  said 
with  propriety,  where  the  subject  requires. 

To  know  how  to  distinguish  them,  and  to  become 
acquainted  not  only  with  their  signification,  but  the 
various  forms  and  measures  of  their  declensions  and 
conjugations,  so  that  wherever  they  are  placed,  they 
may  be  suitable,  we  cannot  attain  to,  but  by  frequent 
reading  and  hearing,  because  all  our  language  we  first 


receive  by  our  ears.  For  which  reason  hnfants  brought 
up  by  order  of  kings  in  desert  places  by  mute  nurses* 
though  said  to  have  uttered  some  words,  yet  remained 
destitute  of  the  faculty  of  speaking. 

There  are  some  of  this  nature,  that  they  express  the 
same  thing  by  different  words  ;  so  that  there  is  no  dif¬ 
ference  in  signification,  which  you  use  in  preference,  as 
“ensis”  and  “gladius.”  There  are  others,  which  though 
serving  to  express  two  different  things,  yet  by  a  trope 
present  the  same  idea  to  the  mind,  as  “  ferrum”  and 
‘‘  mucro  and  it  is  also  by  a  catachresis  that  we  call 

“  sicarii”  all  those  who  have  committed  a  murder  bv 


any  sort  of  weapon.  Some  things  we  express  by  cir¬ 
cumlocution  as  “2pressi  copia  lactis and  we  make 
others  figurative  by  a  change  in  the  manner  of  express¬ 
ing  them.  Thus  for  “  scio,”  we  say  “  non  ignoro”  “  non 
me  fugit,”  u  non  me  prseterit,”  “  quis  nescit  ?”  “  Nemini 
dubium  est.”  But  we  may  borrow  from  a  word  of 
nearly  the  same  import ;  for  “intelligo”  and  "sentio”  and 
“video”  often  mean  the  same  as  “  scio.”  Beading  will 
abundantly  supply  us  with  a  diversity  of  such  ways  of 
speaking,  that  we  may  use  them,  not  merely  as  they 
occur,  but  when  they  seem  most  proper,  for  it  is  not 
always  that  they  directly  signify  the  same  thing,  nor,  as 

%  1.  Psammetichus,  king  of  Egypt,  according  to  Herodotus, 
in  the  beginning  of  his  second  book,  procured  mute  nurses 
to  take  care  of  some  infants  whom  he  had  ordered  to  be 
brought  up  in  a  desert.  After  two  years  old  when  hungry, 
they  perhaps  pronounced  the  word  beccos,  which  signifies  in 
the  Phrygian  tongue  bread  or  food. 

2.  Eclog.  iii.  82. 

A  3 


I  may  rightly  say  “  video,”  rvhen  speaking  of  the  under¬ 
standing  of  the  mind,  may  I  likewise  say  f  intelligo,”  of 
the  sight  of  the  eye,  neither  as  “  mucro”  indicates 
16  gladius”,  so  does  “  gladius”  indicate  “  mucro.’, 

But  as  copiousness  of  language  is  thus  acquired,  so 
we  must  not  read  or  hear  for  the  sake  of  the  words  only; 
for  examples  of  all  things  that  we  teach,  are  in  this 
respect  more  efficacious  than  the  arts  themselves  which 
are  taught,  when  the  learner  has  proceeded  so  far,  as  to 
be  capable  of  understanding  them  without  a  teacher,  and 
can  follow  by  his  own  strength ;  because  what  the 
teacher  delivers  precepts  for,  the  orator  shews. 

Now  some  compositions  assist  more  the  readers, 
others  the  hearers.  The  speaker  excites  us  by  the  very 
spirit  with  which  he  speaks,  and  animates  us  not  by  the 
image  and  exterior  of  things,  but  by  the  things  them¬ 
selves.  All  is  life  and  motion,  and  with  solicitude  for 
his  success,  we  favourably  receive  all  he  says,  as  recom¬ 
mended  by  the  charms  of  novelty.  Nor  are  we  inter¬ 
ested  only  in  the  success  of  the  trial,  but  also  in  the 
danger  of  those  who  plead.  Besides  these,  a  good  voice, 
a  graceful  and  suitable  action,  according  as  each  t  opic 
shall  demand,  a  method  of  pronunciation,  which  in 
speaking  is  most  powerful,  and,  in  a  word,  all  things 
equally  are  becoming. 

In  reading  our  judgment  is  surer  ;  because  frequently 
one’s  own  good  wishes  for  the  speaker,  or  the  shouts  of, 
applauders,  extort  praise  from  the  hearer.  We  are 
ashamed  to  differ  from  others  and  we  are  restrained  as  it 
were  by  a  certain  tacit  bashfulness  from  trusting  ourselves 

X  1 



more  than  the  rest ;  though  sometimes  things  that  are 
faulty  please  the  majority,  and  even  those  which  do  not 
please,  are  applauded  by  persons  hired  to  do  so  ;  but  on 
the  contrary  also  it  happens  that  bad  judgments  do  not 
make  a  proper  requital  even  for  the  best  sayings. 
Reading  is  besides  free  and  does  not  escape  us  by  the 
rapidity  which  accompanies  action  ;  and  we  may  often 
go  over  the  same  things,  whether  we  doubt  of  their  ac¬ 
curacy,  or  are  willing  to  fix  them  in  our  memories. 
Repeating  and  reviewing  will  therefore  be  highly  neces¬ 
sary  ;  for  as  meats  are  chewed,  and  in  some  measure  hu¬ 
mected,  before  thev  descend  into  the  stomach  in  order 
to  facilitate  their  digestion  ;  so  let  reading  be  laid  up  in 
the  memory  and  be  an  object  of  imitation  when  it  is 
not  in  a  crude  state,  but  rather  softened  and  elaborated 
by  long  meditation.^ 

^  v**  None,  however,  but  the  best  authors,  and  such  as 
we  are  least  liable  to  be  deceived  in,  should  be  read  for 
a  long  time  together,  but  they  should  he  read  with  dili¬ 
gence  and  almost  to  the  pains  of  transcribing  them  ; 
nor  ought  all  to  be  examined  only  by  parts,  but  the  book, 
after  having  been  fully  perused,  must  be  taken  up  afresh 
and  especially  an  oration,  the  perfections  of  which  are 
often  designedly  kept  concealed.  The  orator  indeed 
often  prepares,  dissembles,  lies  in  wait,  and  says 
things  in  the  first  part  of  the  pleading,  which  he  avails 
himself  of  in  the  last.  They  may  therefore  be  less 
pleasing  in  their  place,  whilst  we  still  remain  ignorant 
of  the  design  for  their  being  said,  and  therefore  they 
should  be  read  over  again,  when  all  the  particulars  are 


But  the  greatest  utility  would  be  in  studying  those 
causes,  on  which  we  have  written  pleadings ;  and  in 
reading,  when  it  shall  so  happen,  such  as  have  been  pro¬ 
nounced  on  both  sides  of  the  question  ;  as  for  and  against 
Ciesiphon,  those  of  Demosthenes  and  iEschines  ;  of 
Servius  Sulpitius  and  Messala,  for  and  against  Aufidia ; 
of  Pollio  and  Cassius,  when  Aspernas  was  defendant, 
and  many  others.  Here  too  if  the  oratorial  abilities  do 
/  not  seem  to  be  upon  an  equality,  we  may  consult  some 
for  becoming  acquainted  with  the  state  of  the  question, 
v  as  in  opposition  to  Cicero,  Tubero  oration  against 
I  Ligarius,  and  that  ofHortensius  for  Verres. 

It  will  also  be  of  service  to  know,  how  two  orators 
handled  the  same  cause,  on  the  side  of  the  defence, 
Callidius  pleaded  for  the  restoration  of  Cicero  to  his 
house ;  and  Brutus,  for  exercise  sake,  wrote  an  oration 
for  Milo,  though  Celsus  mistakenly  says,  he  had  pro¬ 
nounced  it.  Pollio  and  Messala  defended  the  same  per¬ 
sons,  and  wdien  we  were  boys,  the  speeches  of  Domitius, 
Afer,  Crispus,  Passienus  and  Decimus  Lselius  were 
spoken  of  as  excellent. 

In  reading  these  authors,  how  renowned  soever,  we 
mustnot  immediately  imagine  that  all  is  perfect  in  them  ; 
tor  they  sometimes  make  a  false  step,  or  sink  under 
their  burden,  or  indulge  the  will  of  their  genius,  and 
sometimes  relax  their  attention,  and  occasionally  are 
fatigued;  since  Demosthenes  sometimes  seems  to  Cicero 
to  be  nodding,  and  Homer  to  Horace.2  They  are  great 

1,  Orat.  1 04. 

2.  Hor.  de  Art.  Poet.  359.  bonus  dormitat  Homerus. 


men,  and  it  happens  to  them  who  think  that  whatever 
they  find  in  their  writings  is  a  rule  of  eloquence,  that 
they  imitate  their  defects  for  this  is  more  easy  than  to 
imitate  their  perfections  and  think  themselves  abundantly 
like  them,  when  they  have  copied  only  their  faults. 

That  judgment,  however,  which  is  passed  on  the  merit 
of  such  great  men,  ought  to  be  with  singular  modesty 
and  circumspection,  lest,  as  it  generally  happens,  they 
condemn  what  they  do  not  understand.  But  if  there  be 
no  avoiding  a  mistake  on  either  side,  I  would  rather  that 
all  their  expressions  pleased  than  that  many  displeased 
the  readers. 

III.  Theophrastus  says,  that  the  reading  of  poets  is 
of  vast  service  to  the  orator.  Many,  and  with  good 
reason,  are  of  the  same  opinion,  as  from  them  may  be 
derived  sprightliness  in  thought,  sublimity  in  expression, 
every  excitement  in  the  affections  and  propriety  in  cha¬ 
racter,  and  especially  minds  which  have  been  worn  and 
harassed  by  daily  pleading  in  the  forum,  are  best  re¬ 
cruited  by  the  delightful  gratification  of  such  things.  .~~ 
Therefore,  Cicero  thinks1  relaxation  should  be  sought 
for  amidst  the  pleasure  of  poetic  reading. 

Let  us,  however,  remember,  that  poets  are  not  in  ali 
things  to  be  imitated  by  the  orator,  neither  in  the  liber¬ 
ty  of  words,  nor  licence  of  figures;  and  that  all  that  kind 
of  studies  is  calculated  for  ostentation ;  besides  that  it 
seeks  pleasure  alone,  and  pursues  it  not  only  by  fictions 
of  what  is  false,  but  of  some  things  that  are  incredible, 
That  it  is  assisted  also  by  some  patronage,  because  the 

1  De  Orat.  II.  n.  14.  and  pro  Arch,  n,  6. 


poets  bound  down  to  a  certain  necessity  of  feet,  cannot 
always  use  proper  words,  and  being  driven  out  of  the 
strait  road,  must  turn  into  some  bye  ways  of  speaking, 
and  be  compelled  not  only  to  change  some  words,  but 
also  to  lengthen,  shorten,  transpose,  and  divide  them, 
but  that  we  stand  armed  in  order  of  battle,  and  contend 
for  matters  of  the  greatest  consequence,  and  strive  for 

Neither  would  I  wish  their  arms  to  be  squalid  with 
rust  or  canker,  but  retain  rather  a  brightness  that  dis¬ 
mays,  such  as  of  polished  steel,  striking  both  the  mind 
and  eyes  with  awe  ;  and  not  the  splendour  of  gold  and 
silver,  a  weak  safeguard  indeed,  and  rather  dangerous  to 
the  bearer. 

History  likewise  by  its  mild  and  grateful  sap,  may 
afford  kind  nutriment  to  an  oratorial  composition.  Yet 
should  the  orator  so  read  history,  as  to  be  convinced 
that  most  of  its  perfections  ought  to  be  avoided  by 
him.  It  nearly  borders  upon  poetry,  and  in  a  certain 
manner  is  a  poem,  unrestrained  by  the  larvs  of  verse • 
Its  object  is  to  narrate,  and  not  to  prove,  and  the  whole 
work  is  composed  not  for  the  present  pleading  or  con, 
tending  of  the  matter,  but  for  the  memory  of  posterity 
and  the  fame  of  the  abilities  of  the  writer.  Therefore* 
by  a  freer  manner  of  expression,  and  bolder  figures,  i 
avoids  the  tediousness  of  narratives. 

But,  as  I  before  mentioned,  neither  Sallust’s  cor 
ciseness,  than  which  nothing  can  be  so  exquisite 
charming  to  attentive  and  learned  ears,  should  be  aime 
at  by  us,  before  a  Judge*  whose  mind  is  taken  up  wh 



a  multiplicity  of  affairs,  and  who  often  is  likewise  il¬ 
literate  ;  nor  will  the  sweetness  and  abundance  of  Livy 
sufficiently  instruct  him,  who  seeks  not  the  beauty  of 
narration,  but  the  assurance  of  proof.  Add  to  this* 
that  Cicero  does  not’  think,  that  even  Thucydides  or 
Xenophon  are  of  any  real  service  to  the  orator,  though 
he  says  the  one  animates  by  the  alarm  he  sounds,  and 
the  muses  speak  by  the  mouth  of  the  other. 

We  may,  nevertheless,  be  allowed  to  use  sometimes 
in  digressions,  the  lustre  of  history,  but  in  those  points, 
on  which  there  will  be  a  debate,  let  us  remember,  that 
we  do  not  want  the  supple  exertions  of  an  athletes’ 
muscles,  but  the  nervous  branchings  of  the  soldier’s 
arm;  and  where  also  the  versi-colour  robe,  which  De¬ 
metrius  Phalereus  is  said  to  have  worn,  will  ill  become 
the  dust  of  the  bar. 

There  is  another  utility  in  reading  of  history,  and 
jndeed  the  greatest,  but  not  relative  to  the  present  mat¬ 
ter,  proceeding  from  the  knowledge  of  things  and 
examples,  which  the  orator  ought  to  be  well  versed  in 
that  he  may  not  seek  all  his  testimonies  from  the  par¬ 
ties,  but  may  take  most  of  them,  well  known  to  himself 
from  antiquity  ;  testimonies  more  powerful  in  this  respect, 
that  they  alone  are  exempt  from  the  charge  of  prejudice 
and  partiality.^ 

But  that  many  things  must  be  sought  by  us  by 
reading  the  ivories  of  the  philosophers,  has  been  the 

1.  Orat.  30,  39.  32, 


fault  of  orators  who  have1  given  up  to  them  the  best 
part  of  their  work,  disputations  on  the  nature  of  justice, 
honesty,  utility,  and  their  contraries  ;  as  also  on  divine 
things  ;  and  the  Socratic  arguments  by  induction,  are  very 
proper  to  prepare  the  future  orator  for  altercations  and 
interrogatories.  But  this  reading  requires  not  less  discern¬ 
ment  than  the  former  ;  that  when  we  are  engaged  in  the 
same  subject,  we  may  know  that  there  is  a  difference  in 
the  condition  of  a  cause  and  disputation,  the  bar  and 
a  school,  mere  precepts  and  an  affair  brought  to  trial. 

Since  we  judge  that  there  is  so  much  utility  in 
reading,  I  suppose  that  many  will  require  us  to  add  this 
also  to  our  work,  viz.  who  should  be  read,  and  what  is 
the  especial  excellency  in  each  author.  But  to  mention 
every  one  would  be  an  endless  work  ;  for  when  Cicero 
•n  his  Brutus  speaks  in  so  many  thousand  verses  of  the 
Roman  orators  only,  and  yet  kept  silence  respecting  all 
of  his  own  age,  and  those  with  whom  he  lived,  except 
Cresar  and  Marcellus,  what  bounds  would  there  be,  if  I 
would  give  an  account  of  them,  their  successors,  and  all 
the  Greeks,  with  philosophers  and  poets  ?  That  brevity 
which  is  set  forth  in  Livy,  in  his  letter  to  his  son  will 
undoubtedly  be  the  safest :  that  Demosthenes  and 
Cicero  were  first  to  be  read ;  then  each  author,  as 
he  was  most  like  these. 

The  conclusion,  however,  of  my  own  judgment  also 
is  not  to  be  concealed  ;  for  I  think  that  few,  or  rather 
that  scarcely  any  can  be  found  of  those  who  have  stood 

1.  Literally,  have  departed  from  the  best  part  yielding 
to  them. 


the  test  of  time,  who  will  not  bring  some  profit  to  those 
who  use  their  judgment,  since  Cicero  himself  confesses, 
that  he  had  received  great  helps  from  old  authors,  who  are 
indeed,  very  ingenious  but  wanted  art.  I  pass  nearly  the 
same  judgment  on  the  merit  of  our  moderns.  How  few 
of  them  are  so  mad  as  to  have  hoped  for  the  memory  ot 
posterity,1  without  even  the  least  portion  certainly  of 
some  art.  Who  (if  there  is  any  such )  will  be  found 
immediately  among  the  first  few  verses,  and  will  dismiss 
us  sooner  than  that  our  trial  of  him  should  cost  us  much 
loss  of  time  (i.  e.  too  soon  for  our  trial  of  him  to  cost 
us.)  But  for  an  author  to  have  something  good,  some¬ 
thing  to  our  purpose,  it  does  not  follow,  that  he  is 
quite  proper  for  creating  that  copiousness  of  language 
we  here  speak  of. 

vj.:  But  before  I  speak  of  the  respective  merit  of  authors, 
I  must  make  in  a  few  words  some  general  reflections  on 
the  diversity  of  taste  in  regard  to  matters  of  eloquence. 
Some  think  that  the  ancients  only  deserve  to  be  read, 
persuaded  that  none  else  have  distinguished  themselves 
by  natural  eloquence,  and  that  strength  of  language,  so 
becoming  men.  Others  are  captivated  with  the  flowery 
profusion  of  the  orators  of  the  present  age,  with  their 
delicate  turns,  and  with  all  the  blandishments  they 
curiously  invent  to  charm  the  ears  of  an  ignorant  multi¬ 
tude.  Some  choose  to  follow  the  plain  and  direct  way 

1.  In  this  difficult  passage,  1  have  followed  the  reading 
of  Ingram’s  edition  ;  qui  ne  minima  quidem  alicujus  certe 
ftducia  artis  rnemoriam  posteritatis  speraverit.  Here  alicujus 
certe  fiducia  artis  is  opposed  to  arte  carentibus,  above. 



of  speaking.  Others  take  to  be  sound  and  truly  attic, 
whatever  is  close,  acute,  and  departs  but  little  from  ordi¬ 
nary  conversation.  Some  are  delighted  with  a  more 
elevated,  more  impetuous,  and  more  fiery  force  of  genius. 
Others,  and  not  a  few,  are  fond  of  a  smooth,  elegant,  and 
polite  manner.  About  which  difference  I  shall  speak 
more  carefully  when  we  must  enquire1 2  about  the  style 
of  speaking. 

V.  In  the  mean  time  I  shall  summarily  mention  what 
advantage  from  what  reading  they  may  obtain,  who  desire 
to  improve  their  talent  of  speaking  ;  and  for  this  pur¬ 
pose  shall  cull  out  a  few  authors,  who  have  been  truly 
eminent.  It  will  be  an  easy  matter  for  the  studious,  to 
judge  which  are  most  like  these,  that  no  one  complain  of 
my  omitting,  perhaps,  any  of  those,  whom  he  greatly 
approves  of;  for  indeed  many  more  than  I  shall  name, 
well  deserve  to  be  read.  But  I  shall  now  mention 
those  kinds  of  reading  which  I  think  to  be  most  suitable 
to  those  that  desire  to  become  orators. 

1.  Therefore  as  Aratus  in  his  phenomena,  thinks  he 
should  begin  by®  Jupiter,  so  we  may  seem  to  begin 
properly  from  Homer,  He  it  is  that  gave  birth  to,  and 
set  the  example,  of  all  pdrts  of  eloquence,  just  as  him¬ 
self  says,  the3  course  of  rivers  and  springs  of  fountains 
owe  their  origin  to  the  ocean.  No  one,  in  great  sub- 

1.  Book  XII.  c.  10. 

2.  Aratus  so  begins  his  Astrological  dispensations. 
Ek  Atoc  apxfjiEaQa,.  Ab.  Jove  Principiura. 

3.  II.  1.  xxi.  v.  195. 


jects,  has  excelled  him  in  elevation  ;  nor  in  small  by 
propriety.  He  is  florid  and  close,  grave  and  agreeable* 
admirable  for  bis  concise  as  well  as  copious  manner,  aud 
not  only  eminent  for  poetical,  but  likewise  oratorial 

For  to  say  nothing  of  his  eulogiums,  of  his  hortative  v 
and  consolatory  speeches,  does  not  even  the  ninth  book,  ,//6%  y 
which  contains  the  embassy  to  Achilles  ;  or  the  conten¬ 
tion  between  the  chieftains  related  in  the  first,  or  their 

deliberations  recorded  in  the  second,  explain  all  the  art 
of  pleadings  and  counsels  ?  no  one  will  be  so  ignorant 
as  not  to  confess  that  this  author  bad  in  his  own  power 
to  move  both  the  milder  and  the  more  impetuous  pas¬ 

Again,  in  the  beginning  of  both  his  poems,  has  he  not 
in  a  few  verses  not  only  observed,  hut  established  the  rule 
of  an  exordium  ?  He  makes  the  auditor  benevolent,  by 
the  invocation  of  the  Goddesses,  which  are  supposed  to 
preside  over  poets  ;  attentive,  by  the  importance  of  the 
matter  he  proposes;  and  docile,  by  giving  him  a  full 
view  of  it.  Who  made  ever  a  more  concise  oration  than 
the  person  who  relates*  the  death  of  Patroclus  ;  or  one 
more  exact,  and  to  the  life,  than  him  who  gives  an2 
exact  account  of  the  battle  of  the  Caretes  and  -dStolians  ? 
And  his  similitudes,  amplifications,  digressions,  signs  of 
things  and  arguments  and  all  the  other  particulars  of 
proving  and  refuting  are  so  numerous  that  even  they 

1.  Ih  1.  xvi.v,  18 — 21. 

A  2 

2.  II.  1.  ix.  v.  525 ,  &c* 


who  have  written  of  arts  cite  most  illustrations  of  these 
matters  from  that  poet.  Besides,  in  the  way  of  epilogue, 
what  has  ever  been  found  to  equal  the  moving  prayer 
of  Priam,  entreating  Achilles  to  restore  to  him  his  son’s 
body  ? 

In  short,  if  we  look  to  the  force  of  his  words,  the 
beauty  of  his  thoughts,  the  figures  he  adopts,  the  dis¬ 
position  of  this  whole  work,  we  cannot  help  observing, 
but  that  they  exceed  the  bounds  of  human  wit.  So 

that  it  is  the  work  of  a  great  man  to  follow  his  excellen- 

.  ...  ... 
cies^by  imitation  (which  is  impossible)  but  by  under¬ 
standing  them.  He  has  undoubtedly  left  far  behind  him 
all  others,  in  all  kinds  of  eloquence, 

Poets,  because  in  a  like  manner  t 
seem  more  conspicuous, 

Hesiod  seldom  rises,  and  a  great  part  of  his  works  is 
occupied  in  folding  names  for  things  ;  yet  his  sentiments 
mixed  among  his  precepts  are  useful,  and  the  sweetness 
of  his  expression  and  composition  is  praiseworthy  and  to 
him  is  given  the  palm  in  the  middle  kind  of  eloquence.,, 

Antimachus,  on  the  contrary,  has  force  and  solidity, 
and  his  style  by  being  out  of  the  road  of  what  is  common, 
has  its  due  share  of  praise.  But  though  the  almost 
unanimous  assent  of  grammarians  places  him  in  the  second 
rank  after  Hesiod  ;  yet  is  he  so  deficient  in  the  manage¬ 
ment  of  passions,  in  agreeableness,  in  disposition,  and 
in  art,  that  it  plainly  appears,  how1  to  be  near  a  man  is 
one  thing  and  to  be  second  to  him  another. 

specially  the  heroic 

••T:  a  r 

3  comparison  may 

1,  That  is,  how  different  being  near  is  from  being  second. 

Panyasis  is  thought  to  contain  a  mixture  of  both 
these  poets,  but  equals  neither  in  the  powers  of  elocution. 
He  surpasses,  however,  Hesiod  by  the  choice  of  his 
matter,  and  Antimachus  by  order  and  disposition. 

Appollonius1  does  not  come  into  the  catalogue  of 
•poets  given  by  the  grammarians,  because  Aristarchus 
and  Aristophanes  the  critics  of  the  poets,  placed  no  one 
of  their  own  age  in  the  number.  Yet  he  published  a 
work,  commendable  for  a  certain  mediocrity  which  is 
well  supported. 

The  matter  of  Aratus  is  motionless,  and  without 
variety  and  sentiment ;  neither  in  it  is  any  person  intro¬ 
duced  speaking.  But  his  abilities  fall  not  short  of  the 
work  he  thought  himself  equal  to. 

Theocritus  is  admirable  in  his  kind  ;  but  his  rustic 
and  pastoral  muse  not  only  dreads  the  bar,  but  even  to 
make  its  appearance  in  the  city. 

Here  I  imagine  several  busied  in  crowding  in  the 
names  of  many  other  poets.  Has  not  Pisander,  says 
one,  worthily  sung  the  achievements  of  Hercules  ; 
Have  Macer  and  Virgil  followed,  without  reason,2  Ni- 
cander,  says  another ;  and  shall  we  pass  by  Euphorion, 
of  whom  had  not  Virgil  approved,  he  certainly  would 

1.  Apollonius  the  Rhodian,  wrote  the  Expedition  of  the 
Argonauts.  He  lived  in  the  time  of  the  grammarians,  Aris¬ 
tarchus  and  Aristophanes  of  Byzantium,  who,  in  the  reign 
of  Ptolemy,  Philometor,  had  passed  a  severe  criticism  on 

2.  A  poet  of  Colophon,  who  among  other  things,  wrote 
Georgies. , 

A  3 


not  have  made  mention  in  liis  Bucolics,  of  poetry  com¬ 
posed  in  Chalcidian  verse  and  says  another,  has  Horace,'* 
to  no  purpose,  named  Tyrteus  immediately  after  Homer. 

I  answer,  that  there  is  no  one  so  little  versed  in  the 
knowledge  of  authors,  that  he  is  not  able  to  copy  at 
least  into  his  book  a  list  taken  from  a  library.  I  ana 
not  unacquainted  with  those  I  pass  by,  neither  do  I 
condemn  them  on  that  account,  having  before  declared 
that  all  have  their  utility  ;  but  we  shall  return  to  them 
when,  our  eloquence  has  attained  a  proper  degree  of 
consistence.  So-lit  often  happens  in  grand  entertain¬ 
ments,  when  after  having  satisfied  ourselves  with  the 
best  meats,  the  most  common  have  their  turn,  and 
please  at  least  by  their  variety. 

Then  we  shall  have  also  leisure  to  take  into  our 
hands  elegy,  in  which  Callimachus  is  reported  to  hold 
the  first  rank,  and  Philsetes  the  second,  which  is  gene¬ 
rally  given  up  to  him.  But  whilst  we  are  endeavouring, 
as  I  said,  to  acquire  that  substantial  facility,  we  should 
contract  a  familiarity  with  the  best  authors,  and  strengthen 
our  conceptions,  and  lay  deep  the  colouring  of  eloquence, 
rather  by  the  well-digested  reading  of  some  good  books, 
than  by  the  reading  of  many. 

Therefore  out  of  the  three  writers  of  iambics,  who 
have  received  the  approbation  of  Aristarchus,  Archilo¬ 
chus  is  the  only  that  will  contribute  most  to  the  facility 
we  ought  to  acquire.  We  find  in  him  an  extraordinary 
force  of  expression,  bold,  short  and  lively  sentiments. 

1.  Art-  Poet,  502. 

much  vigor  and  nerve  ;  so  that  the  circumstance  that 
he  is  inferior  to  any  other,  may  appear  to  some  to  be 
the  fault  of  his  subject,  not  of  his  genius. 

There  are  nine  lyric  poets,  and  Pindar  far  excells  all 
of  them,  by  the  magnificence  of  his  enthusiasm,  the 
sublimity  of  his  thoughts,  the  beauty  of  figures,  the 
happy  copiousness  of  things  and  words,  and  a  flood,  as 
it  were,  of  eloquence :  upon  which  account,  Horace1 
justly  believes  him  inimitable.  The  subjects  Sftesi- 
ehorus  has  treated,  afford  also  a  sufficient  demonstration 
of  the  strength  of  his  genius,  having  sung  the  greatest 
wars  and  the  most  illustrious  captains,  and  having  sup¬ 
ported  all  the  weight  of  epic  poetry  on  his  lyre.  For  he 
gives  his  characters  a  proper  dignity  both  in  acting  and 
speaking  ;  and  if  he  had  kept  to  a  just  moderation,  no 
other  would  have  come  nearer  to  Homer ;  but  he  is 
redundant  and  overflows,  a  vice  undoubtedly  deserving 
reprehension,  but  it  is  a  vice  of  abundance. 

Alceuss  is  deservedly  presented  with  the  golden  lute 
in  one  part  of  his  work,  because  be  inveighs  against 
tyrants;  he  contributes  much  also  to  morals;  in  style 
also  he  is  concise,  magnificent,  correct,  and  in  manv 
respects  he  resembles  Homer  ;  but  he  descends  some¬ 
times  to  sportive  trifles  and  amours,  though  indeed 
more  fit  for  greater  subjects. 

Simonides,  neat  and  plain,  is  mostly  commendable 
for  a  propriety  and  sweetness  of  diction.  His  chief 
talent,  however,  lies  in  softening  the  heart  by  sentiments 
of  pity,  and  some  in  this  respect  prefer  him  to  all  the 
other  lyric  poets. ^ 

1 .  Horat.  II.  1.  4. 

2.  Horat.  Od.  XIII.  1,  2. 

The  ancient  comedy  is  almost  the  only  that  pre¬ 
serves  unadulterated  the  native  graces  of  the  Attic 
language.  It  is,  besides,  remarkable  for  a  liberty 
which  is  very  eloquent ;  and  though  it  particularly  ex¬ 
cels  in  the  ridicule  of  human  follies  and  indiscretions, 
yet  its  force  and  energy  in  other  parts,  is  very  consi¬ 
derable.  For  it  is  grand,  and  elegant,  and  beautiful, 
and  I  know  not,  if  any  other  thing,  next  to  Homer, 
(whom  we  must  always,  except,  as  he  himself  excepts 
Achilles)  be  more  proper  to  form  orators,  or  comes 
nearer  to  their  manner.  Its  authors  are  many,  but 
Aristophanes,  Cratinus,  and  Eupolis,  are  the  chief. 

vEschylus  is  the  first  that  brought  tragedies  to  light ; 
sublime,  dignified,  and  pompous,  often  even  to  a  fault, 
but  mostly  unpolished  and  immethodical,  for  which 
reason  the  Athenians  permitted  the  poets,  who  came 
after  him,  to  correct  his  pieces,  and  fit  them  for  the 
stage ;  and  by  this  means  many  of  these  poets  had  the 
honour  of  being  crowned. 

But  Sophocles  and  Euripides  made  this  work  (sc. 
tragedy)  shine  forth  far  more  brightly;  of  whom  it  is  a 
question  amongst  very  many,  which  is  the  better  poet 
in  their  different  way  of  writing.  For  my  part,  I  shall 
leave  the  matter  undecided,  as  making  nothing  to  my 
present  purpose.  It  must  nevertheless,  be  confessed, 
that  Euripides  will  be  of  much  greater  utility  for  those 
who  design  themselves  for  the  bar  ;  for  besides  that  his 
style  (and  this  is  what  is  found  fault  with  by  those  to 
whom  the  buskin,  and  majesty  and  tone  of  Sophocles 
seem  to  have  something  more  elevated)  comes  nearer 

the  oratorical  kind;  he  likewise  abounds  with  fine 
thoughts,  and  in  philosophic  maxims,  is  almost  upon 
equality  with  philosophers,  and  in  his  dialogue  may  be 
compared  with  the  best  speakers  at  the  bar.  He  is 
again  wonderful  for  his  masterly  strokes  in  all  the 
passions,  and  more  especially  for  exciting  commiser¬ 

Menander,  as  he  often  testifies  himself,  was  a  great 
admirer  of  Euripides,  and  also  an  imitator  of  him, 
though  in  a  different  kind  of  writing.  This  comic  poet, 
if  read  well,  may  alone,  in  my  opinion,  be  sufficient  for 
procuring  all  the  advantages  proposed  from  my  precepts  ; 
so  exactly  expressed  by  him  is  the  picture  he  has  given 
us  of  human  life,  so  fruitful  is  his  wit  in  invention,  so 
beautiful  his  elocution,  so  proper  his  characters,  passions, 
and  manners.  I  must  undoubtedly  deem  those  to  be 
persons  of  some  penetration  who  think  the  orations 
which  are  published  with  the  name  of  Charisius  to  have 
been  written  by  Menander.  But  he  appears  to  me  a 
greater  orator  in  his  comedies ;  unless,  perhaps,  it  may 
be  said  that  his  Nomoiheton,  Epiclerus,  Hypobolimaeum, 
and  some  other  pieces,  are  not  natural  representations 
of  what  is  transacted  in  judicial  causes,  or  rather 
not  accurate  examples  of  oratorial  abilities. 

I  likewise  think,  that  he  may  be  of  still  greater 
service  to  declaimers,  because,  according  to  the  nature 
of  controversies,  they  are  obliged  to  assume  many  diffe¬ 
rent  characters ;  as  of  fathers,  sons,  husbands,  military 
men,  farmers:  the  rich,  the  poor,  the  angry  person,  the  sup¬ 
pliant,  the  mild  tempered  and  the  ill  natured.  In  allwhich, 


decorum  has  been  admirably  observed  by  this  poet,  who 
lias  truly  surpassed  all  other  writers  in  comedy,  and 
eclipsed  them  by  the  splendour  of  his  name  and  repu¬ 

There  are  other  comic  poets,  among  whom  some¬ 
thing  good  for  our  purpose  may  be  selected,  if  read 
with  a  mind  disposed  to  overlook  their  faults.  Of 
these,  Philemon  is  the  principal,  who  deserves  the 
second  rank  with  as  much  justice  after  Menander,  as  he 
was  unjustly  preferred  to  him  by  the  corrupt  taste  of 
his  age. 

2.  There  have  been  many  famous  writers  of  history, 
but  all  agree  in  giving  the  preference  to  two,  whose 
perfections,  though  different,  have  acquired  an  almost 
equal  degree  of  praise.  Thucydides  is  close,  concise, 
and  ever  going  on.  Herodotus  is  sweet,  natural,  and 
copious.  The  one  is  remarkable  for  his  ani¬ 
mated  expression  of  the  more  impetuous  passions,  the 
other  for  gentle  persuasion  in  the  milder ;  the  former 
succeeds  in  harangues  and  has  more  force;  the  other  in 
speeches  of  familiar  intercourse,  and  givesmore  pleasure. 

Theopompus,  who  follows  them,  has  less  of  the  his¬ 
torian  in  him,  and  more  of  the  orator,  having  been  of 
that  profession  a  considerable  time,  before  he  engaged 
in  the  writing  of  history.  Philistus  deserves  to  be  dis¬ 
tinguished  from  among  the  crowd  of  the  historians  that 
next  followed  after  these  three.  He  imitated  Thucydi¬ 
des,  weaker,  it  is  true,  than  his  original,  but  somewhat 
more  clear. 

Ephorus,  so  Isocrates  thinks,  has  not  fire  enough. 


and  wants  rousing  by  a  spur.  Clitarchus  has  a  great 
share  of  wit,  but  his  veracity,  as  an  historian,  is  much 
doubted.  Timagenes,  who  was  not  born  till  long  after, 
is  commendable  for  having  repaired  with  new  lustre  the 
care  of  writing  history,  which  had  been  laid  aside.  I 
have  not  forgot&'Xenophon,  but  he  is  better  classed  with 

3.  A  numerous  band  of  orators  follows,  for  Athens 
produced  ten  of  them,  contemporary  with  one  another. 
Demosthenes  was  by  far  the  chief  of  them,  and  held  to 
be  in  a  manner  the  only  model  for  eloquence ;  so  great 
is  his  force  ;  so  close  are  all  things  in  him,  and  tended 
with  certain  nerves ;  so  great  is  his  accuracy  in  not 
adopting  any  idle  expression,  and  so  just  his  precision, 
that  you  can  neither  find  out  what  is  wanting  in  him  nor 
what  is  redundant.  Aeschines  is  more  full,  more  diffu¬ 
sive,  and  appears  the  more  grand,  as  his  parts  spread 
wider ;  he  has  more  flesh,  but  not  so  many  sinews* 
Hyperides  is  exceeding  sweet,  acute,  and  neat ;  but 
he  is  fitter,  not  to  say  more  useful,  for  causes  of 
lesser  importance. 

Lysias,  elder  than  these,  is  subtile  and  elegant,  and 
if  it  was  enough  for  the  orator  to  instruct,  one  than 
whom  you  could  find  nothing  more  perfect.  There  is 
nothing  idle,  nothing  far-fetched  in  him  ;  yet  is  he  more 
like  a  clear  brook,  than  a  great  river.  Isocrates  in  a 
different  kind  of  eloquence,  is  fine  and  polished,  and 
better  adapted  for  engaging  in  a  mock  than  a  real  battle. 
He  was  studious  of  all  the  beauties  of  discourse,  and  had 
his  reasons  for  it,  having  calculated  his  eloquence  for 



schools,  and  not  for  contentions  at  the  bar.  His  inven« 
tion  was  easy,  he  was  fond  of  the  beautiful  and  so  nice 
was  he  in  his  composition,  that  his  extreme  care  is  not 
without  reprehension. 

These  I  take  to  be  the  principal,  but  not  the  only 
perfections,  in  the  just  mentioned  orators.  There  are 
others  who,  I  am  sensible,  are  not  without  their  degree 
of  merit  ;  and  I  even  acknowledge  Demetrius  Phalereus 
to  be  possessed  of  great  wit  and  oratorial  abilities,  though 
said  to  be  the  first  that  had  warped  eloquence.  He  de¬ 
serves  to  be  remembered,  if  for  no  other  reason,  than 
being  the  last  of  the  Attics,  who  can  properly  be  styled 
an  orator  ;  and  Cicero1  prefers  him  to  all  others  in  the 
middle  kind  of  eloquence. 

4.  Among  philosophers  from  whom  Cicero  confesses 
that  he  derived  very  much  of  eloquence,  who  doubts 
of  Plato’s  being  the  chief,  whether  we  consider  the  acute¬ 
ness  of  his  dissertations,  or  his  divine  Homerical  faculty 
of  elocution?  He  soars  high  above  prose,  and  that 
common  style  which  the  Greeks  call  pedestrian  ;  and  he 
seems  to  me  not  so  much  endowed  with  the  wit  of  a  man, 
as  inspired  by  a  sort  of  Delphic  oracle. 

What  shall  I  say  of  Xenophon’s  unaffected  agree¬ 
ableness,  so  unattainable  by  any  imitation,  that  the 
Graces  themselves  seemed  to  have  composed  his  lan¬ 
guage  ?  The  testimony  of  the  ancient  comedy  concerning 
Pericles,  is  very  justly  applicable  to  him  “  That  the  God¬ 
dess  of  Persuasion  had  seated  herself  on  his  lips  !” 

I,  Orat,  92. 


Anti  what  shall  I  say  of  the  elegance  of  the  other 
disciples  of  Socrates  ?  What  of  Aristotle?  whom  I  know 
not  whether  to  consider  more  illustrious  for  his  great 
knowledge  of  things,  or  for  the  abundanee  ofhis  writings 
or  the  sweetness  of  his  eloquence,  or  the  pointed  wit  ot 
his  inventions  or  the  variety  of  his  works.  And,  as  to 
Theophrastus1,  his  elocution  has  something  so  noble  and 
so  divine,  that  it  may  be  said  his  name  has  been  hence 

The  ancient  stoics  were  less  studious  about  elo¬ 
quence,  but  their  lessons  of  virtue  are  very  notable  ; 
their  reasonings  are  just,  and  they  prove  well  what  they 
inculcate.  They  were,  in  fine,  more  acute  in  discussing 
the  nature  of  things,  than  curious  in  the  display  of  fine 
language,  which  they  did  not  in  the  least  affect. 

VI.  I  think  of  following  the  same  order  in  regard  to 
our  Roman  authors. 

1.  As  therefore  speaking  of  the  Greeks  we  began 
with  Homer,  so  of  the  Latins,  we  cannot  more  happily 
begin  than  with  Virgil,  who  of  all  their  poets  and  ours 
in  the  epic  style,  is  without  all  doubt  the  only  that  comes 
nearest  to  Homer.  I  shall  here  use  the  same  words 
which  in  my  youthage  I  heard  from  Domitius  Afer,  who 
on  my  asking  him,  what  poet  he  believed  approached 
nearest  Homer,  said,  Virgil  is  the  second,  but  nearer 

1.  Tyrtamus,  was  a  scholar  and  successor  of  Aristotle; 
his  master  called  him  Theophrastus,  ha  to  Qe~ta  typcifciv. 
“  because  he  spoke  like  a  god.”  By  a  similar  metonymy-, 
Chrysostom  (xpvo-eov  GTOjxa)  and  many  others  received 
their  names,  ^ 




the  first,  than  a  third.”  and  indeed,  though  obliged  to 
give  way  to  Homer’s  heavenly  and  immortal  genius,  yet 
in  Virgil  are  discoverable  a  greater  exactness  and  care? 
even  on  this  account,  because  he  had  to  take  more 
pains  :  so  that  what  we  lose  on  the  side  of  the  eminency 
of  qualities,  we  perhaps  gain  on  that  of  justness  and 

All  our  other  poets  will  follow'  at  a  great  distance. 
Macer  and  Lucretius  may  indeed  be  read,  but  not  in 
order  to  that  copious  language  for  constituting  the 
body  of  eloquence  we  here  speak  of.  Both  have 
elegantly  treated  their  subject,  but  the  one  is  rather  low 
and  the  other  difficult.  Varro  Attacinus,1  in  those, 
works,  by  which  he  has  gained  a  name,  as  being  the 
interpreter  of  another’s  work,  does  not  deserve  to  be  re¬ 
jected,  but  he  is  not  rich  enough  in  expression  for  im¬ 
proving  the  requisites  of  oratory.  Ennius  we  revere  as 
groves  sacred  for  their  antiquity,  in  which  huge  old 
oaks  affect  us  less  by  their  beauty,  than  by  the  religious 
awe  they  inspire  us  with. 

Other  poets,  as  nearer  our  time,  will  contribute  more 
to  the  copiousness  of  expression  we  speak  of.  Ovid, 
though  wanton  even  in  his  heroic  poetry,  and  too  great 
an  admirer  of  his  own  wit,  yet  in  some  parts  is  praise- 

1.  Varro  Attacinus  lived  in  the  time  of  Ovid,  and  trans¬ 
lated  into  Latin  verse,  the  expedition  of  the  Argonauts, 
written  by  Apollonius  the  Rhodian.  He  was  called  Attaci¬ 
nus  from  Att-ax,  a  village  of  the  Narbonensian  Gaul  accord¬ 
ing  to  Eusebius  5  or  according  to  others,  from  the  river 


Worthy.  If  Cornelius  Severus,  though  a  better  versifier 
than  poet,  had  gone  through  his  Sicilian  war,  as  he  had 
executed  the  first  book,  he  would  witli  reason  have  claim¬ 
ed  for  himself  the  second  place. 

But  an  untimely  death  hindered  his  putting  the 
finishing  hand  to  his  work.  His  juvenile  productions, 
however,  show  him  to  be  of  great  genius,  and  of  ad¬ 
mirable  taste  for  one  of  his  years. 

We  lately  have  had  a  great  loss  in  Valerius  Flaccus, 
Saleius  Bassus  had  so  vehement  and  poetic  a  genius, 
that  even  old  age  could  not  bring  it  to  a  just  maturity. 
Rabirius  and  Pedo  are  not  unworthy  of  being  known  by 
those  who  have  leisure  time  enough  on  their  hands. 

/  Lucan  is  hot,  impetuous,  and  much  famed  for  his  brigld 
thoughts  ;  but  to  speak  my  real  sentiments  of  him,  I  j, 
think  he  should  be  rather  classed  with  orators  than 
with  poets.  ■ 

To  these  we  have  given  the  title  of  poets,  because^J^ 
the  care  of  governing  the  world  has  taken  off1  Gernoani- 
cus  Augustus  from  the  pursuit  of  his  favourite  studies, 
the  gods  having  thought  it  but  little  to  have  made  him 
the  greatest  of  poets.  Still  what  can  be  more  sublime, 
more  learned,  and  more  perfect  in  all  respects,  than  the 
wmrks  which  he  began  when  first  he  bore  a  part  in  the 

1.  Some  commentators  understand  this  of  Germanicus 
the  son  of  Drusus,  but  they  are  much  mistaken  ;  and  it  is 
evident  that  Quintilian  means  the  Emperor  Domitian,  who 
assumed  this  title,  as  if  he  had  conquered  Germany,  as  also 
that  of  the  son  of  Pallas,  both  which  may  appear  from  his 
medals;  and  to  the  latter  alludes  what  is  said  in  the  Latin 
text,  cut  magis  suas  artes  ap e rlr et familiar e  mtmen  Minervce. 

c  2 


government  ?  Who  should  sing  wars  better  than  him, 
who  so  nobly  achieves  them  ?  Who  else  could  so 
favourably  be  heard  by  the  muses  ?  Upon  whom 
should  Minerva  shower  down  her  accomplishments  more 
willingly,  than  upon  a  prince  who  had  always  made  this 
goddess  his  deity?  Future  ages  shall  make  more 
ample  eulogiums  of  this  rare  talent ;  for  now  the  merit 
of  the  poet  is  eclipsed  in  him  by  the  splendour  of  his 
other  more  illustrious  qualities.  Yet  suffer,  Caesar,  that 
we  who  cultivate  letters,  pass  by  not  in  silence  so  heaven¬ 
ly  a  gift  as  this,  and  that  we  teach  posterity  at  least 
by  this1  verse  of  Virgil,  that  to  crown  your  august 

- the  ivy  wreath 

Might  creep  intermingled  with  thy  conquering  bays. 


We  dispute  it  with  the  Greeks  also  in  elegy,  and  Tibul¬ 
lus  herein  seems  to  me  to  have  distinguished  himself  by 
his  elegance  and  purity.  Some  prefer  Propertius  to 
him.  Ovid  is  more  lascivious  than  either,  and  Gallus 

Satire  is  entirely  of  our  invention,  and  Lucilius  is 
the  first  among  us  who  has  been  much  celebrated  for 
bis  taste  in  that  way.  He  still  lias  such  fond  admirers, 
that  they  make  no  scruple  of  preferring  him  not  only  to 
all  satirists,  but  even  to  all  other  poets.  For  my  part, 
as  far  as  I  dissent  from  their  opinion,  so  far  do  I  also 
from  that  of  Horace,  who  says,  “  Lucilius  runs  muddy. 

1.  Eclog.  viii.  v.  13. 


yet  has  something  worth  notice.”  For  there  is  in  him 
a  wonderful  erudition,  and  freedom  of  speech  and 
arising,  thence,  a  tartness  of  raillery  and  abundance  of 


Horace  is  more  correct  and  pure,  and  has  succeeded 
admirably  in  exposing  the  ridiculous  humours  of  men. 
Persius,  though  he  wrote  but  one  book,  has  deserved 
great  praise.  There  are  famous  satirists  now  living, 
who  hereafter  will  have  honourable  mention  made  of 
them.  ' 

There  is  another  sort  of  satire,  and  more  ancient, 
which  mixed  with  several  varieties  of  verse,  Terentius 
Varro,  the  most  learned  of  the  Romans,  composed. 
This  same  person  has  distinguished  himself  by  a  diver¬ 
sity  of  other  compositions.  He  had  a  profound  know¬ 
ledge  of  the  Latin  tongue,  and  of  all  antiquity,  and  of 
the  Greek  history,  and  of  our  own  transactions.  He  is 
however  likely  to  contribute  to  knowledge  more  than  to 

None  of  our  poets  have  ever  seemed  so  fond  of  the 
iambic  verse  as  to  confine  themselves  entirely  to  its 
use.  Some  have  placed  it  between  other  verses,  and  its 
tartness  adopted  by  Catullus,  Bibaculus  and  Horace, 
though  in  the  last  an  epode1  is  found  to  follow  it. 

But  of  our  lyric  poets,  Horace  is  almost  the  only 

1.  An  epode  is  called  a  shorter  verse,  subjoined  to  a 
longer,  and  as  it  were,  chiming  in  with  it ;  from  S7r iod(o, 
accino.  Horace  in  the  book,  thence  called  Epodon  often 
subjoins  dimeters  to  trimeter  iambic  verses, 

c  2 


that  deserves  to  be  read  ;  for  he  rises  at  times,  abounds 
with  sweetness  and  grace,  and  happily  hazards  a  variety 
of  figures  and  words.  If  one  should  be  desirous  of 
reading  any  other,  I  would  recommend  Caesius  Bassus, 
whom  I  not  long  since  had  some  knowledge  of ;  but 
there  are  persons  now  living  who,  by  far  excel  him. 

Our  most  famous  tragic  writers  were  Accius  and 
Pacuvius,  both  remarkable  for  the  wTeight  of  their 
thoughts  and  expressions,  and  the  dignity  of  their  cha¬ 
racters.  But  that  polish  and  last  touch  in  finishing 
works  may  seem  to  be  wanting  to  the  age  generally 
more  than  Accius  and  Pacuvius  themselves.  Accius  is  said 
to  have  more  force,  and  they  who  affect  to  appear  more 
learned,  find  more  art  and  learning  in  Pacuvius.  The 
Thyestes  of  Varius  may  stand  in  competition  with  any 
Greek  tragedy ;  and  the  Medea  of  Ovid  shews  what  he 
wfas  capable  of,  if  he  had  chose\a  curb  a  little,  and  not 
indulge  so  much  his  genius.  Of  those  whom  I  have 
seen  Pomponius  Secundus  is  by  far  the  first ;  whom  they 
that  are  now  old  (i.  e.  the  last  generation)  thought  to  be 
deficient  in  Tragic  fire,  but  acknowledged  that  he  ex¬ 
celled  in  erudition  and  eloquence. 

In  comedy  we  fail  most,  though  Varro  on  the  au¬ 
thority  of  Adius  Stolo,  says  that,  “  The  Muses  would 
have  spoke  the  language  of  Plautus,  if  they  had  a  mind 
to  speak  Latin  though  the  ancients  are  lavish  in  their 
praises  of  Csecilius  ;  and  though  the  comedies  of  Te¬ 
rence  are  ascribed  to  Seipio  Africanus,  which  undoubt¬ 
edly  are  extremely  elegant,  and  would  have  been  far 
more  graceful,  if  the  measure  of  verses  were  confined  to 


trimeter  iambics. i  We  scarce  can  delineate  a  faint  sha¬ 
dow  of  the  beauties  of  Greek  comedy ;  for  the  Latin 
seems  to  me  so  little  susceptible  of  the  graces  peculiar 
to  the  Attic  language,  that  the  Greeks  themselves  retain 
no  more  of  them,  the  moment  they  speak  in  another 
dialect.  Afranius  excelled  in  comedies  built  entirely  on 
a  Latin  plan1 2.  I  wish  he  had  not  sullied  his  subject 
with  infamous  love-intrigues,  exposing  thereby  his  own 
moral  character.  / 

2.  But  in  history3  I  would  not  yield  to  the  Greeks, 
for  I  should  not  be  afraid  to  oppose  Sallust  to  Thucy¬ 
dides,  neither  would  Herodotus  be  displeased  at  Livy’s 
being  compared  with  him  ;  Livy ,  both  of  wonderful 
sweetness  in  his  narrations,  and  unspeakably  eloquent  in 
his  harangues,  so  great  is  the  propriety  of  all  he  says,  as 
well  in  regard  to  circumstances  as  to  persons.  As  to 
passions,  especially  those  of  the  softer  kind,  no  historian, 
to  speak  modestly,  has  expressed  them  in  more  natural 
colours.  His  different  perfections  may,  therefore,  be 
held  as  a  just  equivalent  to  Sallust’s  immortal  concise¬ 
ness,  according  to  the  judicious  remark  of  Servilius 
Novianus,  who  said  they  were  more  equal  than  alike. 
This  same  person  1  had  once  the  honor  to  be  a  pupil  to 

1 ,  Terence,  as  was  customary  with  comic  poets,  makes 
use  of  iambics  of  all  sorts  of  measure,  that  is,  of  tetrame¬ 
ters,  which  have  eight  feet.  Quintilian  wishes  he  had  used 
only  trimeters,  which  consist  of  six  feet. 

2,  Togatce  Comedia:  are  those  which  were  entirely  Latin, 
that  is,  conformable  to  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
Romans ;  as  palliatoe  were  called  such  as  had  been  com¬ 
posed  in  imitation  of  the  Greeks. 

3.  Read  “  cesserim,  not  cesserit. 


He  too,  was  an  historian  of  great  genius  and  reputation 
He  is  sententious,  but  less  close  than  the  importance  of 
history  requires.  Bassus  Aufidius,  who  had  wro&'lae- 
fore  him,  seems  to  have  supported  the  character  of  his- 
torian  better  in  his  books  of  the  German  war.  He  is 
undoubtedly  estimable  in  all  respects,  yet  in  some 
things  short  of  his  own  abilities. 

An  historian1,  now  living,  adorns  the  glory  of  our  age, 
and  deserves  to  live  for  ever  in  the  memory  of  future 
ones.  His  name,  now  only  guessed  at,  will  be  famous 
hereafter.  He  has  many  admirers,  but  few  imitators, 
inasmuch  as  his  bold  freedom  was  hurtful  to  him,  al¬ 
though  what  he  had  written  was  much  curtailed.  But 
you  may  sufficiently  discover  his  lofty  spirit  and  bold 
thoughts  in  those  of  his  writings  which  still  remain. 
There  are  several  other  good  historiographers  ;  but  it  is 
our  business  to  point  out  the  kind  of  reading  that  is 
fittest  for  the  orator,  and  not  pass  in  review  whole 

3.  But  our  orators  in  an  especial  manner,  may  put 
the  Roman  eloquence  upon  a  par  with  the  Grecian. 
Cicero  I  would  strenuously  oppose  to  any  of  them, 
though  conscious  of  the  quarrel  I  should  bring  upon 
myself,  by  comparing  him  with  Demosthenes,  in  a  time 
so  critical  as  this;  especially  as  my  subject  does  not 

1.  Some  think  Pliny  is  here  hinted  at ;  but  most  that 
he  means  Tacitus,  and  this  is  more  probable.  Perhaps  he 
then,  through  fear  of  the  times,  curtailed  his  writings  of 
many  things  which  were  afterwasds  restored. 

oblige  me  to  it,  neither  is  it  of  any  consequence,  when 
it  is  my  real  opinion  that  Demosthenes  ought  to  be 
particularly  read,  or  rather  got  by  heart. 

I  must  say,  notwithstanding,  that  I  judge  them  to  be 
alike  in  most  of  the  great  qualities  they  possessed  :  alike 
in  design,  disposition,  the  manner  of  dividing,  of  pre¬ 
paring  minds,  of  proving,  in  short,  in  every  thing  be¬ 
longing  to  invention.  In  elocution,  there  is  some  diffe¬ 
rence.  The  one  is  more  compact,  the  other  more 
copious ;  the  one  closes  in  with  his  adversary,  the  other 
allows  him  more  ground  to  fight  in ;  the  one  is  always 
subtile  and  keen  in  argument,  the  other  is  perhaps  less 
so,  but  has  often  more  weight ;  from  the  one  nothing 
can  be  retrenched,  neither  can  any  thing  be  added  to 
the  other  ;  the  one  has  more  study,  the  other  more 


As  to  raillery,  and  exciting  coramisjseration,  two 
very  powerful  things,  the  advantage  lies  on  our  side ; 
and  perhaps  the 1  custom  of  Athens  was  the  cause  of 
our  not  finding  in  Demosthenes  the  pathos  of  perora¬ 
tions.  But  the  genius  of  our  language  does  not  permit 
us  the  beauties  the  Attics  were  wont  to  admire  in  him. 
However,  in  the  epistolary  style,  though  we  have  letters 
of  both,  there  is  no  comparison. 

But,  however  we  must  yield  in  this  point,  because 
Demosthenes  lived  first,  and  in  a  great  degree  made 
Cicero  so  great  as  he  is.  For  it  seems  to  me  that 

1.  It  was  not  allowed  at  Athens  to  move  the  passions ; 
consequently  the  peroration  was  inadmissible. 


Cicero,  having  bent  all  his  thoughts  on  the  Greeks  to¬ 
wards  forming  himself  on  their  model,  had  copied  the 
force  of  Demosthenes,  the  abundance  of  Plato,  and  the 
sweetness  of  Isocrates.  Neither  did  he  only,  by  his 
application,  extract  what  was  best  in  these  great 
originals,  but  by  the  happy  fruitfulness  of  his  immortal 
genius,  produce  himself  the  greater  part,  or  rather  all  of 
these  same  perfections.  And  to  make  use  of  an  express- 
sion  of  Pindar,  he  does  not  collect  the  water  of  rains  to 
remedy  a  natural  dryness,  but  flows  continually  himself 
from  a  source  of  living  waters,  and  seems  to  have  existed 
by  a  peculiar  gift  of  providence,  that  in  him  eloquence 
might  make  trial  of  her  whole  strength,  and  her  most 
powerful  exertions. 

For  who  can  instruct  with  more  exactness,  and 
move  with  more  vehcmency  ?  What  orator  ever  pos¬ 
sessed  so  pleasing  a  manner,  that  the  very  things  he 
forcibly  wrests  from  you,  you  fancy  you  grant  him  ; 
and  when  by  his  violence  he  carries  off  the  judge,  yet 
does  the  judge  seem  to  himself  to  obey  his  own  motion, 
and  not  to  be  hurried  away  by  that  of  another  ?  Besides, 
in  all  he  says,  there  is  so  much  authority  and  weight, 
that  vou  are  ashamed  to  differ  from  him  in  opinion  ;  and 
it  is  not  the  zeal  of  an  advocate  you  find  in  him,  but 
rather  the  faith  and  sincerity  of  a  witness  or  judge.  And 
what  at  the  same  time  is  more  admirable,  all  these  parti¬ 
culars,  any  one  of  which  might  not  be  attainable  by 
another  without  infinite  pains,  seem  to  flow  from  him 
naturally  ;  so  that  his  discourses,  the  most  charming 
the  most  harmonious,  which  possibly  can  be  heard, 


retain  notwithstanding  so  great  an  air  of  happy  ease, 
that  they  seem  to  have  cost  him  nothing. 

With  good  reason  therefore  is  he  said  by  his  con¬ 
temporaries  to  reign  at  the  bar ;  and  he  has  so  far 
gained  the  good  graces  of  posterity,  that  Cicero  is  now 
less  the  name  of  a  man,  than  the  name  of  eloquence 
itself.;  Let  us  then  keep  him  in  view ;  let  him  be  our 
model,  and  let  that  orator  think  lie  has  made  a  con¬ 
siderable  progress,  when  he  once  has  conceived  a  love 
and  taste  for  Cicero. 

Asinius  Pollio  is  remarkable  for  his  great  invention, 
and  for  his  exactness,  which  some  think  to  be  upon  the 
extreme  ;  his  design  besides  is  well  formed,  and  his 
manner  seems  spirited  enough.  But  his  style  is  so 
distant  in  sweetness  and  purity  from  that  of  Cicero, 
that  he  may  seem  to  have  existed  an  age  before  him. 

But  Messala  is  neat  and  elegant,  and  in  some  degree 
openly  exhibits  in  his  speeches  the  nobility  of  his  birth  ; 
but  in  strength  he  is  deficient. 

If  Caesar  had  made  the  bar  his  principal  occupation, 
no  other  of  our  orators  could  have  better  disputed  the 
prize  of  eloquence  with  Cicero.  So  great  is  his  force, 
so  sharp  his  wit,  so  active  his  fire,  that  it  plainly  ap¬ 
pears,  he  spoke  with  as  much  spirit,  as  he  fought.  A 
wonderful  elegance  and  purity  of  language,  which  he 
made  his  particular  study,  was  a  further  embellishment 
of  all  these  his  talents  for  eloquence. 

Ccelius  was  master  of  great  natural  parts,  and  there 
was  a  singular  prettiness  in  his  way  of  forming  an  accu- 


sation,  and  he  was  a  man  worthy1  of  having  allotted  to 
him  a  sounder  judgment  and  a  longer  life. 

I  have  met  with  persons,  who  preferred  Calvus  to  all 
our  orators  ;  and  others,  who  were  of  opinion,  that  the 
too  great  rigour  he  had  exercised  upon  himself  in  point 
of  precision,  had  debilitated  his  oratorial  talents.  How¬ 
ever  his  speeches  are  chaste  and  grave,  correct,  and 
frequently  also  vehement.  His  taste  of  writing  was 
Attic,  and  his  untimely  death  was  so  far  an  injury  to  him, 
if  he  designed  to  add  to,  but  not  to  retrench  any  thing 
from  his  compositions. 

Servius  Sulpitius  is  most  worthy  of  the  great  repu¬ 
tation  he  acquired  by  his  three  pleadings.  Cassius 
Severus,  if  read  with  judgment,  will  afford  many  things 
worthy  of  imitation  ;  and  if  with  his  other  perfections, 
he  had  laid  on  a  finer  colouring,  and  added  more  body 
to  his  style,  he  might  have  had  a  place  in  the  first 
rank.  For  there  was  in  him  very  much  talent,  a  sur¬ 
prising  tartness  of  raillery ,  and  pleasantry,  and  very 
great  force ;  but  he  followed  more  his  passion  than 
judgment,  and  his  jokes  having  been  rather  bitter  and 
taunting,  could  not  therefore  escape  appearing  fre¬ 
quently  ridiculous. 

There  have  been  many  other  good  speakers,  whom 
it  would  be  too  tedious  to  mention.  Of  those  I  have 
seen,  Domitius  Afer  and  Julius  Africanus  were  the 
most  eminent.  The  first  claims  the  preference  by  his 
elegant  composition,  and  the  whole  manner  of  his  elo- 

1.  Cui  after  dignus,  for  et  ei;  worthy  that  to  him 
should  have  been  adopted. 


quence,  which  deservedly  give  him  a  right  to  a  place 
among  the  ancients.  The  second  has  more  fire,  hut  is 
over-nice  in  words,  is  sometimes  rather  long  in  his 
composition,  and  little  reserved  in  the  use  of  metaphors. 

We  lately  could  boast  of  several  fine  wits,  Trachal- 
Jus  was  for  the  most  part  sublime,  was  plain  enough, 
and  you  might  say  he  aimed  at  perfection  in  all  re¬ 
spects.  By  hearing  him  speak,  you  might  think  him 
still  greater;  for  his  voice  was  so  fine,  that  I  never 
heard  any  thing  like  it ;  and  his  pronunciation  and  as¬ 
pect  were  so  graceful,  that  they  could  even  charm  on  a 
theatre.  In  short,  he  possessed  in  a  great  degree  all 
external  advantages.  Vibius  Crispus  was  neat  in  his 
composition,  and  his  manner  quite  pleasing  ;  but  he  was 
better  at  managing  private  than  public  causes. 

If  Julius  Secundus  had  lived  longer,  be  would  un¬ 
doubtedly  have  left  a  great  name  to  posterity.  He 
would  have  added,  and  be  constantly  added  to  his  other 
rare  qualities,  all  that  was  deficient  in  him  ;  I  mean,  a 
want  of  duly  exerting  himself  in  contestation,  and  a 
greater  attention  to  things  than  words.  But  though 
cut  off  by  death,  he  deserves  a  considerable  place  among 
orators ;  so  great  in  the  main  is  his  eloquence ;  so  de¬ 
lectable  are  the  graces,  with  which  he  explains  every 
thing  ;  so  clear,  sweet,  and  beautiful  is  bis  style ;  so 
proper  are  bis  expressions,  those  even  which  may  seem 
to  be  far-fetched  ;  and  so  strong  in  signification  and 
emphatical  are  some,  which  are  boldly  hazarded. 

Those,  who  may  write  after  me  on  orators,  will  have 
ample  matter  for  truly  praising  those  who  now  live  ;  for 



tlie  talents,  with  which  the  bar  is  adorned  at  the  present 
day,  are  very  great.  We  have  some  old  advocates  of 
consummate  merit,  illustrious  rivals  of  the  ancients  ;  and 
our  young  ones  tend  to  perfection  by  an  industrious 
imitation  of  their  talents. 

4.  There  remains  only  to  speak  of  those,  who 
have  written  on  subjects  of  philosophy.  Hitherto  vre 
have  had  but  few  eloquent  in  this  kind.  Cicero,  as  in 
all  other  respects,  so  also  in  this,  was  a  worthy  rival  of 
Plato.  Brutus  has  written  some  excellent  treatises,  the 
merit  of  which  is  far  superior  to  that  of  his  orations. 
He  supports  admirably  well  the  weight  of  his  matter, 
and  seems  to  feel  what  he  says.  Cornelius  Celsus,  in 
the  manner  of  the  Sceptics,  has  written  a  good  many 
tracts,  which  are  not  without  elegance  and  perspicuity. 
Plancus  among  the  Stoics,  may  be  read  with  profit,  for 
being  acquainted  with  the  things  he  discusses.  Catius, 
an  Epicurean,  has  some  levity  in  his  way,  but  in  the 
main,  is  not  an  unpleasing  author. 

I  have  designedly  hitherto  omitted  speaking  of  Seneca, 
who  was  conversant  in  all  kinds  of  eloquence,  upon  ac¬ 
count  of  the  opinion  persons  falsely  entertained,  by 
which  I  am  believed  to  condemn  him,  and  also  to  hate 
him.  I  drew  this  aspersion  upon  me,  by  my  endeavour 
to  bring  over  eloquence  to  a  more  austere  taste,  which 
had  been  corrupted  and  enervated  by  very  many  soft¬ 
nesses  and  delicacies.  Then  it  was  that  Seneca  was 
almost  the  only  author  young  persons  read  with  pleasure. 
I  did  not  indeed  strive  to  exclude  him  absolutely,  but 
could  not  bear  he  should  be  preferred  to  others  much 


better,1  whom  he  took  all  possible  pains  to  cry  down  ; 
because,  a,s  conscious  to  himself  that  he  had  taken  to  a 
different  route  from  their  way  of  writing,  he  could  not 
otherwise  expect  to  please  those  who  had  a  taste  for 
them.  It  was,  however,  Seneca’s  lot  to  be  more  loved 
than  imitated,  and  his  partisans  run  as  wide  from  him, 
as  much  as  himself  had  fallen  from  the  ancients.  Yet 
it  were  to  be  wished  that  they  had  proved  themselves 
like  to,  or  had  come  near  him.  But  they  were  fond  of 
nothing  in  him  but  his  faults,  and  every  one  strove  to 
copy  from  him  those  he  could.  Then  when  he  boasted 
that  he  spoke  in  the  same  way  as  he  (i.  e.  Seneca,)  he 
brought  Seneca  into  disgrace. 

His  perfections,  abstractedly  from  this  corrupt  taste 
he  had  given  occasion  to,  were  many  and  great.  His 
wit  was  easy  and  fruitful,  his  erudition  considerable,  his 
knowledge  extensive,  in  which  last  point  he  had  been 
sometimes  led  into  mistakes,  probably  by  those  whom 
he  had  charged  to  make  researches  for  him.  T  here  is 
hardly  a  branch  of  study  but  he  has  written  something 
upon  ;  for  his  orations,  his  poems,  epistles  and  dialogues 
are  much  extolled.  In  philosophic  matters,  he  was  not 
so  accurate,  but  was  admirable  for  his  invectives  against 

He  has  many  bright  thoughts,  and  many  things  are 
well  worth  reading  in  him  for  the  improvement  of  the 
moral  character  ;  but  his  elocution  is  for  the  most  part 

1.  Gellius,  lib.  xii.  says,  that  Seneca  endeavoured  to  dis¬ 
credit  Cicero  and  Virgil,  and  to  find  fault  with  them  in 
many  places. 

d  2 


corrupt,  and  the  more  dangerous,  as  its  vices  are  of  a 
sweet  and  alluring  nature.  One  could  wish  he  had 
written  with  his  own  genius,  and  another’s  judgment. 
For  if  he  had  rejected  some  things,  if  he  had  less  studi¬ 
ously  affected  some  engaging  beauties,  if  he  had  not 
been  over-fond  of  all  his  productions,  if  he  had  not 
weakened  the  importance  of  his  matter  by  frivolous 
thoughts,  he  would  have  been  honoured,  rather  by  the 
approbation  of  the  learned,  than  the  love  of  striplings. 

However,  such  as  he  is,  he  may  be  read  when  the 
taste  is  formed,  and  strengthened  by  a  more  austere  kind 
of  eloquence,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  because  he  can 
exercise  the  judgment  on  both  sides.  For,  as  I  said, 
many  things  in  him  are  worthy  even  of  admiration,  if  a 
proper  choice  has  been  made,  which  I  wish  he  had 
made  himself;  as  indeed,  that  nature  was  deserving  of 
an  inclination  to  embrace  what  was  better,  which  had 
abilities  to  effect  whatever  it  inclined  to. 



I.  That  it  is  useful  and  necessary, — We  must  not  content 
ourselves  with  the  inventions  of  others,  but  strive  to  in¬ 
vent  something  ourselves. — Also,  to  excell  those  we 
imitate.  II.  We  must  well  consider  whom,  and  what  we 
imitate  in  them. — Every  one  in  imitation  ought  to  consult 
his  own  abilities.  III.  Decorum  is  to  be  preserved  in 
the  matter  we  treat  of. — We  must  be  careful,  not  to  de¬ 
vote  ourselves  to  any  one  kind  ; — nor  to  any  one  author. 
IV,  Imitation  should  be,  not  in  words  only,  but  much 
more  in  things. 

1.  It  is  from  the  above-mentioned,  and  other  authors, 
worthy  of  being  read,  that  we  ought  to  borrow  the 
copiousness  of  language,  the  variety  of  figures,  and  the 
manner  of  composition  ;  then  our  mind  must  be  directed 
to  the  imitation  of  all  their  perfections,  as  it  cannot  be 
doubted,  but  that  a  great  part  of  art  is  contained  in 
imitation  For  as  invention  first  took  place,  and 
is  a  principal  concern ;  so  it  is  useful  to  imitate  what 
has  been  well  invented.  The  whole  habit  of  life  consists 
in  our  being  willing  to  do  ourselves  what  we  approve 
of  in  others.  So  children,  to  acquire  the  practice  of 
writing,  study  to  form  the  characters  marked  out  before 
them ;  so  oue  learning  music  accompanies  the  voice  of 
his  teacher ;  painters  keep  an  eye  upon  the  works  of 


former  masters  in  the  art  ;  and  farmers  upon  a  mode 
ot  cultivation  approved  by  experience,  for  a  copy.  We 
observe,  in  fine,  that  the  beginnings  of  every  discipline 
are  formed  according  to  some  proposed  model.  We 
must,  indeed,  be  either  like  or  unlike  that  which  is 
good;  and  to  be  like  is  rarely  the  effect  of  nature,  though 
often  the  fruit  of  imitation. 

But  this  very  thing,  which  makes  much  easier  to  us 
the  knowledge  of  all  matters,  than  could  be  compassed 
by  those  who  had  no  prescript  to  follow,  is  injurious, 
unless  it  is  used  with  caution  and  judgment.,  There¬ 
fore  imitation  will  not  be  sufficient  of  itself,  in  the  first 
place,  because  it  is  the  mark  of  an  indolent  mind  to  rest 
satisfied  with  the  inventions  of  others  ;  and  what  would 
have  been  the  case  in  those  times  that  were  without  an 
I  example,  if  men  were  supposed  to  do  or  think  of  nothing, 
but  merely  what  they  had  already  known  ?  This  ;  viz. 
that  no  invention  would  ever  have  taken  place.  Why 
then  should  we  decline  the  inventing  of  a  thing,  which 
did  not  exist  before  us  ?  The  ancients  in  their  rousdi 
and  unpolished  state,  could,  by  the  force  of  genius  only, 
give  birth  to  many  things,  and  shall  we  not  be  excited 
to  make  inquiries,  well  knowing  that  they  have  found 
who  had  taken  the  trouble  to  seek JM  And  as  they,  who 
had  not  a  teacher  in  any  one  particular,  could,  notwith¬ 
standing,  oblige  posterity  with  several  discoveries,  shall 
not  the  experience  of  these  things  avail  us  for  exploring 
others  ;  or  shall  we  have  nothing  but  that  for  which 
we  are  indebted  to  another?  As  some  painters  study 


this  alone  ;  to  be  able  to  copy  pictures  in  the  pro¬ 
portions  and  lines  of  the  original. 

It  is  also  unseemly,  to  be  contented'  with  fully  corn¬ 
ing  up  to  that  which  you  imitate  \  for  again,  what  im¬ 
provement  could  be  made,  if  no  one  effected  more  than 
his  model?  We  should  have  nothing  more  excellent  in 
poetry  than  Livius  Andronicus,  nor  any  thing  in  history 
superior  to  the  Annals  of  our  Pontiffs.  We  should  still 
sail  on  planks,  and  all  our  painting  would  consist  in 
tracing  the  extremities  of  the  snadow  bodies  make,  when 
opposed  to  light.  Take  a  cursory  view  of  all  the  arts, 
and  you  will  not  find  one,  which  has  remained  such  as  it 
was  invented  ;  not  one,  circumscribed  by  the  bounds  of 
its  origin  ;  unless,  perhaps,  we  condemn  our  time  for 
being  so  unhappy  as  to  give  growth  to  nothing;  for  in¬ 
deed  nothing  grows  by  imitation  only.  If  we  were  not 
allowed  to  make  an  addition  to  what  went  before  us, 
how  should  we  ever  hope  to  find  perfection  in  any  orator, 
it  being  evident  that  among  the  best  of  those  we  have 
hitherto  had  any  knowledge  of,  there  has  not  been 
found  one,  in  whom  there  is  no  deficiency  or  no  faults  ? 

Even  they,  who  do  not  tend  to  the  greatest  per¬ 
fection,  ought  to  strive  to  exceed,  rather  than  merely 
follow  otheis  ;  for  he  that  contends  to  be  first,  though 
he  may  not  surpass,  will  at  least  equal ;  whereas  he 
who  thinks  he  must  tread  in  another’s  footsteps,  will 
never  be  able  to  come  up  with  him,  because  the  fol¬ 
lower  will  be  always  behind.  \ 

Add  to  this,  that  it  is  commonly  easier  to  do  more 


than  the  same  thing  ;  for  similitude  has  so  great  difficulty, 
that  not  even  nature  herself  was  so  powerful  in  this  re¬ 
spect,  as  that  things  which  appear  most  similar,  should 
not  be  clearly  distinguished  by  some  sensible  difference.1 

Again,  every  thing  like  another,  cannot  equal  in  ex¬ 
actness  that  which  it  imitates ;  a  shadow  is  weaker  than 
a  body,  an  image  falls  short  of  reality;  and  the  action 
of  a  stage-player  is  faintly  expressive  of  the  true  emo¬ 
tions  of  the  mind.  The  same  happens  likewise  in 
oratorial  compositions.  Those  we  copy  after  are  en¬ 
dowed  with  nature,  and  innate  force  ;  whereas  every 
imitation  is  a  counterfeit,  or  at  best  a  servile  subjecting 
of  ourselves  to  the  manner  of  another,  and  hence  decla¬ 
mations  retain  little  of  the  animating  spirit  of  orations, 
the  subject  being  here  real,  and  there  fictitious. 

Besides,  the  greatest  accomplishments  of  an  orator, 
his  genius,  invention,  force,  ease,  and  whatever  is  not 
taught  by  art  cannot  be  imitated.  Therefore  many 
when  they  have  selected  a  certain  manner  of  expression, 
or  a  certain  measure  in  composition,  which  they  have 
remarked  in  an  orator,  vainly  imagine,  that  what  they 
have  chosen  is  cleverly  imitated  by  them ;  although 
some  words  become  obsolete  and  others  in  vogue  in 
process  of  time ;  (since  the  surest  rule  of  them  is  in 
custom)  and  these  are  not  in  their  own  nature  either 
good  or  bad  (being  themselves  mere  sounds)  but  only 

] .  i.  e,  that  not  even  nature  herself  is  able  to  make 
things  so  perfectly  similar,  as  not  to  exhibit  some  sensible 


as  they  are  opportunely  and  properly,  or  otherwise,  ap¬ 
plied  ;  and  the  composition  thence  resulting,  will  then 
appear,  as  much  adapted  to  things,  as  delectable  by  its 

II.  The  most  accurate  judgment  is,  therefore,  re¬ 
quired  for  examining  into  this  part  of  the  orator’s 
study.  First,  who  ought  to  be  imitated,  as  a  great 
many  take  for  models  very  bad  originals.  Secondly, 
what  good  quality  there  is  even  in  those  whom  we  have 
chosen,  which  we  should  set  ourselves  to  obtain  ;  for  the 
best  authors  are  not  without  their  faults,  and  the  learned 
are  liberal  in  their  criticisms  upon  one  another.  And 
I  wish  that  orators  spoke  as  much  better  by  imitating 
the  good,  as  they  speak  worse  by  imitating  the  bad. 

At  least,  let  not  those  who  are  endowed  with  a  com¬ 
petent  judgment  for  avoiding  what  is  bad,  think  it 
enough  to  have  copied  in  themselves  an  image  of  per¬ 
fection,  and  only,  as  I  may  say,  the  skin  of  eloquence, 
or  rather  those 1  figures  of  Epicurus,  which  he  says  are 
continually  flying  off  from  the  surface  of  bodies.  This 
is  the  fate  of  those,  who,  by  net  having  sounded  the 
depths  of  what  may  be  supposed  oratorial  perfection,  fit 
themselves  to  what  appears  on  a  slight  inspection  ;  and 
though  they  may  be  very  successful  in  imitation,  as  not 
much  different  in  the  choice  of  expression  and  harmony 

1.  Epicurus  says,  that  images  and  representations,  after 
the  manner  of  external  appearances,  are  continually  flying 
oft’  from  bodies,  and  by  striking  upon  the  eye,  so  cause 
vision.  However,  he  says  this  only  according  to  the  opinion 
of  Democritus. 

of  cadence,  yet  are  they  far  from  attaining  the  force 
and  invention  of  their  original :  most  commonly,  they 
degenerate  into  what  is  worse,  and  laying  hold  of  such 
vices  as  lie  in  the  proximity  of  perfections,  for  grand, 
they  become  bombastic  ;  for  close,  thin ;  for  strong, 
rash  ;  for  florid,  profusely  adorned  ;  for  harmonious  in 
composition,  bounding  amidst  the  wantonness  of  num¬ 
ber  ;  and  for  simple,  graceless  through  negligence. 

Again,  in  another  point  of  view,  if,  in  the  "roughness 
of  a  barbaraus  style  they'have  produced  any  cold- and 
empty  conceit,  they  fancy  themselves  upon  an  equality 
with  the  ancients  >  if  they  want  the  lustre  of  ornaments 
and  thoughts,  they  are  quite  in  the  Attic  taste  ;  if  they 
affect  conciseness  to  the  degree  of  becoming  obscure, 
they  surpass  Sallust  and  Thucydides  ;■  if  dry  and 
hungrjq  they  rival  Pollio  ;  if  careless  and  flat  by  cir¬ 
cumlocution,  they  swear  Cicero  would  have  so  expressed 
himself.  Nay,  have  I  known  some  elate  with  the 
notion  of  having  perfectly  acquired  that  great  orator’s 
manner,  if  they  could  only  end  a  period  by  “  esse  vide* 
atur.”  Therefore  the  first  consideration  ought  to  be, 
what  we  design  to  imitate,  and  to  know  upon  what 
account  it  deserves  to  be  imitated. 

The  next  consideration  should  be  to  consult  with 
ourselves,  whether  our  abilities  are  equal  to  the  task. 
For  some  things  are  inimitable,  either  that  nature,  for 
that  purpose,  may  be  too  weak  in  her  efforts,  or  that 
there  may  be  a  repugnancy  in  the  genius.  One  of  a 
slender  and  delicate  genius,  ought  not  to  attempt  sub¬ 
jects  which  are  strong  and  violent ;  neither  ought  that 


which  is  strong,  and  at  the  same  time  ungovernable 
waste  its  strength  through  a  love  for  refinement,  and  so 
fall  short  of  the  desired  elegance.  For  nothing  is  so 
unbecoming  as  to  clothe  with  roughness  that  which  is 
soft  and  tender. 

And  yet  I  told  the  master,  whom  I  had  instructed  in 
the  second  book,  that  not  only  those  things  were  to  be 
taught,  to  which  he  might  see  each  of  his  scholars 
adapted  by  nature.  For  he  ought  also  to  help  in  each 
of  them  whatever  he  finds  good,  and,  as  much  as  pos¬ 
sible,  to  add  what  is  deficient,  and  to  correct  and  alter 
some  things ;  for  he  is  the  guide  and  fashioner  of  others 
geniuses,  though  it  is  difficult  to  mould  one’s  own 
nature  into  that  of  others  :  yet  not  even  this  teacher, 
though  he  may  wrish  all  perfections  to  be  as  abundant 
as  possible  in  his  scholars,  should  spend  his  labour  on 
him  wffiom  he  sees  that  nature  hinders. 

III.  There  is  another  thing  to  be  equally  avoided,  a 
fault  common  to  many,  which  is  imitating  in  oratory 
poets  and  historians,  and  orators  or  declaimers  in  his¬ 
tory  or  poetry.  These  compositions  have  all  their  laws 
and  properties.  Comedy  does  not  strut  in  buskins, 
neither  does  tragedy  trip  along  in  slippers.  Yet  has 
every  species  of  eloquence  something  common  to  other 
species,  and  it  is  this  something  common  to  all,  which 
we  should  endeavour  to  imitate. 

There  is  too  this  inconveniency  attending  on  being 
addicted  to  any  one  particular  quality,  that  if  the  satyrical 
strain  of  an  orator  should  hit  the  fancy  of  some,  they 
cannot  divest  themselves  of  it,  even  in  causes,  where 


mildness  of  temper  and  moderation  must  prevail ;  in 
grave  and  important  causes,  they  are  not  equal  to  the 
weight  of  the  subject.  There  is  certainly  then  a  dif¬ 
ference  in  the  condition  of  causes,  not  only  amongst 
themselves,  but  amongst  the  parts  of  each  cause ;  and 
some  things  require  to  be  expressed  mildly,  others 
roughly,  others  impetuously,  others  gently,  others  for 
the  sake  of  instructing,  and  others  for  moving ;  of  all 
wnich  it  is  manifest  the  ways  are  unlike  and  different. 

I  therefore  would  not  advise  so  close  and  intimate 
an  adhesion  to  any  one,  as  to  imitate  him  unreservedly 
in  all  respects.  Demosthenes  was  by  far  the  most  usi- 
exceptionable  of  the  Greeks,  yet  others  on  some  occa¬ 
sions  might  have  said  something  better.  He  had? 
indeed,  many  excellencies,  but  being  highly  worthy  of 
our  imitation,  it  does  not  follow  that  he  is  the  only 
that  ought  to  be  imitated.  But  would  it  not  be  enough 
to  speak  upon  all  things,  as  Cicero  did?  It  certainly 
would,  if  we  were  possessed  of  his  abilities  :  yet  what 
should  hinder  our  occasionally  adopting  the  force  of 
Caesar,  the  asperity  of  Caelius,  the  accuracy  of  Pollio, 
and  the  judgment  of  Calvus  ?  For  besides  that  it  argues 
prudence  to  convert  into  our  own  substance,  if  possible, 
what  is  best  in  every  one  ;  it  should  be  considered, 
that  if  amidst  the  great  difficulties  imitation  intangles 
us  in,  we  only  form  ourselves  on  one  original,  we  shall 
scarce  be  able  to  retain  a  part.  Therefore,  when  in  a 
manner  it  is  unattainable  by  human  powers,  to  express 
the  entire  resemblance  of  him  you  make  choice  of,  let 
us  place  before  our  eyes  the  excellencies  of  many,  and 


having  copied  one  perfection  from  one,  and  another 
from  another,  let  us  make  them  coalesce  for  use, 
wherever  they  may  suit  our  subject. 

IV.  Imitation  also  (for  I  shall  often  repeat  the  same) 
must  not  be  in  words  only.  Rather  ought  our  thoughts 
aim  at  knowing  how  well  the  just-mentioned  great 
orators  maintained  dignity  and  propriety  in  things  and 
persons,  how  well  they  managed  their  designs,  how 
they  conducted  their  disposition,  and  how  far  even 
every  thing,  which  seemed  calculated  for  pleasing, 
tended  to  gain  their  point :  how  they  behaved  in  the 
exordium,  how  they  ordered  and  diversified  the  narra¬ 
tion,  what  strength  of  argument  they  used  in  proving 
and  refuting,  how  powerful  they  were  in  exciting  all 
sorts  of  passions,  and  how  far  popular  praise  may  be 
made  conducive  to  the  good  of  the  cause,  which  indeed 
is  a  fine  thing,  when  it  comes  spontaneously,  and  not 
when  it  is  courted.  If  we  previously  weigh  all  these 
matters,  we  then  shall  truly  fit  ourselves  for  imitation. 

Now  he,  who  to  these  can  superadd  his  own  excel¬ 
lencies,  for  supplying  what  has  been  deficient,  and 
retrenching  what  may  be  redundant,  will  be  the  perfect 
orator  we  seek  for  ;  and  it  is  now  incumbent  on  him  to 
render  himself  consummate  in  eloquence,  so  much  the 
more,  as  he  has  a  far  greater  number  of  examples  for 
imitation,  than  they,  who  are  still  reputed  masters,  had. 
For  this  also  will  be  their  glory  ;  to  be  said  to  have 
surpassed  their  predecessors  and  to  have  instructed 





I.  Its  great  utility.  II.  we  must  write  as  accurately  as  pos¬ 
sible  ;  anti  this  care  is  necessary  in  the  beginning1.  III. 
He  blames  the  hateful  peevishness  of  some  in  writing,  of 
which  he  produces  an  example. — Despatch  in  writing  is 
much  facilitated  by  a  previous  attentive  consideration  of 
the  matter. — He  reproves  the  carelessness  of  some.  IV. 
He  condemns  the  custom  of  dictating. — A  private  place, 
and  not  groves  and  woods,  are  fittest  for  writing.  V.  How 
far  night-lucubration  is  useful.  VI.  Which  is  better  to 
write  on  waxen  tablets,  or  parchment ;  and  how  this 
should  be  done. 

I.  The  helps  we  borrow  from  imitation  are  foreign, 
but  of  those  which  we  must  acquire  ourselves,  as 
writing  costs  us  more  labour,  so  also  it  is  of  much 
greater  utility.  It  is  with  good  reason  Cicero  calls  this 
the  true  artist  and  the  best  master  of  eloquence,  and 
by  assigning  to  this  opinion  the  person  of  'Lucius 
Crassus  in  those  disputations  which  are  “  On  the 
qualities  of  an  Orator,”  he  has  joined  his  own  jugdment 
to  that  great  man’s  authority. 

We  must  write,  therefore,  with  all  possible  care,  and 

1.  Cicero  de  Orat.  i.  150,  represents  L.  Crassus  making 
the  remark,  that  writing  is  the  true  artist,  and  best  master 
of  eloquence. 


write  much ;  for  as  the  earth  by  being  deeply  digged 
up,  becomes  more  fertile,  and  in  a  better  condition  for 
nurturing  and  fructifying  the  seeds  committed  to  her 
bosom  ;  so  the  advantage  of  writing,  if  it  be  not  super¬ 
ficially  cultivated, [will  pour  out  the  fruits  of  study  more 
plentifully,  and  preserve  them  more  faithfully.  And 
unless  one  is  conscious  to  himself  of  having  taken  much 
pains  in  writing,  that  readiness  at  extempore  speaking 
will  afford  only  a  vain  loquacity,  being  productive  of 
words  that  are  bom  and  die  instantly  on  the  lips.  Here 
are  the  roots,  here  are  the  foundations  of  eloquence  ; 
here  wealth  is  stored  up  as  in  a  sacred  repository,  to  be 
drawn  out  for  use  on  any  sudden  emergency.  Above 
all  things  therefore,  let  us  create  for  ourselves  a  stock  of 
strength,  sufficient  for  making  us  stand  firm  in  every 
glorious  strife,  and  not  to  be  exhausted  by  spending. 
Nature  herself  was  not  willing  that  any  thing  great 
should  be  perfected  in  a  short  time ;  she  has  annexed 
difficulties  to  each  noble  work,  and  has  even  established 
this  law  in  births,  that  the  greater  the  animal  is  to  be, 
the  longer  it  is  to  remain  shut  up  in  its  parent’s  womb. 

II.  But  as1  two  questions  here  present  themselves 
for  discussion,  how,  and  upon  what  we  should  exercise 
ourselves  in  writing,  I  shall  follow  that1  order,  and  in 
this  chapter  speak  of  the  first. — In  the  beginning  our 

1.  In  this  chapter,  he  treats  of  the  first  question,  relating 
to  the  manner  and  order  of  writing ;  in  the  fifth  chapter, 
he  discusses  the  second  question,  which  concerns  the  sub¬ 
jects  on  which  principally  the  orator  ought  to  exercise  his 

e  2 

composition  may  even  be  slow,  so  it  be  exact.  Let  us 
seek  after  what  is  best,  and  not  be  pleased  with  what 
immediately  occurs  :  let  judgment  decide  the  merit  of 
our  inventions,  and  disposition  direct  the  order  of  them 
when  approved  of.  A  choice  too  must  be  made  of 
things  and  words,  and  a  scrutiny  passed  upon  the  good- 
ness  of  each.  Next,  let  the  way  of  placing  be  attended 
to,  by  turning  and  transposing  words,  in  order  to  judge 
of  their  harmony,  and  not  to  place  them  at  hazard,  and 
as  they  occur.  To  do  this  with  more  exactness,  the 
last  lines  of  what  has  been  written  are  often  to  be  re¬ 
peated  ;  for  besides,  that  what  goes  before  and  follows, 
will  be  better  connected  ;  the  heat  also  of  thought, 
which  has  cooled  by  the  delay  of  writing,  will  resume 
new  strength,  and,  as  it  were,  a  new  degree  of  velocity 
by  going  back  :  just  so,  in  a  match  of  jumping,  the 
stretch  bounds  farther,  bv  taking  a  run  to  the  mark 
that  is  to  be  jumped  from  ;  and  in  throwing  a  javelin, 
we  draw  back  our  arm ;  and  to  shoot  an  arrow,  we  pull 
back  the  bow-string. 

Yet  if  a  brisk  gale  blows,  we  may  suffer  it  to  swell 
our  sails,  so  that  favour  does  not  lead  us  into  a  decep¬ 
tion.  For  ail  our  thoughts  please  us  at  the  time  of  their 
birth,  otherwise  we  should  not  have  written  them.  Still 
let  us  consult  our  judgment,  and  revise  that  suspected 
facility.  So  we  learn  Sallust  wrote  ;  and  indeed  the 
pains  he  took  appear  evidently  from  his  laboured  com¬ 
position.  Virgil1  too,  as  Vaius  tells  us,  wrote  but  very 
few  verses  in  a  day. 

1.  See  Gell,  1.  xvii.  c.  10, 


The  circumstances  indeed  of  the  orator  are  different, 
I  therefore  require  this  delay  and  care  in  the  beginning. 
To  write  as  well  as  we  possibly  can,  must  be  our 
principal  aim,  and  we  must  exact  it  from  ourselves. 
Practice  will  create  expedition.  Things  gradually  will 
present  themselves  with  more  facility,  words  will  cor¬ 
respond  with  them,  composition  will  follow,  everything, 
in  fine,  as  in  a  well  regulated  family,  will  be  ready  in  its 
department.  This  is  the  sum  of  the  matter  ;  by  writing 
quickly  it  does  not  come  to  pass  that  we  write  well  ; 
but  by  writing  well,  it  comes  to  pass  that  we  write 

But  having  acquired  this  facility,  then  it  is  that  we 
are  to  stop  short,  and  look  before  us,  and  check,  as  with 
a  curb,  our  impetuosity,  like  that  of  a  mettlesome  horse 
striving  to  run  away  with  his  rider.  This  care,  far 
from  retarding,  will  supply  us  with  new  vigour  to  pro¬ 

III.  On  the  other  hand,  I  would  not  have  those, 

whose  style  is  arrived  at  a  certain  degree,  of  maturity, 

harass  themselves  with  the  trouble  of  perpetually  finding 

fault  with  their  compositions.  And  indeed,  how  shall 

that  orator  acquit  himself  of  his  duty  to  the  public,  who 

should  waste  so  much  time  on  each  part  of  a  pleading? 

There  are  some,  who  are  never  satisfied  with  what  they 

do.  They  would  alter,  and  say  every  thing  otherwise 

than  it  occurs  :  mistrustful  indeed,  and  deserving  ill  of 

their  abilities,  who  think  that  to  make  to  themselves 

difficulty  of  writing  is  exactness.  I  cannot  well  say, 

which  I  think  more  in  the  wrong,  they  who  are  pleased 

e  3 


with  every  thing  in  their  productions,  or  they  who  like 
nothing  in  them.  For  it  happens,  that  even  some  young 
persons  of  pregnant  parts,  suffer  themselves  to  be  con¬ 
sumed  by  a  useless  labour,  and  at  length  sink  into 
silence  from  an  excessive  desire  of  speaking  well. 

With  respect  to  which  I  remember  that  Julius 
Secundus,  a  man  of  mv  own  age  and,  as  is  well  known, 
an  intimate  acquaintance,  an  orator  of  surprising  elo¬ 
quence,  and  of  infinite  exactness,  told  me  what  had  been 
said  to  him  by  his  uncle.  He  was  Julius  Florus,  the 
most  eloquent  mao  in  the  province  of  Gaul,  (for  it  was 
there  that  at  length  he  practised  it)  ;  otherwise  having 
lew  equals  inelegance  and  worthy  of  his  high  family. 
When  by  chance  he  had  seen  Secundus,  who  was  still 
working  at  school,  sad  and  melancholy,  he  asked  the 
reason  of  his  being  so  dejected.  The  youth  did  not 
conceal  from  him,  that  for  three  days  together  he  had 
ineffectually  wreaked  his  invention  to  hit  upon  an  ex¬ 
ordium  to  a  speech  given  him  to  be  composed,  which 
not  only  afflicted  him  for  the  present,  but  made  him 
even  despair  for  the  time  to  come.  At  which  Florus 
smiling  said  :  “  What,  child  !  will  you  do  better  than 
you  can  ?”  This  is  the  very  thing  I  had  to  recommend. 
We  must  indeed  strive  to  do  as  well  as  we  can,  but  this 
must  be  according  to  the  measure  of  our  abilities  ;  for 
it  is  study  and  application  that  will  make  us  proficients, 
and  not  discontent  and  vexation. 

Besides  practice,  which  certainly  goes  a  great  way, 
there  is  a  method  to  be  observed  for  acquiring  a 
readiness  in  writing.  In  order  to  this,  we  may  be 


advised  to  decline  the  indolent  posture  we  assume  by 
looking  up  at  the  ceiling,  and  exciting  thoughts  by 
muttering,  as  if  chance  should  throw  in  our  way  some¬ 
thing  to  our  purpose.  We  might  rather  in  a  manner 
more  becoming  men  apply  ourselves  to  write  and  medi¬ 
tate,  examining  what  the  subject  requires,  what  decorum 
ought  to  be  kept  in  regard  to  the  persons  interested, 
what  are  the  circumstances  of  time,  and  how  the  judge 
is  likely  to  be  disposed  :  thus  nature  herself  will  suggest 
what  ought  to  begin  and  what  ought  to  follow.  The 
greater  part  of  our  matter  is  plain  and  flashes  in  our  eyes, 
unless  we  shut  them  against  it ;  and  if  the  illiterate  and 
peasants  are  not  long  at  a  loss  how  to  begin,  what  a  shame 
must  it  be  that  learning  should  create  difficulties  in  doing 
the  same?  Then  let  us  not  think,  that  what  lies  hid,  is 
always  best :  if  so,  it  were  better  to  be  silent,  if  nothing 
seemed  proper  to  be  said,  but  what  we  do  not  find. 

Others  give  into  a  fault  different  from  this,  bv 

O  J  j 

slightly  running  over  their  matter,  and  writing  down 
extempore  whatever  may  occur  amidst  the  sallies  of  a 
heated  imagination.  This  they  call  a  rough  copy; 
then  they  revise  and  bring  into  order  what  they  had 
thus  poured  forth ;  but  it  is  the  words  they  correct, 
and  the  harmony  of  the  periods  they  strive  to  adjust, 
whilst  the  same  levity  remains  in  the  things  they  had  so 
precipitately  heaped  together.  It  will,  be  therefore 
much  more  advisable  so  to  order  the  work  from  the  be¬ 
ginning,  that  it  may  not  require  to  be  fabricated  anew, 
but  only  to  be  filed  and  polished.  Sometimes,  however, 
we  may  let  the  mind  indulge  its  fancy  and  sensibility  in 

tilings,  in  which  heat  is  commonly  happier  in  its  effect, 
tiian  care  and  exactness,  j 

IV.  From  my  disapprobation  of  this  carelessness  in 
writing,  one  may  judge  what  I  think  of  the  fancy  of 
dictating  which  some  are  so  taken  with.  To  writing 
indeed,  how  swift  soever  it  may  be,  the  hand  which 
cannot  keep  up  with  the  celerity  of  thought,  must  give 
some  delay  ;  but  are  not  the  inconveniencies  of  dic¬ 
tating  greater  ?  He,  to  whom  we  dictate,  urges  us  to 
proceed  ;  and  we  are  ashamed  at  times  even  to  doubt, 
or  stop  short,  or  make  any  alteration,  as  if  afraid  of  one 
privy  to  our  incapacity.  Whence  it  comes  to  pass,  that 
intent  chiefly  upon  connecting  one  sense  with  another, 
we  let  escape  us  several  things,  not  only  fortuitous  and 
shapeless,  but  sometimes  improper,  which  neither  come 
lip  to  the  exactness  of  those  who  write,  nor  to  the  fire 
of  those  that  speak.  Besides,  if  the  amanuensis  be 
slow  in  writing,  or  commit  some  error  in  reading  what 
has  been  dictated,  then  is  the  flow  of  thought  retarded 
by  this  intervening  obstruction,  and  sometimes  the 
whole  attention  is  unhinged  by  it,  as  well  as  by  anger, 
which  is  natural  enough  on  these  occasions. 

There  are  also  many  things  accompanying,  and  in 
some  measure  exciting  the  transports  and  heat  of  com¬ 
position,  as  tossing  of  the  hands,  distorting  of  the  features 
of  the  face,  turning  from  one  side  to  the  other,  and 
sometimes  finding  fault,  together  with  other  particulars 
noted  by  Persius1,  where  he  speaks  of  the  inanity  of 

1.  Satire  i.  106.  Nec  pluteum  caedit,  nec  demorsoa 
sapit  ungues 


some  authors,  as  banging  the  writing-desk,  biting  the 
nails,  and  the  like,  all  which  are  ridiculous,  unless  we 
are  alone. 

In  fine,  to  speak  once  for  all,  what  is  of  most  conse¬ 
quence,  no  one  will  doubt  that  privacy  which  is  lost  by 
dictating,  and  aplace  free  from  the  intrusion  of  witnesses, 
and  the  profoundest  silence,  suit  best  the  reflection  that 
is  necessary  for  him  who  writes. 

It  does  not,  however,  follow,  that  we  should  im¬ 
mediately  abide  by  the  counsel  of  those,  who  believe 
that  woods  and  groves  are  the  properest  places  for 
recollection  and  study,  because  the  freshness  of  air  and 
the  many  engaging  charms  that  reign  in  these  parts, 
beget  an  elevation  of  mind,  and  a  more  happy  turn  of 
thought.  Such  a  retreat  seems  indeed  to  me,  rather 
conducive  to  pleasure,  than  an  incentive  to  study  ;  as 
the  very  things  that  delight,  must  necessarily  divert  us 
from  attending  to  what  we  are  about.  In  reality,  the 
mind  cannot  be  intent  upon  many  things  together,  and 
wherever  it  looks  to,  it  must  at  that  instant  at  least  lose 
sight  of  its  main  point  of  view.  Wherefore  the  amenity 
of  woods,  and  the  course  of  rivers,  and  the  breezes 
blowing  about  the  branches  of  trees,  and  the  song  of 
birds,  and  the  freedom  of  prospect,  are  all  so  many 
attractions,  that  the  pleasure  conceived  from  them, 
seems  to  me  rather  to  slacken  thought,  than  keep  it 
stretched.  Demosthenes  was  quite  right,  when  in  order 
to  study,  he  shut  himself  up  in  a  place,  where  he  could 
neither  hear  nor  see  any  thing  to  distract  him.  Thus  it 
was  that  his  eyes  could  not  comped  his  mind  to  attend 
to  other  matters. 


V.  And  therefore  the  silence  of  night,  a  shut  up 
chamber  and  one  light,  may  in  an  especial  manner 
keep  as  it  were  protected  those  who  sit  up  late  to 
study.  But  both  in  all  kinds  of  study  and  especially 
in  this,  good  health  is  necessary  and  also  a  sparing  use 
of  it ;  since  otherwise  we  encroach  upon  nature,  by 
allotting  to  hard  labour  a  time,  which  she  has  granted 
to  us  for  the  rest  of  our  body,  and  the  recruiting  of 
our  strength.  To  which  labour  however  more  time 
must  not  be  given  than  what  is  superfluous  or  unneces¬ 
sary  for  sleep ;  for  even  fatigue  is  a  great  obstacle  to 
the  keenness  of  study  ;  and  the  day  is  more  than  suf¬ 
ficient  for  him,  who  is  master  of  his  time.  It  is  the 
multiplicity  Gf  business  that  obliges  us  to  study  by 
night ;  yet  is  lucubration  best  calculated  for  study, 
when  we  set  about  it  fresh,  in  good  health,  and  in  a 
good  flow  of  spirits. 

But  silence,  retreat,  and  a  mind  disencumbered  of 
care,  though  greatly  to  be  wished  for,  cannot  always 
fall  to  our  lot.  Fo^  which  reason,  if  any  noise  or  dis¬ 
turbance  might  happen,  we  should  not  immediately 
throw  aside  our  books  and  deplore  the  time  as  lost. 
Rather  let  us  strive  against  inconveniences,  and  con¬ 
tract  a  habit  of  conquering  all  obstacles  by  the  dint  of 
application,  which  if  we  unreservedly  direct  to  what 
we  are  about,  nothing  of  what  affects  the  eyes  or  ears, 
will  have  access  to  the  mind.  And  if  a  chance  thought 
so  often  fixes  the  attention,  that  we  do  not  see  those 
we  meet,  and  miss  our  way,  will  not  the  same  happen 
when  we  proceed  to  think  with  a  deliberate  intention  ? 


We  must  not  tamper  with  the  causes  of  sloth  ;  for 
if  we  think  wre  ought  not  to  study,  hut  when  fresh  for 
it,  but  when  cheerful,  and  devoid  of  all  other  care, 
we  shall  never  want  a  reason  for  self-indulgence. 
"Wherefore  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd,  on  a  journey,  at  a 
banquet,  and  even  in  a  tumultuous  assembly  of  the 
people,  let  our  thought  make  for  itself  a  solitude. 
Otherwise,  what  should  become  of  us,  when,  in  the 
midst  of  the  Forum,  amidst  the  hearing  of  so  many 
causes,  amidst  broils,  contentions,  and  unexpected  cla¬ 
mours,  we  are  often  to  make  extempore  speeches,  if  we 
could  find  only  in  solitude  the  notes  we  take  down  in 
writing.  It  was  for  being  prepared  at  all  events,  that 
Demosthenes,  who  had  been  so  great  a  lover  of  privacy 
studying  his  speeches  near  that  part  of  the  sea  shore, 
where  the  waves  dashed  with  the  greatest  noise, 
accustomed  himself  not  to  he  dismayed  by  the  uproars 
which  often  happened  in  the  assemblies  of  the  Athenian 

VI.  Every  thing  regarding  studies  should  seem  of 
some  importance,  and  therefore  I  shall  not  omit  giving 
directions  about  a  small  concern,  wrhich  is,  that  it  is 
best  to  write  on  waxen  tablets,  because  we  can  more 
easily  deface  what  has  been  written  ;  unless  weakness 
of  sight  should  rather  require  the  use  of  parchment.  It 
helps  indeed  the  sight,  but  it  retards  the  hand,  by  the 
frequent  moving  of  it  to  the  inkstand,  while  the  pen  is 
being  dipped  in  the  ink  and  breaks  the  flow  of  thought. 

Both  should  have  blank  pages  left  in  them,  to  make 
room  for  adding  whatever  might  be  thought  necessary; 


for  a  want  of  room  sometimes  makes  us  Ioatli  to  correct 
or  at  least  confounds  the  former  matter  by  the  inter¬ 
lining  of  new. 

I  would  not  advise  procuring  wide  pages  in  the 
tablets,  having  known  a  young  gentleman  accustomed 
to  make  long  discourses,  because  he  measured  them  by 
the  number  of  lines.  His  friends  had  often  endeavoured 
to  correct  this  fault  in  him,  but  to  no  purpose,  till  the 
size  of  his  tablets  was  changed. 

There  ought  also  a  space  or  margin  to  be  left  for 
noting  the  things  that  present  themselves  out  of  their 
rank,  such  1  mean,  as  do  not  belong  to  the  parts  we 
are  actually  composing.  For  sometimes  we  chance  to 
hit  upon  excellent  thoughts,  which  it  is  neither  proper 
to  insert  for  the  present,  nor  safe  to  postpone  taking  a 
memorandum  of ;  because  they  sometimes  escape  us 
and  sometimes  divert  us,  while  intent  upon  remembering 
them,  from  other  thought.  It  is  therefore  best  to  keep 
them  upon  record. 





Correction  follows,  a  very  useful  part  of  study,  it 
being  believed,  and  not  without  reason,  that  the  ’pen 
does  as  much  service  in  defacing  as  writing.  The 
business  of  correcting  is  to  add,  retrench,  and  alter. 
Adding  and  retrenching  are  effected  with  greater  ease, 
but  to  keep  down  what  swells,  to  raise  what  is  low,  to 
restrain  what  is  luxuriant,  to  dispose  what  is  not  in 
order,  to  make  compact  what  is  loose,  to  circumscribe 
within  its  just  bounds  what  is  otherwise  extravagant, 
imply  something  of  a  more  than  ordinary  labour  and 
sagacity;  as  we  must  condemn  the  things  that  pleased, 
and  find  others  that  escaped  us.  The  best  way,  un¬ 
doubtedly,  of  correcting  our  compositions,  is  to  lay 
them  up  for  some  time,  and  afterwards  to  return  to 
them  as  something  new,  and  executed  by  another,  to 
prevent  our  being  possessed  with  that  parental  fondness. 

1.  One  extremity  of  the  stylus  was  pointed,  with  which 
they  wrote  :  the  other  blunt  and  flat,  with  which  they  ex¬ 
punged  ;  as  may  appear  from  Horace ;  scepe  stylum  vertas, 
iterum  ques  digna  legi  sint  scripturus. 



which  is  so  natural  in  regard  to  every  newly  born 

But  this  counsel  cannot  be  always  followed,  more 
especially  by  an  orator,  who,  to  satisfy  the  duties  of  his 
profession,  is  obliged  to  write  oftener  than  another. 
The  manner  of  correcting  ought  likewise  to  have  certain 
bounds  fixed  to  it ;  for  some  return  to  all  they  have 
written  as  faulty,  and  as  if  nothing  was  allowed  to  be 
right  which  is  first,  they  deem  any  thing  else  better ; 
and  this  they  do  as  often  as  they  take  in  hand  their 
compositions,  not  unlike  surgeons,  cutting  away  even 
sound  parts.  Thus  do  their  works  remain  replete  with 
scars,  and  bloodless,  and  much  the  worse  for  all  this 
accuracy.  Let  there  be  then  some  time  or  other 
something  that  may  please,  or  at  least  be  sufficient, 
that  the  file  may  polish  the  work,  and  not  wear  it 

The  time  also  to  be  taken  up  in  correcting  should 

have  its  bounds.  For,  that  we  have  heard  that  the 


Smyrna  of  Cinna'  was  written  nine  years  before  it  rvas 
published,  and  that  they,  who  speak  most  moderately, 
say  that  the  panegyric  of  Isocrates  was  the  result  of 
ten  years  labour  ;  does  not  at  all  affect  the  orator, 
whose  help  would  be  of  no  value,  if  it  were  so  slow'. 

1.  A  piece,  so  called  he  had  written  for  the  stage,  as  we 
find  by  this  distich  of  Catullus, 

Smyrna  mei  Chinee  nonam  post  denique  messem, 
Scripta  fuit ,  nonarnque  edita  post  hyemem. 

CHAP.  V. 



I.  In  the  beginning  it  will  be  of  service  to  translate  Oreek 
into  Latin. — Also  to  change  the  words  in  Latin  authors. 
— Cicero  is  refuted — We  should  go  over  and  treat  our 
own  compositions  in  a  variety  of  ways.  II.  The  simpler 
the  matter  is,  the  better  for  acquiring  a  facility  in  writing. 
— Theses.  Proving  and  refuting  of  opinions.  Common 
places. — Declamations. — History.  Dialogues.  Poems. — 
Youth  should  not  spend  much  time  in  declamations. — 
They  should  treat  on  both  sides  of  the  question,  the  causes 
which  they  have  heard  pleaded,  or  others. — He  speaks 
again  of  declamations. 

The  next  thing  that  eremains  for  consideration,  are 
the  subjects  to  be  made  choice  of  for  writing  ;  and  here 
it  does  not  seem  necessary  to  point  out,  which  ought  to 
begin  and  follow,  having  already  in  my  first  book,  pre¬ 
scribed  the  order  for  conducting  the  studies  of  children, 


and  in  my  second,  of  more  advanced  years.  But  as  to 
the  point,  of  which  we  are  now  treating,  viz.  whence  to 
acquire  best  a  copiousness  and  facility  of  expression. 

1.  In  the  third  chapter  he  proposed  two  heads;  “  How’s 
and  what  things  ought  to  be  written.”  He  now  discusse 
the  second  part. 

our  ancient  orators  thought  it  best  to  translate  Greek 
into  Latin,  which  our  ancient  orators  thought  to  be  a 
good  exercise  for  that  purpose.  Lucius  Crassus  says 
in  Cicero’s  books  of  the1  Orator,  that  he  made  it  a  com¬ 
mon  practice,  and  Cicero  frequently  recommends  it  in 
his  own  character  ;  moreover  he  published  books  of 
Plato  and  Xenophon  translated  in  this  way.  Messala 
too,  was  fond  of  this  exercise,  and  wrote  many  orations 
translated  from  the  Greek,  and  all  of  them  of  such  re¬ 
markable  elegance,  that  he  may  be  said  to  vie  with  that 
of  Hyperides  for  Phryne,  in  all  the  delicacies  of  the 
Attic  style,  so  difficult  to  be  imitated  by  the  Latins. 

The  advantages  of  this  exercise  are  manifest,  so 
much  the  more,  as  the  Greek  authors  abound  with 
excellent  things,  and  have  much  improved  eloquence, 
by  rules  of  art ;  and  as  by  translating  them  we  may 
use  the  choicest  expressions,  and  all  our  own  may  serve. 
As  to  figures,  the  principal  ornament  of  a  discourse,  we 
have  been  under  a  necessity  of  imagining  several  quite 
different,  the  genius  of  both  languages  not  equally  ad¬ 
mitting  the  same. 

To  turn  Latin  into  other  words,  may  also  be  of 
great  service,.  No  one,  I  believe,  will  doubt  of  this  in 
regard  to  poetry,  which  is  said  to  have  been  the  only 
exercise  of  Sulpitius.  For  the  sublime  spirit  of  poetry 
naturally  raises  the  style,  and  words  boldly  hazarded 
by  poetical  licence  ‘hold  out  to  us  the  power  of  ex- 

_ _ ft*  _  . _ 

1.  De  Orat.  i.  155. 

2.  i.  e.  the  liberty  which  the  poets  use  in  some  bold 
words,  shews  that  the  same  things  may  be  expressed  by 
orators  in  suitable  language. 


pressing  the  same  with  propriety  ;  asset  indeed  we  may 
lend  an  oratorial  energy  to  the  substance  of  the  thought, 
supply  what  the  poet  has  omitted,  and  curtail  his  dif¬ 
fusiveness.  And  I  would  not  have  this  paraphrase  to 
be  merely  an  interpretation,  but  rather  a  sort  of  emula¬ 
tion  and  strife  to  express  the  same  thoughts  with 
equal  dignity,  though  in  a  different  manner. 

I  therefore  differ  in  opinion  from  those,  who  dislike 
any  attempt  made  for  turning  in  the  same  way  our 
Latin  orations,  because,  as  fancying  the  best  expressions 
to  have  been  already  adopted,  whatever  is  otherwise 
said,  must  of  consequence  be  worse.  But  we  must  not 
always  despair  of  our  not  being  able  to  find  any  thing 
better  than  what  has  been  said  ;  neither  has  nature 
made  eloquence  so  jejune  and  barren,  as  to  imply  an 
impossibility  of  expressing  well  more  than  once  the 
same  thing  ;  unless  it  be  said,  that  the  gestures  of 
Comedians  may  be  expressive  of  words  in  a  variety  of 
ways,  but  the  power  of  delivering  an  oration  is  less,  so 
that  any  thing  is  said,  besides  which  nothing  can  be 
said  on  the  same  subject.  But  supposing  that  what  we 
invent  is  neither  better  nor  equal ;  it  may  at  least  come 
near  it.  Do  not  we  ourselves  express  twice  and  oftener 
the  same  thing  differently,  and  do  not  thoughts  upon 
thoughts  sometimes  occur  in  regard  to  it  ?  Unless  per¬ 
haps  we  can  contend  with  ourselves,  and  not  with  others. 
If  there  was  only  one  way  of  saying  a  thing  well,  we 
might  think,  indeed,  that  they  who  had  passed  before 
in  it,  had  shut  it  up  against  us.  But  there  are  now 

innumerable  ways,  and  many  of  them  lead  to  the  same 

f  2 

point  of  destination.  Conciseness  lias  its  charms,  so 
also  has  copiousness.  There  is  sometimes  more  force 
and  beauty  in  the  use  of  a  metaphorical  word,  and 
sometimes  of  one  that  is  proper.  One  thing  please  s, 
because  expressednaturally,  anotherbecause  figuratively. 
In  short,  the  difficulty  this  exercise  is  attended  with, 
may  itself  be  of  singular  utility. 

Moreover  the  greatest  authors  are  thus  more  accu¬ 
rately  known.  We  do  not  read  them  superficially,  but 
examine  into  and  discuss  every  particular ;  and  we 
judge  and  are  sensible  of  their  perfections,  if  by  no 
other  way,  than  by  not  being  abTe  to  imita'e  them. 

Besides  exercising  ourselves  in  the  writings  of  others, 
we  may  profit  much  by  variously  treating  our  own  ;  as 
perhaps  in  pitching  upon  some  passages,  which  we  may 
strive  to  transform  into  a  diversity  of  ways,  as  the  same 
lump  of  wax  may  be  made  to  assume  many  different 

II.  The  most  simple  matters,  I  think,  are  best  cal¬ 
culated  for  making  us  expert  in  these  exercises ;  for 
in  such  as  are  complex  from  the  multiplicity  of  persons, 
motives,  times,  places,  sayings,  facts,  our  inability  may 
lie  concealed,  more  especially  amidst  so  many  things 
presenting  themselves  on  all  sides,  from  which  you  may 
choose  any.  So  that  it  may  seem  rather  to  be  an  indi¬ 
cation  of  tendency  to  oratorial  perfection,  to  be  able  to 
extend  the  bounds  of  what  is  naturally  contracted,  to 
make  much  of  what  is  little  and  inconsiderable,  to 
diversify  similarities  ;  to  set  off  with  agreeableness 
what  is  plain  and  obvious,  and  to  throw  into  many 


lights  a  subject,  on  which  seemingly  but  little  can  be 

In  order  hereto,  the  indefinite  questions,  called 
Theses,  will  be  of  much  service  ;  a  thing,  we  find, 
which  Cicero,  though  a  supreme  magistrate  in  the  re¬ 
public,  and  in  the  height  of  his  reputation  for  eloquence 
was  wont  to  exercise  himself  in.  Common  places  will 
likewise  render  good  service,  and  we  know  that  many 
of  the  kind  have  been  written  by  orators.  He,  therefore, 
who  can  copiously  treat  such  plain  matters,  which  do 
not  run  into  any  intricacies,  will  succeed  afterwards 
better  in  the  more  complicated,  and  at  length  will  be 
capable  of  being  ready  at  all  sorts  of  causes,  all  which 
consist  of  general  questions.  For  it  little  matters — 
in  regard  to  the  point  to  be  decided,  whether  Milo  had 
justice  on  his  side  in  killing  Clodius  ;  or,  whether  it  is 
lawful  to  kill  one  who  lies  in  wait  to  attempt  our  life, 
or  a  bad  member  of  the  community,  even  though  not 
intent  on  perpetrating  so  treacherous  a  deed  ?  Whether 
Cato  acted  honestly  in  disposing  of  his  wife  Martia  in 
marriage  to  Hortensius  :  or,  whether  such  an  act  is 
consistent  with  the  character  of  a  good  and  upright 
man  ?  Judgment  here  falls  upon  the  persons,  but  the 
debate  is  concerning  the  things. 

As  to  declamations,  I  mean  those  that  are  executed 
in  schools  of  rhetoric,  if  they  have  truth  or  probability 
for  their  foundation,  and  are  conducted  like  pleadings 
at  the  bar,  they  may  not  only  be  very  useful  for  the 
training  up  of  an  orator,  as  serving  both  to  exercise 
invention  and  disposition  ;  but  also  for  such  as  have 


made  a  far  greater  progress,  and  have  already  distin¬ 
guished  themselves  at  the  bar.  And  indeed,  eloquence 
by  the  use  of  declamation,  is  nurtured,  and  appears 
more  florid  and  fair,  as  from  a  nicer  sort  of  diet,  and  is 
refreshed  and  renewed  after  the  fatigues  it  hath  under¬ 
gone  amidst  the  constant  asperities  of  pleading. 

Wherefore  the  copiousness  of  history  is  sometimes  to 
be  copied  (literally,  written)  in  some  part  of  exercising  the 
style  ;  and  we  should  become  gay  in  the  freeness  of 
dialogues.  Nay  even,  nothing  amiss  would  follow  from 
the  amusement  of  poetic  composition*  Just  so  Athletes, 
interrupting  the  course  at  stated  times  of  their  regimen 
in  diet  and  exercises,  indulge  themselves  with  ease  and 
a  more  pleasing  sort  of  food.  Cicero  likewise  seems  to 
me  to  have  distinguished  himself  by  so  lively  and 
bright  a  manner  of  eloquence,  from  having  sought  the 
recreation  of  such  delectable  studies.  For  if  we  were, 
conversant  in  nothing  but  law-suits,  the  brightness  of 
our  style  would  insensibly  contract  dimness,  and  its 
flexibility  grow  callous,  and  the  edge  of  the  wit  would 
run  blunt  from  being  engaged  in  a  constant  round  of 

But  as  the  pampered  manner  of  eloquence,  which 
is  borrowed  from  declamation,  refreshes  and  recruits 
those  who  come  exercised  to  it  by  actual  service  at  the 
bar ;  so  our  young  candidates  for  oratory  ought  not  to 
be  familiarized  over- much  to  these  false  images  and 
vain  phantoms  of  things,  at  least  not  so  much,  as  that  it 
should  be  difficult  for  them,  when  they  have  left  these, 
to  accustom  themselves  coming  from  that  shade  in  which 



they  have  nearly  grown  old,  not  to  dread  real  dangers 
as  the  dazzling  sun.  We  have  an  instance  of  this  as 
it  is  said  in  the  person  of  Porcius  Latro,  the  first  eminent 
professor  of  rhetoric  at  Rome,  who  presuming,  in  con¬ 
sequence  of  his  great  reputation  for  eloquence  in  his 
school,  that  he  might  undertake  to  plead  at  the  bar,  and 
being  accordingly  about  to  speak,  found  himself  obliged 
to  intreat  the  audience  that  the  benches  might  be  trans¬ 
planted  into  the  1  town  hall;  so  disconcerted  was  he,  and 
so  new  did  the  sky  appear  to  him,  that  one  should 
think  his  eloquence  was  contained  within  the  precinct  ot 
a  roof  and  walls. 

I  would  therefore  counsel  the  youth,  who  has  been 
carefully  taught  the  method  of  invention  and  elocution 
by  his  masters,  (the  labour  attending  which  is  not  very 
great,  so  these  masters  know  how  to  teach) ;  and  who 


has  acquired  some  facility  by  exercise,  to  choose  for 
himself  some  orator,  which  was  customary  with  our 
ancestors,  to  make  him  his  guide  and  model.  I  would 
likewise  counsel  him  to  frequent  regularly  the  bar,  and 
be  a  constant  spectator  of  the  warfare  he  destines  him¬ 
self  for.  It  might  not  he  amiss  too,  if  he  composed 
himself  the  causes  he  heard  pleaded,  and  even  others,  on 
both  sides  of  the  question,  so  they  were  real  causes  : 
and  as  wre  see  that  gladiators  practice  with  foils  to  pre¬ 
pare  themselves  for  fighting  in  the  amphitheatre,  so  let 

1.  Basilica,  a  town-hall,  as  resembling  perhaps  his  school 
more  than  the  forum  or  bar  ;  and  from  this  passage,  it  is 
probable  that  the  Roman  bar  was  an  uncovered  place. 


him  practise  with  causes  that  have  been  already  decided 
to  prepare  himself  for  pleading  at  the  bar.  In  this 
manner  it  was,  that  Brutus,  as  before  mentioned,  exer¬ 
cised  himself  in  the  cause  of  Milo ;  and  doing  so  is 
much  better,  than  answering  the  pleadings  of  the  an¬ 
cients,  as  Sestius  has  done  in  refutation  of  Cicero’s 
oration  for  the  same,  though  from  that  defence  he  could 
not  have  had  an  exact  knowledge  of  the  other  sfde  of 
the  question. 

I  he  youth,  then,  will  be  sooner  fitted  for  bar- 
pleadings,  whom  his  master  shall  oblige  to  compose  his 
declamations  as  like  truth  as  possible,  and  to  work  up 
equally  all  parts  of  them,  because  they  now  content 
themselves  with  what  is  easiest  and  most  specious  in  the 
subject.  The  chief  hindrance  to  this,  as  I  remarked  in 
the  second  book,  is  commonly  the  too  great  number  of 
pupils,  the  custom  of  making  them  declaim  publicly  on 
certain  days,  and  in  some  measure  the  opinion  of  pa¬ 
rents  counting  the  number  rather  than  weighing  the 
merits  of  their  declamations.  But  according  to  what  I 
said,  as  I  think,  in  the  first  book,  the  good  master  will 
not  encumber  himself  with  a  greater  number  than  he  is 
well  able  to  teach ;  and  he  will  retrench  their  excessive 
loquacity,  so  that  all  things  be  spoken,  which  belong  to 
the  subject  in  dispute,  not  (as  some  wish)  all  things  that 
belong  to  the  whole  system  of  nature.  Again,  he  will 
do  well  in  allowing  a  longer  time  for  their  studying  and 
writing  the  whole  matter  of  the  declamation,  or  pro¬ 
ducing  only  a  part  of  it  within  a  limited  time.  For  they 
I  will  profit  more  from  one  part  well  worked  up,  than 


from  many  begun,  or  merely  sketched  out.  It  happens 
otherwise,  that  a  thing  is  not  put  in  its  place,  neither 
does  that  which  is  to  begin,  keep  its  rank  ;  because  they 
curiously  collect  the  flowerets  of  all  parts,  and  heap 
them  promiscuously  into  that  they  intend  to  pronounce  ; 
whence,  under  an  apprehension  of  losing  the  beautiful 
passages  that  should  follow’  ia  course,  they  throw  into 
confusion  the  foregoing  matter. 




Meditation  borders  upon  the  nature  of  writing,  re¬ 
ceives  its  strength  from  it,  and  is  a  something  lying 
between  the  labour  of  composition,  and  the  hazard  of 
extempore  speaking,  and  is,  I  think,  of  very  frequent 
use.  For  we  cannot  always  write,  nor  every  where  ; 
but  meditation  is  of  most  times  and  places.  In  few 
hours  it  takes  a  comprehensive  view  even  of  great  and 
important  causes.  If  our  sleep  is  interrupted  at  night, 
darkness  makes  it  more  active.  During  the  day,  in  the 
midst  of  our  occupations,  it  finds  some  leisure  time  for 
contemplating  its  objects,  and  seldom  or  ever  remains 
idle;  and  not  only  assigns  to  things  their  due  order* 
which  is  doing  a  great  deal,  but  also  joins  words,  and  so 
frames  the  adhesion  of  all  parts  of  the  discourse,  that 
nothing  but  writing  it  out  seems  wanting.  And  thus 
likewise,  for  the  most  part,  it  remains  more  tenaciously 
ri vetted  in  the  memory,  as  it  cannot  be  let  to  slip  away 
by  the  security  of  writing. 

But  we  cannot  attain  suddenly  nor  soon  to  that  force 
of  thought  which  is  required  for  profound  meditation. 
For  first,  by  much  writing,  a  style  is  to  be  formed, 
which  may  follow  us  even  in  our  thoughts,  then  practice 


must  be  added  by  degrees,  so  that  at  first  we  may  em¬ 
brace  in  our  mind  a  few  things,  which  it  can  easily  re- 
tarn  to  us;  then  this  style  is  to  be  enlarged  by  such 
moderate  degrees  of  increase  that  the  labour  may  seem 
to  itself  in  no  way  painful,  and  to  be  kept  together  by 
practice  and  much  exercise;  and  as  this  depends  in  a 
great  measure  on  memory,  I  therefore  say  here  but  a 
part  of  what  I  should,  reserving  the  rest  for  that  ‘place. 
From  what  has  been  said,  it  may,  however,  appear,  that 
when  there  is  no  deficiency  or  obstacle  in  point  of  genius, 
one  may,  by  the  assiduity  of  application,  attain  so  much, 
that  the  things  which  he  has  conceived  in  his  mind,  as 
well  as  what  he  has  written  and  committed  to  memory, 
will  stand  faithful1 2  to  him  when  speaking.  Cicero  ac¬ 
quaints  us,  that  among  the  Greeks,  Metrodorus,  Scep- 
tius,  and  Eryphylus  the  Rhodian,  and  among  the  Latins, 
Hortensius  could  repeat  word  for  word  in  pleading,  all 
that  they  had  before  meditated. 

Supposing  now  that  something  bright,  some  new 
idea  should  spring  up  in  the  midst  of  our  pronouncing  a 
discourse,  we  should  not  so  scrupulously  adhere  to  what 
we  have  written  as  not  to  make  room  for  it  ?  An  oration, 
though  ever  so  elaborately  composed,  is  not  to  be  so 
highly  prized,  as  to  give  no  admission  even  to  a  gift  of 
fortune  ;  though  the  contrary  is  evident  by  our  often 
inserting  a  sudden  after  thought  in  what  we  have 
written.  This  whole  kind  of  exercise  should  therefore 

1 .  Book  xi.  c.  2. 

2.  Will  keep  their  faith,  will  not  treacherously  leave  his 



be  so  ordered,  that  we  easily  might  digress  from,  and 
return  to  it  at  pleasure:  for  if  on  one  side,  our  principal 
care  ought  to  be  to  come  prepared  from  home,  in  order 
to  speak  in  public ;  on  the  other,  it  would  be  a  notable 
piece  of  folly  to  reject  a  present  which  the  circumstance 
of  time  offers  for  our  service.  Let  then  our  thoughts 
and  meditation  be  so  far  prepared,  that  fortune  may 
have  it  in  her  power  not  to  frustrate,  but  to  help  us. 

But  it  will  be  by  the  strength  of  the  memory  that  what- 
ever  we  have  meditated  upon,  flow  from  us  wdth  an  air 
of  security,  and  do  not  prevent  us  from  looking  forward 
to  what  me  are  going  to  say,  by  anxiety,  embarassment, 
and  dependence  on  the  hope  of  memory  alone  ;  and  if 
this  should  be  the  case,  I  would  prefer  an  extempore 
rashness  to  the  incoherency  and  suspension  of  thought. 
Nothing  has  a  worse  effect  than  an  unseasonable  recol¬ 
lection  ;  because  eager  to  recall  the  ideas  which  fly  from 
us,  we  lose  those  that  present  themselves,  and  seek 
things  rather  from  memory  than  our  subject.  But  if  we 
must  look  on  both  sides  of  a  question,  the  things  which 
can  be  found  are  more  numerous  than  those  which  are 




I.  How  useful  and  necessary  it  is.  II.  How  it  is  acquired. 

III.  And  how  preserved. 

The  talent  of  speaking  extempore  is  the  greatest 
emolument  we  receive  from  our  studies;  and,  as  it  were, 
a  very  ample  reward  for  our  long  and  painful  labours  ; 
and  lie  that  has  not  acquired  it,  will  do  well  in  my 
opinion  by  renouncing  the  functions  of  the  bar,  and 
employing  the  talent  of  writing  that  remains  to  him 
rather  upon  something  else.  For  it  is  hardly  consistent 
with  a  man  of  integrity  to  promise  assistance  to  the 
public,  which  assistance  will  be  wanting  in  the  most 
pressing  dangers.  Such  behaviour  would  be  not  unlike 
that  of  a  pilot,  who  should  shew  a  weather-beaten  ship 
a  harbour  at  a  distance,  where  it  could  not  enter  but 
with  a  gentle  breeze.  There  are,  indeed,  very  many 
and  pressing  occasions  for  pleading  without  preparation, 
either  before  magistrates,  or  wdien  a  cause  is  brought  to 
trial  before  the  day  fixed  for  it  ;  and  if  any  of  these 
should  happen  I  will  not  say  to  any  innocent  citizen, 
but  any  of  his  friends  or  relations,  shall  he  stand  mute 

and,  while  they,  on  the  point  of  perishing  unless  they 
be  assisted,  are  imploring  him1  to  speak  for  their  safety, 
shall  he  ask  for  time  and  retreat  and  silence,  until  his 
speech  be  fabricated  and  fixed  upon  his  memory,  and 
his  voice  and  lungs  be  prepared  ?  But  what  reason 
allows  this,  that  an  orator  should  be  unprepared  on  any 

How  must  it  fare  with  him,  when  he  is  to  answer  an 
adversary  ?  For  often  what  we  have  supposed  to  be 
the  adversary’s  state  of  the  matter,  and  against  which 
we  have  calculated  our  speech,  we  find  ourselves  much 
mistaken  in,  and  suddenly  the  whole  cause  is  changed. 
As  therefore  a  navigator  shifts  his  manner  of  steering 
according  as  the  winds  set  in  upon  his  ship,  so  an  orator 
must  shift  about  according  to  the  diversity  of  causes  he 
has  to  plead.  Of  what  effect  would  so  much  practice 
in  writing  be,  so  much  reading,  and  so  long  a  course  of 
study,  if  the  same  difficulty  remained  that  occurred  in 
the  beginning  ?  That  man  indeed  must  be  thought  to 
have  lost  all  his  past  labours  who  is  constantly  obliged 
to  put  himself  to  the  same  pains.  But  I  do  not  make 
these  reflections,  that  the  orator  should  prefer  extempore 
speaking,  but  that  he  occasionally  might  speak  so. 

II.  We  shall  acquire  this  talent  chiefly  in  this  man¬ 
ner.  Let  us  first  be  acquainted  with  the  way  of  speaking, 
which  may  be  compared  to  the  running  of  a  race,  which 
cannot  be  performed,  unless  we  know  whence,  and 

1.  Literally,  imploring  his  saving  voice. 


where  we  are  to  run.  So  in  this  respect,  it  is  not 
enough  not  to  be  ignorant  of  the  parts  of  judicial  causes, 
or  of  the  disposing  of  questions  in  proper  order,  though 
these  make  a  principal  consideration  ;  but  also,  of  what 
is  first,  and  what  follows  in  a  place,  which  are  so  linked 
by  nature,  that  they  cannot  be  altered,  or  taken  asunder 
withour  causing  confusion.  Now  he  that  is  learning 
the  way  he  is  to  walk  in,  will  no  doubt  suffer  himself  to 
be  guided  by  the  order  of  things  as  they  occur,  for 
which  reason,  persons  even  of  slender  practice  will  easily 
observe  how  a  narration  is  to  be  conducted.  Next, 
they  wifi  know  what  questions  arise  on  every  point, 
neither  will  they  hesitate  in  regard  to  what  they  are  to 
say,  nor  be  distracted  by  thoughts  foreign  to  their 
matter,  nor  confound  this  matter  by  jumbling  things 
together,  jumping,  as  it  were,  here  and  there,  and  stop¬ 
ping  no  where.  Lastly,  they  must  keep  within  certain 
bounds,  which  cannot  be  done  without  division.  Thus 
having,  to  the  best  of  their  abilities,  effected  whatever 
they  proposed  to  themselves,  they  may  think  they  are 
come  to  the  end. 

And  these  last  we  may  obtain  from  art ;  but  let  us 
attain  the  former,  as  well  as  a  copiousness  of  the  best  ex¬ 
pressions,  from  study,  as  directions  have  been  already 
given,  and  let  our  manner  of  speaking  be  so  formed  by 
much  and  accurate  composition,  that  what  we  even  give 
utterance  to  suddenly,  might  appear  as  if  it  was  written. 
In  short,  when  we  have  written  much,  we  shall  be  able 
to  speak  much ;  for  custom  and  exercise  contribute 
most  to  acquire  facility,  and  if  there  be  an  intermission 

g  3 


in  them,  though  but  short,  that  readiness  will  not 
only  be  retarded,  but  the  mouth  itself  also  becomes 

Though  we  stand  in  need  of  a  certain  natural  mobility 
of  mind,  that  whilst  we  express  what  is  next  to  our 
thoughts,  we  may  be  able  tp  construct  what  lies  further 
off,  and  keep  our  voice  always  provided  with  a  succession 
of  formed  thoughts ;  yet  scarce  can  either  nature  or 
art  divide  the  mind  on  so  manifold  a  business  as  to  attend 
at  once  to  invention,  disposition,  elocution,  the  order  of 
words  and  things,  and  what  is  to  be  said  on  the  present 
occasion,  the  next,  and  the  following,  together  with  the 
particular  attention  that  is  to  be  paid  to  voice,  pronun¬ 
ciation,  and  gesture.  A  sort  of  intuitive  and  anticipating 
view,  is,  therefore,  quite  necessary  for  these  purposes, 
and  the  matter  should  be  made  to  act  previously  to 
itself,  by  surveying  the  further  parts,  according  as  the 
foregoing  are  pronounced,  that,  till  we  come  to  the  end, 
we  may  proceed  as  much  by  looking  before  us,  as  by 
stepping  forward.  This  forecast  then  must  be  thought 
highly  necessary,  if  we  would  not,  hesitating  and 
faltering  utter  short  and  broken  sentences,  like  persons 
interrupted  by  sobs. 

There  is,  then,  a  certain  habit,  for  which  we  are  all 
indebted  to  reason,  which  the  Greeks  call  aXoyog  rpifjrj, 
by  which  the  hand  runs  in  writing,  and  the  eyes  see  in 
reading  several  lines  at  once,  with  their  stops  and 
breaks  ;  and  they  have  sooner  read  what  follow's,  than 
the  tongue  has  articulated  what  goes  before.  By  which 
those  wonders  are  performed  in  the  exhibitions  of  jug- 


glers,  so  that  the  things  which  they  cast  away  from 
them,  seem  again  to  come  into  their  hands,  and  fly  off 
where  they  command  them. 

But  we  shall  not  profit  by  this  habit,  but  so  far  as 
the  art  I  spoke  of,  has  paved  the  way  for  it,  that  that  for 
which  no  reason  can  be  assigned,  may,  notwithstanding, 
appear  as  grounded  upon  reason.  For  none,  indeed, 
shall  seem  to  me  to  make  a  speech,  unless  they  do  it 
with  order,  ornament,  and  elocution  ;  and  for  this  rea¬ 
son,  I  shall  never  be  an  admirer  of  the  connection  of 
a  tumultuary  or  fortuitous  harangue,  which  I  have  taken 
notice  to  have  been  extremely  well  performed,  even 
amidst  the  fierce  objurgations  of  women.  Heat  and 
spirit  may  be  productive  of  a  speech,  attended  w'ith 
better  success  than  a  studied  one  ;  and  on  these  occa¬ 
sions,  as  Cicero  relates,  the  ancients  were  wront  to  say, 
that  a  god  spoke  from  the  mouths  of  men. 

But  the  reason  is  plain  ;  for  passions  strongly  im¬ 
pressed  on  the  mind,  and  images,  when  recent,  manifest 
themselves  by  lively  and  rapid  expressions,  which  some¬ 
times  cool  in  the  slowmess  of  composition,  and  by  being 
put  off  for  any  time,  may  not  return.  But  when  an 
unhappy  scrupulous  care  about  words,  stops  us  short  at 
every  step  we  take,  the  forced  violence  is  intolerable ; 
but  though  the  choice  of  single  expressions  be  very 
good,  yet  it  is  not  fluent,  but  laboured,  j  We  must, 
therefore,  endeavour  to  have  a  clear  conception  of  things 
by  means  of  the  images  before  spoken  of,  placing  all 
that  we  have  to  say  concerning  persons  and  questions 
before  our  eyes,  and  entering  into  all  the  passions  our 


subject  can  well  admit  of.  For  it  is  the  sensibility  of 
the  heart,  and  perturbation  of  the  mind,  that  makes  us 
eloquent ;  and  therefore  the  illiterate  do  not  want  words, 
when  stimulated  to  speak  through  passion  or  interest. 
We  must  strive  also  to  lend  the  attention  of  the  mind, 
not  to  any  object  singly,  but  to  many  together ;  as,  if  we 
direct  our  sight  along  any  straight  line,  we  behold  at  the 
same  time  all  the  objects  which  are  in  and  about  it,  and 
see  not  the  last  only,  but  as  far  as  the  last. 

The  shame,  likewise,  of  stopping  short,  and  the  de¬ 
sire  of  being  applauded,  are  wonderful  incitements  for 
the  orator’s  acquitting  himself  to  advantage ;  and  it  may 
seem  wonderful,  when  writing  delights  in  privacy,  and 
cannot  abide  a  witness,  how  extempore  speaking  feels 
itself  animated  by  a  full  auditory  as  a  soldier  is  ani¬ 
mated  to  battle,  by  seeing  the  Standards  of  the 
army  ranged  and  mustered  together.  For  how  difficult 
soever  thoughts  may  occur,  the  necessity  of  speaking 
compels  the  finding  of  them,  and  the  desire  of  pleasing 
seconds  and  increases  the  efforts.  So  much  do  all 
things  look  to  a  reward,  that  even  eloquence,  though 
containing  much  pleasure  in  itself,  is  vastly  taken  with 
the  present  fruits  of  praise  and  reputation. 

But  no  person  ought  to  be  so  confident  of  his  abili¬ 
ties,  as  to  hope,  that  immediately  on  the  first  trial  he 
shall  acquire  this  talent.  What  I  inculcated  concerning 
meditation,  may  be  here  applicable,  that  the  talent  of 
extempore  speaking  should  proceed  gradually  from 

1.  The  military  standards  among  the  Romans  were 
placed  together  in  the  front  of  battle,  as  a  signal  of  an  in¬ 
tention  to  give  battle. 


small  beginnings  to  its  greatest  perfection,  to  which 
nothing  can  contribute  so  much  as  practice.  It  ought 
besides  to  be  perfected  to  such  a  degree,  that  meditation, 
though  safer,  might  not  exceed  it  in  goodness,  because 
many  have  attained  to  this  facility,  not  only  in  prose,  but 
even  in  verse,  as  Antipater  Sidonius,  and  Licinius  Ar- 
chias,  if  herein  we  believe  the  authority  of  1Cicero.  This 
talent  of  extempore  versification  has  been,  and  may  still 
be  remarked  in  some  of  our  contemporaries ;  but  as 
more  specious  than  useful  and  necessary,  if  I  speak  of  it, 
it  is  not  so  much  for  commending  it,  as  to  shew  that  it 
is  a  useful  example  towards  encouraging  those  who  fit 
themselves  for  the  bar. 

Again,  I  never  would  have  so  much  confidence 
placed  in  this  facility,  as  to  exclude  at  least  a  short  time 
which  is  scarce  ever  wanting,  and  which  is  always  allowed 
in  trials  and  pleadings  at  the  bar,  for  reflecting  on  what 
we  are  to  say.  It  should  seem,  indeed,  that  no  one  can, 
plead  a  cause  he  knows  nothing  of ;  yet  do  we  see  some 
declaimers  so  perversely  vain,  as  to  pride  themselves  in 
being  able  to  speak  on  a  controversy  by  only  learning 
what  it  is  upon  ;  and  what  is  more  nugatory  and  buf¬ 
foon-like,  they  will  ask  you  by  what  word  you  would 
choose  they  should  begin.  But  eloquence  in  her  turn 
derides  those  who  are  thus  indolent  toward  her;  and 
they  who  wish  to  appear  learned  to  fools,  appear  fools 
to  the  learned./ 

But  if  it  so  happened,  that  we  were  obliged  to  speak 

1.  De  Orat.  iii.  194.  pro  Arch.  18. 


in  public  without  any  preparation,  then  would  we  have 
an  occasion  for  an  extraordinary  presence  of  mind,  and 
our  whole  attention  being  engrossed  by  things,  we 
should,  for  the  present,  remit  something  in  the  care  of 
words,  if  it  was  not  practicable  to  attend  to  both.  Then 
also  a  slower  pronunciation,  and  a  manner  of  keeping 
our  words,  as  it  were,  in  suspense,  would  afford  time  for 
reflection ;  but  this  must  be  so  managed,  that  we  may 
seem  to  think,  and  not  to  hesitate  :  and  this  we  do, 
whilst  we  are  sailing  out  of  port,  if  the  wind  drives  us 
forward,  and  our  rigging  is  not  yet  quite  fitted  to  : 
afterwards,  as  we  proceed,  we  shall  lay  our  cables  in 
order,  hoist  our  sails,  and  display  them  for  receiving 
the  favourable  gale.  Doing  so  is  more  eligible,  tbgfn  to 
deliver  ourselves  up  at  once  to  a  torrent  of  useless 
words,  and  suffer  ourselves  to  be  swept  away  as  it  were 
by  a  storm. 

III.  But  this  talent  is  preserved  with  no  less  pains 
than  it  is  acquired.  An  art  once  learned,  is  not  forgot : 
but  it  does  not  follow,  that  expertness  will  continue 
after  the  disuse  of  it :  writing,  when  neglected  for  some 
time,  will  lose  something  of  its  former  readiness :  so 
with  the  talent  of  extempore-speaking:  it  is  acquired 
by  exercise,  and  can  be  retained  only  by  exercise.  Now 
the  best  way  of  exercising  ourselves,  is  to  speak  daily 
upon  some  subject  or  other,  in  the  presence  of  many 
persons  whose  judgment  and  opinion  we  pay  a  deference 
to  ;  for  it  seldom  happens  that  one  sufficiently  respects 
himself;  or  we  should  speak  alone,  rather  than  not 
speak  at  all. 


There  is  another  exercise  for  thought,  which  is  to 
meditate  upon  our  subject,  and  treat  it  mentally  from 
the  beginning  to  the  end.  This  is  practicable  at  all 
times,  and  in  all  places,  so  we  have  nothing  else  to  do  5 
and  is  in  some  measure  of  greater  utility  than  the 
foregoing  ;  because,  in  the  one,  things  are  disposed  with 
more  accuracy;  whereas,  in  the  other,  our  whole  solici¬ 
tude  is  to  continue  the  thread  of  the  discourse.  Again, 
the  former  is  of  more  service  by  strengthening  the  voice, 
forming  the  pronunciation  and  gesture ;  and  the  motions 
and  attitudes  the  orator  puts  himself  into,  by  the  tossing 
about  of  his  hands,  and  stamping  of  his  foot,  must  give 
life  and  spirit  to  this  his  action,  just  as  a  lion  is  said  to 
rouse  his  courage  by  striking  his  flanks  with  his  tail. 

But  we  should  study  always  and  every  where.  For 
there  is  scarce  a  day  so  taken  up  with  business,  but 
may  afford  something  to  be  gained  from  it  for  the  sake 
of  study  ;  or  as  1  Cicero  says  of  Brutus,  but  may  have 
some  moment  snatchedfrom  it,for  the  purpose  of  writing, 
reading,  or  speaking.  2C.  Carbo,  even  in  his  tent,  and 
amidst  the  horrors  of  war,  was  wont  to  exercise  himself 
in  thetalent  of  speaking.  I  should  not  forget  also,  that 
Cicero  upon  all  occasions  advises  us,  not  to  neglect  our 
manner  of  speaking,  that  what  we  say,  may,  in  regard 
to  the  subject,  be  as  proper,  as  correct,  and  as  accurate 
as  possible. 

1.  Orat.  xxxiv. 

2.  He  embraced  the  party  of  Marius  against  Sylla* 


But  we  must  never  write  more  than  we  are  to  speak 
much  extempore.  Thus  weight  will  be  preserved  in 
what  we  say,  and  that  light  facility,  floating  as  it  "were 
on  the  surface,  will  thereby  become  heavier  and  run 
deeper.  Just  so  vine- dressers  cut  of  the  nearest  roots 
of  a  vine,  which  may  draw  it  to  the  surface  of  the  ground, 
that  the  lower  roots  may  gain  strength  by  striking 
deep.  And  for  aught  I  know,  both  exercises,  under  the 
direction  of  care  and  study,  may  be  a  mutual  help  to  each 
other  ;  so  that  by  writing,  we  may  speak  with  more 
exactness  ;  and  by  speaking,  write  with  more  ease.  We 
ought  therefore  write  as  often  as  we  can,  and  if  not  at 
leisure  for  so  doing,  -we  should  meditate  :  but  if  neither 
can  take  place,  the  orator  must  use  his  best  endeavours 
to  guard  against  surprise,  and  to  keep  his  client  from 
appearing  to  be  destitute  of  assistance. 

.Some  orators,  who  have  had  much  business  on  their 
bands,  most  commonly  wrote  little  more  than  the  prin¬ 
cipal  heads,  and  the  exordium  :  other  points  they  fixed 
in  their  memory  by  meditation  only;  and  any  sudden 
occurrence  they  replied  to  extempore.  This  was  a 
practice  of  Cicero,  as  appears  by  his  iNotes.  There  are 
likewise  extant  some  notes  of  others,  and  these  perhaps 
were  invented,  as  the  orators  wrote  them  down  in  order 
to  speak  upon  them,  and  were  afterwards  digested  into 
books,  as  the  notes  of  all  the  causes  pleaded  by  Servius 
Sulpitiu3,  of  whom  we  have  three  orations  perfect.  But 

1.  Coinmentarii,  notes,  were  books  that  contained  the 
heads  of  things.  They  were  written  by  orators  for  the  dis¬ 
position  of  the  cause,  and  as  helps  to  memory. 


these  notes  are  so  exact,  that  they  seem  to  me  to  be 
composed  by  him  for  the  service  of  posterity.  As  for 
Cicero’s,  he  made  them  only  for  his  own  use  ;  but  his 
freedman  Tyro  has  given  us  an  abridgment  of  them, 
which  I  do  not  mention  by  way  of  disparagement,  but 
rather  to  commend  their  merit. 

In  this  way,  I  greatly  approve  of  those  short  anno¬ 
tations  and  memorandum-books,  which  may  be  held  in 
the  hand,  and  which  it  is  allowed  now  and  then  to  cast 
an  eye  upon.  I  cannot  say  that  I  like  what  Lsenas 
recommends,  which  is  to  note  down  all  the  heads  of  what¬ 
ever  we  are  to  speak  to.  This  security  begets  a  remiss¬ 
ness  of  thought  during  the  action,  and  tears  asunder, 
and  deforms  the  discourse.  I  think,  indeed,  that  nothing 
ought  to  be  written  when  we  design  to  speak  extempore. 
For  it  happens,  that  thought,  by  calling  us  back  to  that 
which  we  have  set  down  in  writing,  will  hinder  us  to 
try  our  present  fortune  ;  and  so  the  mind  fluctuating 
between  both,  when  it  loses  sight  of  what  is  written, 
cannot  well  recover  itself  by  seeking  after  something 
new, — A  place  is  assigned  for  memory  in  the  next  book  , 
but  cannot  be  subjoined  to  this  article,  because  previous 
to  it  some  other  matters  require  to  be  considered. 










Rev.  EDWARD  BUSHBY,  M.  A. 



Printer  to  the  University. 


This  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  the  Holy 
Scriptures  has  been  prepared  for  the  use  of  the 
Students  of  St.  John’s  College,  and  is  intended  to 
occupy  them  only  for  a  small  part  of  one  Term, 


during  which  other  subjects  require  their  attention. 
I  have  thought  it  necessary  therefore  to  confine  it 
within  narrow  limits,  from  regard  to  the  purpose 
for  which  it  is  designed. 

In  the  course  of  the  work,  references  have 
been  made  to  the  Authors  from  whom  the  materials 
of  it  have  been  chiefly  derived.  Recourse  may  be 
had  to  them  for  further  information,  on  subjects 
which  the  nature  of  my  design  has  obliged  me  to 
treat  with  great  brevity. 


I.  A  Summary  of  the  Principal  Events  in  the  Jewish 

History .  1 

II.  On  the  Forms  of  Government  and  Administration 

of  Justice  among  the  Jews .  22 

III.  On  the  Sects  and  other  Orders  of  Men  among  the 

Jews .  32 

IV.  On  the  Jewish  Priesthood .  44 

V.  On  the  Jewish  Sacrifices .  54 

VI.  On  the  Jewish  Festivals .  6 2 

VII.  On  the  Places  accounted  Holy  among  the  Jews .  7 6 




1.  Of  the  history  of  the  human  race  before  the 
deluge,  and  during  many  centuries  subsequent  to  it, 
no  knowledge  can  be  obtained  by  us,  beyond  that 
which  is  given  in  the  Holy  Scriptures.  For  such 
knowledge  we  must  have  recourse  to  the  writings  of 
Moses,  who  was  enabled  by  divine  inspiration  to  relate 
many  important  circumstances  affecting  the  early  genera¬ 
tions  of  mankind,  with  which  we  must  otherwise  have 
been  unacquainted.  From  those  writings  alone,  we 
derive  an  authentic  account  of  the  creation  of  the  world, 
and  of  the  introduction  of  sin  and  misery  into  it  in 
consequence  of  the  disobedience  of  our  first  parents 
to  the  command  of  their  Maker.  Respecting  these 
great  events,  and  all  that  befel  the  nations  of  the  earth 
during  a  long  succession  of  ages,  profane  history  is 
either  altogether  silent,  or  is  so  mingled  with  manifest 
fable  as  to  be  entitled  to  no  credit.  In  forming  therefore 
a  summary  of  the  history  of  the  Jews,  we  shall  be 
occupied  during  a  large  period  of  it  in  making  a  statement 
of  the  most  important  circumstances,  the  authority  for 
which  is  that  of  the  Bible  alone. 

2.  The  Jews  derive  their  name  from  Judah,  one  of 
the  sons  of  Jacob:  Judah  being  also  the  name  of  that 
tribe  to  which,  in  the  division  that  was  made  of  the 



Holy  Land,  the  largest  and  best  portion  was  allotted, 
and  of  which  Jerusalem  became  the  capital.  They  were 
sometimes  called  Hebrews,  probably  from  Heber  one 
of  the  ancestors  of  Abraham ;  and  Israelites  from  Israel, 
a  name  which  was  given  to  Jacob.  Although  the 
history  of  them  as  a  nation  begins  properly  at  the 
time  when  they  departed  from  Egypt  to  take  possession 
of  Canaan,  it  may  be  useful  to  make  a  brief  mention 
of  some  circumstances  which  are  recorded  in  the  Bible 
prior  to  that  period. 

To  Adam  and  Eve  were  born  sons  and  daughters;  but 
the  number,  of  them  is  not  stated.  The  only  three  whose 
names  are  mentioned  are  Cain,  Abel  and  Seth;  and  of 
these  three  the  sacred  historian  has  chiefly  confined  himself 
to  the  posterity  of  Seth,  probably  because  he  was  the  pro¬ 
genitor  of  Noah,  and  therefore  in  his  line  the  Messiah 
was  to  be  born.  In  the  time  of  Noah,  who  was  the  ninth 
in  descent  from  Adam,  God  destroyed  by  a  deluge  all 
the  inhabitants  of  the  earth,  except  Noah  and  his  wife, 
and  his  three  sons  and  their  wives,  and  two,  male  and 
female,  of  every  species  of  animals.  This  judgment 
was  inflicted  upon  mankind  2348  years  before  the  birth 
of  Christ.  When  Noah  descended  from  the  ark,  he 
offered  sacrifice  as  a  thanksgiving  for  his  preservation, 
and  God  made  a  covenant  with  him  that  there  should 
not  be  any  more  a  flood  to  destroy  the  earth. 

3.  The  descendants  of  Noah  soon  multiplied  so 
greatly  that  a  separation  became  necessary,  and  a  part 
of  them  journeyed  from  the  east,  and  settled  in  the 
land  of  Shinar,  which  is  generally  believed  to  be  the 
same  as  Chaldasa,  of  which  Babylon  was  afterwards 
the  capital.  Here  they  said,  “  Let  us  build  us  a  city 
and  a  tower  whose  top  may  reach  unto  heaven,  and 
let  us  make  us  a  name,  lest  we  be  scattered  abroad 


upon  the  face  of  the  whole  earth.”  Whatever  the  object 
of  this  work  might  be,  it  was  displeasing  to  God,  who 
by  confounding  their  language  so  that  they  could  not 
understand  each  other,  compelled  them  to  abandon  the 
work,  and  to  disperse  themselves  over  the  earth. 

Call  of  Abraham,  the  tenth  in  descent  from  Noah, 

Abraham *  jlas  always  been  regarded  by  the  Jews  as 
their  great  progenitor.  His  father  Terah  went  forth  with 
his  family  from  Ur  of  the  Chaldees,  to  go  into  the  land  of 
Canaan ;  but  he  did  not  proceed  further  than  Haran  or 
Charran,  in  Mesopotamia,  where  he  died.  Nov/  the 
Lord  had  said  unto  Abraham,  Get  thee  out  of  thy  country, 
and  from  thy  kindred,  and  from  thy  father’s  house,  unto 
aland  that  I  will  shew  thee;  and  I  will  make  of  thee 
a  great  nation,  and  in  thee  shall  all  the  families  of 
the  earth  be  blessed.”  In  compliance  with  this  command, 
Abraham  departed  from  Haran  and  went  into  the  land 
of  Canaan,  accompanied  by  Sarah  his  wife.  Lot  his 
brother’s  son,  and  all  their  substance.  This  removal 
took  place  1921  years  before  the  birth  of  Christ.  tc  And 
the  Lord  appeared  unto  Abram,  and  said,  Unto  thy 
seed  will  I  give  this  land — a  promise  which  was 
fulfilled  476  years  after  it  was  given,  when  the  Israelites 
took  possession  of  Canaan  under  the  command  of  Joshua. 

4.  The  Bible  records  many  interesting  particulars 
of  the  life  of  this  patriarch,  and  also  of  Isaac  and 
Jacob ;  but  the  statement  of  them  is  not  necessary  here. 
When  Jacob  went  to  live  with  his  son  Joseph  in  Egypt, 
his  whole  family  consisted  of  70  persons.  They  were 
placed  near  the  head  of  the  Delta  on  the  eastern  side 
of  the  Nile  in  the  district  of  Rameses  or  Goshen,  a  fertile 
country,  and  well  suited  to  their  occupation  as  shepherds. 
Here  they  and  their  descendants  “  increased  abundantly, 
and  the  land  was  filled  with  them.  -  But  at  length 


a  2 


there  arose  a  new  king  over  Egypt,  which  knew  not 
Joseph.”  About  60  years  after  the  death  of  Joseph, 
this  new  king,  afraid  lest  the  Israelites  might  soon  be 
able  to  seize  the  whole  kingdom,  determined  to  check 
their  progress  by  cruel  exactions  and  labour.  He  also 
ordered  the  Hebrew  midwives  to  put  all  the  male  infants 
to  death  as  soon  as  they  were  born,  and  when  this  was 
not  executed,  he  ordered  that  every  male  child  of  the 
Hebrews  should  be  cast  into  the  river.  But  the  designs 
of  the  Almighty  were  now  hastening  to  their  accomplish¬ 
ment,  and  he  began  to  interfere  in  behalf  of  his  chosen 
people.  And  he  called  unto  Moses  out  of  the  midst 
of  a  flaming  bush  and  said,  The  cry  of  the  children 
of  Israel  is  come  unto  me:  I  will  send  thee  therefore 
unto  Pharaoh,  that  thou  mayest  bring  forth  my  people 
out  of  Egypt.”  Being  now  increased  to  600,000  men 
capable  of  bearing  arms,  they  with  their  families  and 
great  possessions  of  flocks,  herds,  and  other  property, 
departed  from  Egypt  1491  years  before  the  birth  of 

Departure  of  A  direct  journey  would  have  led  them  to 
the  Israelites  Canaan  in  a  short  time,  but  it  pleased  God  to 
from  Egypt.  punish  them  for  repeated  acts  of  distrust  and 
disobedience,  by  causing  them  to  wander  in  the  wilderness 
of  Arabia  for  40  years.  Moses  has  recorded  the  transactions 
of  only  three  years,  viz.  the  two  first  and  the  last,  but  he 
has  mentioned  all  the  places  where  they  pitched  their  tents 
during  the  whole  time  they  were  in  the  wilderness.  In 
the  first  year  they  were  conducted  to  Mount  Sinai,  from 
which  God  delivered  to  them  those  commandments,  statutes 
and  ordinances,  which  are  generally  called  the  law  of 
Moses,  or  the  Mosaic  Dispensation.  When  they  arrived  at 
Kadesh  Barnea,  not  far  from  the  south  border  of  Canaan, 
Moses  sent  twelve  men,  a  ruler  from  every  tribe,  to 


ascertain  the  quality  of  the  land,  the  strength  of  the 
inhabitants,  and  the  state  of  the  cities.  They  brought 
back  a  favourable  report  of  the  fertility  of  the  land, 
but  described  the  cities  and  people  as  so  strong,  that 
the  Israelites  refused  to  attempt  the  proposed  conquest. 
Joshua  and  Caleb,  two  of  the  twelve  spies,  endeavoured  in 
vain  to  convince  them  that  their  fears  were  unreasonable, 
and  on  account  of  their  rebellion  on  this  occasion,  God 
commanded  that  thev  should  turn  back  and  wander  in 


the  wilderness  40  years,  telling  them  also  that,  of  all 
who  had  reached  the  twentieth  year  of  their  age,  not 
one,  except  Joshua  and  Caleb,  should  ever  enter  the 
promised  land.  Many  memorable  events  occurred  during 
their  subsequent  wanderings,  especially  the  rebellion  of 
Korah,  Dathan,  and  Abiram,  in  the  second  year,  and 
in  the  fortieth  year,  the  visitation  of  fiery  serpents,  by 
which  great  multitudes  perished.  In  this  last  year 
Aaron  died  at  mount  Hor;  and  soon  afterwards  Moses, 
having  viewed  the  promised  inheritance  from  Pisgah 
the  top  of  mount  Nebo,  died  at  the  age  of  120,  when  - 
none  of  his  faculties  were  impaired :  “  his  eye  was  not 
dim,  nor  his  natural  force  abated.” 

5.  Joshua,  having  now  assumed  the  command,  pro¬ 
ceeded  without  delay  to  the  conquest  of  Canaan.  In 
seven  years  he  subdued  31  kings;  the  term  king  being 
sometimes  applied  to  a  prince  who  reigned  over  a  small 
number  of  subjects  within  a  narrow  territory,  and 
consequently  possessed  little  wealth  or  power.  When 
the  conquest  was  nearly  completed,  the  land  was  divided 
by  lot.  To  the  tribes  of  Reuben  and  Gad,  and  to  one 
half  of  the  tribe  of  Manasseh,  Moses  had  already  allotted 
some  conquered  lands  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  river 
Jordan,  upon  condition  that  they  should  assist  their 
brethren  to  subdue  the  country  on  the  western  side  of 

a  3 


that  river,  and  having  fulfilled  the  condition,  they  were 
confirmed  in  the  possession  of  those  lands  by  Joshua. 
No  allotment,  except  48  cities  to  dwell  in,  was  made 
to  the  tribe  of  Levi,  because  they  were  appointed  to 
the  services  of  religion,  and  received  the  tithes  of  the 
whole  country  for  a  maintenance ;  but  the  whole  country 
was  divided  into  12  parts,  the  descendants  of  Joseph  being 
separated  into  two  tribes,  which  from  his  two  sons  were 
called  the  tribe  of  Ephraim,  and  the  tribe  of  Manasseh. 
Thus  the  great  work  was  completed,  “  according  to  all 
that  the  Lord  sware  unto  their  fathers.  There  failed  not 
aught  of  any  good  thing,  which  the  Lord  had  spoken 
unto  the  house  of  Israel :  all  came  to  pass.” 

6.  After  the  death  of  Joshua,  the  tribes  were  no 
longer  united  under  one  command.  They  soon  fell  into 
apostacy ;  for,  having  begun  to  make  the  conquered 
nations  tributary,  instead  of  utterly  destroying  them  as 
God  commanded,  they  intermarried  with  the  inhabitants, 
and  took  a  part  in  the  worship  of  idols.  On  account 
of  their  impiety,  they  were  allowed  to  fall  at  different 
times  under  the  yoke  of  neighbouring  nations.  Cushan 
king  of  Mesopotamia  held  them  in  subjection  for  move 
than  eight  years,  till  Othniel,  a  son-in-law  and  nephew 
of  Caleb,  raised  an  army  against  the  oppressor,  and 
having  effected  a  permanent  deliverance  for  the  Israelites 
judged  them  in  peace  40  years.  In  the  person  of 
Othniel  began  a  series  of  such  deliverers  called  Judges, 
who  were  raised  at  intervals,  as  public  exigency  required, 
to  rescue  their  nation  from  the  tyranny  of  neighbouring 
powers.  This  mode  of  government  continued  a  little 
more  than  300  years.  The  most  eminent  of  the  Judges 
were  Deborah  the  prophetess,  Gideon,  Jephthah,  Eli, 
Samuel.  In  the  time  of  Samuel,  a  complete  change  was 
made  in  the  form  of  government.  When  he  was  old 


he  appointed  his  two  sons  to  a  share  of  his  authority;, 
and  on  account  of  their  misconduct  all  the  elders  gathered 
themselves  together,  and  petitioned  that  like  other  nations 
they  might  have  a  king.  Samuel,  by  the  command  of 
God,  protested  against  their  proceedings,  and  represented 
the  evils  which  would  follow  the  establishment  of  regal 
authority,  but  they  persevered  in  their  request,  and  Samuel 
was  therefore  directed  to  anoint  Saul,  of  the  tribe  of 
Benjamin,  to  be  king  of  Israel. 

7*  Saul  began  to  reign  1095  years  before  the  birth  of 

Christ.  His  distempered  mind  brought  him  into  great 

troubles,  and  the  termination  of  his  life  was  disastrous; 

for  he  died  by  his  own  hand,  after  being  defeated  by  the 

Philistines.  His  reign  continued  40  years,  which  was 

also  the  period  of  David’s  reign,  and  of  that  of  Solomon. 

David  experienced  great  variety  of  fortune,  but  the  final 

result  was  prosperous,  and  he  terminated  his  life  in  glory, 

having  greatly  extended  the  Israelitish  power.  The  reign 

of  Solomon  was  peaceful  and  glorious,  being  particularly 

distinguished  by  the  building  of  the  temple,  for  which 

great  preparations  had  already  been  made  by  his  father. 

He  laid  the  foundation  of  it  in  the  fourth  year  of  his 

reign,  and  completed  it  in  the  eleventh.  In  the  latter 

years  of  his  life,  he  tarnished  his  great  name  by  resigning 

himself  to  concubines,  many  of  them  taken  from  idolatrous 

nations  whose  superstitions  he  adopted ;  and  he  built  high 

places  near  to  Jerusalem  for  all  his  strange  wives,  “which 

burnt  incense,  and  sacrificed  unto  their  gods.”  This 

conduct  drew  upon  him  the  indignation  of  the  Almighty, 

wrho  told  him  that  his  kingdom  should  be  rent,  and  the 

largest  portion  pass  away  from  his  family. 

Separation  of  8.  This  leads  us  to  one  of  the  most  im- 

ten  tribes  from  por^an^  events  in  the  Jewish  history,  the 
the  kingdom  of  1  t  .  . 

Judah.  departure  of  ten  tribes  from  their  allegi~ 


ance  to  the  house  of  David,  and  the  consequent  establish¬ 
ment  of  the  separate  kingdoms  of  Ju-dah  and  Israel, 
As  soon  as  Rehoboam  the  son  of  Solomon  ascended  the 
throne,  the  people  intreated  him  to  lighten  the  yoke 
with  which  they  had  been  burthened  by  his  father,  but 
he  replied  to  their  prayer,  saying,  “  My  father  made 
your  yoke  heavy,  and  I  will  add  to  your  yoke:  my 
father  also  chastised  you  with  whips,  but  I  will  chastise 
you  with  scorpions.”  On  receiving  this  answer,  ten  of 
the  tribes  revolted  and  chose  Jeroboam  to  be  their  king, 
while  the  tribes  of  Judah  and  Beniamin  remained  faithful 


to  the  son  of  Solomon.  Thus  originated  a  schism  which 
was  never  healed,  and  was  terminated  only  by  the  over¬ 
throw  of  the  kingdom  of  Israel  about  250  years  after  it 
was  established,  when  the  ten  tribes  were  carried  captive 
by  Shalmaneser  king  of  Assyria,  and  so  scattered  through 
his  vast  empire,  that  they  seem  never  afterwards  to  have 
regained  a  separate  and  independent  existence.  This 
period  of  250  years  was  occupied  with  frequent  wars  be¬ 
tween  the  kings  of  Judah  and  Israel,  and  between  them 
and  the  neighbouring  kings,  and  is  marked  in  general  by 
a  series  of  murderous  usurpations  of  the  throne,  idolatries, 
and  oppressions  of  the  people.  This  is  chiefly  observable 
of  the  kings  of  Israel,  of  whom  there  were  19,  and  it  is 
said  of  them  all,  “that  they  did  evil  in  the  sight  of  the 
Lord,  and  made  Israel  to  sin.”  Of  these  kings,  the  most 
conspicuous  in  the  history  are,  (1)  Omri,  who  built  Sama¬ 
ria  (923  B.  C.)  and  made  it  his  capital ;  (2)  Ahab  his 
son  and  successor,  who  married  Jezebel  daughter  of  the 
king  of  Sidon,  and  in  whose  time  Elijah  and  Elisha 
announced  the  divine  judgments,  and  wrought  many 
remarkable  miracles ;  (3)  Jehu,  who  was  raised  by  God 
as  an  instrument  of  his  vengeance  on  the  house  of  Ahab  ; 
(4)  Hoshea  the  last  king,  who  was  carried  by  Shalma¬ 
neser  into  captivity. 


During  this  same  period,  some  of  the  kings  of  Judah 
were  remarkable  for  their  obedience  to  the  law  of  God. 
The  most  worthy  of  mention  are  Jehoshaphat  (contem¬ 
porary  with  Ahab,)  who  was  eminent  alike  for  regard  to 
religion  and  success  in  arms ;  and  Hezekiah^  in  the  sixth 
year  of  whose  reign  Shalmaneser  put  an  end  to  the 
Israelitish  monarchy. 

9*  Thus  the  kingdom  of  Judah  remained  alone.  An 
attack  was  made  upon  it  about  ten  years  after  the  cap¬ 
tivity  of  the  ten  tribes,  while  Hezekiah  was  yet  king, 
by  Sennacherib  who  had  succeeded  Shalmaneser  on  the 
throne  of  Assyria.  When  he  was  threatening  to  destroy 
Jerusalem,  an  angel  of  the  Lord  went  forth,  and  smote 
in  the  camp  of  the  Assyrians  185,000  men”  in  a  single 
night.  Sennacherib  was  compelled  to  retreat,  and  was 
soon  afterwards  put  to  death  at  Nineveh  by  two  of  his 
own  sons.  The  reign  of  Hezekiah  is  further  memorable 
for  his  miraculous  recovery  from  sickness,  and  for  the 
intimation  made  to  him  by  the  prophet  Isaiah  of  the 
approaching  Babylonian  Captivity ; — an  intimation  given 
for  the  purpose  of  checking  the  pride  which  he  had 
exhibited  in  displaying  the  treasures  of  his  house  to  a 
Babylonian  embassy.  The  kings  who  succeeded  Heze¬ 
kiah,  with  the  single  exception  of  Josiah  his  great 
grandson,  concurred  in  filling  up  the  measure  of  Judah’s 
crimes  by  their  wickedness  and  folly.  “  And  the  Lord 
said,  I  will  remove  Judah  also  out  of  my  sight,  as  I  have 
removed  Israel ;  and  will  cast  off  this  city  Jerusalem 
which  I  have  chosen,  and  the  house  of  which  I  said. 
My  name  shall  be  there.”  Accordingly,  Nebuchadnezzar 
king  of  Babylon  invaded  Judaea  and  took  Jerusalem.  On 
this  occasion  the  children  of  the  royal  family  and  many 
of  the  people  were  sent  captives  to  Babylon,  and  from 
this  time,  ( 606  years  B.  C.)  is  to  be  dated  the  com- 

iCjL  J 




Return  of  the 
Jews  after  the 

mencement  of  the  Babylonian  Captivity,  which,  according 
to  the  prediction  of  Jeremiah,  was  to  continue  70  years. 
18  years  after  this  first  capture  of  Jerusalem,  the  Jewish 
monarchy  was  finally  terminated,  in  the  reign  of  Zede- 
kiah,  who  was  sent  in  chains  to  Babylon.  The  walls 
of  Jerusalem,  the  temple  and  all  the  buildings  were 
destroyed ;  and  the  inhabitants  were  carried  away  captive, 
except  the  poor  of  the  land  who  were  left  to  be  vine¬ 
dressers  and  husbandmen.  Thus  ended  the  sovereignty 
of  the  house  of  David. 

10.  When  Cyrus  the  Great,  having  con¬ 
quered  Babylon,  issued  his  decree  for  the 
restoration  of  the  Jews,  about  42,000  of  them 
and  7000  servants  placed  themselves  under 
the  conduct  of  Zerubbabel,  and  returned  to  their  country. 
In  the  beginning  of  the  second  year  after  their  return 
they  began  to  rebuild  the  temple  upon  the  old  founda¬ 
tions,  and  finished  it  in  1 8  years,  having  met  with  great 
interruption  from  the  Samaritans.  These  Samaritans 
were  descended  from  a  mixed  race  wdiich  had  been 
drawn  from  various  parts  of  the  east,  and  planted  by  Shal¬ 
maneser  in  the  country  previously  occupied  by  the  ten 
tribes.  They  received  the  Mosaic  law ;  but  united  with 
the  observance  of  it  the  idolatrous  rites  of  their  own 
countries.  Being  informed  that  the  Jews  were  preparing 
to  build  a  temple,  they  expressed  a  desire  to  take  a  part 
in  the  work,  as  being  worshippers  of  the  same  God ; 
but  the  offer  was  refused,  and  thereby  that  enmity  be¬ 
tween  the  two  nations  was  inflamed,  which  had  taken 
its  origin  in  the  schism  of  the  ten  tribes  and  was  never 
afterwards  extinguished. 

Many  of  the  sacred  vessels  and  treasures  of  the 
temple  wrere  carried  back  from  Babylon  by  Zerubbabel, 
and  the  rest  a  few  years  afterwards  by  Ezra,  to  whom 


the  Jews  were  chiefly  indebted  for  the  re-establishment 
of  their  worship  and  of  civil  order.  To  him  also  we  owe 
the  revision  of  the  sacred  writings  and  the  arrangement 
of  them  in  the  order  which  they  yet  retain.  Ezra  was 
succeeded  by  Nehemiah,  who  obtained  authority  from 
the  king  of  Persia  to  rebuild  the  walls  of  Jerusalem, 
which  he  completed  in  52  days.  He  also  exerted  great 
diligence  in  completing  the  reformation  of  the  State; 
and  people  having  been  brought  from  other  parts  of  the 
land  to  re-occupy  the  city,  it  was  seen  again  in  something 
ike  its  ancient  splendour. 

11.  It  is  probable  that,  after  Nehemiah,  no  separate 
governor  of  Judaea  was  appointed,  its  affairs  being  admi- 
listered  by  the  high  priests  under  the  control  of  the 
prefects  of  Syria.  In  this  state  it  continued  till  the 
overthrow  of  the  Persian  empire  by  Alexander  the  Great, 
who  treated  the  Jews  with  great  lenity,  allowing  them 
to  live  under  their  own  laws,  and  in  the  free  exercise 
of  their  religion.  From  the  time  of  his  death,  (323  B.  C.) 
to  the  time  when  they  were  made  tributary  to  the 
Homans  by  Pompey,  (63  B.  C.)  they  underwent  a  great 
variety  of  fortune,  being  sometimes  favourably  treated, 
at  other  times  oppressed  by  the  kings  of  Egypt  and 
Syria,  who  held  them  successively  in  subjection.  Ptolemy 
Lagus,  (Alexander's  general,  and  first  of  the  family  of 
the  Ptolemies  who  were  kings  of  Egypt,)  having  gained 
possession  of  Jerusalem  by  a  stratagem,  carried  above 
100,000  of  the  Jews  captives  into  Egypt ;  where  however 
they  were  treated  with  great  kindness  both  by  himself, 
and  afterwards  by  his  son  who  permitted  many  of  them 
to  return  to  their  own  country.  This  son  was  Ptolemy 
Philadelphus ;  a  prince  endowed  with  excellent  qualities, 
and  eminent,  above  all,  for  the  translation  of  the  Holy 
Scriptures  into  Greek,  which  was  made  at  Alexandria 


under  his  patronage  by  72  learned  Jews.  This  work 
was  finished  about  the  year  277  B.  C.,  and  from  the 
number  of  translators  has  been  ever  since  called  the 

The  family  of  the  Ptolemies  retained  authority  over 
Judaea  about  a  hundred  years,  and  were  then  compelled 
to  resign  it  to  Antiochus  the  Great,  king  of  Syria.  To 
him  succeeded,  first,  his  eldest  son  Seleucus,  and  then 
another  son,  Antiochus  Epiphanes ;  from  whose  tyranny, 
for  three  years  and  a  half,  the  Jews  underwent  dreadful 
sufferings.  During  the  reign  of  this  oppressor  (about 
1 66  years  B.  C.)  arose  the  Maccabees,  a  family  of 
brave  men  whose  struggle  with  him  and  his  successors 
ended  in  the  complete  liberation  of  their  country  from 
the  Syrian  yoke.  This  was  effected  about  129  years 
B.  C.;  after  which  time  the  Maccabees  held  supreme 
authority,  uniting  in  themselves  the  dignities  of  king 
and  high  priest,  till  the  year  63  B.  C.  A  contest  having 
then  arisen  between  two  brothers,  Hy  rcanus  and  Aris- 
tobulus,  respecting  the  succession,  and  application  for 
support  being  made  by  both  parties  to  Pompey,  he  ended 
the  dispute  by  leading  his  army  into  Judaea  and  making 
it  tributary  to  the  Homans.  Hyrcanus  was  made  high 
priest  and  honoured  writh  the  title  of  prince;  but  he 
possessed  little  more  than  nominal  power,  and  willingly 
allowed  the  government  of  the  country  to  be  conducted 
by  Antipater,  who  was  an  Idumaean  by  birth,  but  had 
become  a  Jewish  proselyte. 

Aristobulus  and  his  sons  made  repeated  efforts  to 
displace  their  opponents,  and  gained  temporary  successes ; 
but  in  the  end  they  were  wholly  discomfited.  After  the 
death  of  Antipater,  the  contest  was  carried  on  between 
his  son  Herod  (generally  distinguished  by  the  name  of 
Herod  the  Great)  and  Antigonus  one  of  the  sons  of 



Aristobulus ;  and  though  the  greatest  part  of  the  Jewish 
nation  was  attached  to  the  latter,  probably  from  respect 
to  him  as  being  of  the  Maccabaean  family,  yet  the  fortune 
of  Herod  prevailed.  Having  fled  to  Rome  and  gained 
from  the  Senate,  chiefly  through  the  influence  of  Mark 
Antony,  the  title  of  king  of  Judaea,  he  returned  to  the 
contest :  at  the  end  of  three  years,  Jerusalem  was  taken  : 
Antigonus  having  been  made  prisoner  was  ordered  by 
Mark  Antony  to  be  put  to  death :  the  Maccabaean  dynasty 
after  having  continued  nearly  ISO  years  was  thus  finally 
overthrown,  and  Herod  (37  B.  C.)  was  established  in 
full  exercise  of  the  power  which  his  new  title  denoted. 

13.  As  Herod  is  a  name  that  occurs  frequently  in 
the  New  Testament,  and  is  applied  to  different  persons 
of  the  same  family,  it  is  necessary  that  care  be  taken  to 
distinguish  them  one  from  another.  Herod  the  Great 
was  approaching  to  the  close  of  his  reign,  when  our 
Saviour  was  born.  Expecting  that  the  Messiah  was  to  be 
a  temporal  prince  who  might  wrest  the  sovereignty  from 
himself  or  his  family,  he  determined  to  destroy  him,  and 
with  that  view  ordered  that  all  the  children  at  Bethlehem, 
of  two  years  old  and  under,  should  be  put  to  death ;  but 
his  design  was  frustrated  by  the  flight  of  Joseph  with  the 
young  child  and  his  mother  into  Egypt.  In  the  second 
year  after  the  birth  of  our  Saviour,  Herod  the  Great  died. 
He  is  represented  by  historians  as  having  possessed  great 
abilities  and  courage,  splendid  in  every  exhibition  of 
royalty,  and  especially  in  the  magnificence  of  his  build¬ 
ings.  Samaria  which  he  rebuilt,  and  called  Sebaste  in 
honour  of  Augustus;  the  port  and  city  of  Caesarea  on  the 
coast  of  Phoenicia  which  he  greatly  improved  and  adorn¬ 
ed  ;  superb  palaces ;  and,  above  all,  the  rebuilding  of  the 



temple  at  Jerusalem,  are  proofs  of  his  grandeur  in  this 
respect.  But  these  good  qualities  were  more  than  coun¬ 
terbalanced  by  extreme  inhumanity.  His  disposition, 
naturally  bold  and  ferocious,  seems  to  have  been  irritated 
into  frenzy  by  .domestic  troubles,  and  the  difficulties 
which  beset  his  throne.  His  wife  Mariamne,  an  excellent 
princess,  and  once  greatly  beloved  by  him,  was  led  to 
a  public  execution;  the  most  powerful  of  his  subjects, 
many  of  his  friends,  and  even  the  greatest  part  of  his 
own  family  fell  victims  to  his  cruel  jealousy.  When 
he  was  suffering  by  a  painful  disease,  and  saw  that 
death  was  at  hand,  expecting  that  it  would  be  hailed 
by  his  subjects  with  joy,  he  determined  to  leave  them 
some  cause  for  mourning.  Having  summoned  all  the 
chief  men  of  his  kingdom,  and  caused  them  to  be 
surrounded  with  troops,  he  ordered  that  as  soon  as  he 
expired  they  should  be  put  to  death.  His  successor 
however  declined  to  execute  this  barbarity. 

14.  Three  sons  of  Herod  the  Great  are  mentioned 
in  the  New  Testament,  between  whom  by  his  will  he 
divided  his  dominions,  viz.  (1)  Archelaus,  to  whom  he 
gave  the  kingdom  of  Judaea,  together  with  Idumaea  and 
Samaria;  (2)  Herod  Antipas;  whom  he  appointed  tetrarch 
or  governor  of  Galilee  and  Peraea ;  (3)  Philip ;  whom 
he  also  made  tetrarch  of  Ituraea,  Trachonitis  and  some 
other  small  districts  situated  beyond  Jordan. 

Archelaus  was  acknowledged  king  by  the  people  with 
loud  acclamations,  but  their  joy  seems  to  have  been  of 
short  continuance,  for  when  he  went  to  Rome  shortly 
afterwards  for  the  purpose  of  soliciting  from  Augustus 
a  confirmation  of  his  regal  title,  a  deputation  of  Jews 
arrived  to  oppose  his  application,  requesting  that  their 
country  might  be  annexed  to  the  province  of  Syria,  and 
that  they  might  be  allowed  the  exercise  of  their  own 



religion  and  laws  under  Roman  governors.  Augustus 
however  thought  fit  to  ratify  Herod’s  will,  except  that  he 
withheld  from  Archelaus  the  regal  title,  and  gave  him 
that  of  tetrarch,  with  a  promise  that  the  other  should 
be  granted  when  he  had  proved  himself  worthy  of  it. 
Having  however  after  his  return  continued  to  act  with 
great  cruelty  and  injustice,  at  length,  in  the  tenth  year 
of  his  government,  such  complaints  were  made  against 
him  by  the  chief  men  among  his  subjects,  that  Augustus 
banished  him  to  Vienne  in  Gaul,  where  he  died.  Judaea, 
with  Samaria  and  Idumaea,  was  made  a  Roman  province 
and  governed  by  Roman  magistrates  called  Procurators, 
who  were  subordinate  to  the  president  of  Syria.  Coponius 
was  the  first  procurator  of  Judaea,  and  the  president  of 
Syria  at  that  time  was  Quirinus,  (called  by  St.  Luke 
Cyrenius)  who,  by  the  order  of  Augustus,  made  a  taxing 
m  Judaea  and  Syria. 

In  the  mean  while,  Herod  Antipas  and  Philip 
remained  in  possession  of  their  Tetrarchies.  Herod 
Antipas  is  chiefly  memorable  for  having  put  to  death 
John  the  Baptist,  and  for  having  taken  a  part  in 
questioning  and  mocking  our  Saviour  before  his  con¬ 
demnation.  Having  deserted  his  wife  the  daughter  of 
Aretas  king  of  Arabia,  he  married  Herodias  the  wife 
of  his  brother  Philip;  and  this  marriage  was  the  cause 
of  his  ruin.  For  when  the  emperor  Caligula  had  given 
the  title  of  king  to  Agrippa,  who  was  the  nephew  of 
Antipas,  Herodias  not  being  able  to  bear  that  Antipas 
should  remain  contented  with  the  inferior  dignity  of 
tetrarch,  urged  him  to  go  to  Rome  and  solicit  the  title  of 
king.  But  Agrippa  countermined  him,  by  giving  Caligula 
just  reason  for  suspecting  his  loyalty;  so  that  instead  of 
making  him  king,  he  banished  him  to  Lyons,  and  after¬ 
wards  to  Spain,  after  he  had  held  his  tetrarchy  43  years. 

b  2 


Of  his  brother  Philip,  who  was  tetrarch  of  Ituraea 
and  Trachonitis,  little  mention  is  made  in  the  New 
Testament.  Josephus  commends  him  as  a  mild  and 
just  prince.  He  died  in  possession  of  his  tetrarchy, 
having  held  it  37  years. 

15.  The  next  Herod  of  this  family,  is  the  Agrippa 
above-mentioned,  sometimes  called  Agrippa  the  Great; 
who  is  spoken  of  in  the  Acts  as  having  stretched  forth 
his  hands  to  vex  certain  of  the  Church,  and  as  having 
killed  James  the  brother  of  John  with  the  sword,  and 
cast  Peter  into  prison.  He  was  grandson  of  Herod  the 
Great ;  being  son  of  Aristobulus,  who  was  one  of  those 
children  of  Herod  the  Great  before  alluded  to  as  having 
fallen  victims  to  their  father’s  cruelty.  To  this  Agrippa, 
Caligula  gave,  first,  the  title  of  king  with  the  tetrarchy 
which  had  been  held  by  Philip,  and  afterwards  added 
the  tetrarchy  from  which  Herod  Antipas  was  deposed. 
The  emperor  Claudius,  who  succeeded  Caligula,  further 
gave  him  Abilene,  Judaea,  and  Samaria ;  so  that  his 
dominions  became  nearly  the  same  as  those  of  his  grand¬ 
father  Herod  the  Great.  Like  him,  he  delighted  in 
great  and  magnificent  buildings.  Josephus  represents 
him  also  as  liberal,  courteous,  merciful:  with  which 
character  however,  his  zealous  persecution  of  the  Christians 
cannot  easily  be  reconciled.  It  is  admitted  by  the 
historian,  that  some  of  his  subjects  retained  little  respect 
for  his  memory;  and  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  we 
find  his  death  specially  ascribed  to  the  displeasure  of 
God.  In  the  fourth  year  after  he  had  obtained  from 
Claudius  the  kingdom  of  Judaea,  when  he  was  attending 
a  public  spectacle  at  Caesarea,  and  had  made  an  oration 
to  certain  deputies,  “the  people  gave  a  shout,  saying. 
It  is  the  voice  of  a  god,  and  not  of  a  man.”  For  accepting 
this  impious  adulation,  he  was  immediately  smitten  with  a 
dreadful  disease,  which  in  a  few  days  terminated  his  life. 


1 6.  The  last  of  the  family  of  Herod,  whose  name 
occurs  in  the  New  Testament,  is  Agrippa  the  younger, 
son  of  Agrippa  the  Great.  As  he  was  only  seventeen 
years  old  when  Agrippa  the  Great  died,  the  emperor 
Claudius  did  not  consider  him  competent  to  undertake 
the  government  of  his  father’s  dominions,  but  soon 
afterwards  made  him  king  of  Chalcis,  a  small  territory 
situated  in  the  mountainous  district  by  which  the 
northern  part  of  Judaea  is  separated,  from  Syria.  His 
government  was  afterwards  extended  over  a  part  of 
Galilee;  and  in  Judaea  his  influence  was  great,  though 
he  was  never  invested  with  the  supreme  authority.  The 
appointment  of  the  high  priest  belonged  to  him,  and 
he  had  the  care  of  the  temple  and  of  the  sacred  treasure. 
In  what  year  he  died  is  uncertain ;  but  it  is  known  that 
he  survived  his  country,  having  in  vain  endeavoured 
to  prevent  the  fall  of  it  by  his  prudent  counsels.  It 
was  before  this  Agrippa,  attended  by  Bernice  and  Festus, 
that  St.  Paul  made  his  defence,  before  he  was  carried 
prisoner  to  Rome. 

On  reviewing  that  part  of  the  Jewish  history  which 
brings  before  us  the  family  of  Herod,  and  which  is 
most  interesting  to  us,  as  comprising  the  period  of  our 
Saviour’s  life,  it  appears,  (1)  that,  during  the  infancy 
of  Christ,  Herod  the  Great  was  ruler  both  in  Judaea 
and  Galilee;  (2)  that,  during  all  the  remaining  part 
of  the  life  of  Christ,  Herod  Antipas  was  ruler  in  Galilee;. 
(2)  that,  in  Judaea,  after  the  death  of  Herod  the  Great, 
Archelaus  held  the  chief  power  nearly  ten  years;  and 
that  afterwards  it  was  governed  by  Roman  procurators; 
except  during  the  short  reign  of  Agrippa  the  Great, 
whose  government  of  Judaea  commenced  about  eight 
years  after  the  crucifixion  of  Christ. 

17*  The  corruption  and  wickedness  of  the  Jews 

b  3 


became  general  and  excessive  in  the  times  which  im¬ 
mediately  preceded  their  final  overthrow.  The  severe 
rebukes  addressed  to  them  by  our  Saviour  are  in  perfect 
accordance  with  the  representations  given  by  Josephus. 
He  speaks  of  it  “  as  a  time  fruitful  of  all  sorts  of  wicked¬ 
ness,  so  that  no  evil  was  left  unpractised.  All  were 
corrupt  both  in  their  private  and  public  characters.  They 
strove  to  exceed  each  other  in  impiety  toward  God,  and 
injustice  toward  their  neighbour ;  the  chiefs  oppressed 
the  people,  and  the  people  strove  to  ruin  the  chiefs. 
The  former  were  ambitious  of  dominion  and  power ;  the 
latter  had  an  insatiable  thirst  of  violence  and  plunder.’7 
When  they  had  filled  up  the  measure  of  their  iniquity 
by  putting  to  death  the  Messiah,  their  dreadful  impreca¬ 
tion  that  his  blood  should  be  upon  them  and  upon  their 
children  did  not  tarry  long  for  its  completion. 

Many  intimations  are  given  in  the  New  Testament 
of  the  impatience  with  wrhich  they  bore  the  Roman 
yoke.  To  a  people  so  proud  and  licentious  any  regular 
authority  would  have  been  galling  :  but  the  rapacity 
of  some  of  the  Roman  governors  was  unbounded,  and 
their  injustice  and  cruelty  so  wanton,  that  the  most 
virtuous  and  patient  subjects  must  have  been  excited  to 
resistance.  Many  local  tumults,  in  which  great  numbers 
perished,  preceded  the  general  revolt.  The  country  for 
several  years  was  in  a  state  bordering  upon  anarchy ; 
pillaged  by  robbers,  and  agitated  by  false  prophets, 
who  fanned  the  flames  of  discontent.  The  last  of  the 
Roman  governors  was  Gessius  Florus,  in  comparison 
with  whose  tyranny  the  conduct  of  all  preceding 
oppressors  appeared  merciful.  When  Cestius  Gallus 
the  president  of  Syria  visited  Jerusalem,  above  300,000 
of  the  Jews  went  out  to  meet  him,  imploring  him  to 
succour  their  afflicted  country,  and  banish  Florus  who 


was  the  very  pest  of  their  nation.  Being  exhorted  to 
continue  in  obedience  to  the  Romans,  they  cried  out  that 
they  meant  not  to  take  arms  against  the  Romans  and 
Caesar,  but  against  Florus  who  had  used  them  so  cruelly. 
Destruction  of  18.  The  war  began  in  the  twelfth  year  of 
Jerusalem.  the  reign  of  Nero.  The  Roman  garrison  at 
Jerusalem  was  put  to  the  sword,  and  the  revolt  soon 
became  general  throughout  Judaea.  Cestius  Gallus,  roused 
by  the  rapid  progress  of  the  insurgents,  assembled  an  army 
of  25,000  men,  and  advanced  to  the  walls  of  Jerusalem; 
but,  having  hesitated  to  make  the  assault,  he  thought  fit 
suddenly  to  retreat,  and  being  pursued  by  the  Jews  he 
sustained  great  loss.  When  intelligence  of  these  events 
reached  Rome,  Nero  perceived  that  the  most  vigorous 
measures  must  be  adopted  to  reduce  the  rebellious  pro¬ 
vince  to  submission;  and  he  appointed  Vespasian,  who 
had  been  long  distinguished  in  the  wars  of  Germany  and 
Britain,  to  the  command  of  the  army  of  Syria.  Vespasian 
repaired  thither  without  delay,  and  led  into  Judaea  an 
army  of  60,000  men.  More  than  two  years  were  spent  in 
reducing  cities  and  fortresses,  before  the  way  was  open  to 
Jerusalem ;  the  Jews  every  where  fighting  with  obstinate 
bravery,  and  in  many  cases  preferring  a  voluntary  death 
to  submission,  when  all  hope  of  successful  resistance  was 
at  an  end.  In  the  mean  time  Vespasian,  having  been 
elected  Emperor,  returned  to  Rome  to  secure  his  new 
dignity  and  left  his  son  Titus  to  finish  the  contest.  In 
the  beginning  of  April  (A.  D.  70)  it  being  now  the  fourth 
year  of  the  war,  Titus  began  the  siege  of  Jerusalem,  at 
a  time  when  great  numbers  were  collected  there  to 
celebrate  the  Passover.  Three  separate  factions  occupied 
the  city,  and  fought  with  more  bitter  hostility  against 
each  other  than  against  the  common  enemy.  Famine 
also  and  disease  aggravated  the  misery  of  the  besieged: 


yet,  though  repeated  efforts  were  made  by  Titus  to 
induce  them  to  save  the  city  and  themselves  by  submis¬ 
sion,  they  replied  only  with  threats  and  insult.  At 
length  on  the  eighth  of  September,  the  Romans  were  in 
possession  of  every  part  of  the  city.  Thousands  of  the 
Jews  perished  in  the  flames,  and  still  more  by  the  sword 
of  the  enemy,  who  spared  neither  sex  nor  age,  nor 
desisted  till  their  hands  were  fatigued  with  slaughter.  Of 
those  who  escaped  death,  some  were  sent  into  Egypt  to  be 
employed  in  the  public  works,  others  were  dispersed 
through  the  provinces  of  the  empire,  to  fight  as  gladiators 
or  with  wild  beasts  in  the  Theatres.  The  whole  city  was 
levelled  with  the  ground,  so  that  those  who  had  not  seen 
it  before  could  not  suppose  that  it  had  been  ever  inha¬ 
bited  :  nothing  was  left  standing  except  a  part  of  the  wall 
and  three  towers ;  which  were  intended  partly  as  a 
defence  for  the  garrison  that  remained  there,  and  partly 
as  monuments  of  the  Roman  valour  which  had  mastered 
a  city  so  strongly  fortified.  Such  was  the  end  of  the 
Jewish  nation. 

From  the  statements  given  by  Josephus  it  has  been 
computed  that  nearly  a  million  and  a  half  of  the  Jews 
perished  in  this  war,  the  greater  part  of  them  in  Jeru¬ 
salem  itself ;  and  it  is  probable  that  the  miseries  which 
they  underwent  during  this  period  have  not  been  paral¬ 
leled  in  any  age  of  the  world. 


B.  C. 

Creation . 4004 

The  Deluge .  2348 

Building  of  Babel . . . . .  2247 

Call  of  Abraham .  1921 

Arrival  of  Jacob  in  Egypt... . .  1706 

Departure  of  the  Israelites  from  Egypt .  1491 

Saul,  the  first  king  of  the  Jews,  began  to  reign...  1095 

Revolt  of  the  ten  tribes . . . .  975 

The  ten  tribes  carried  away  captive  by  Shalmaneser  721 

The  Jews  carried  captive  to  Babylon .  606 

Restoration  of  the  Jews  by  Cyrus . . .  536 

Alexander  the  Great  went  to  Jerusalem .  332 

Rise  of  the  Maccabees .  166 

Invasion  of  Judaea  by  Pompey . 63 

Herod  the  Great  began  to  reign .  3 7 

Our  Saviour  born  four  years  before  the  vulgar  aera. ,  4 

A.  D. 

Christ’s  first  visit  to  the  Temple,  in  his  12th  year. . .  8 

John  the  Baptist  began  his  ministry  “  in  the  15th  1  . 

year  of  Tiberius.” . J 

Christ  began  his  ministry .  28 

Death  of  Christ .  31 

Beginning  of  the  Jewish  wrar .  6 7 

Jerusalem  taken  by  Titus .  70 

These  dates  are  given  according  to  the  vulgar  aera,  by 
which  the  birth  of  Christ  is  placed  four  years  too  late. 
Unless  notice  be  taken  of  this,  the  reader  may  be  led  into 
error.  For  example,  it  is  stated  in  the  table  that  Herod 
the  Great  began  to  reign  37  B.  C.  and  since  it  is  agreed 
that  he  lived  one  year  at  least  after  Christ  was  born,  it 
might  be  inferred  that  his  reign  continued  at  least  38 
years,  whereas  it  did  not  continue  more  than  34. 



1..  The  maintenance  of  the  worship  of  one  God 
was  a  fundamental  principle  of  the  Mosaic  legislation. 
In  order  to  secure  attention  to  this  principle  in  the 
minds  of  the  Jews,  Moses  engaged  them  by  a  solemn 
covenant  to  accept  God  as  their  King  ;  so  that  every 
act  of  idolatry  was  not  only  an  apostacy  from  true 
religion,  but  a  direct  crime  against  the  State.  For 
this  reason  it  was  ordered  that  the  idolater,  having- 
incurred  the  guilt  of  high  treason,  should  be  punished 
with  death.  Their  commonwealth  therefore  was  at 
first  a  theocracy  ;  for  God  was  the  founder  of  it,  and  had 
been  acknowledged  by  them  in  a  solemn  covenant,  not 
merely  as  the  Sovereign  of  the  universe,  but  as  their 
own  special  Ruler,  to  whose  protection  they  committed 
their  national  as  well  as  individual  prosperity.  Accord¬ 
ingly  they  are  often  represented  in  Scripture  as  a  chosen 
generation,  a  peculiar  people,  a  holy  nation,  the  portion 
of  God.  In  the  time  of  Moses,  He  vouchsafed  to  indicate 
his  presence  as  their  Ruler  by  the  most  conspicuous 
tokens.  When  the  Law  was  delivered  from  Sinai,  the 
Lord  descended  upon  it  in  fire,  the  whole  mount  quaked 
greatly,  and  God  answered  Moses  by  a  voice.  He  was 
visible  also  in  the  pillars  of  cloud  and  fire ;  He  decided 
questions  of  justice  by  oracles,  and  inflicted  punishments. 


not  according  to  the  secret  procedure  of  Providence,  but 
with  immediate  and  the  most  ostensible  manifestation 
of  his  power.  And  in  subsequent  times  he  continued 
to  issue  his  decrees,  and  to  signify  his  will  from  the 

As  the  sovereignty  was  thus  assigned  to  God  himself, 
the  form  of  government  established  by  Moses  did  not 
prescribe  the  appointment  of  an  earthly  king.  The 
governor  of  the  nation  admitted  of  change  as  to  the 
name  and  nature  of  his  office,  it  being  of  inferior  moment 
whether  he  wras  called  a  general,  or  a  judge,  or  a  king ; 
and  it  appears  that  at  certain  times  the  tribes  which 
composed  the  nation  had  no  common  ruler.  They 
adhered  to  the  patriarchal  mode  of  life,  as  far  as  was 
compatible  with  the  circumstances  of  a  nation;  living- 
according  to  their  tribes  and  families ;  every  tribe  forming 
a  lesser  commonwealth,  with  its  own  peculiar  interests, 
and  all  of  them  united  in  one  great  State.  Every  tribe 
had  its  own  chief;  and  as  we  do  not  find  that  Moses 
appointed  them,  it  is  probable  that  this  institution  had 
existed  among  them  in  Egypt.  The  tribes  were  sub¬ 
divided  into  families;  the  heads  of  which  are  probably 
the  same  as  the  elders  who  are  mentioned  in  the  book 
of  Exodus,  as  being  gathered  together  by  Moses  and 
Aaron,  and  informed  of  their  approaching  release  from 
bondage.  These  families  were  again  sub-divided  into 
households ;  so  that  a  regular  subordination  was 
established  in  their  civil  and  religious  polity,  all  the 
degrees  of  which  were  alike  subject  to  divine  laws,  and 
to  the  especial  government  of  God.  Hence  it  will  appear 
how  the  State  might  subsist,  not  only  without  a  king, 
but  even  occasionally  without  that  magistrate  who  was 
denominated  a  Judge,  and  without  any  supreme  council 
of  the  nation.  Every  tribe  had  always  its  own  chief 


magistrate,  subordinate  to  whom  were  the  heads  of 
families;  and  if  there  was  no  general  ruler  of  the  whole 
people,  there  were  yet  twelve  lesser  commonwealths, 
which  upon  great  emergencies  united  together,  and 
in  their  general  convention  would  take  measures  for 
the  common  interest.  And  all  these  separate  bodies 
were  maintained  in  unity,  by  their  respect  for  the  same 
object  and  ceremonies  of  worship,  and  also  by  their 
regard  to  God  as  having  separated  them  from  the  rest 
of  mankind,  and  exercising  over  them  a  peculiar 

In  conformity  with  this  theocratic  principle  of  govern¬ 
ment,  we  find  that  Moses  and  Joshua,  and  many  of 
the  leaders  who  succeeded  them  under  the  name  of 
»Judges,  were  appointed  to  their  office,  not  by  the  people 
but  by  the  nomination  and  authority  of  God.  These 
Judges  were  not  invested  with  legislative  power,  but 
acted  as  magistrates  in  peace  or,  as  commanders,  they 
led  out  the  people  in  the  divine  strength  to  war,  pro¬ 
fessing  to  exercise  a  delegated  authority  and  guided  in 
their  steps  by  the  immediate  dictation  of  the  divine 
Spirit.  They  held  their  office  for  life:  but  it  was  not 
hereditary,  nor  were  they  appointed  in  regular  succes¬ 
sion  ;  there  being  intervals  of  several  years  in  which 
there  were  no  such  governors.  It  is  also  probable, 
that  their  authority  did  not  in  every  case  extend  over 
all,  but  merely  over  particular  tribes.  Thus  the  Gilead¬ 
ites  chose  Jephthah  as  Judge  and  general,  without 
waiting  for  the  concurrence  of  the  other  tribes a:  and 
on  many  important  occasions,  even  in  the  conduct  of 
wars,  particular  tribes  seem  to  have  acted  independently 
and  distinctly  from  the  rest. 

a  Judges  xi.  6. 


2.  When  this  mode  of  government  had  continued 
more  than  300  years,,  the  Israelites,  perceiving  that 
Samuel  was  broken  with  age  and  being  dissatisfied 
with  the  administration  of  his  sons,  had  the  boldness 
to  require  a  king  like  all  other  nations.  Samuel  expressed 
his  displeasure  at  this  demand,  as  it  seemed  to  declare 
that  they  would  no  longer  have  God  for  their  king; 
and  he  represented  in  strong  terms  the  oppressions 
and  the  mischiefs  they  should  suffer  under  the  kingly 
government.  “  Nevertheless,  the  people  refused  to  obey 
the  voice  of  Samuel;  and  the  Lord  said.  Hearken  unto 
their  voice,  and  make  them  a  king.”  They  did  not, 
however,  attempt  to  elect  a  king  themselves,  but  waited 
for  the  divine  appointment,  so  that  care  was  taken  to 
preserve  in  its  full  force  the  theocracy  originally  esta¬ 
blished.  Although  therefore  the  administration  of  the 
government  was  committed  to  the  hands  of  kings,  yet 
they  were  only  the  vicegerents  of  God,  who  was  still 
looked  upon  as  the  supreme  director,  and  reserved  to 
himself  the  chief  legislative  authority.  In  one  view 
this  change  was  beneficial,  as  it  secured  an  uninterrupted 
succession  of  governors,  so  that  the  nation  after  this 
period  was  never  without  a  common  head :  but  in 
other  respects,  it  appears  to  have  been  a  change  in  the 
name  of  the  first  magistrate,  rather  than  in  the  functions 
of  the  office,  and  the  kings,  at  the  beginning  at  least, 
had  little  more  power  than  the  Judges  who  had  pre¬ 
ceded.  It  is  difficult,  however,  to  collect  from  the  Old 
Testament  what  were  the  precise  powers  with  which 
the  kings  were  intrusted,  nor  indeed  is  it  likely  that 
the  Israelites  were  anxious  to  guard  their  liberties 
by  stipulations  of  any  sort.  In  their  first  eagerness 
to  have  a  king  like  all  the  other  nations,  they  would 
probably  have  been  satisfied  with  a  kingly  despotism; 



that  being  the  most  prevalent  form  of  government  among 
the  oriental  nations.  There  is  some  ground  for  supposing 
that  Samuel  was  more  provident  than  themselves  for  the 
well-being  of  their  State.  For  when  Saul  was  appointed 
king,  it  is  said  that  Samuel  told  the  people  the  manner 
of  the  kingdom,  and  wrote  it  in  a  book,  and  laid  it  up 
before  the  Lordb.  But  the  purport  of  the  articles  con¬ 
tained  in  this  writing  is  no  where  stated. 

,k  ,  r  As  to  the  order  of  succession  to  the  throne, 

Order  of  sue-  ,  #  3 

cession  to  the  there  was  considerable  irregularity :  Saul 
throne.  was  mac]e  king  by  divine  appointment,  and 

by  the  same  authority  David  succeeded  him  ;  Saul’s  family 
being  excluded  from  the  succession  by  the  express  com¬ 
mand  of  God,  as  a  punishment  for  his  disobedience. 
Afterwards  the  succession  was  hereditary,  but  not  ne¬ 
cessarily  by  the  right  of  primogeniture;  for  David 
caused  Solomon,  who  was  not  his  eldest  son,  to  be 
anointed  as  his  successor,  and  the  people  confirmed  the 
king’s  will,  though  Adonijah,  the  eldest  son,  was  sup¬ 
ported  by  Joab  the  commander  of  the  army.  But  it  is 
plain  from  the  history  of  David’s  reign,  that  this  arbi¬ 
trary  right  of  selecting  a  successor,  instead  of  appointing 
him  according  to  an  invariable  law,  was  dangerous  to 
his  own  security,  as  well  as  to  the  peace  of  the  State : 
and  since  we  do  not  find  that  any  of  the  following 
kings  acted  upon  this  right,  it  is  probable  that  they 
abstained  or  were  prohibited  from  the  exercise  of  it,  on 
account  of  the  experience  which  had  been  felt  of  its 
mischievous  effects. 

Power  of  The  power  of  the  kings,  estimated  from 

the  kings.  their  practice,  was  unsettled  and  precarious ; 
— very  limited  on  some  occasions,  whether  by  express 

b  1  Sam.  x.  25. 


compact  or  by  the  dread  of  popular  resistance ;  while 
at  other  times,  it  is  certain  that  they  acted  in  an  abso¬ 
lute  and  very  tyrannical  manner.  On  the  one  hand, 
they  were  checked  by  a  fear  of  the  army  and  of  its 
commanders,  and  also  by  the  chiefs  of  the  tribes,  which, 
even  under  the  kings,  exercised  the  right  of  making 
war,  independently  one  of  another  and  without  the  king’s 
sanction.  Thus,  Saul  was  prevented  by  his  army  from 
inflicting  death  upon  Jonathan  as  he  had  threatened0: 
and  David,  unable  to  punish  Joab  his  nephew  for  the 
murders  committed  by  him,  lamented  that  he  was  weak 
although  anointed  king,  and  that  his  nephews  ec  the 
sons  of  Zeruiah  were  too  hard  for  him  d.”  On  the  other 
hand,  as  proofs  of  the  power  which  they  sometimes  as¬ 
sumed,  we  find  that  Saul,  at  the  very  beginning  of  his 
reign,  without  any  consultation  of  his  subjects  made  war 
upon  the  Ammonites  and  commanded  his  whole  people 
to  appear  in  arms,  under  a  threat  of  severe  punishment 
if  they  disobeyed e.  And  acts  of  summary  and  even 
tyrannical  judicial  procedure  were  committed  by  him, 
and  also  by  David  and  Solomon;  such  acts  as  betoken 
the  possession  and  the  harsh  exercise  of  unrestrained 
authority.  From  these  opposite  indications  we  may  infer 
that  the  power  of  the  Jewish  kings  was  not  defined 
by  stipulated  forms,  such  as  have  been  devised  by  the 
precautions  of  modern  legislation,  and  of  which  long 
experience  has  taught  mankind  the  utility ;  and  therefore, 
theoretically ,  the  Jewish  monarch  might  consider  himself 
invested  with  power  little  less  than  absolute.  But  on 
the  other  hand,  practically ,  he  would  in  most  cases  be 
restrained  from  a  capricious  abuse  of  it  by  reverence 
for  the  laws  of  Moses,  which  enjoin  upon  all  men  the 

d  2  Sam.  iii.  39. 

C  2 

c  1  Sam.  xiv.  45. 

e  1  Sam.  xi.  7. 

observance  of  equity;  by  regard  to  the  ancient  usages 
of  the  nation ;  and,  lastly,  by  respect  for  that  sense  of 
justice  which  has  force  among  men,  and  which  warns 
rulers  that  the  excesses  of  uncontrolled  power  must  at 
length  be  fatal  to  themselves. 

3.  After  the  Babylonian  captivity,  while  the  Jews 
were  subject  to  Persia,  their  kingly  government  was 
extinct.  When  the  reformation  of  the  State  had  been 
accomplished  by  Ezra  and  Nehemiah,  the  chief  conduct  of 
affairs  was  committed  to  the  high  priests,  and  the  pay¬ 
ment  of  tribute  was  the  only  token  of  subjection.  Never 
probably  did  the  Jews  enjoy  so  long  a  course  of  prospe¬ 
rity  as  under  the  mild  rule  of  Persia;  governed  by  their 
own  magistrates,  according  to  their  own  laws,  and  allowed 
to  observe  their  own  forms  of  worship.  Under  their 
Egyptian  and  Syrian  rulers  they  were  less  fortunate ;  but 
their  forms  of  government  underwent  no  material  change, 
till  Antiochus  Epiphanes  attempted  to  deprive  them  of 
every  vestige  of  liberty.  The  princes  of  the  Maccabasan 
family,  who  had  rescued  them  from  this  oppressor,  were 
allowed  to  unite  in  their  own  persons  the  regal  and 
pontifical  dignity.  They  were  next  made  subject  to  the 
dominion  of  Rome,  under  which  they  experienced  many 
changes  of  condition.  Rome  itself  during  this  period  was 
submitted  to  rule  in  different  forms  and  to  masters  of 
various  character;  the  effects  of  which  variety  would  extend 
in  some  degree  to  the  provinces.  And  whatever  be  the 
uniformity  of  the  government  at  home,  the  fortune  of 
distant  provinces  must  necessarily  be  much  influenced  by 
the  particular  conduct  of  the  individual  who  has  been 
deputed  to  be  their  governor.  In  general,  however,  under 
the  procurators,  the  Jews  enjoyed  a  large  measure  of 
liberty.  Except  in  a  very  few  instances,  -no  offence  was 
given  to  their  religious  scruples :  they  worshipped  in  the 


temple  and  in  their  synagogues,  followed  their  own  cus¬ 
toms,  and  lived  according  to  their  own  laws.  The  procu¬ 
rators  dwelt  principally  at  Caesarea,  but  on  the  great 
festivals  or  when  any  commotion  was  apprehended,  they 
repaired  to  Jerusalem  that  they  might  maintain  order. 
It  was  their  duty  to  collect  the  imperial  revenue,  and  to 
repress  tumults ;  they  also  took  cognizance  of  all  capital 
causes.  For  the  purpose  of  supporting  their  authority, 
a  considerable  Roman  garrison  was  always  stationed  in 
the  province.  These  were  the  chief  circumstances  in 
which  the  presence  of  foreign  power  was  felt,  and  the 
Jews  reminded  of  their  loss  of  independence. 

Courts  of  4.  Moses  delivered  a  multiplicity  of  laws 
judicature.  which  were  so  sacred  as  to  be  unalterable ; 
nothing  was  to  be  added  to  the  word  which  had  been 
commanded,  nor  aught  diminished  from  it:  but  he  did 
not  prescribe  as  -unalterable  any  order  of  judges  or 
courts  of  judicature  by  which  the  law  was  to  be  ad¬ 
ministered.  He  seems  to  have  left  to  the  people  a  dis¬ 
cretionary  power  of  altering  these,  and  adapting  them 
to  the  varying  circumstances  of  the  nation.  We  are 
left  therefore  to  form  our  opinion  upon  the  constitution 
of  the  Jewish  magistracy  and  courts  of  justice  from 
facts  incidentally  mentioned,  rather  than  from  any  de¬ 
tailed  description  of  them  given  either  in  the  Holy  Scrip¬ 
tures,  or  by  any  writer  of  sufficient  authority. 

Moses  himself  was  ‘  for  some  time  the  sole  judge  * 
of  the  Israelites.  But  the  duty  was  greater  than  he 
was  able  to  perform;  and  therefore  at  the  suggestion 
of  Jethro  his  father-in-law,  “  he  chose  able  men  out 
of  all  Israel,  and  made  them  heads  over  the  people, 
rulers  of  thousands,  rulers  of  hundreds,  rulers  of  fifties, 
and  rulers  of  tens.  And  they  judged  the  people  at  all 
seasons  :  the  great  matters  they  brought  unto  Moses, 

c  3 


but  every  small  matter  they  judged  themselves*.”  The' 
appointment  of  judges  according  to  this  precise  arith¬ 
metical  principle  was  suited  to  the  military  system 
under  which  they  lived  in  the  wilderness,  but  could 
not  be  applied  so  well  to  their  condition  when  they 
should  become  settled  in  the  country ;  he  therefore 
ordered  that  they  should  appoint  judges  and  officers, 
seven  in  every  city  throughout  the  tribes g.  Some 
Jewish  writers  assert  that  there  was  a  court  of  twenty ~ 
three  judges  in  every  town  that  had  120  inhabitants, 
and  a  court  of  three  in  every  place  where  there  were 
fewer  than  that  number.  The  first  decided  all  affairs 
of  justice  arising  within  their  respective  cities,  but  an 
appeal  was  open  from  them  to  the  great  Council  or 
Sanhedrim,  which  sat  in  Jerusalem.  The  court  of  three 
was  for  the  determination  of  disputes  respecting  sales, 
contracts,  and  other  such  matters  of  common  right 
between  man  and  man.  Neither  in  the  Scriptures  nor 
by  Josephus  is  any  mention  made  of  either  of  these 

The  highest  tribunal  of  the  Jews,  at  least  after  the 
Babylonian  captivity,  was  the  Sanhedrim  above-men¬ 
tioned.  It  consisted  of  71  members,  of  whom  the 
high  priest  was  generally  president.  Some  have  referred 
the  origin  of  this  assembly  to  the  time  of  Moses,  who 
instituted  a  council  of  70  persons,  to  assist  him  in 
the  government  at  a  time  when  he  was  harassed  by  a 
rebellion  of  the  Israelites  in  the  wilderness:  but  from 
the  death  of  Moses  to  the  Babylonian  captivity  there 
is  no  trace  of  this  council,  even  in  great  commotions 
of  the  State,  when  it  must  naturally  have  interposed 

1  Exod.  xviii.  25,  26. 

s  Deut.  xvi.  18.  Josephus,  Ant,  Book  IV.  Chap.  viiL 


had  it  been  in  existence.  It  is  probable  therefore  that 
the  council  instituted  by  Moses  during  a  rebellion,  and 
intended  for  his  own  particular  service  and  security, 
did  not  remain  a  permanent  judicial  body,  but  ended 
with  the  occasion  for  which  it  had  been  formed. 

The  Sanhedrim,  as  it  existed  in  the  time  of  our 
Saviour,  possessed  great  power.  It  presided  over  the 
affairs  of  the  whole  nation,  received  appeals  from  the 
inferior  courts,  interpreted  the  laws,  and  regulated  the 
execution  of  them.  Most  of  the  members  were  priests 
and  Levites ;  some  were  scribes  ,•  but  any  one  was 
admissible  into  it,  provided  he  was  of  a  good  family 
and  unblameable  life.  This  is  the  council  by  which 
our  Saviour  was  arraigned  before  Pilate.  The  authority 
of  the  governor  was  necessary  to  pronounce  His  con¬ 
demnation,  for  the  Sanhedrim  had  been  deprived  of 
the  power  of  deciding  in  capital  causes;  and  their 
authority,  though  still  great,  was  in  many  respects  much 
reduced  after  Judsea  became  a  province  of  the  Roman 




p  ;  ^  1.  As  the  Mosaic  dispensation  was  in  many 

of  its  parts  figurative  of  the  Christian  and  pre¬ 
paratory  to  it,  so  especially  it  was  the  office  of  the  pro¬ 
phets  to  excite  in  men  an  expectation  of  the  Messiah, 
and  to  give  intimations  of  the  approach  of  him  who  was 
to  be  the  Saviour  of  the  world.  But  the  duty  with 
which  the  prophets  were  charged  did  not  necessarily 
imply,  and  certainly  was  not  confined  to,  the  prediction 
of  future  events.  They  were  sometimes  commissioned  by 
God  to  be  the  messengers  of  his  rebukes  and  threatenings, 
sometimes  of  his  commands  and  exhortations  to  particular 
individuals,  to  nations,  or  to  mankind.  He  sent  them 
to  teach,  or  to  reprove,  or  to  foretell  things  to  come, 
and  sometimes  empowered  them  to  confirm  the  prophecies 
they  delivered,  and  to  afford  manifest  proofs  of  their 
divine  mission,  by  the  working  of  miracles.  The  title 
therefore  of  Prophet  is  given  in  the  Holy  Scriptures 
to  men  possessing  the  gift  of  inspiration  in  various 
degrees,  according  to  the  various  occasions  to  which 
the  supernatural  communication  was  to  be  applied. 
Abraham  is  the  first  to  whom  the  name  is  given  in  the 
Old  Testament.  But  Adam,  Noah,  and  others  had  been 
favoured  with  extraordinary  intimations  of  the  divine 
will,  so  that  the  name  might  be  properly  applied  to 


them,  in  the  same  extensive  sense  in  which  it  was  given 
to  many  others  after  the  time  of  Moses. 

Mention  is  made  in  the  Old  Testament  of  companies 
of  prophetsa.  These  were  probably  assembled  in  schools, 
in  which  the  truths  of  religion  were  particularly  taught 
and  the  study  of  the  divine  law  formed  the  chief  occupa¬ 
tion.  It  is  not  certain  that  all  who  were  in  these  schools 
had  the  power  of  predicting  future  events,  or  were 
endued  with  any  supernatural  knowledge.  But  it  is 
certain  that  to  many  individuals  during  a  long  series 
of  years,  from  Moses  to  Malachi,  peculiar  communications 
were  vouchsafed  by  the  Almighty,  in  furtherance  of  the 
great  scheme  of  his  dispensations  to  mankind.  Individuals 
were  selected  to  execute  important  commissions,  and 
foretelling  events  which  were  beyond  the  reach  of  human 
penetration  they  gave  thereby  the  strongest  proof  that 
the  dispensation  of  which  they  were  the  ministers  pro¬ 
ceeded  from  God. 

Some  of  the  prophets,  as  Elijah,  Elisha,  and  others, 
committed  nothing  to  writing:  their  predictions,  being 
chiefly  of  a  temporary  nature,  are  inserted  in  the  historical 
books  together  with  an  account  of  their  fulfilment. 
But  those  who  were  appointed  to  deliver  prophecies 
the  accomplishment  of  which  was  far  distant,  wrere 
directed  to  commit  them  to  writing.  The  prophetic 
books  of  sixteen  of  these  yet  remain,  and  form  a  part 
of  the  sacred  canon.  They  are  usually  divided  into 
two  classes,  the  greater  and  the  minor  prophets;  not 
from,  any  supposed  difference  in  their  authority,  but 
because  the  writings  of  one  class  are  of  greater  length 
than  those  of  the  other.  Jonah,  the  earliest  of  them, 
lived  about  800  years  B.  C. ;  and  Malachi  the  latest,  with 

a  1  Sam.  x.  5.  and  xix.  29. 


whose  work  the  Old  Testament  is  closed,  lived  about 
400  years  after  him. 

2.  It  is  remarkable  that  so  long  as  there 


were  prophets  among  the  Jews,  there  arose  no 
sects  among  them;  the  reason  of  which  probably  is,  that 
the  prophets  learnt  God’s  will  immediately  from  himself, 
and  therefore  the  people  must  either  obey  them  and 
receive  from  them  the  interpretation  of  the  law,  or  no 
longer  acknowledge  the  God  who  inspired  them.  But 
when  the  law  of  God  came  to.  be  explained  by  fallible 
men  who  disagreed  in  their  opinions,  a  separation  into 
sects  was  the  unavoidable  consequence.  The  most  ancient 
sect  wras  that  of  the  Sadducees,  wrhose  founder  Sadoc 
lived  about  250  years  B.  C.  He  was  a  disciple  of 
Antigonus  Sochasus  president  of  the  Sanhedrim,  who 
taught  that  men  ought  to  serve  God  disinterestedly, 
from  love  and  reverence,  and  not  from  servile  fear  of 
punishment  or  hope  of  reward.  Sadoc,  misapplying 
these  instructions,  inferred  that  there  was  no  future 
state  of  rewards  or  punishments,  thus  far  agreeing  with 
the  doctrine  of  Epicurus :  but  he  admitted  that  God 
made  the  world,  and  governs  it  by  his  providence,  and 
that,  for  the  support  of  this  government,  he  has  ordained 
rewards  and  punishments  in  the  present  life.  For  this 
reason  he  enjoined  the  worship  of  God,  and  obedience 
to  his  laws.  Whatever  were  the  opinions  of  Sadoc 
himself,  it  appears  from  the  New  Testament  that  his 
followers  in  the  time  of  our  Saviour  maintained  that 
there  is  no  resurrection,  neither  angel  nor  spirit1’.  They 
rejected  all  traditions,  acknowledging  the  authority  of 
the  written  law  alone.  It  has  been  argued  by  some 
writers  that  they  also  rejected  all  the  Scriptures  except 

Acts  xxiii.  8, 


the  five  books  of  Moses,  while  others  suppose  that  they 
did  not  wholly  reject  them,  but  preferred  the  books  of 
Moses  to  the  rest :  for  these  opinions  however  there  does 
not  appear  to  be  sufficient  ground.  On  the  subject  of 
free-will  and  predestination  they  held,  in  opposition  to 
other  sects,  that  man  is  absolute  master  of  his  own  actions, 
and  perfectly  free  to  do  either  good  or  evil  according  to 
his  own  choice.  Thus  thinking  that  every  man  has  full 
power  in  himself  to  avoid  whatever  the  law  of  God 
forbids,  and  to  do  what  it  commands,  it  w  as  remarked 
of  them  that  they  were  alwrays  inclined  to  severity  when 
they  sat  in  judgment  upon  criminals.  The  members 
of  this  sect  were  few  in  number,  but  they  were  in  general 
eminent  for  wrealth  and  dignity.  Several  of  them  were 
appointed  to  the  high  priesthood.  Josephus,  however, 
says  that  they  had  not  much  power,  for  when  they 
were  in  the  magistracy  they  were  obliged  to  conform 
to  the  measures  proposed  by  the  Pharisees,  who  were 
supported  by  a  great  majority  of  the  common  people0. 

,  .  3.  The  Pharisees  derive  their  name  from 

P  havzsccs  • 

Pharas,  a  Hebrew  word  which  signifies  sepa¬ 
rated  or  set  apart,  because  they  separated  themselves  from 
the  rest  of  the  Jews,  and  affected  a  peculiar  degree  of 
holiness.  Most  of  the  common  people  were  on  their  side ; 
but  the  title  of  Pharisee  seems  to  have  been  almost  en¬ 
tirely  appropriated  to  men  of  leisure  and  substance,  the 
rest  being  considered  rather  an  appendage  than  a  part  of 
the  sect,  and  always  called  plainly  the  people,  the  multi¬ 
tude,  and  the  like.  The  time  of  their  origin  cannot  be 
accurately  determined.  Their  rise  was  probably  very 
gradual,  as  they  do  not  appear  to  have  acknowledged 
any  particular  founder.  The  earliest  account  of  them 

c  Jos.  Ant.  Book  XVIII.  Chap.  ii. 


is  in  Josephus,  who  says  that  they  were  a  considerable 
sect  at  the  time  when  John  Hyrcanus  the  high  priest 
forsook  them  and  became  a  Sadducee,  that  is,  about 
110  years  B.  Cd.  The  distinguishing  character  of  this 
sect  was  a  zealous  adherence  to  the  traditions  of  the 
elders,  to  which  they  ascribed  even  greater  authority 
than  to  the  written  law.  They  pretended  that  Moses 
received  from  God  two  laws,  one  written,  the  other 
oral ;  that  this  oral  law  had  been  handed  down  uncor¬ 
rupted  from  generation  to  generation,  and  was  to  be 
taken  as  a  supplement  and  explanation  of  the  written  law', 
which  they  represented  to  be  in  many  places  obscure 
and  defective.  But  from  the  frequent  reproaches  ad¬ 
dressed  to  them  on  this  point  by  our  Saviour,  it  is 
evident  that  under  pretence  of  explaining  the  law  by 
their  traditions,  they  had  in  reality  made  it  of  none 
effect.  Their  religion  consisted  chiefly  in  the  observance 
of  external  ceremonies;  in  ablutions  and  purifications; 
in  frequent  fasting,  and  long  prayers  which  they  made 
ostentatiously  in  public  places ;  in  avoidance  of  all  com¬ 
munication  with  reputed  sinners;  in  scrupulous  payment 
of  tithe  of  the  least  thing ;  and  in  rigorous  observance 
of  the  sabbath,  so  as  to  reckon  it  unlawful  to  pluck  a  few 
ears  of  corn,  or  to  heal  the  sick  on  that  day.  In  order  to 
attract  attention,  they  made  broad  their  phylacteries e,  and 
enlarged  the  fringes  of  their  garments.  By  this  outward 
appearance  of  sanctity  they  gained  the  esteem  and  venera¬ 
tion  of  the  multitude :  but  omitting  the  weightier  matters 

d  Jos.  Ant.  Book  XIII.  Chap,  xviii. 

e  Phylactery  (derived  from  <pv\a.TTu>')  signifies  a  memorial  or 
a  preservative.  Plujlacteries  were  long  and  narrow  pieces  of  parch¬ 
ment,  on  which  were  written  passages  out  of  Exodus  and  Deuter¬ 
onomy.  These  they  bound ,  to  their  foreheads  and  left-arms,  in 
memory  of  the  law. 


of  the  law,  judgment,  mercy,  and  faith,  and  veiling  pride, 
malice,  and  impurity  under  the  garb  of  extraordinary 
piety,  they  were  frequently  rebuked  by  Christ  in  the  most 
severe  language  as  a  generation  of  hypocrites. 

Their  doctrines,  though  more  pure  than  their  practice, 
were  mingled  with  much  error.  On  the  subject  of 
predestination  and  free  will  they  were  opposed  to  the 
Sadducees,  but  their  own  opinions  are  no  where  clearly 
stated  so  as  to  be  intelligible.  According  to  Josephus, 
they  ascribed  all  things  to  God  and  fate,  and  yet  left  to 
man  in  many  things  the  freedom  of  his  willf.  How  they 
made  one  part  of  this  doctrine  compatible  with  the  other 
is  not  explained.  The  Holy  Scripture  testifies  that  they 
believed  in  the  resurrection,  and  in  the  existence  of  angels 
and  spiritsg.  But  from  the  account  given  by  Josephus,  it 
seems  probable  that  their  opinion  respecting  these  matters 
was  derived  not  from  the  Holy  Scriptures  but  from  the 
philosophy  of  Pythagoras,  and  that  the  resurrection  meant 
by  them  was  the  transmigration  of  the  souls  of  good  men 
into  other  bodies’1.  This  notion  had  become  prevalent  in 
Judaea  in  the  time  of  Christ,  and  according  to  it,  his 
disciples  asked  him  in  the  case  of  the  man  that  was  born 
blind,  “  who  did  sin,  this  man  (that  is,  this  man  in  some 
antecedent  state  of  being)  or  his  parents,  that  he  was  born 
blind?”  And  when  the  Jews  were  forming  conjectures  on 
the  character  of  our  Saviour,  some  said  that  he  was  Elias, 
others  Jeremias,  or  one  of  the  prophets:  that  is,  they 
thought  that  the  soul  of  one  of  these  had  re-appeared  in 
him.  It  remained  for  Christ  himself,  who  brought  life 
and  immortality  to  light,  to  teach  the  true  resurrection  of 
the  body  and  soul  together. 

f  Jos.  de  Bell.  Jud.  Book  IL  Chap.  vii.  s  Acts  xxiii.  8. 
h  Jos.  ibid. 



T,  3.  A  third  sect  among  the  Jews  was  that  of 

Jbssenes  ^ 

the  Essenes.  Of  these  there  is  a  full  account  in 

Josephus  and  Philo,  who  are  very  copious  in  praising 
them ;  but  they  are  no  where  mentioned  in  Scripture, 
probably  because,  living  chiefly  in  solitude  and  taking  no 
part  in  public  affairs,  they  did  not  fall  under  our  Saviour’s 
notice.  Their  number  also  was  small :  Philo  says  that 
there  were  about  4000  of  them  in  Syria  and  Palestine. 
It  is  supposed  that  they  had  their  origin  in  the  time  of 
Antiochus  Epiphanes,  by  whose  tyranny  great  numbers 
of  the  Jews  were  driven  into  the  wilderness,  and  became 
inured  to  a  temperate  and  laborious  mode  of  life.  Philo 
divides  them  into  two  classes,  the  practical,  who  lived  in 
Judaea  and  Syria,  and  the  contemplative,  who  were  dis¬ 
persed  through  many  parts  of  the  world,  but  were  most 
numerous  in  Egypt.  The  practical  Essenes  did  not  alto¬ 
gether  abandon  the  society  of  the  rest  of  mankind,  and  in 
some  respects  were  less  rigid  than  the  contemplative ;  sub¬ 
stantially,  however,  their  maxims  were  the  same.  They 
believed  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  held  the  Scrip¬ 
tures  in  the  highest  reverence,  but  considered  them  as 
mystic  writings  and  expounded  them  allegorically.  It  does 
not  appear  that  they  placed  any  reliance  upon  tradition. 
They  sent  gifts  to  the  temple,  but  offered  no  sacrifices. 
They  held  the  doctrine  of  absolute  predestination,  not 
allowing  that  man  has  freedom  of  will  in  any  of  his 
actions.  In  the  regulations  of  their  society  they  observed 
the  greatest  strictness.  None  gained  full  admission 
among  them  till  after  a  probation  of  three  years.  In 
their  mode  of  living  they  were  extremely  temperate ;  they 
attended  to  no  secular  occupation  except  agriculture,  and 
held  all  things  in  common.  All  were  considered  equal ; 
yet  great  order  was  maintained  among  them,  by  means 
of  the  voluntary  respect  which  they  paid  to  the  elders. 


Although  no  express  mention  is  made  of  this  sect  in 
the  New  Testament,  it  is  supposed  that  they  are  alluded 
to  both  by  our  Saviour  and  St.  Paul* 1.  If  this  supposition 
be  correct,  they  are  spoken  of,  by  the  apostle  at  least, 
with  disapprobation.  It  is  clear  indeed,  even  from  the 
favourable  description  of  them  given  by  Josephus  and 
Philo,  that  they  were  led  into  many  superstitious  usages, 
and  indulged  in  fanciful  and  enthusiastic  speculations. 
It  is  remarked  by  Prideaux  that  almost  all  their 
peculiar  tenets  are  condemned  by  the  spirit  of  Christi¬ 
anity k.  Such  were  their  “  voluntary  humility”  and 
“  neglecting  the  body,”  their  superstitious  washings,  their 
abstinence  from  meats  which  God  created  for  man’s  use, 
and  other  like  usages  which  God  never  required  of  them. 
And,  in  maintaining  that  men  are  bound  down  in  all  their 
actions  by  irresistible  fate  and  necessity,  they  destroyed 
the  very  foundations  of  religion  and  virtue. 

4.  These  are  the  three  sects  into  which  the  Jews  were 
divided.  There  were  among  them  other  classes  of  men 
not  distinguished  by  peculiar  religious  tenets,  but  either 
professional,  as  the  scribes  and  publicans,  or  political,  as 
the  Herodians  and  Galileans. 

^  Scribes,  doctors  of  the  law,  and  lawyers,  appear 

to  have  been  different  names  for  the  same  class  of 
persons.  The  scribes  are  mentioned  very  early  in  the 
Sacred  History  K  Their  occupation  originally  was  to  tran¬ 
scribe  copies  of  the  law,  as  their  name  imports ;  but,  from 
the  knowledge  thus  acquired,  they  soon  became  in¬ 
structors  of  the  people,  and  were  made  judges  in  their 
sanhedrims,  or  teachers  in  their  schools  and  synagogues. 
Most  of  them  were  attached  to  the  sect  of  the  Phari- 

1  Matt.  xix.  12.  Col.  ii.  18—23. 

1  2  Sara.  viii.  17. 

D  2 

k  Prideaux,  Part  II.  Book  5. 


sees,  for  they  were  the  authors  of  those  numberless  com¬ 
ments  and  opinions  which  the  Pharisees  received  as  tra¬ 
ditions  transmitted  by  Moses;  and  the  learning  and  skill 
of  the  scribes  were  chiefly  exercised  in  explaining  the 
oral  law  which  they  had  themselves  fabricated. 

5.  The  publicans  were  employed  by  the  Romans 
Publicans.  ..  1  ,  , 

to  collect  the  taxes  and  customs.  I  he  Roman 

publicans  are  mentioned  by  Cicero  as  being  the  flower  of 
the  equestrian  orderm ;  but  those  were  probably  men  who 
farmed  the  revenues  of  whole  provinces,  and  certainly  very 
different  from  the  class  so  often  introduced  under  the  title 
of  publicans  in  the  New  Testament.  These  were  inferior 
agents,  generally  Jews  of  low  condition,  whose  office  was 
accounted  disreputable.  The  people  bore  with  extreme 
impatience  the  taxes  imposed  by  the  Romans,  and  there¬ 
fore  all  who  were  engaged  in  collecting  them  were 
viewed  with  hatred,  especially  their  own  countrymen, 
whom  they  regarded  as  traitors  that  were  conspiring  with 
the  Romans  to  enslave  their  nation.  And  this  feeling  was 
aggravated  by  the  extortions  practised,  and  by  the  rigorous 
manner  in  which  the  taxes  were  usually  exacted.  Hence 
the  whole  body  was  held  in  detestation,  insomuch  that  the 
Pharisees  imputed  it  as  a  great  crime  to  our  Saviour  that 
he  sat  at  meat  with  Publicans,  whom  they  themselves 
avoided  with  abhorrence. 

6.  Respecting  the  Herodians,  whom  we  find 
Herodians.  x  o 

mentioned  in  the  gospels  as  having  gone  with 

the  Pharisees  to  ensnare  Christ”,  we  have  no  means  of 
determining  by  what  peculiar  opinions  they  were  distin¬ 
guished.  Some  have  thought  that  they  were  so  called 
because  they  believed  Herod  to  be  the  Messiah;  others, 
with  more  probability,  that  they  were  a  set  of  men  attached 

m  Orat.  pro.  Plancio. 

11  Matt.  xxii.  16.  Mark  xii.  13. 


to  the  family  of  Herod,  and  followers  of  his  policy.  It  is 
probable  that  like  him  they  advocated  submission  to 
the  Romans,  by  whose  support  Herod  was  made  and 
continued  king,  and  also  were  inclined  to  conform  to 
the  Roman  customs  and  the  forms  of  heathen  worship 
in  particulars  which  the  Jewish  law  would  not  allow. 
It  is  further  probable  that  they  were  chiefly  of  the  sect 
of  the  Sadducees,  since  that  which  is  called  in  one 
gospel  the  leaven  of  the  Sadducees,  is  called  in  another 
the  leaven  of  Herod0. 

7.  The  Galilseans  were  a  political  faction 
which  had  its  origin  at  the  time  when  Cyremus, 
after  the  expulsion  of  Archelaus,  first  laid  a  tax  upon 
Judaea.  They  were  distinguished  by  an  extreme  zeal  for 
liberty,  but  in  all  their  principles  they  accorded  entirely 
with  the  Pharisees.  Their  chief  was  one  Judas  of  Galilee 
who  laboured  to  excite  the  people  to  rebellion,  alleging 
that  submission  to  the  tax  would  be  an  acknowledgement 
of  slavery  and  inconsistent  with  their  duty  to  God, 
who  was  their  only  sovereign.  Topics  of  this  sort 
operated  upon  the  Jews  with  peculiar  force  at  this 
time,  when  their  expectation  of  a  Messiah,  or  triumphant 
deliverer,  inspired  them  with  disdain  as  well  as  hatred 
of  the  Roman  yoke.  Judas  perished,  and  his  followers 
were  for  a  time  dispersed  P;  but  he  may  be  considered 
as  one  of  the  earliest  and  chief  movers  of  that  spirit  of 
turbulence  which  became  general  among  the  people  and 
was  not  extinguished  till  it  had  wrought  the  ruin  of  the 
Jewish  nation. 

pr0Q}]  t  8*  Frequent  mention  is  made  in  the  New 
Testament  of  proselytes.  These  were  Gentiles 
who  embraced  the  Jewish  religion  either  in  whole  or  in 

0  Matt.  xvi.  0.  Mark  viii.  15. 

n  3 

p  Acts  v.  3C>. 


part ;  for  they  are  usually  divided  into  two  sorts,  Pro¬ 
selytes  of  the  gate,  and  Proselytes  of  righteousness. 
The  former  were  permitted  by  the  Jews  to  live  within 
their  gates,  without  being  bound  to  the  whole  law, 
but  only  to  comply  with  the  seven  precepts,  which,  as 
the  Jewish  writers  pretend,  God  gave  to  Adam  and 
afterwards  to  Noah,  who  transmitted  them  to  posterity. 
These  precepts  were  (1)  To  abstain  from  idolatry;  (2) 
from  blasphemy;  (3)  from  murder;  (4)  from  adultery; 
(5)  from  theft ;  (6)  to  appoint  upright  judges ;  (7)  not  to 
eat  the  flesh  cut  off  from  any  animal  while  it  retained 
life.  They  were  allowed  to  worship  in  the  temple,  but 
were  forbidden  to  enter  farther  than  into  the  outer 
court,  which  was  called  the  court  of  the  Gentiles.  It 
does  not  appear  that  any  ceremony  was  performed  on 
the  admission  of  Proselytes  of  this  order. 

The  Proselytes  of  righteousness,  or,  as  they  are 
sometimes  called.  Proselytes  of  the  covenant,  undertook 
the  observance  of  the  whole  law,  and  were  initiated 
with  three  ceremonies,  circumcision,  baptism,  and  a 
sacrifice:  after  which  they  were  admitted  as  adopted 
children  to  all  the  ceremonies  and  religious  privileges 
used  by  the  Jews.  But  though  they  were  thus  adopted, 
and  though  great  zeal  was  shewn,  especially  by  the 
Pharisees,  in  making  proselytes,  yet  they  were  consi¬ 
dered  inferior  to  those  who  were  Jews  by  birth  and 
descent,  were  admitted  to  no  office,  and  were  treated  in 
general  with  great  contempt. 

It  must  be  added  that  this  distinction  of  the  prose¬ 
lytes  into  two  classes  rests  upon  the  authority  of  ancient 
Jewish  writers,  but  in  the  Scriptures  there  does  not 
appear  to  be  any  foundation  for  it.  Hence,  some  are 
of  opinion  that  proselytes  were  those,  and  those  only, 
who  took  upon  themselves  the  obligation  of  the  whole 


Mosaic  law.  Gentiles  were  allowed  to  worship  in  the 
outer  court  of  the  temple,  and  some  of  them  probably 
renounced  idolatry  without  embracing  the  Mosaic  law ; 
but  such  persons  do  not  appear  to  be  called  proselytes, 
in  Scripture  or  in  any  ancient  Christian  writer q. 

q  Lardner,  vol.  VI.  p.  522.  Tomline,  vol.  I.  p.  266. 



1.  It  has  been  already  stated  that  when  the  pro¬ 
mised  land  was  divided  among  the  tribes,  no  allotment 
was  made  to  the  tribe  of  Levi,  because  the  Levites  were 
appointed  to  the  service  of  religion,  and  a  peculiar  kind 
of  provision  was  made  for  them.  In  the  earliest  times 
the  priesthood  appears  to  have  belonged  to  the  first-born 
of  every  family;  and  when  God  smote  all  the  first-born 
of  the  Egyptians  but  spared  those  of  the  Israelites,  he 
was  pleased  to  ordain  that  for  the  future  all  the  first-born 
males  should  be  set  apart  unto  himself,  that  the  memory 
of  the  miracle  and  of  their  deliverance  from  bondage 
might  thereby  be  preserved.  But  when  the  tribe  of 
Levi  on  a  remarkable  occasion  discovered  great  zeal 
against  idolatry,  he  appointed  that  whole  tribe,  instead 
of  the  first-born  of  Israel,  to  the  honour  of  attending 
his  immediate  service a.  On  their  first  institution  in  the 
wilderness,  their  chief  duty  consisted  in  taking  down 
the  tabernacle,  carrying  it  about  with  all  the  instruments 
and  sacred  vessels  belonging  to  it  as  the  Israelites 
removed  from  place  to  place,  and  setting  it  up  again 
when  they  pitched  their  tents.  But  when  the  Israelites 
were  settled  in  Canaan,  and  the  tabernacle  was  no  longer 
carried  about  as  before,  the  service  of  the  Levites  was 


Exod.  xxxii.  26. 


changed,  and  required  less  bodily  labour.  On  which 
account,  from  the  time  of  David,  they  entered  on  the 
discharge  of  their  duty  at  an  earlier  age,  and  continued 
in  it  later,  than  according  to  the  original  appointment 
of  Moses.  They  were  from  the  beginning  divided  into 
three  classes,  Gershonites,  Kohathites,  and  Merarites,  so 
called  from  Gershon,  Kohath  and  Merari  who  were  the 
sons  of  Levi.  Each  of  these  classes  had  its  peculiar 
duties.  When  David  had  fixed  the  tabernacle  at  Jeru¬ 
salem,  he  added  several  regulations  respecting  their 
different  employments,  and  made  a  new  division  of  them. 
The  tribe  was  numbered  by  his  order,  and  (without 
including  the  priests)  was  found  to  contain  38,000  men, 
from  the  age  of  30  years  and  upwards  6000  of  these 
were  made  officers  and  judges.  The  rest  were  divided 
into  three  equal  classes.  To  one  class  (containing 
24,000)  he  assigned  the  duty  of  assisting  the  priests  by 
preparing  flour,  wine  and  oil  for  the  sacrifice,  and  other 
services  of  that  kind ;  the  second  class  (containing  4000) 
had  to  perform  the  music  prescribed  in  the  divine  service ; 
and  the  third  (containing  4000)  had  to  keep  a  constant 
guard  about  the  temple.  Each  of  these  classes  was 
divided  into  24  courses,  which  in  successive  weeks 
attended  to  the  duty.  While  one  course  was  attending 
to  the  service  of  the  temple,  the  rest  were  dispersed 
among  the  tribes,  in  the  48  cities  which  were  allotted 
for  their  residence.  They  were  then  occupied  in  teaching 
the  people,  and  explaining  to  them  the  law  :  they  also 
kept  the  public  records  and  the  genealogies  of  the  several 

^  .  .  Those  who  were  on  duty  at  the  temple  had 

under  them  some  persons  called  Nethinim,  that 


1  Cliron.  xxiii.  3. 



is,  given ;  because  they  were  given  to  them  as  servants. 
Their  business  was  to  carry  the  water  and  wood,  and  what¬ 
ever  else  was  wanted  in  the  temple.  The  Gibeonites  were 
at  first  employed  in  this  work,  as  a  punishment  for  the 
artifice  by  which  they  obtained  a  league  of  peace  with  the 
Israelites0;  and  those  who  in  subsequent  times  continued 
to  be  condemned  to  this  servitude  were  probably  the 
descendants  of  these,  along  with  some  of  the  captives 
from  other  nations. 

2.  The  priests,  who  were  to  be  taken  from  a 
particular  family  of  the  tribe  of  Levi,  viz.  that  of 
Aaron,  were  appointed  to  an  office  more  sacred  and  of 
higher  dignity  than  the  common  Levites.  They  also  were 
divided  into  24-  courses,  which  performed  the  divine 
service  weekly  by  turns.  Each  of  them  had  a  president; 
and  it  is  probable  that  these  presidents  were  the  same  as 
the  chief  priests  so  often  mentioned  in  the  New  Testa¬ 
ment.  The  order  in  *which  the  courses  were  to  serve 
was  determined  by  lot;  and  each  course  was,  in  all 
succeeding  ages,  called  by  the  name  of  him  who  was  its 
president  at  the  time  of  the  first  division.  Thus  Zacha- 
rias  is  said  by  St.  Luke  to  be  of  the  course  of  Abia, 
because  Abia  was  president  of  the  course  in  the  time  of 
David.  The  whole  number  of  Priests  in  David’s  time 
was  probably  about  5000,  but  when  Josephus  wrote, 
there  were  not  less  than  four  times  that  number d.  Since 
the  law  enjoined  that  they  should  belong  to  a  particular 
family,  all  who  aspired  to  the  office  were  required  to 
establish  their  descent  from  that  family;  on  which  account 
the  genealogies  of  the  priests  were  inscribed  in  the  public 
registers  and  preserved  in  the  temple.  It  was  necessary 
also,  before  they  were  admitted  to  the  office,  that  they 

Josh,  ix. 

Jos.  contr.  Ap.  cap.  2. 


should  be  declared  free  from  bodily  blemish,  and  be 
purified  from  any  legal  pollutions  which  they  might  have 
contracted.  Celibacy  was  not  enjoined  upon  any  of  the 
sacerdotal  order,  but  the  law  respecting  marriage  was 
in  some  particulars  more  strict  to  them  than  to  the 
common  people. 

The  duties  which  they  had  to  perform  were  of  great 
variety,  and  were  assigned  by  lot  four  times  every  day 
to  those  whose  turn  it  was  to  be  in  attendance.  It  was 
their  business  to  serve  immediately  at  the  altar  and  offer 
the  sacrifices ;  to  guard  the  inner  part  of  the  temple ; 
to  light  the  lamps  in  the  sanctuary ;  to  burn  the  incense ; 
to  keep  a  continual  fire  upon  the  altar  of  burnt-offerings, 
and  to  offer  the  loaves  of  shew-bread,  which  wrere 
changed  every  sabbath.  Other  important  parts  of  the 
priestly  office  were:  to  preserve  the  volumes  of  the  law, 
and  pronounce  a  blessing  on  the  people  in  the  name  of 
God;  to  instruct  the  people;  to  judge  of  controversies, 
of  leprosy  and  other  pollutions,  and  of  the  fitness  or 
unfitness  of  victims ;  to  fix  the  price  of  redemption  for 
the  persons  and  things  that  were  devoted  to  God ;  to 
proclaim  the  sabbath  and  solemn  feasts;  to  call  assemblies, 
and  in  wrar  to  animate  the  people.  These  and  other 
duties  were  assigned  to  them  and  specified  with  great 

3.  There  were  among  them  several  degrees 
High  Priest.  _  ..  .  i  ,  t  •  *  t  , 

ot  distinction  and  subordination.  At  the  head 

was  the  high  priest,  who  had  great  authority,  being  ac¬ 
counted  next  in  rank  to  the  king  or  prince,  and  sometimes 
uniting  the  regal  and  pontifical  dignities  in  his  own  person. 
After  the  institution  of  the  Sanhedrim,  he  was  generally 
the  president  of  it.  Aaron  was  the  first  person  appointed 
to  the  high  priesthood.  From  him  it  passed  to  Eleazar 
his  eldest  son,  whose  descendants  held  it  through  several 


successions  till  the  time  of  Eli,  who  was  of  the  family 
of  Ithamar,  Aaron’s  second  son,  and  was  the  first  in  that 
line  who  was  made  high  priest.  In  the  reign  of  Solomon, 
it  returned  into  the  family  of  Eleazar  in  the  person  of 
Zadok,  and  remained  in  it  until  the  Babylonian  captivity. 
During  this  period  the  high  priest  was  usually  elected 
by  the  other  priests,  or  by  an  assembly  consisting  chiefly 
of  priests ;  but  sometimes  by  the  king.  Thus  Zadok 
was  appointed  by  Solomon  in  the  room  of  Abiathar, 
whom  Solomon  had  deposed e.  After  the  captivity,  they 
were  generally  appointed  by  the  kings  of  the  countries 
to  which  Judaea  was  subject.  According  to  law,  the 
office  was  held  for  life.  But  under  the  Roman  govern¬ 
ment  this  was  disregarded,  and  the  dignity  and  authority 
of  the  high  priest  were  greatly  reduced.  The  office  was 
now  frequently  transferred  from  one  to  another  according 
to  the  caprice  or  interest  of  those  who  held  the  supreme 
power,  and  was  given  or  sold  to  young,  illiterate,  and 
obscure  persons,  sometimes  even  to  men  who  were  not 
of  the  sacerdotal  race.  Very  different  from  this  was 
the  care  taken  in  earlier  times  to  support  the  honour  of 
this  sacred  office.  According  to  the  Law  of  Moses,  if 
any  one,  not  of  the  family  of  Aaron,  attempted  to  execute- - 
the  duties  of  the  high  priest,  he  was  put  to  death.  It 
was  necessary  also  that  he  should  be  of  an  honourable 
family,  and  that  he  himself  should  be  perfectly  without 
blemish.  The  strictest  injunctions  were  given  by  Moses 
with  regard  to  the  purity  both  of  him  and  of  his  family. 

He  was  consecrated,  on  his  institution  to  the  office, 
with  a  solemnity  suited  to  his  sacred  character.  (1)  He 
was  presented  to  the  Lord  at  the  door  of  the  tabernacle, 
in  the  presence  of  all  the  people:  (2)  he  was  purified 

c  1  Kings  ii.  35. 


with  water ;  (3)  lie  was  invested  with  the  pontifical 
garments,  which  were  of  great  splendour,  and  different 
from  those  of  the  other  priests ;  (4)  he  offered  various 
sacrifices;  lastly,  he  was  anointed  with  the  sacred  oil, 
the  composition  of  which  was  prescribed  by  God,  and  was 
not  to  be  used  for  any  other  purpose.  These  ceremonies 
were  repeated  seven  days  successively.  The  other  priests 
and  even  the  common  Levites  were  also  consecrated,  on 
their  admission  to  office,  with  particular  ceremonies.  The 
Levites  were  distinguished  from  the  rest  of  the  Israelites 
by  a  robe  of  white  linen ;  but  all  ranks  of  the  sacerdotal 
order  put  off  the  vestments  peculiar  to  them,  when  they 
were  not  engaged  in  the  divine  service. 

The  high  priest  could  perform  any  of  the  functions 
of  the  other  priests,  but  that  which  peculiarly  pertained 
to  him  was  to  make  expiation  for  the  people ;  which  he 
did  once  a  year  with  great  solemnity  in  the  Holy  of 
Holies.  It  was  also  granted  to  him  alone  to  consult  the 
oracle  of  God  in  the  sanctuary ;  but  in  the  second  temple 
this  mode  of  declaring  the  divine  will  was  discontinued. 
When  he  was  incapable  of  attending  the  service  through 
sickness  or  any  legal  pollution,  a  deputy  called  Sagan 
was  appointed  to  supply  his  place.  Some  think  that  the 
office  of  the  Sagan  was  not  occasional  but  permanent,  and 
that  it  was  his  business  to  assist  the  high  priest  generally, 
in  superintending  the  service  and  the  affairs  of  the  temple. 
The  title  of  high  priest  seems  to  have  been  sometimes 
given  to  this  officer ;  which  will  explain  an  expression 
of  St.  Luke  who  mentions  Annas  and  Caiaphas  as  being 
high  priests  at  the  same  timef.  Annas  was  probably  the 
Sagan.  It  is  probable  also  that  when  the  office  was 

f  Luke  iii.  2. 



transferred  from  one  to  another,,  those  who  had  once  held 
it  retained  the  title  after  they  had  resigned  the  power. 

The  Jewish  writers  mention  other  sorts  of  sacerdotal 
officers  superior  to  common  priests,  but  inferior  to  the 
high  priest  and  Sagan.  It  was  the  business  of  the  priest 
of  the  camp  to  exhort  the  army.  There  were  two,  called 
Catholics,  who  were  assistants  or  substitutes  for  the  Sagan, 
and  were  next  to  him  in  station  and  honour ;  and  seven, 
who  kept  the  keys  of  the  court  of  the  priests.  To  others 
were  committed  the  sacred  vessels  and  vestments,  the 
treasures  of  the  temple,  and  the  revenues  arising  from  the 
oblations :  regulations  of  this  sort  being  absolutely  neces¬ 
sary  in  a  service  of  such  great  length  and  variety. 
Mention  is  made  of  another  sort  of  ecclesiastical  persons 
called  stationary  men :  these  were  chosen  out  of  the  several 
tribes  as  representatives  to  attend  at  the  sacrifices  offered 
for  all  Israel ;  the  Law  requiring  that  the  persons  for 
whom  sacrifices  were  offered  should  be  present  at  the 
offering.  But  it  being  impossible  that  all  the  people 
should  be  present,  representatives  were  chosen  for  the 
whole  body,  who  were  divided,  like  the  priests  and 
Levites,  into  twenty-four  courses,  and  attended  by  rotation. 

4.  As  the  tribe  of  Levi  was  to  be  interspersed 
^  ’  among  the  other  tribes,  and  was  prevented  by 

an  express  law  from  having  any  share  in  the  division  of 
the  country,  it  remains  to  be  stated  in  what  places  they 
dwelt,  and  what  provision  was  made  for  their  subsistence. 
Forty-eight  cities,  with  their  suburbs,  were  assigned  to 
them :  of  which  thirteen  belonged  to  the  priests  and  were 
all  situated  near  Jerusalem,  one  belonging  to  the  tribe  of 
Simeon,  four  to  Benjamin,  and  eight  to  Judah.  Some  of 
the  cities  of  the  Levites  were  fixed  among  each  of  the 
other  tribes,  in  order  that  being  dispersed  they  might 
more  conveniently  perform  the  duties  to  which  they  were 


appointed.  Around  the  cities  a  small  portion  of  land  was 
given  them  for  gardens,  fields  and  vineyards,  from  the 
produce  of  which  arose  part  of  their  subsistence,  when 
they  were  not  attending  at  the  temple:  but  their  chief 
support  was  derived  from  the  tithes  which  the  Law 
allotted  to  them;— a  tenth  of  all  the  vegetable  produce 
of  the  earth  and  also  of  the  cattle.  The  Levites  collected 
these  tithes  and  gave  a  tenth  of  them  to  the  priests. 
There  were  many  other  sources  of  revenue  for  the  sup¬ 
port  of  the  national  worship.  The  first-born  of  living 
creatures  and  the  first-fruits  of  all  kinds  of  corn  and 
fruit  were  consecrated  to  God.  A  price  of  redemption 
was  paid  for  the  first-born  of  men  and  of  unclean  animals. 
To  the  priests  were-  assigned  also  certain  parts  of  many 
of  the  victims  that  were  offered  in  sacrifice.  If  must 
be  remarked,  however,  that  some  portion  of  the  payments 
above-mentioned  was  applied  not  directly  as  a  provision 
for  the  priests  and  Levites,  but  for  the  building,  the 
ornaments,  and  other  public  expences  of  the  temple. 
Nor  can  it  be  doubted,  that  the  revenues  prescribed  by 
:the  divine  Law  were  adequate  both  to  support  the  dig¬ 
nity  of  the  service,  and  to  relieve  its  ministers  from  all 
secular  employment,  that  they  might  devote  themselves 
wholly  to  the  discharge  of  their  sacred  duties. 

Of  the  cities  assigned  to  the  Levites,  three  on  each 
side  of  Jordan  were  appointed  to  be  cities  of  refuge 
for  those  who  had  committed  involuntary  homicide. 
When  a  person  who  had  caused  the  death  of  another 
fled  to  one  of  these,  the  judges  proceeded  to  examine 
whether  the  act  had  been  committed  designedly  or  not. 
If  designedly,  he  was  condemned  to  death;  if  not,  he 
remained  in  the  city  of  refuge  till  the  death  of  the  high 
priest,  when  he  was  at  liberty  to  return  home. 

5.  These  regulations  with  regard  to  the  tribe  of 

e  2 


Levi  afford  a  striking  proof  of  the  divine  wisdom  of 
their  author,  and  certainly  have  no  parallel  in  any  system 
of  heathen  legislation.  It  is  true,  soothsayers  and  diviners 
and  ministers  of  religion  were  found  in  every  State; 
but  they  attempted  nothing  beyond  the  performance 
of  religious  ceremonies,  or  employing  the  influence  which 
their  sacred  functions  gave  them  to  promote  private  gain 
or  the  schemes  of  political  parties :  to  instruct  the  people, 
they  seem  not  to  have  considered  any  part  of  their  duty. 
But  the  Jewish  legislator  set  apart  the  entire  tribe  of 
Levi,  one-twelfth  of  the  nation,  not  merely  to  perform 
the  rites  and  sacrifices  which  the  ritual  enjoined,  but 
to  diffuse  among  the  people  religious  and  moral  instruc¬ 
tion.  For  this  purpose  the  peculiar  situation  and 
privileges  of  the  tribe  of  Levi  admirably  fitted  them. 
Possessing  no  landed  property,  but  supported  by  tithes 
and  offerings,  they  were  little  occupied  with  labour  or 
secular  care:  they  were  also  deeply  interested  in  the 
support  of  the  worship  and  laws  of  God,  since  if  these 
were  neglected,  the  sources  of  their  maintenance  would 
necessarily  fail.  Their  cities  being  dispersed  through 
all  the  tribes,  they  were  every  where  at  hand  to  admonish 
and.  instruct :  exclusively  possessed  of  all  religious  offices, 
taking  a  large  part  in  the  administration  of  justice,  and 
guardians  of  the  cities  of  refuge  to  which  those  who  were 
guilty  of  homicide  fled  for  an  asylum,  they  must  have 
acquired  such  influence  as  could  not  fail  to  secure  attention 
to  their  instructions.  Thus  circumstanced,  they  were 
assuredly  well  calculated  to  answer  the  purpose  of  their 
institution,  to  preserve  the  union  of  all  the  other  tribes, 
and  to  promote  their  improvement  in  knowledge,  virtue, 
and  piety.  Considering  indeed  the  rank  of  the  priests 
and  Levites,  as  ministers  of  religion,  as  the  men  of 
best  understanding  and  knowledge  in  the  laws,  as  of 


srreat  interest  in  the  nation,  and  influence  in  the  adminis- 


tration  of  justice,  an  apprehension  might  arise  that  the 
power  committed  to  them  was  too  great  to  be  possessed 
by  a  single  tribe.  But  this  danger  was  effectually  guarded 
against  by  the  manner  in  which  they  were  dispersed 
among  the  other  tribes.  They  were  so  separated  from 
one  another,  that  they  could  not  prosecute  in  concert 
any  ambitious  design:  and  it  was  in  the  power  of  the 
people,  on  suspicion  of  any  ill  designs  of  the  Levites, 
to  put  a  stop  to  their  means  of  subsistence,  and  seize 
on  all  their  persons  at  once.  Hence,  whatever  power 
the  Constitution  gave  them  to  do  good,  the  same  carefully 
provided  to  put  it  out  of  their  power  to  do  harm,  either 
in  disturbing  the  peace  or  endangering  the  liberties  of 
their  country  s. 

s  Graves,  Vol.  I.  p.  294.  Lowman,  ch.  vi. 



It  cannot  be  determined  with  certainty  that  sacrifice 
was  offered  originally  by  the  command  of  God ;  this  being 
a  point  on  which  the  Scriptures  are  silent.  But  that 
it  was  SO;  may  reasonably  be  inferred  from  the  strong 
attestation  which  God  gave  of  his  acceptance  of  sacrifice 
in  the  case  of  Abel;  again  in  that  of  Noah;  afterwards 
in  that  of  Abraham,  and  above  all,  from  the  systematic 
establishment  of  it  by  divine  authority  in  the  dispensation 
of  Moses.  We  are  warranted  by  Scripture  in  concluding 
that  the  sacrifices  prescribed  in  the  Mosaic  law,  were 
ordained  by  God  as  a  type  of  the  sacrifice  of  Christ a; 
this  being  a  true  and  effective  sacrifice,  whilst  those  of 
the  law  were  but  faint  representations  intended  for  its 
introduction.  It  is  probable,  therefore,  that  the  rite  was 
at  the  beginning  ordained  by  God,  as  a  type  of  that 
great  sacrifice  in  which  all  others  were  to  have  their 
consummation b.  The  object  of  the  Mosaic  sacrifices  was 
principally  typical ;  but  the  institution  of  them  compre¬ 
hended  other  excellent  uses,  besides  that  for  which  we 
have  authority  to  believe  that  they  were  principally 

It  is  not  however  intended  to  treat,  in  this  chapter, 
of  the  origin  or  design  of  sacrifice; — subjects  which  admit 

1  Heb.  ix.  and  x. 

b  Magee.  Vol.  I.  p.  46. 


of  much  discussion ;  but  to  give  a  brief  account  of  the 
principal  offerings  and  sacrifices  prescribed  by  Moses, 
what  they  were  and  on  what  occasions  presented.  They 
may  be  classed  under  two  general  heads,  bloody  offerings, 
or  sacrifices  strictly  so  called ;  and  unbloody  offerings,  as 
of  corn,  wine,  and  perfumes. 

1.  Bloody  offerings  were  subdivided  into  three  sorts: 
(1)  whole  burnt-offerings,  (2)  sin  or  trespass-offerings, 
(3)  peace-offerings.  A  whole  burnt-offering ,  was  the  most 
excellent  of  all  the  sacrifices,  since  it  was  all  consecrated 
to  God,  the  victim  being  wholly  consumed  upon  the 
altar;  whereas  some  parts  of  the  others  belonged  to  the 
priests,  and  to  those  who  offered  the  victims.  Of  this  kind 
was  the  daily  sacrifice:  four  lambs,  all  of  the  first  year, 
were  offered  every  day,  two  in  the  morning,  and  two 
in  the  evening.  The  whole  burnt-offering  seems  to  have 
been  the  most  ancient  kind  of  sacrifice,  since  we  find 
that  it  was  offered  by  Noah,  Abraham,  and  other 
patriarchs c.  It  is  not  stated  in  the  Bible  what  was 

the  peculiar  design  of  it:  but  as  we  are  taught  by 
St.  Paul  that  the  sacrifices  under  the  law  were 
typical  of  the  great  sacrifice  of  Christ,  the  whole  burnt- 
offering  appears  to  be  a  type  particularly  expressive, 
since  nothing  less  than  the  full  and  perfect  sacrifice 
of  the  Son  of  God  could  atone  for  the  sins  of  the 

Between  sin-offerings  and  trespass-offerings,  there 
seems  to  have  been  little  difference.  Some  suppose 
that  sin-offerings  were  for  acts  which  were  admitted  to 
be  against  the  law,  but  had  been  done  undesignedly ; 
and  that  trespass-offerings  were  for  acts  respecting  which 
there  was  reason  to  doubt  whether  they  were  sinful  or 

c  Gen.  vni.  10.  and  xxii.  13.  Job  i.  5. 


not.  Others  think  that  sin-offerings  were  made  for 
sins  of  commission ;  and  trespass-offerings  for  sins  of 
omission d.  In  both  of  them,  the  person  who  offered 
the  sacrifice  placed  his  hands  on  the  victim’s  head, 
and  confessed  his  sin  or  trespass  over  it,  saying,  “  I  have 
sinned,  I  have  trespassed,  and  do  return  by  repentance 
before  thee,  and  with  this  I  make  atonement.”  The 
victim  was  then  considered  as  bearing  the  sins  of  the 
person  by  whom  it  was  offered,  who  received  forgiveness 
from  God  upon  condition  of  repentance,  without  which 
there  could  be  no  remission.  The  appointed  occasions 
for  these  offerings  were  not  only  for  acts  of  sin  or 
trespass,  but  also  on  account  of  certain  legal  pollutions, 
as  at  the  purification  of  a  leper,  of  a  woman  after  child¬ 
birth,  and  others  which  the  law  specified.  There  were 
also  sin-offerings  of  a  more  solemn  nature  offered  on 
extraordinary  occasions,  not  on  the  altar  but  without 
the  camp.  Such  was  the  sacrifice  of  the  red  heifer, 
whose  ashes  mixed  with  water,  served  to  purify  those 
who  had  been  polluted  by  touching  a  dead  body6.  The 
heifer  was  to  be  carried  out  of  the  camp,  where  the 
high  priest  killed  it,  and  sprinkled  of  the  blood  seven 
times  towards  the  sanctuary :  it  was  then  burnt,  and 
the  ashes  were  gathered  and  laid  up  for  use.  Whoever 
had  touched  a  dead  body  was  to  be  sprinkled  with  water, 
with  which  some  of  these  ashes  had  been  mixed.  As 
Jerusalem  became  afterwards  to  the  Jews,  what  the  camp 
had  been  during  their  abode  in  the  wilderness,  those 
victims  which  were  ordered  to  be  burnt  without  the 
camp,  were,  after  the  building  of  the  temple,  to  be 
burnt  beyond  the  walls  of  the  city.  Wherefore  Jesus 

d  Mich,  on  the  Laws  of  Moses,  Art.  187. 
e  Numb.  xix. 


also,  says  the  Apostle,  suffered  without  the  gate,  that 
he  might  sanctify  the  people  with  his  own  blood f. 

Peace-offerings  were  so  called,  because  they  were 
offered  in  token  of  peace  between  God  and  man.  Whole 
burnt-offerings  and  sin  or  trespass-offerings  were  made 
under  the  notion  of  some  guilt  having  been  contracted, 
which  they  were  the  means  of  removing ;  but  in  peace- 
offerings,  the  offerer  was  supposed  to  be  at  peace  with 
God,  and  they  were  made  either  as  an  acknowledgement 
for  mercies  received,  or  as  joined  with  supplication  for 
further  blessings. 

With  respect  to  all  the  three  kinds  of  sacrifices,  it 
may  be  observed  that  there  were  only  five  sorts  of 
animals  which  could  be  offered,  viz.  oxen,  sheep,  goats ; 
and  among  birds,  pigeons  and  turtle-doves.  In  the 
selection  of  victims,  the  utmost  care  was  taken  to  choose 
such  as  were  free  from  blemish.  Sacrifices  at  first 
were  offered  at  the  door  of  the  tabernacle ;  but  after 
the  temple  was  built,  it  was  unlawful  to  sacrifice  any 
where  but  in  it,  except  in  one  or  two  specified  casesg- 
(It  seems  however  that  this  command  was  frequently 
transgressed,  even  under  the  best  of  the  Jewish  kings*1.) 
The  law  required  that  all  the  victims  should  be  sprinkled 
with  salt  before  they  were  laid  on  the  altar,  and  that 
the  priest  should  sprinkle  the  blood  upon  the  altar, 
which  was  the  most  essential  part  of  the  sacrifice;  for 
the  blood  is  the  life,  and  by  the  sprinkling  of  it  the 
atonement  was  made.  In  common  sin-offerings  and  in 
peace-offerings  the  fat  alone  was  burnt:  in  sin-offerings 
all  the  flesh  belonged  to  the  priest;  in  peace-offerings  the 

f  Heb.  xiii.  12. 

g  Dent.  xii.  3 — 14.  Levit.  xiv.  49.  Dent.  xxi.  Numb.  xix.  2. 
h  1  Kings  xxii.  43.  2  Kings  xii.  3.  xiv.  4.  xv.  4.  Mich.  Alt.  188.. 


breast  and  right-shoulder  belonged  to  the  priest,  and  the 
rest  to  the  person  who  made  the  offering. 

2.  Unbloody  offerings,  which  are  called  in  the  Bible 
meat-offerings,  consisted  of  meal,  bread,  cakes,  ears  of 
corn,  and  parched  grain,  accompanied  with  libations  of 
wine  and  sometimes  mixed  with  oil  and  frankincense. 
They  were  offered  along  with  the  bloody  sacrifices ;  a 
certain  quantity  of  flour,  wine,  and  oil,  being  presented 
with  every  animal  that  was  sacrificed.  The  wine  was 
partly  poured  upon  the  brow  of  the  victim  to  consecrate 
it,  and  part  of  it  was  allotted  to  the  priests.  Some  of 
these  offerings  were  also  presented  singly  and  apart,  as 
(1)  those  "which  were  offered  as  sin-offerings  by  the  poor, 
whose  means  were  not  sufficient  to  provide  two  turtle¬ 
doves  or  two  young  pigeons;  (2)  incense,  consisting  of 
several  spices  which  are  specified  in  the  law1:  this  was 
offered  in  the  sanctuary  every  morning  and  evening  by  the 
priests,  and  once  a  year  by  the  high  priest  in  the  Holy 
of  Holies ;  (3)  the  shew-bread,  twelve  loaves  of  which 
were  placed  every  sabbath  on  the  golden  table  in  the 
sanctuary;  (4)  the  sheaf  of  the  first-fruits  of  the  harvest, 
offered  at  the  celebration  of  the  passover ;  (5)  two  loaves  of 
leavened  bread  offered  at  the  feast  of  pentecost. 

Various  oblations  which  the  law  prescribed  may  be 
classed  under  the  head  of  unbloody  offerings.  The  first- 
fruits  of  corn,  wine,  and  oil,  were  consecrated  to  God  for 
the  use  of  the  priests.  They  had  also  the  first  of  the 
fleece  of  sheep k.  The  Law  did  not  fix  the  quantity  of 
these  first-fruits:  the  liberal  gave  a  fortieth  and  even  a 
thirtieth,  others  a  sixtieth  part.  After  the  first-fruits 
were  offered,  every  one  paid  the  tenth  of  his  produce  to 
the  Levites,  who  gave  a  tenth  of  what  they  received  to 

5  Exod.  xxx.  34. 


Deut.  xviii.  4. 



the  priests.  Besides  this  tithe  which  the  peopie  paid 
to  the  Levites,  they  set  apart  another  tenth,  which  was 
carried  to  Jerusalem  and  consumed  with  festivity  in  the' 
temple,  as  a  token  of  thankfulness  to  God.  To  these  feasts 
they  were  required  to  invite  the  Levites,  widows,  orphans, 
strangers,  the  poor,  and  their  own  servants,  and  thus  give 
them  a  day  of  rejoicing.  But  every  third  year,  instead 
of  carrying  this  tithe  to  Jerusalem,  the  owner  kept  the 
feast  at  home,  in  order  that  such  of  the  poor  as  were  aged 
and  infirm  might  not  be  wholly  excluded  from  this  feast 
of  thanksgiving. 

Synagogues . 

The  laws  relative  to  sacrifices  and  offerings, 
were  delivered  by  Moses  with  great  minute¬ 
ness,  and  in  the  observance  of  them  consisted  the  national 
worship  of  the  Jews.  If  it  should  be  thought  that  the  mul¬ 
tiplicity  of  them  must  have  formed  a  system  exceedingly 
burdensome  to  the  people,  let  it  be  remembered  that  it 
was  administered  by  a  body  of  men  set  apart  for  the  duty, 
and  that  it  was  a  ritual  of  national,  not  of  personal 
worship,  limited  to  one  temple  and  one  altar  at  the  place 
which  God  had  chosen.  It  was  not  established  in  towns 
and  cities  throughout  the  land,  and  therefore  could  not 
be  designed  to  be  a  system  of  individual  or  of  family 
devotion  for  the  whole  Jewish  people.  In  regard  to 
this,  it  is  necessary  to  make  a  distinction  between  the 
worship  in  the  temple  and  that  which  was  performed  in 
the  synagogues.  These  were  instituted  at  a  much  later 
period,  and  probably  originated  in  the  public  reading 
of  the  Law  after  the  sacred  writings  had  been  collected 
by  Ezra.  Conscious  that  the  calamities  which  had  be¬ 
fallen  the  people  arose  from  their  wickedness,  and  that 
this  was  greatly  owing  to  their  ignorance  of  the  Scrip¬ 
tures,  they  were  led  to  the  institution  of  synagogues,  one 


in  every  place  where  there  were  ten  persons  of  sufficient 
age  and  leisure,  that  the  people  might  meet  for  prayer, 
and  hear  the  Scriptures  read  and  explained.  The  syna¬ 
gogues  were  opened  three  days  in  the  week,  and  thrice 
on  each  of  those  days.  The  Pentateuch  was  divided 
into  sections,  and  the  reading  of  them  so  arranged  that 
the  whole  was  finished  at  the  end  of  the  year.  The 
other  sacred  writings  were  not  all  read,  but  at  every 
meeting  such  parts  were  selected  as  had  relation  to 
what  had  been  previously  read  from  the  books  of  Moses. 
The  ministration  of  this  service  was  not  confined  to  the 
sacerdotal  order,  but  was  committed  to  any  one  of  com¬ 
petent  learning.  But,  that  order  might  be  preserved, 
elders  were  appointed  in  every  synagogue,  who  were 
solemnly  admitted  to  their  office  by  the  imposition  of 
hands.  In  the  New  Testament  these  are  called  rulers 
of  the  synagogue.  Next  to  them  was  the  minister, 
whose  office  it  was  to  offer  up  public  prayers  to  God 
for  the  congregation.  There  were  other  inferior  minis¬ 
ters,  who  had  the  care  of  the  sacred  books,  and  of  the 
building  and  all  things  belonging  to  it.  The  service 
consisted  of  prayers,  reading  and  expounding  the  Scrip¬ 
tures,  and  preaching.  For  the  prayers  they  had  public 
liturgies.  When  the  time  came  for  reading  the  Scriptures, 
the  rulers  of  the  synagogue  called  out  some  one  to 
officiate;  a  priest  first,  and  then  a  Levite,  if  such  were 
present,  and  then  any  other  of  the  people,  till  the  number 
seven  was  completed.  Hence  every  section  of  the  law 
was  divided  into  seven  parts,  each  reader  having  his 
assigned  portion.  As  Hebrew  had  ceased  to  be  the  com¬ 
mon  language,  an  interpreter  was  appointed,  whose  duty 
consisted  in  interpreting  the  lessons  into  Chaldee,  as  they 
were  read  to  the  congregation  in  Hebrew.  It  does  not 
appear  that  any  fixed  ministers  were  appointed  for  ex- 


pounding  the  Scriptures  and  for  preaching :  this  duty  was 
done  by  the  scribes  or  any  learned  men,  authorized  by 
the  rulers  of  the  synagogue  without  any  permanent 

It  is  remarkable  that  after  the  Babylonian  captivity 
the  Jews  were  strongly  averse  to  idolatry,  though  they 
had  been  very  prone  to  it  before  that  event:  the  probable 
reason  of  which  appears  to  be  that  after  the  captivity 
a  greater  knowledge  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  was  diffused 
among  them  by  means  of  the  institutions  above-mentioned. 
While  they  had  no  places  for  public  worship  or  instruc¬ 
tion,  except  the  temple  at  Jerusalem  or  the  cities  of  the 
Levites,  the  laws  of  God  were  imperfectly  known,  and  on 
that  account  the  people  were  easily  misled  to  adopt  the 
usages  of  neighbouring  nations.  But  when  in  every  city 
synagogues  were  erected  in  which  the  Holy  Scriptures 
were  read,  and  the  people  regularly  instructed  in  their 
duty  and  exhorted  to  the  performance  of  it,  an  abiding 
dread  of  God’s  displeasure  was  impressed  upon  their 
minds,  and  the  seductions  of  idolatry  were  opposed  by  an 
effectual  barrier1. 

1  Graves,  Vol.  I.  p.  328.  Prideaux,  Part  I.  Book  6. 



1.  The  year  was  distinguished  by  the  Jews  into  the 
civil  and  the  ecclesiastical  year.  The  civil  year  began 
with  the  month  Tisri ,  about  the  middle  of  our  September  ; 
there  being  an  ancient  tradition  among  them  that  the 
world  was  created  at  that  time.  All  contracts  were  dated 
and  the  Jubilees  computed  according  to  this  year.  The 
ecclesiastical  year  began  with  the  month  Nisan  or  Abib, 
about  the  middle  of  our  March;  that  being  the  time  of 
the  year  when  the  Israelites  came  out  of  Egypt. 

The  beginnings  of  their  months  were  not  determined 
by  astronomical  rules,  but  by  the  phasis  or  actual  appear¬ 
ance  of  the  new  moon ;  and  their  ordinary  year  consisted 
of  twelve  of  these  lunar  months.  But  since  the  sum  of 
them  fell  short  of  the  solar  year  by  eleven  days,  it  was 
necessary  to  intercalate  an  additional  month  in  the  third 
year,  or  sometimes  in  the  second,  in  order  that  their 
months,  and  consequently  their  festivals,  might  always 
hill  nearly  at  the  same  season.  It  has  not  been  ascer¬ 
tained  with  certainty  what  rule  they  had  for  determining 
which  new  moon  should  mark  the  beginning  of  the  year; 
but,  whatever  the  rule  was,  they  could  not  make  their 
festivals  always  fall  exactly  at  the  same  season,  according 
to  their  method  of  reckoning  by  lunar  months. 

The  Jews  had  two  sorts  of  weeks,  the  ordinary  one 
of  seven  days,  and  another  of  seven  years  which  occurs  in 
the  prophetic  writings  and  is  called  a  week  of  years . 

6  3 

Their  days  were  also  distinguished  into  natural,  reckoned 
from  one  sun-set  to  another;  and  artificial  or  civil, 
reckoned  from  the  rising  to  the  setting  of  the  sun.  The 
civil  day  was  divided  into  four  parts,  each  of  which 
consisted  of  three  hours,  and  therefore,  since  one  of  these 
hours  was  a  twelfth  part  of  the  time  which  the  sun 
continued  above  the  horizon,  their  hours  in  summer  were 
longer  than  in  winter.  The  night  was  also  divided  into 
four  parts  called  watches,  each  consisting  of  three  hours. 
The  first  began  at  sun-set  and  was  called  the  beginning 
of  the  watches  or  the  evening ;  the  second  was  called  the 
middle  watch  or  midnight ;  the  third  the  cock-crowing  ;  the 
fourth  the  morning  watch. 

2.  The  Jewish  Sabbath  began  at  sun-set  in  the  evening 
of  Friday,  and  ended  the  next  day  at  the  same  time. 
It  was  a  festival  instituted  by  God  in  memory  of  the 
creation  of  the  world,  and  also  as  a  day  of  rest  for  men 
and  their  cattle,  that  they  might  not  be  exhausted  by 
uninterrupted  labour.  In  the  first  view,  it  was  calculated 
to  prevent  idolatry  and  the  worshipping  of  creatures,  by 
setting  one  day  apart  for  the  service  of  the  one  true  God, 
the  Creator  of  all  things.  As  a  day  of  rest,  it  was 
observed  with  the  utmost  strictness :  they  were  forbidden 
to  gather  the  manna  which  had  fallen  from  heaven,  to 
kindle  a  fire,  and  to  sow  or  reapa.  It  was  commanded 
that  “  no  man  should  go  out  of  his  place  on  the  sabbath- 
day  b that  is,  according  to  the  interpretation  given  by 
the  Jewish  doctors,  that  no  man  should  go  above  2000 
cubits  (about  two-thirds  of  a  mile)  ;  which  in  Scripture 
is  called  a  sabbath-day’s  journey.  Many  regulations  were 
introduced  for  which  tkere  was  no  authority  in  the  laws 
of  Moses.  They  were  taught  that  it  was  not  lawful  to 

a  Exod.  xvi.  22.  xxxv.  3.  xxxiv.  21. 

f  2 

b  Exod.  xvi.  29. 


fight,  even  in  self-defence,  on  that  day.  For  this  notion 
they  suffered  severely  in  the  time  of  Antiochus  Epiphanes, 
and  afterwards  from  Ppmpey,  who  taking  advantage  of 
their  superstition  carried  forward  his  works  against  the 
city  on  the  sabbath  without  opposition.  Our  Saviour 
taught  us  the  true  meaning  of  the  Law  of  God  concerning 
rest  on  the  sabbath,  when  he  said  The  sabbath  was 
made  for  man,  and  not  man  for  the  sabbath;”  that  is, 
it  was  intended  for  man’s  benefit,  for  his  rest  and  religious 
improvement,  and  not  as  a  yoke  of  bondage  restraining 
him  from  works  of  necessity  or  mercy. 

The  law  enjoined  that  the  sabbath-day  should  be  kept 
holy.  It  is  not  stated  in  what  way,  further  than  by  cessation 
from  labour,  this  should  be  done,  except  that  a  sacrifice 
of  two  lambs  was  to  be  offered  on  that  day  in  addition  to 
the  morning  and  evening  sacrifices.  But  reason  alone 
taught  men  that  God  having  reserved  this  one  day  for 
his  service,  it  ought  to  be  spent  in  religious  exercises 
and  meditation.  That  the  command  was  understood  in 
this  sense  by  the  Jews  of  every  age,  may  be  inferred  from 
various  parts  of  the  Sacred  History0. 

The  sabbatical  year,  which  was  every  seventh  year, 
was  first  celebrated  by  the  Jews  in  the  fourteenth  year 
after  their  entrance  into  Canaan;  seven  years  having 
been  spent  in  conquering  and  dividing  the  country,  and 
six  in  the  cultivation  of  it.  They  were  commanded  by 
Moses  to  sow  their  fields  and  prune  their  vineyards,  and 
gather  the  fruit  thereof  for  six  years  successively,  and 
to  let  the  land  rest  on  the  seventh'1.  During  the  sabba¬ 
tical  year  there  was  a  total  cessation  from  agriculture, 
and  the  spontaneous  products  of  the  ground  were  enjoyed 

c  2  Kings  iv.  23.  Luke  iv.  1G.  Acts  xiii.  14.  Sc  xv.  21.  Jennings’ 
Jewish  Antiquities,  Book  3.  cli.  iii.  d  Levit.  xxv.  3,  4. 


in  common,  by  the  proprietor  of  the  ground,  his  servants, 
the  stranger  that  was  sojourning  with  him,  and  the 
cattle.  This  then  being  a  year  of  leisure,  Moses  com¬ 
manded  the  priests  the  sons  of  Levi  and  the  elders  of 
Israel,  that  in  the  solemnity  of  the  year  of  release  in 
the  feast  of  tabernacles  the  Law  should  be  read  before 
all  Israel  in  their  hearing,  that  they  might  learn  to  fear 
the  Lord  their  God,  and  observe  to  do  all  the  words  of 
his  law6.  The  observance  of  this  year  further  consisted 
in  the  remission  of  all  debts  from  one  Israelite  to  another; 
and,  according  to  some  writers,  in  the  release  of  all 
Hebrew  servants;  but  it  is  more  probable  that  masters 
were  obliged  to  release  their  servants  at  the  end  of  the 
seventh  year,  whether  it  happened  to  be  the  sabbatical 
year  or  not;  unless  they  renounced  their  liberty,  and 
made  a  formal  declaration  before  the  judges  that  they 
voluntarily  embraced  a  continuance  of  servitude.  As 
there  was  little  produce  from  the  land  during  the 
sabbatical  year,  it  was  necessary  to  make  provision  for 
it  in  the  six  preceding  years,  and  God  was  pleased  to 
promise  that  he  would  command  his  blessing  upon  the 
land  in  the  sixth  year,  and  that  it  should  bring  forth 
fruit  for  three  years f.  But  the  Jews  frequently  violated 
the  laws  regarding  this  institution,  which  was  one 
among  their  national  sins  that  caused  them  to  be  led 
into  captivity,  that  the  land  might  enjoy  the  sabbaths 
of  which  it  had  been  defrauded.  After  they  had  been 
thus  punished  for  their  disobedience,  they  became  scru¬ 
pulous  in  observing  the  law  on  this  subject ;  but  it 
does  not  appear  that  God  renewed  the  extraordinary 
blessing  which  he  first  promised,  and  on  that  .account 
the  sabbatical  year  was  always  a  year  of  scarcity.  There- 

e  Dent.  xxxi.  10.  f  Levit.  xxv.  21. 

F  3 


fore  when  Christ  told  his  disciples.  Pray  ye  that  your 
flight  he  not  on  the  Sabbath,  some  have  supposed  him 
to  allude  to  the  sabbatical  year,  when  sustenance  could 
not  easily  be  procured,  and  thence  the  necessity  of 
quitting  their  habitations  would  be  attended  with  aggra¬ 
vated  suffering. 

The  jubilee  was  celebrated  every  fiftieth  year,  and 
was  similar  to  the  sabbatical  year  in  many  of  its 
observances.  Debts  were  cancelled,  and  slaves  and 
prisoners  set  at  liberty.  Even  those  mentioned  above 
as  having  submitted  to  a  continuance  of  servitude,  were 
yet  made  free  at  the  jubilee;  for  then  liberty  was  to  be 
proclaimed  throughout  all  the  land  to  all  the  inhabitants®. 
Lands  which  had  been  sold  returned  to  their  original 
proprietors,  so  that  an  estate  could  not  be  alienated  for 
more  than  fifty  years,  and  therefore  no  family  could  be 
sunk  in  perpetual  poverty.  From  this  law,  however, 
houses  in  walled  towns  were  excepted:  these  were  to  be 
redeemed  within  a  year,  otherwise  they  belonged  to  the 
purchaser  and  could  never  be  reclaimed.  The  effect  of 
the  institution  of  the  jubilee  was  favourable  to  the  poor, 
since  it  prevented  perpetual  slavery,  and  tended  to  pre¬ 
serve  an  equality  of  possessions.  Being  also  a  year  of  rest 
from  labour,  since  all  cultivation  of  the  ground  was 
forbidden,  its  commencement  was  proclaimed  with  public 
tokens  of  j.oy,  and  hailed,  by  the  poor  at  least,  with  great 

3 .  Of  the  other  Jewish  festivals  some  were  of  divine, 
and  others  of  human  institution.  The  most  solemn  of 
those  that  had  been  instituted  by  God  were  the  jntssover, 
the  pentecost,  and  the  feast  of  tabernacles  ;  each  of  which 
was  to  be  celebrated  every  year  at  the  place  which  the 


Levit.  xxv.  10. 


Passover , 

Lord  should  choose,  that  is,  at  Jerusalem  after  the  sanc¬ 
tuary  had  been  fixed  there;  and  all  the  Israelites  were 
obliged  to  attend,  unless  they  had  good  reason  for  being 
absent.  Women  were  exempt  from  this  obligation,  and  also, 
it  may  be  presumed,  children  and  old  men ;  but  Scripture 
is  silent  with  regard  to  any  fixed  limitation  of  age. 

The  passover  derived  its  name  from  God’s 
passing  over  the  houses  of  the  Israelites,  and 
sparing  their  first-born,  when  those  of  the  Egyptians  were 
put  to  death.  The  name  of  passover  was  given  to  the  lainb 
slain  in  memory  of  that  deliverance;  and  sometimes  to  the 
feast-day  on  which  the  paschal  lamb  was  slain,  or  lastly,  to 
the  entire  continuance  of  the  festival ,  which  commenced 
with  the  slaying  of  the  lamb  and  continued  for  seven  days. 
On  the  fourteenth  day  of  the  month  Nisan,  in  the  evening, 
the  festival  began  with  killing  the  lamb,  which  was  to  be 
a  male  of  the  first  year,  and  without  blemish.  If  one 
family  was  not  large  enough  to  eat  the  whole  lamb,  two 
or  more  were  united.  The  victims  were  slain  by  persons 
belonging  to  these  several  families,  and  the  blood  was 
poured  by  the  priests  at  the  bottom  of  the  altar.  The 
fat  was  consumed  on  the  altar,  after  which  the  lamb  was 
returned  to  the  person  by  whom  it  had  been  offered. 
It  was  to  be  roasted  whole,  without  a  bone  being  broken, 
and  was  to  be  eaten  with  unleavened  bread  and  bitter 
herbs.  None  of  it  was  to  remain  till  the  morning:  if  it 
were  not  all  eaten,  that  which  remained  was  consumed 
with  fire.  Those  who  were  prevented  by  illness  or  by 
any  legal  pollution  from  celebrating  the  passover  on  the 
day  appointed,  were  commanded  to  do  it  on  the  four¬ 
teenth  day  of  the  next  month11.  During  the  whole 
continuance  of  this  festival  it  was  not  lawful  to  eat  any 

h  Numb.  ix.  11. 


leavened  bread,  nor  even  to  have  it  in  their  houses ;  and 
on  that  account  it  is  sometimes  called  in  Scripture  the 
feast  of  unleavened  bread.  In  general  the  fifteenth  day 
of  the  month  (but  in  one  or  two  places  the  fourteenth,  in 
the  evening  of  which  the  paschal  lamb  was  killed)  is 
called  the  first  day  of  the  feast1.  On  the  sixteenth  was 
offered  the  sheaf  of  the  first-fruits  of  the  barley-harvest, 
which  in  Judaea  was  usually  ripe  at  that  season.  This 
was  done  in  acknowledgement  of  the  goodness  of  God 
“  who  gives  rain,  both  the  former  and  latter  rain,  in  its 
season,  and  reserves  to  men  the  appointed  weeks  of 
harvest k.”  On  all  the  days  of  the  festival  peculiar 
sacrifices  were  offered  in  behalf  of  all  the  people:  but 
the  first  and  last  days  (the  fifteenth  and  twenty-first) 
were  solemnized  above  the  rest  by  abstaining  from  servile 
work,  and  by  holding  a  holy  convocation.  That  the 
passover  had  a  typical  reference  to  our  Saviour  is  inti¬ 
mated  both  by  St.  John  and  St.  Paul l.  Christ  is  our 
passover:  his  blood  was  shed  to  protect  mankind  from  the 
divine  justice,  like  as  that  of  the  paschal  lamb,  sprinkled 
on  the  door-posts  of  the  Israelites,  saved  their  first-born, 
while  those  of  the  Egyptians  were  destroyed. 

Feast  of  The  feast  of  pentecost  {jrevrrjuoaTt})  was  so 
Pentecost,  called  because  it  was  kept  on  the  Jiftieth  day 
after  the  feast  of  unleavened  bread,  that  is,  after  the  fif¬ 
teenth  of  the  month  Nisan.  It  was  sometimes  called  the 
feast  of  weeks,  because  it  was  celebrated  seven  weeks  after 
the  passover ;  and  also  the  feast  of  harvest  or  of  the  frst- 
fruits,  because  on  it  the  first-fruits  of  the  wheat-harvest, 
viz.  two  loaves  of  leavened  bread  made  of  the  new  corn, 
were  offered  as  a  token  of  thankfulness  to  God  for  the 

1  Numb,  xxviii.  17.  Matt.  xxvi.  17.  Mark  xiv.  12. 
k  Jerem.  v.  24.  1  John  xix.  36.  1  Cor.  v.  7. 


bounties  of  harvest™.  This  offering  was  accompanied  with 
a  number  of  animal  sacrifices  and  with  several  other  offer¬ 
ings  and  libations.  The  festival  continued  but  one  day, 
and  was  kept  with  great  rejoicing.  The  chief  design 
which  Moses  had  in  the  institution  of  it  seems  to  have 
been  that  they  might  acknowledge  the  goodness  of  God  in 
giving  the  fruits  of  the  earth;  but  it  was  celebrated  by 
the  Jews  with  a  further  view,  viz.  in  commemoration  of 
the  Law  having  been  given  from  mount  Sinai  on  that  day. 
And  in  either  view  it  appears  to  have  had  a  typical  refer¬ 
ence  to  the  first-fruits  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  which  descended 
upon  the  Apostles  on  the  day  of  Pentecost,  and  enabled 
them  to  be  effectual  ministers  of  the  new  law  of  the  gospel, 
which  its  divine  Author  had  recently  given  for  the  salva¬ 
tion  of  the  world11. 

Feast  of  The  feast  of  tabernacles  began  on  the  fif- 

Tabernacles.  teenth  of  the  month  Tisri  and  lasted  seven 
days.  It  was  instituted  for  a  memorial  of  the  Israelites 
having  dwelt  in  tents  or  tabernacles  while  they  were 
wandering  in  the  desert.  The  design  of  it  was  also  to 
return  thanks  to  God  for  the  fruits  of  the  trees,  especially 
of  the  vine,  which  were  gathered  about  this  time,  and  to 
beg  a  blessing  on  those  of  the  ensuing  year.  On  this 
account  it  was  called  the  feast  of  in-gathering ;  and  an 
eighth  day  was  added,  to  which  their  rejoicings  for  the 
fruit-harvest  appear  to  have  been  chiefly  appropriated.  It 
is  probable  indeed  that  the  feast  of  tabernacles  was  wholly 
distinct  from  the  feast  of  in-gathering,  but  as  they  were 
kept  in  a  continued  succession  of  days,  they  are  mentioned 
as  one  festival,  and  the  name  of  either  of  them  is  applied 
indifferently  to  both0.  The  principal  ceremonies  observed 

Exod.  xxiii.  16.  Lev.  xxiii.  15—21.  Numb,  xxviii.  26—31. 
Acts,  ii,  Jennings’  Antiquities,  Book  III.  Chap.  vi. 


were  the  following:  (1)  during  the  festival  they  dwelt 
in  tents,  which  were  placed  on  the  flat  roofs  of  their 
houses ;  (2)  numerous  sacrifices  were  offered  peculiar  to 
each  day  of  the  festival ;  (3)  they  carried  in  their  hands 
branches  of  palm-trees,  olives,  myrtles,  and  willows, 
and  with  these  they  walked  in  procession  round  the 
altar,  singing  some  words  of  an  appropriate  hymn,  in 
which  they  prayed  for  the  coming  of  the  Messiah15 ;  (4-)  a 
remarkable  libation  (not  commanded  in  the  law  of  Moses 
but  introduced  at  some  later  period)  was  offered  every 
day  of  the  feast,  at  the  time  of  the  morning  sacrifice. 
Water  drawn  from  the  pool  of  Siloam,  was  mixed  with 
wine  and  poured  upon  the  sacrifice  as  it  lay  on  the  altar, 
the  people  singing  in  the  mean  time  these  words  of  Isaiah, 
with  joy  shall  ye  draw  water  out  of  the  wells  of  salvationq. 
Our  Saviour  is  supposed  to  allude  to  this  ceremony,  when 
on  the  last  day,  the  great  day  of  the  feast  of  tabernacles, 
he  stood  and  cried  saying,  If  any  man  thirst  let  him 
come  unto  me  and  drink1'. 

No  festival  was  attended  with  greater  rejoicings  than 
this:  and  as  it  happened  to  take  place  at  the  time  of 
vintage,  some  ancient  authors  were  led  to  believe  that 
it  was  celebrated  in  honour  of  Bacchuss. 

Fast  of  4.  The  fast  of  expiation  or  day  of  atonement 

Expiation,  began  in  the  evening  of  the  ninth  day  of  the 
month  Tisri  and  lasted  till  the  evening  of  the  tenth.  It 
differed  from  the  festivals  above-mentioned,  in  that  they 
■were  days  of  joy  and  thanksgiving,  but  this  was  a  day  of 
fasting,  humiliation,  and  confession  of  sins;  and  it  was  the 
only  one,  of  that  kind,  of  divine  appointment.  It  was  to 
be  kept  with  all  the  religious  regard  of  a  sabbath,  and 

p  Psal.  cxviii.  25.  q  Isai.  xii.  3.  1  John  vii.  37. 

Plutarch.  Sympos.  Lib.  IV.  qurest.  5.  Tacit.  Hist.  Lib.  V,  c.  5. 


with  the  offering  of  sacrifices,  first  for  the  high  priest  and 
his  family,  and  then  for  the  people.  Of  the  numerous 
victims  offered  on  this  day  the  most  remarkable  were  the 
two  goats  which  the  high  priest  was  to  receive  from  the 
congregation,  and  to  present  before  the  Lord  at  the  door 
of  the  tabernacle  ;  casting  lots  wdiich  of  the  two  should  be 
sacrificed  as  a  sin-offering,  and  which  should  be  sent  as  a 
scape-goat  into  the  wilderness.  The  service  of  this  day 
was  chiefly  performed  by  the  high-priest;  it  being  his 
duty  to  kill  and  offer  the  sacrifices,  and  sprinkle  their 
blood  with  his  own  hands.  This  was  the  only  day  in  the 
year  in  which  he  was  permitted  to  enter  into  the  Holy  of 
Hoi  ies ;  and  therefore  he  was  obliged  to  prepare  himself 
for  that  great  solemnity  several  days  beforehand  with  par¬ 
ticular  care.  On  the  day  of  the  fast,  he  first  entered  with 
a  large  quantity  of  incense,  that  the  smoke  of  it  might  fill 
the  place  so  as  to  cover  the  mercy-seat  from  sight:  he 
then  came  out  and  dipped  his  fingers  in  the  blood  of  the 
bullock  which  he  had  offered  for  himself,  and  went  and 
sprinkled  it  towards  the  mercy-seat  seven  times.  This 
done,  he  killed  the  goat  as  a  sin-offering  for  the  people, 
and  went  and  sprinkled  the  mercy-seat  with  the  blood 
of  it  as  he  had  done  with  that  of  the  bullock,  and  by 
these  aspersions  the  tabernacle  was  purified  from  the 
pollution  of  the  people’s  sins  and  transgressions.  Next, 
the  scape-goat  was  brought  to  him,  and  having  confessed 
his  own  sins  and  those  of  the  whole  nation,  and  laid  them 
as  it  were  upon  its  head,  he  sent  it  into  the  wilderness*. 

The  whole  of  this  ceremony  had  a  typical  reference 
to  the  atonement  made  for  the  sins  of  the  world  by  Jesus 
Christ.  The  expiatory  sacrifices  were  typical  of  the  true 
expiation  made  by  Him;  and  the  high  priest’s  confessing 

1  Levit.  xvi. 


the  sins  of  the;  people  and  laying  them  upon  the  head  of 
the  scape-goat  was  figurative  of  the  imputation  of  sin  to 
Christ,  u  who  was  made  sin  for  us”  and  “  on  whom  is  laid 
the  iniquity  of  us  allu.”  The  entering  of  the  high  priest 
into  the  Holy  of  Holies  with  the  blood  of  the  sacrifice,  is 
interpreted  by  St.  Paul  to  be  typical  of  Christ’s  ascension 
to  heaven,  and  of  his  intercession  for  mankind  in  virtue 
of  the  sacrifice  of  his  death x. 

Moses  appointed  other  festivals,  which  were  observed 
with  less  solemnity  than  the  preceding;  and  it  was  not 
required  that  all  the  Israelites  should  be  assembled  to 
celebrate  them  at  the  place  of  the  sanctuary.  The  new 
moons ,  that  is,  the  first  days  of  the  several  months,  were 
regarded  as  holy,  yet  so  that  work  on  them  was  not 
forbidden.  The  celebration  of  them  consisted  in  certain 
additional  sacrifices  and  offerings y.  But  one  particular 
new  moon  was  distinguished  from  the  rest  and  ordered 
to  be  kept  as  a  sabbath,  by  the  intermission  of  all  manner 
of  work.  This  was  the  new  moon  of  Tisri,  the  first 
month  of  the  civil  year.  It  was  called  the  feast  of 
trumpet's;  for  besides  sounding  the  trumpets  over  the 
sacrifices  as  on  other  new  moons  and  festivals,  this  was  to 
be  “  a  day  of  blowing  the  trumpets,”  that  is,  as  the  ancient 
Jewish  writers  understand  it,  they  were  to  be  blown  from 
morning  to  evening,  or  at  least  more  on  this  day  than  on 
any  other2.  The  reason  of  this  festival  is  no  where  given 
in  Scripture.  Some  have  conjectured  that  it  was  to 
commemorate  the  creation  of  the  world,  which  was  sup¬ 
posed  to  have  taken  place  at  this  season ;  others,  that  it 
was  to  render  the  beginning  of  the  civil  year  more 

11  2  Cor.  v.  21.  Isai.  liii.  6.  ^  Heb.  ix. 

y  Numb,  xxviii.  11.  z  Levit.  xxiii.  23.  Numb.  xxix.  1. 


observable,  since  by  it  were  regulated  all  their  contracts 
as  well  as  their  sabbatic  years  and  jubilees a. 

3.  Besides  the  festivals  instituted  by  Moses,  many 
were  introduced  by  the  Jews  in  later  times.  The  follow¬ 
ing  chiefly  deserve  notice:  (1)  the  feast  of  lots ,  called  in 
Hebrew  Puri?n,  celebrated  on  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth 
of  the  month  Adar  *  in  commemoration  of  the  deliverance 
of  the  Jews  from  the  cruel  designs  of  Haman  b,  who  had 
procured  an  edict  from  the  king  of  Persia  to  destroy 
them;  and  had  inquired  by  lot  what  time  would  be  fittest 
for  carrying  his  designs  into  effect0.  (2)  The  feast  of 
dedication ,  instituted  by  Judas  Maccabeus  as  a  grateful 
memorial  of  the  purifying  of  the  temple  and  altar,  after 
they  had  been  profaned  by  Antiochus  Epiphanes.  It 
continued  eight  days,  beginning  on  the  twenty- fifth  of 
the  month  Chisleu,  *  and  was  spent  in  singing  hymns, 
offering  sacrifices,  and  in  all  kinds  of  rejoicing.  (3)  The 
fasts  of  the  fourth,  fifth,  seventh,  and  tenth  months,  kept 
respectively  in  memory  of  the  taking  of  Jerusalem  by 
the  Babylonians ;  of  their  burning  the  temple  and  city ; 
of  the  murder  of  Gedaliah,  who  had  been  appointed  ruler 
over  those  Jews  that  remained  in  the  country  when  the 
rest  were  carried  captive  to  Babylon,  and  had  gained 
their  esteem  by  his  benevolent  government ;  of  the  com¬ 
mencement  of  the  siege  of  Jerusalem,  which  was  begun 
by  Nebuchadnezzar  on  the  tenth  day  of  the  tenth  month  d. 

Benevolent  The  celebration  of  the  passover  and  of  the 

festivalf.  ^  feasi  °f  tabernacles  continued  several  days ;  but 

*  Adar  corresponds  to  part  of  our  February  and  March  ;  Clvisleu 
to  part  of  November  and  December. 

a  Univ.  Hist.  Vol.  I.  p.  GOO. 

®  Esth.  vii. 


h  About  500  years  B.  C. 
d  2  Kings  xxv. 


the  law  did  not  command  that  all  of  them  should  be  ob¬ 
served  with  equal  strictness.  The  first  and  last  were  sab¬ 
baths  on  which  there  was  to  be  no  work ;  yet  the  prohi¬ 
bition,  even  with  regard  to  them,  was  less  rigorous  than 
with  regard  to  the  weekly  sabbath.  On  the  intermediate 
days  labour  was  not  prohibited,  and  it  is  thought  by  some 
writers  that  the  great  yearly  fairs  of  the  nation  were  held  on 
these  days,  when  there  was  so  great  an  assemblage  of  people 
from  all  parts  of  the  country e.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that 
they  were  celebrated  with  mirth  and  festivity.  In  a  former 
chapter  it  was  stated  that  a  second  tithe  and  the  first- 
fruits  were  to  be  appropriated  for  offerings,  and  since 
these  could  only  be  made  at  the  sanctuary,  the  Israelites 
were  obliged  to  go  thither  and  set  on  foot  offering-feasts, 
in  order  to  consume  the  tithe  and  first-fruits.  In  this 
way  the  festivals  were  days  of  pleasure ;  and  entertain¬ 
ments  were  given  or  received,  in  the  joys  of  which  the 
poor  and  the  slaves  were  entitled  to  participate.  The 
benevolent  design  of  these  festivals  is  apparent,  and  their 
influence  on  the  community  was  in  many  respects  most 
salutary.  By  means  of  them  the  people  of  the  different 
tribes  became  more  closely  connected;  they  learnt  to 
regard  each  other  as  fellow-citizens,  and  were  less  likely  to 
be  separated  into  a  number  of  small  States.  As  each  tribe 
was  regulated  by  its  own  laws  and  had  its  own  peculiar 
ihterests,  there  was  danger  lest  jealousies  should  arise, 
which  in  process  of  time  might  completely  alienate  them 
from  one  another.  The  yearly  festivals  were  calculated 
to  have  a  great  effect,  for  the  prevention  of  this  calamity. 
While  the  tribes  frequently  assembled  for  the  purposes 
of  religious  worship  and  social  enjoyment,  they  became 
more  intimately  acquainted  with  each  other;  intermar- 

e  Mich.  Art.  197. 


riages  took  place,  whereby  the  interests  of  families 
belonging  to  different  tribes  became  intermixed,  and  thus 
the  twelve  petty  States  were  united  into  one  powerful 
people.  Jeroboam  was  well  aware  of  this,  when  he  was 
appointed  king  of  the  ten  tribes  which  had  separated 
from  the  tribe  of  Judah.  Sensible  that  the  separation 
could  not  be  permanent  if  the  people  continued  to  pay 
their  annual  visits  to  Jerusalem,  he  issued  a  prohibition 
of  them,  and,  contrary  to  the  law  of  Moses,  appointed 
two  places  for  divine  service  within  his  own  territories. 

It  may  be  further  remarked  of  these  festivals,  and 
particularly  of  the  sabbatical  year  and  the  jubilee,  that 
in  the  very  institution  of  them  is  implied  a  strong 
argument  of  their  divine  origin f.  When  all  the  Israelites 
were  assembled,  as  they  were  three  times  every  year,  in 
Jerusalem,  what  defence  was  left  in  the  country  against 
foreign  invasion?  And  when  cultivation  of  the  ground 
was  forbidden  every  seventh  year,  whence  were  the 
people  in  that  year  to  procure  subsistence  ?  God  had 
promised  “  that  no  man  should  desire  their  land  when 
they  should  go  up  to  appear  before  the  Lord  their  God 
thrice  in  the  year8;”  and  it  is  remarkable  that  no  such 
evil  ever  befel  them  on  these  occasions:  he  had  also 
promised  with  regard  to  their  subsistence  that  “  he  would 
command  his  blessing  upon  them  in  the  sixth  year,  and 
that  the  land  should  bring  forth  fruit  for  three  years h.” 
But  no  legislator  would  have  ventured  to  propose  such 
institutions,  except  in  consequence  of  the  fullest  conviction, 
on  the  part  both  of  himself  and  the  people,  that  God  had 
really  so  promised,  and  that  they  were  under  the  pro¬ 
tection  of  his  peculiar  providence. 

s  Exod.  xxxiv.  24. 
G  2 

f  Graves,  Vol.  I.  p.  1T0. 

h  Lev.  xxv.  21. 



F rom  the  earliest  ages  of  the  world,  particular 
places  have  been  appropriated  to  the  exercise  of  religious 
worship.  In  ancient  times  it  was  usual  to  seek  for  that 
purpose  the  retirement  of  groves  and  mountains.  Thus 
it  is  said  of  Abraham,  when  he  dwelt  at  Beer-sheba,  that 
he  planted  a  grove  there,  and  called  upon  the  name  of 
the  everlasting  Goda.  And  it  was  upon  one  of  the 
mountains  in  the  land  of  Moriah,  that  God  ordered  him 
to  offer  in  sacrifice  his  son  Isaac.  But  when  the  worship 
of  false  gods  had  become  prevalent  among  men,  the 
solitude  of  such  places  was  found  to  be  favourable  for 
the  practice  of  dreadful  crimes  and  impurities,  with 
which  idolatry  has  been  ever  associated.  And  the  strong 
tendency  which  the  Israelites  had  to  adopt  the  idolatrous 
customs  of  heathen  nations  is  amply  testified  in  the  sacred 
history.  It  is  recorded  of  them  that  they  set  up  images 
and  groves  in  every  high  hill  and  under  every  green 
tree,  and  there  burnt  incense  in  all  the  high  places,  and 
wrought  wickedness  to  provoke  the  Lord,  as  did  the 
heathen11.  It  was  with  the  view  therefore  of  preserving 
them  from  idolatry  that  they  were  prohibited  from  offer- 

a  Gen.  xxi.  33. 

b  2  Kings  xvii.  11. 


ing  worship  in  groves  or  in  high  places,  and  were 
commanded  to  make  sacrifices  and  oblations  in  that  place 
only  which  God  should  choose . 

1.  In  the  first  year  after  the  departure  from  Egypt, 
Moses  received  orders  respecting  the  construction  of  the 
tabernacle.  It  was  built  in  the  form  of  an  oblong,  thirty 
cubits  in  length,  and  ten  in  height  and  breadth*.  The 
interior  of  it  was  divided  by  a  veil  into  two  parts,  one 
of  which  was  called  the  Sanctuary  or  Holy  Place,  and  the 
other  the  Holy  of  Holies.  The  sanctuary  contained  the 
table  of  shew-bread,  the  golden  candlestick,  and  the 
altar  of  incense.  The  Holy  of  Holies  contained  the  ark 
of  the  covenant.  This  ark  was  a  small  chest,  in  which 
were  placed  the  two  tables  of  stone,  having  the  ten 
commandments  engraven  upon  them  by  the  finger  of 
God.  In  the  time  of  Solomon  it  contained  nothing 
besides,  but  St.  Paul  seems  to  speak  of  it  as  containing 
also  the  golden  pot  that  had  manna  and  Aaron’s  rod 
that  budded :  probably  the  contents  of  it  were  not  always 
the  same ;  or  his  expression  may  be  interpreted  to  signify 
that  those  articles  were  near,  not  within  the  arkc.  The 
lid  of  the  ark  was  called  the  Mercy-Seat,  at  the  extremities 
of  which  were  two  cherubim  with  their  faces  looking 
towards  each  other,  and  their  wings  expanded.  It  was 
between  them  that  the  cloud  used  to  appear,  which  was 
a  visible  token  of  the  shechinah  or  divine  presence ;  and 
hence  God  is  frequently  represented  in  Scripture  as 
dwelling  between  the  cherubim d. 

A  court  of  one  hundred  cubits  in  length  and  fifty 
in  breadth  surrounded  the  tabernacle.  In  this  court 

*  A  cubit  was  nearly  equal  to  twenty-two  inches.  » 

c  Exod.  xvi.  33.  Numb.  xvii.  10.  1  Kings  viii.  9.  Keb.  ix.  4. 

d  Psal.  lxxx.  1.  xcix.  1. 

G  3 


stood  the  altar  for  burnt-offerings,  and  the  brazen  layer 
in  which  the  priests  washed  their  hands  and  feet  when¬ 
ever  they  were  about  to  offer  sacrifice  or  to  enter  the 
tabernacle.  When  Aaron  presented  his  first  burnt- 
sacrifice  for  himself  and  the  people,  the  fire  was  kindled 
from  heaven  in  token  of  acceptance,  and  God  commanded 
that  it  should  be  kept  continually  burning  on  the  altar, 
without  ever  going  out6. 

The  tabernacle  was  carried  about  by  the  Israelites  in 
all  their  marches  until  they  arrived  at  the  land  of  Canaan. 
It  was  then  fixed  first  at  Gilgal,  where  it  remained  seven 
years,  and  afterwards  in  Shiloh.  In  the  reign  of  David 
and  at  the  beginning  of  Solomon’s  reign,  it  was  at  Gibeon 
in  the  tribe  of  Benjamin ;  after  which  time  the  Scriptures 
are  silent  respecting  it.  The  ark  of  the  covenant  had 
been  separated  from  it  at  the  time  when  Eli  was  judge, 
and  was  probably  never  replaced  in  it.  Having  been 
brought  from  the  tabernacle  into  the  camp,  it  was  taken 
by  the  Philistines,  and  was  afterwards  removed  from 
place  to  place  till  David  prepared  a  tent  for  it  at 
Jerusalem.  Lastly,  it  was  placed  in  the  temple  of 
Solomon  and  was  probably  consumed  along  with  it,  when 
Jerusalem  was  destroyed  by  Nebuchadnezzar1. 

2.  The  temple  was  built  by  Solomon  on  Moriah, 
a  part  of  mount  Sion,  which  was  the  general  name  of 
a  range  of  hills  near  Jerusalem.  The  plan  of  it  was  formed 
after  that  of  the  tabernacle,  but  it  was  of  much  larger 
dimensions.  The  temple  itself,  strictly  so  called,  formed 
only  a  small  part  of  the  sacred  building,  for  it  was 
surrounded  with  spacious  courts,  making  a  square  of  half 
a  mile  in  circumference.  The  first  court,  which  encom¬ 
passed  the  temple  and  the  other  courts,  was  called  the 

f  Horne’s  Introduction,  Part  III.  Chap.  i. 

e  Lev.  vi.  13. 


Court  of  the  Gentiles,  because  the  Gentiles  were  allowed 
to  come  into  it,  but  were  prohibited  from  advancing 
further.  It  was  surrounded  with  porticoes  or  cloisters; 
the  eastern  side  of  which  was  called  Solomon’s  Porch, 
because  it  stood  upon  a  vast  terrace  which  Solomon  built 
up  from  the  valley  beneath,  in  order  to  enlarge  the  area 
on  the  top  of  the  mount,  and  make  it  equal  to  his 
intended  building.  Within  the  court  of  the  Gentiles  on 
higher  ground  was  the  court  of  the  women,  so  called 
because  women  were  not  allowed  to  proceed  beyond  it. 
From  this  there  was  an  ascent  to  the  inner  or  men’s 
court,  within  which  again  was  the  court  of  the  priests, 
separated  from  the  former  by  a  low  wall,  one  cubit  in 
height.  This  wall  inclosed  the  altar  for  burnt-offerings, 
and  to  it  the  people  brought  their  oblations  and  sacrifices, 
but  the  priests  alone  were  allowed  to  enter  the  inclosure. 
From  the  court  of  the  priests  they  ascended  by  twelve 
steps  to  the  temple  properly  so  called.  This  consisted 
of  a  portico,  the  sanctuary,  and  the  Holy  of  Holies.  The 
portico  was  adorned  with  several  valuable  offerings  made 
by  kings  and  princes,  and  with  spoils  and  trophies  taken 
in  war.  The  sanctuary  and  Holy  of  Holies  in  the  temple 
were  furnished  in  the  same  manner  as  in  the  tabernacle. 
They  were  separated  one  from  the  other  by  a  double 
veil,  which  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  veil  that  was 
rent  during  our  Saviour’s  crucifixion.  Into  the  Holy  of 
Holies  no  person  was  ever  admitted  except  the  high 
priest,  who  entered  it  once  a  year  on  the  great  day  of 

This  temple,  built  by  Solomon,  retained  its  original 
magnificence  only  for  a  short  period.  During  the  reign 
of  Rehoboam,  Shishak  king  of  Egypt  carried  away  its 
treasures,  and  it  was  finally  plundered  and  burnt  by  the 
king  of  Babylon.  The  second  temple,  built  under  the 


direction  of  Zerubbabel,  was  greatly  inferior  to  the  first, 
as  appears  from  the  questions  put  by  the  prophet  Haggai : 
“  Who  is  left  among  you,  that  saw  this  house  in  its  first 
glory?  and  how  do  you  see  it  now?  is  it  not  in  your 
eyes,  in  comparison  of  it,  as  nothings?”  It  is  said  to 
have  wanted  five  remarkable  things  which  were  the  chief 
glory  of  the  first  temple,  viz.  the  ark  of  the  covenant, 
the  shechinah,  the  holy  fire  on  the  altar  which  had  been 
kindled  from  heaven,  the  urim  and  thummim *  *,  and  the 
spirit  of  prophecy.  In  the  eighteenth  year  of  his  reign, 
Herod  the  Great  undertook  to  repair  this  second  temple 
or  rather  gradually  to  rebuild  it,  and  vast  labour  was 
expended  in  adding  to  its  magnitude  and  splendour. 
Josephus  says,  that  he  finished  it  in  nine  years,  which 
must  be  understood  of  the  main  body  of  the  building;  for, 
long  after  Herod’s  death,  the  Jews  continued  to  enlarge 
and  adorn  it,  and  the  workmen  were  not  dismissed  till 
the  time  of  Agrippa  the  younger,  Herod’s  grandson, 
about  sixty  years  after  the  birth  of  Christ.  The  Jews 
therefore  might  say  to  our  Saviour  with  perfect  truth 
that  the  temple  was  forty  and  six  years  in  building, 
exactly  so  many  having  elapsed  since  Herod  commenced 
the  work.  Tacitus  says  that  it  was  a  temple  of  immense 
opulence,  and  Josephus  represents  it  as  the  most  astonish¬ 
ing  structure  he  had  ever  seen  or  heard  of,  as  well  on 
account  of  its  architecture  as  its  magnitude  and  likewise 
the  richness  of  its  various  parts  and  the  reputation  of  its 

8  Haggai  ii.  3. 

*  These  were  contained  in  the  breast-plate  of  the  high  priest,  but 
no  explanation  respecting  them  is  given  in  Scripture.  The  opinion 
most  generally  received  is,  that  they  were  twelve  precious  stones  on 
which  were  engraven  the  names  of  the  twelve  tribes  of  Israel,  and 
that  the  oracle  was  delivered  by  causing  such  letters  as  formed  the 
answer  to  shine  with  a  superior  lustre,  or  to  appear  prominent  above 
the  rest.  See  Jennings,  Book  I.  Chap.  v.  Graves,  vol.  I.  p.  318. 


sanctity1*.  When  the  disciples  of  our  Lord  shewed  him 
the  grandeur  of  its  buildings,  he  warned  them  of  its 
approaching  downfall,  and  not  many  years  passed  away 
before  the  foundations  of  it  were  ploughed  up  by  the 
Roman  soldiers. 

3.  Jerusalem  is  frequently  called  in  the  Scriptures 
the  holy  city ,  as  being  hallowed  in  a  peculiar  manner 
by  the  presence  of  God  in  the  temple.  It  was  formerly 
called  Jebus  from  one  of  the  sons  of  Canaan1,  and  some 
authors  suppose,  without  any  certain  authority,  that  it 
was  the  ancient  Salem,  of  which  Melchizedek  was  king. 
After  it  had  been  taken  by  Joshua,  it  was  inhabited  both 
by  Jews  and  Jebusites  till  the  time  of  David;  who, 
having  driven  the  Jebusites  out  of  it,  greatly  enlarged  it, 
and  built  a  palace  there,  in  which  he  fixed  his  residence. 
On  this  account  it  is  sometimes  called  the  city  of  David. 
It  was  divided  into  the  upper  and  the  lower  city :  the 
upper  (according  to  the  general  opinion)  being  towards 
the  south  on  mount  Sion,  the  lower  to  the  North  on  the 
hill  Acra.  Eastward  from  Acra  was  the  site  of  the 
temple;  at  one  corner  of  which  stood  Fort  Antonia, 
which  overlooked  the  courts  of  the  temple,  and  com¬ 
municated  with  them  by  passages,  so  that  the  Roman 
garrison  could  readily  descend  to  quell  any  tumult  which 
might  arise  during  the  festivals.  The  circumference 
of  the  city  in  the  time  of  Josephus  was  thirty- three 
stadia,  or  nearly  four  miles  and  a  half;  and  Hecatceus, 
who  wrote  about  three  centuries  earlier,  says,  that  the 
number  of  its  inhabitants  in  his  time  was  1 20,000 k. 

The  mount  of  Olives,  from  which  Christ  ascended 
to  heaven,  was  on  the  east  side  of  Jerusalem,  fronting  the 

Tacit.  Hist.  Lib.  V.  c.  viii.  Jos.  de  Bell.  Jud.  Lib.  VL  c.  iv» 
X  Chron.  xi.  4.  k  Jos.  contr.  Ap. 


temple*  and  was  about  a  mile  distant  from  it.  The 
village  Gethsemane  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  mount; 
and  on  the  further  side  were  Bethphage  and  Bethany. 
Between  the  mount  of  Olives  and  Jerusalem  there  was 
a  valley,  through  which  ran  the  brook  Kedron.  Mount 
Calvary  or  Golgotha,  the  scene  of  our  Saviour’s  crucifixion, 
was  on  the  western  side  of  the  city  at  a  short  distance 
beyond  the  walls;  to  which  the  Apostle  alludes  when 
he  says  that  “  Jesus  also  suffered  without  the  gate” 

4.  All  Judaea  was  accounted  holy,  as  being  the 
inheritance  of  God’s  chosen  people,  and  specially  appointed 
for  the  performance  of  his  worship.  In  modern  times 
also,  it  has  obtained  the  name  of  the  Holy  Land,  on 
account  of  its  having  been  the  abode  of  the  holy 
Patriarchs,  Prophets,  and  Apostles,  and  consecrated  above 
all  by  the  presence  and  sufferings  of  Jesus  Christ. 
Anciently  it  was  called  the  land  of  Canaan ,  from  Canaan, 
the  youngest  son  of  Ham,  who  settled  here  after  the 
dispersion  from  Babel,  and  divided  the  country  among 
his  eleven  children:  and  Palestine  from  the  Philistines, 
who,  having  migrated  from  Egypt,  settled  on  the  borders 
of  the  Mediterranean  and  gave  their  name  to  the  whole 
country,  though  they  never  possessed  more  than  a  small 
part  of  it.  In  Scripture  it  is  frequently  distinguished 
by  other  names,  such  as  the  Land  of  Promise ,  the  Land  of 
God ,  the  Land  of  Israel. 

It  is  impossible  to  give,  within  the  necessary  limits 
of  this  work,  any  satisfactory  description  of  the 
boundaries  and  provinces  of  Judaea,  or  of  its  numerous 
cities,  and  many  circumstances  pertaining  to  it  which  are 
worthy  of  notice:  the  few  remarks  therefore  which  follow, 
will  relate  merely  to  its  general  aspect  and  the  produc¬ 
tiveness  of  its  soil. 

It  is  described  by  Moses  as  (t  a  good  land,  a  land  of 


brooks  of  water,  of  fountains  and  depths,  that  spring 
out  of  valleys  and  hills;  a  land  of  wheat  and  barley, 
and  vines,  and  fig-trees,  and  pomegranates,  a  land  of 
oil-olive,  and  honey1/’  It  even  exceeded  the  land  of 
Egypt,  so  much  celebrated  for  its  fertility  by  ancient 
writers;  especially  in  the  number  of  cattle  which  it 
produced,  and  in  the  quantity  and  excellence  of  its  wine, 
oil,  and  fruits.  Those  parts  of  it  which  in  Scripture  are 
called  deserts  or  wildernesses  were  not  desolate,  as  the 
words  appear  to  imply :  many  of  them,  though  unfit 
for  tillage,  were  inhabited,  and  afforded  pasturage  for 
cattle.  Some  districts  are  mountainous  and  rocky,  but 
the  industry  of  the  Jews,  whose  attention  was  occupied 
chiefly  with  agriculture,  made  the  most  barren  places 
yield  some  kind  of  produce.  The  very  rocks  which 
now  appear  quite  bare  and  naked,  were  made  fruitful, 
being  covered  by  the  ancient  proprietors  with  earth, 
which  has  been  since  washed  away;  and  there  were 
few  spots  in  the  whole  land  that  were  not  improved, 
to  the  production  of  something  or  other  ministering  to 
the  support  of  human  lifem.  Besides  therefore  supporting 
its  own  great  population,  it  was  able  to  supply  other 
countries  with  large  quantities  of  corn  and  fruits11.  Such 
is  the  description  of  the  ancient  fruitfulness  of  Judaea, 
given  in  the  Scriptures,  and  also  by  many  profane 
writers0.  Nor,  even  in  its  present  decayed  and  neglected 
state,  are  indications  wanting  of  its  natural  richness  and 
fertility,  sufficient  to  show  that  want  of  cultivation  is  the 
chief  if  not  the  only  cause  of  the  comparative  poverty 
in  which  it  is  now  seen.  This  poverty  is  not  owing 

1  Deut.  viii.  7,  8.  m  Maundrell,  p.  65. 

n  1  Sam.  xxiv.  1  Kings  v.  11.  Acts  xii.  20. 

0  Hecat.  apud.  Joseph,  contr.  Ap.  Tacit.  Hist.  Lib.  V.  c.  vL 
Pfin.  Lib.  V.  c.  xiv,  xv. 


to  the  unfruitfulness  of  the  soil,  but  to  the  want  of 
inhabitants,  and  the  aversion  to  industry  in  those  few 
who  possess  it.  Otherwise,  were  it  as  well  peopled 
and  cultivated  as  in  former  times,  it  would  still  be  capable 
of  supplying  its  neighbours  with  corn  and  other  products, 
as  it  did  in  the  time  of  Solomon p.  Its  present  state,  so 
far  from  affording  ground  for  calling  in  question  the 
accounts  of  its  fertility  given  in  the  sacred  writings, 
confirms  their  authority ;  for  all  these  evils  were  predicted 
and  denounced  against  the  Israelites,  if  they  should 
forsake  the  covenant  which  God  made  with  their  fathers 
when  he  brought  them  out  of  Egypt q.  And  the  exact 
accomplishment  of  these  prophecies  verifies  the  declaration 
of  the  Psalmist,  that  God  turnelh  a  fruitful  feld  into 
barrenness ,  for  the  wickedness  of  them  that  dwell  therein r. 
“  The  Lord  rooted  them  out  of  their  land  in  anger  and 
in  wrath,  and  in  great  indignation,  and  cast  them  into 
another  land,  as  it  is  this  day.  The  secret  things  belong 
unto  the  Lord  our  God:  but  those  things  which  are  revealed 
belong  unto  us  and  to  our  children  for  ever ,  that  we  may 
do  all  the  words  of  his  law s.” 


p  Shaw’s  Travels,  p.  336.  quarto.  <J  Levit.  xxvi.  32. 

r  Psal.  cvii.  34,  s  Deut.  xxix.  28,  29. 

On  the  subjects  of  this  and  the  preceding  chapters,  see  Beausobre’s 
Introduction  to  the  New  Testament,  and  Reland’s  Antiquitates 

(i  )  (c  y~ 











Ridiculum  acri 

Fortius  ac  melius  magnas  plerumque  secat  res.  Hor.  Sat. 

n«cra  rexvV  Ka'L  nacra  juedodos  ayadov 
r  ivos  icp'ieadat  Soku.  Arist.  Eth.  Lib.  1. 

Thus  have  I  described  and  opened  those  peccant  humours 
which  have  given  impediment  to  the  proficience  of  learning, 
wherein  if  I  have  been  too  plain,  it  must  be  remembered  “  Fi¬ 
delia  vulnera  amantis,  sed  dolosa  oscula  malignantis .  ” 

Bacon’s  Advancement  of  Learning. 






i  i 

.  ■  :  ;  L 

'  1  4  ;  • 


.  *  . 

•••  •:  -  - 
•  •  '  -  -  . 

m  >■<  .,>  .  .  .  .  • 

-  *  Oi>  ■■ 




The  Preface  which  teacheth  three  things. 


Chap.  1.  A  Division  of  this  Treatise  .  .  .1 

2.  A  still  further  Division  .  .  .2 

3.  Concerning  Construing  .  .  .  ib. 

4.  Concerning  Parsing  .  .  .  .4 

5.  Concerning  Logic  .  .  •  .5 

6.  Concerning  Euclid  .  .  .  .6 

7.  Concerning  History  .  .  .  .7 

8.  Concerning  Divinity  .  .  .8 

9.  Concerning  Sciences  .  .  .10 

10.  Concerning  the  Composition  of  Latin  and  Greek  ib. 

1 1 .  Concerning  Poesy  .  .  <  .11 


Chap.  1.  Concerning  Idleness  .  .  .12 

2.  The  Idleness  of  Smoking  .  .  .  ib. 

3.  The  Idleness  of  Love  .  .  .15 

4.  The  Idleness  of  Novels  .  .  .17 

5.  The  Idleness  of  Riding  and  Driving  .  19 

6.  The  Idleness  of  Billiards  .  .  .21 

7.  The  Idleness  of  Rowing  .  .  .  ib. 

8.  The  Idleness  of  Music  .  .  .22 

9.  The  Idleness  of  Wine  Drinking  .  .  ib. 

10.  Other  Idlenesses  .  .  .  .23 

11.  The  things  to  be  avoided  so  as  to  get  Plucked  24 




Chap.  1.  How  to  demean  oneself  at  Examination  .  25 

2.  Concerning  the  Examiner  .  .  .  ib. 

3.  Concerning  the  Person  Examined  .  .  26 

4.  Concerning  the  Subject  .  .  .27 

5.  The  Doctrine  of  Questions  .  .  .  ib. 

C.  The  Doctrine  of  Answers  .  .  .28 

7.  Distinctions  of  Little-go  and  Great-go  .  30 

8.  Examples  of  approved  Plucks  .  .31 

9.  Topics  concerning  Pluck  .  .  .34 

10.  A  Classification  of  Plucks  according  to  the 

matter  .  .  .  .  *39 

11.  Conclusion  .  .  .  .  .40 


Whereas  in  my  former  Prefaces  I  addressed  the  students  of 
Oxford,  so  here  I  desire  further  the  Students  of  Cambridge  to 
understand,  that  this  book  may  be  turned  to  their  own  account 
also,  if  they  will  be  pleased  to  consider  not  so  much  the  form  of  it 
as  the  matter.  Thus  as  in  other  studies  there  hath  ever  been  a 
generous  rivalry  between  Cambridge  and  Oxford,  so  let  it  be 
hoped  that  in  pursuit  of  Plucks  also,  these  two  Universities  shall 
each  by  aid  of  this  book,  mutually  strive  to  supersede  the  other, 
that  there  be  no  disparity  left  betwixt  them. 


This  Preface  divideth  itself  into  three  parts  ;  whereof  first,  the 
usefulness  of  the  art  ;*  second,  the  history  of  it ;  third,  the  deri¬ 
vation  of  the  word.  To  begin  then  with  each  in  its  own  order. 
First,  for  the  usefulness  of  the  art,  which  indeed  wanteth  no 
proof  for  persons  unprejudiced,  but  whereas  the  generality  is  not 
of  this  sort,  I  think  best  to  say  thus  much  upon  it.  For  it  is  a 
thing  not  to  be  denied,  that  every  art  is  good  in  proportion  as  it 
assisteth  in  producing  some  end,  whereat  mankind  do  aim  in 
common.  Now  of  this  kind  is  the  Art  of  Pluck  ;  for  upon 
looking  about  this  University,  who  doth  not  see  that  to  be 
plucked, is  an  end  pursued  by  many  persons,  yea  and  these  per¬ 
sons,  such  as  from  their  age  cannot  be  said  not  to  have  judg¬ 
ments.  To  these  then  and  the  like,  this  art  teacheth  an  easy 
way  to  this  their  end,  by  a  collection  of  subtle  rules  long  prac¬ 
tised  at  random,  but  till  now  never  brought  down  to  the  axioms 
of  true  philosophy.  Whereat  let  people  wonder  if  they  please, 
yet  was  the  same  the  case  with  all  arts  at  the  beginning,  as  hath 
been  acutely  said  of  Logic  by  a  learned  man  yet  albeit  not 
wise.  Let  so  much  have  been  said  about  the  usefulness  of 
this  art,  which  indeed  deserveth  rather  the  name  of  a  science,  in¬ 
asmuch  as  it  not  only  serveth  for  an  instrument,  but  likewise  dis- 
cusseth,  as  will  be  seen,  the  principles  of  Pluck.  Nevertheless 
as  it  is  still  in  its  infant  condition,  content  we  with  the  term  art, 
and  so  to  proceed  with  what  cometh  next  in  order. 

Now  it  may  seem  strange  to  the  learned,  that  whereas  I  have 
said  the  Art  of  Pluck  is  new,  I  come  next  to  a  history  of  it.  f 

*  Vide  Aristot.  Rhet-  lib.  i.  cap.  1 . 

t  Vide  Whately's  Introduction  to  the  Art  of  Logic. 



For  history  is  of  things  past,  and  therefore  old  for  the  most  part. 
Yet  though  the  art  be  new,  true  it  is,  the  thing  itself  hath 
existed  a  long  while,  yea,  even  from  the  days  of  Cheops,  who 
was  the  first  to  found  a  college.  Niebuhr  *  indeed  hath  it,  that 
the  custom  of  Pluck  was  brought  to  this  college  twenty-five 
years  after  the  death  of  Cheops,  in  the  Egyptian  month  Pilko 
by  an  Ethiopian  priest  surnamed  Hushmug  ;  against  which  dis- 
puteth  Muller  in  four  volumes,  that  the  name  was  not  Hushmug 
but  Hugmush.  Yet  after  all  this  disputation,  still  do  I  keep  to 
my  old  opinion,  for  if  Cheops  builded  a  college,  needs  must  he 
have  founded  Plucks  at  the  same  time  ;  since  in  our  own  days 
no  college  existeth  a  year  without  a  Pluck  ;  whence  it  followeth 
that  a  college  without  Plucks  is  no  real  college.  Yet  was  the 
college  of  Cheops  a  real  college,  and  therefore  needs  must  it  have 
had  Plucks.  But  to  proceed  with  the  history.  It  seemeth, 
that  after  the  days  of  Cheops,  Plucks  spread  abroad  exceedingly, 
till  they  reached  even  to  the  Pelasgi,  by  which  people  were  they 
carried  into  Greece.  For  that  the  descent  of  the  Pelasgi  was 
about  this  time,  Herodotus  doth  amply  testify,  nor  is  it  to  be 
doubted  that  they  brought  wisdom  into  Greece  and  therefore 
Plucks.  Yet  at  this  time  were  Plucks  of  but  a  simple  kind, 
without  distinction  of  Little-go  and  Great-go,  which  waited  for 
the  wisdom  of  later  ages.  But  as  science  grew  and  books  were 
writ,  so  did  Plucks  increase  in  the  gradual  progression  of  things. 
For  it  is  a  truth  not  yet  noted  by  philosophy,  that  as  the  circle  of 
knowledge  extendeth,  so  also  extendeth  the  circle  of  not  knowing, 
whereby  was  Euclid  of  great  use  to  Plucks  even  in  that  age. 
Thus  may  it  be  said  that  Plucks  went  on  hand  in  hand  with  wis¬ 
dom  in  all  Greece  but  most  in  Athens,  where  was  most  wisdom, 
till  at  the  last  after  the  conquest  of  Corinth,  they  were  carried  to 
Rome  there  to  flourish  till  the  dark  ages.  Yet  was  Athens  not 
deprived  of  Plucks  by  this  conquest,  for  being  the  University  of 
the  world,  thither  did  flock  all  such  as  loved  wisdom  ;  yea  of  Ci- 

*  Vide  the  Frankfort  edition,  which  was  published  in  1825. 



cerq  himself  it  is  said,  that  he  was  plucked  twice  by  reason  that 
he  could  not  pass  the  asses  bridge.  As  for  the  dark  ages,  Plucks 
had  been  lost  to  the  world  in  those  times,  but  for  the  monasteries, 
wherein  were  they  preserved,  together  with  otherwise  institutions, 
till  these  modern  times,  in  the  which  by  slow  degrees  our  Univer¬ 
sities  have  brought  them  to  perfection.  For  now  beside  the 
new  distinction  of  Little-go  and  Great-go,  a  man  may  be  plucked 
for  different  kinds  of  ignorance,  each  of  which  possesseth  its  own 
discriminations,  to  be  detailed  hereafter. 

For  the  derivation  of  the  word  Pluck,  to  which  I  now  proceed, 
it  hath  ever  been  a  matter  of  great  dubiousness.  One  person  of 
no  small  wisdom  saith,  that  a  man  is  said  to  be  plucked  by  con¬ 
traries,  that  is  to  say,  because  at  such  a  time  he  loseth  all  Pluck. 
The  which  argument  I  would  allow  to  be  true,  but  that  the 
premiss  is  false.  For  many  there  be,  who  by  being  plucked,  grow 
yet  more  plucky,  as  was  the  case  with  Sir  Giles  C******of 
*******  which  gentleman,  after  being  plucked,  gave  a  party  the 
same  evening,  declaring  that  he  minded  it  not  at  all,  yea  rather 
gloried  therein.  So  falleth  this  first  argument  to  the  ground,  to 
which  followeth  this  other.  For  indeed  it  was  an  ancient  cus¬ 
tom  in  Oxford,  whereof  there  be  still  remains,  that  when  a  man 
was  turned  in  his  examination,  a  person  should  pluck  the  Proc¬ 
tor’s  gown,  whereby  as  he  proceeded  to  give  him  a  degree  he  was 
stopped  in  the  midst.  Hence,  as  the  antiquarians  do  say,  it  came 
to  pass  that  the  man  so  losing  his  degree,  was  said  to  be  plucked. 
Yet  in  this  argument  also  is  there  no  small  flaw,  which  the  love 
of  truth  compelleth  me  to  make  plain,  after  the  example  of 
Aristotle,  albeit  against  my  inclination.  For  verily  it  is  the 
man  who  is  said  to  be  plucked  nowadays,  not  the  Proctor, 
the  which  thing  differeth  not  a  little.  Many  other  arguments 
there  be  on  this  matter,  but  I  proceed  to  my  own  opinion,  as 
being  what  seemeth  to  me  the  best.  For  first,  what  meaneth 
Pluck?  Doth  it  not  signify  to  lose  one’s  feathers?  the  which  is 
suffered  metaphorically  by  every  man  turned  in  his  examination. 
To  me  then  it  seemeth  that  a  man  is  said  to  be  plucked  from  ana- 



logy  to  a  bird ;  but  wliat  that  bird  be,  whether  big  or  little,  land 
or  water  bird,  I  pretend  not  to  say.  The  like  analogy  as  a  further 
proof  is  to  be  noted  betwixt  a  man  and  a  bird,  not  only  at  his 
Pluck,  but  also  before  and  after;  for  he  is  said  to  be  crammed 
lirst,  and  to  have  been  well  roasted  by  the  examiner  afterwards, 
And  now  to  conclude  this  Preface  with  one  thing  more  in 
praise  of  this  Art  of  Pluck ;  let  it  be  known  that  it  shareth  with 
Analytics  and  Rhetoric  alone  of  all  arts,  in  being  an  art  of  con¬ 
traries.  For  as  it  teacheth  a  person  how  best  to  be  plucked,  so 
also  by  the  addition  of  not  to  each  rule,  it  teacheth  a  person  how 
not  to  be  plucked,  if  there  be  any  such.  But  on  this  and  the  rest 
enough  hath  been  said  for  Preface,  so  proceed  we  to  the  art  with 
all  attention. 


Learned  reader,  Aristotle  saith  that  “  time  is  a  fellow-worker 
with  philosophers  in  producing  the  perfection  of  science,”  the 
which  thing  is  to  be  observed  not  a  little  in  mine  own  case.  For 
it  being  six  days  since  this  Art  was  first  published  to  the  world, 
in  that  time  have  many  new  lights  appeared  to  me  concerning  it. 
For  being  at  present  concealed,  I  do  hear  myself  praised  and 
blamed  daily  before  my  face.  Nay  mine  own  friends  at  such 
times  as  they  have  nothing  else  to  talk  about,  tell  me  their 
opinion  of  this  new  Art,  giving  likewise  the  name  of  the  author, 
with  no  small  assurance.  In  this  second  Preface,  I  would  have 
thee  understand  that  I  put  into  thy  hands  the  same  Art  indeed  as 
before,  but  with  certain  additions,  especially  from  the  examina¬ 
tions  just  finished.  These  additions,  if  thou  art  really  and  truly 
studious  in  ignorance  and  idleness,  thou  wilt  find  out  of  thyself 
in  the  reading  of  this  book ;  of  which  let  me  say  to  its  praise,  that 
there  hath  been  no  other  book  published  in  Oxford  in  the  read¬ 
ing  whereof  thou  mightest  more  easily  go  to  sleep,  and  so  be  idle, 
and  get  plucked  accordingly.  Which  last,  wishing  thee  as  many 
times  over  as  thou  desirest,  I  remain  thy  friend  and  fellow 

Nov.  13,  1835. 


CHAP.  I. 

A  Division  of  the  Treatise. 

Let  the  Art  *  of  Pluck  be  that  art  which  teach  - 
eth  how  most  thoroughly  to  be  plucked,  the  easiest 
way,  in  the  shortest  time,  under  a  case  the  most 
difficulty  For  truly,  it  is  an  easy  task  to  be 
plucked,  for  one  ignorant  altogether  of  things ;  but 
the  fine  thing  is,  for  one  who  cometh  from  school 
well  laden  with  knowledge,  so  to  demean  himself 
as  to  come  to  be  plucked  in  the  end,  and  that  in 
a  short  time,  not  for  one  ignorance  only,  as  of  Eu¬ 
clid,  but  for  many,  the  which  thing  teacheth  this  art. 

Now  of  “  Plucks”  there  be  in  this  age  two  kinds, 
firstly  the  Pluck  in  Little-go,  secondly  the  Pluck 
in  Great-go.  But  as  Aristotle  in  his  Poetics  hath 
thought  fit  to  discuss  chiefly  Tragedy,  by  reason 
that  it  embraceth  within  itself  all  questions  per¬ 
taining  to  the  other  sorts  of  poesy,  so  let  us  also 
in  this  art  of  Pluck  discuss  the  Great-go  Pluck  for 
the  most  part,  bringing  in  at  the  end  such  dis- 

*  Vide  Rhet.  lib.  i.  cap.  2. 

f  Let  it  not  be  understood  from  this,  that  this  art  concerneth 
theory  only,  and  not  practice,  for  as  Aristotle  saith  in  his  Poetics, 
rb  t e\os  tt pa^is  ris  4<ttiv  ;  and  again  in  his  Ethics,  lib.  ii.  cap.  2. 
ov  yap  tV  elhwfj.ev  ri  iffTLV  rj  aptrri,  (TKeTrr6/j.e6a'  aAA’  'tv  ayadol 
y evdfAtOa.  Subject  of  the  Essay,  Mich.  Term. 



tinctions  between  the  two  as  shall  seem  fit.  For 
indeed  doth  not  Great-go,  besides  what  it  hath  of 
its  own,  include  all  the  appurtenances  of  Little-go, 
such  are  Euclid,  Logic,  Horace,  Virgil,  and  all  else? 

This  thing  then  being  settled,  it  remaineth  to 
discuss  the  Great-go  Pluck,  which  discussion  di- 
videth  itself  into  two  parts  as  folio weth.  For  a 
man  is  plucked  firstly,  by  the  preparation  of  igno¬ 
rance  he  maketh  thereto  before  his  Examination ; 
secondly,  by  the  way  he  carrieth  himself  at  his 
Examination.  Now  these  two  things  are  different 
and  beside  them  there  is  nothing  else.  Let  then 
be  discussed  in  the  first  place  the  preparation  of 
ignorance  before  Examination. 


A  still  further  Division. 

But  this  preparation  likewise  divideth  itself  into 
two  kinds,  whereof  one  is  a  preparation  direct, 
the  other  a  preparation  indirect.  The  first  mean- 
eth  such  methods  of  Construing,  of  Parsing,  of 
Logic,  of  Euclid,  of  Divinity,  and  the  rest,  as  be 
most  fit  to  gain  a  full  Pluck ;  the  second  meaneth 
all  kinds  of  Idleness,  whereby  the  mind  is  put 
into  the  best  channel  of  ignorance  for  the  same. 


Concerning  Construing . 

To  begin  then  with  the  preparation  direct, 
whereof  first,  cometh  Construing.  Now  construing 



is  divided  into  two  kinds,  first,  to  construe  Latin ; 
second,  to  construe  Greek,  of  which  each  taketli 
three  subdivisions ;  first,  to  construe  well ;  second, 
to  construe  right ;  third,  to  construe  wrong.  But 
of  these  three  the  last  alone  serveth  to  Pluck, 
being  verily  an  easy  thing  to  do  simply,  as  for  ex¬ 
ample  sake,  to  construe  amo,  “  thou  lovest.”  Yet 
in  a  complexity  of  words  where  there  be  many 
ways  of  construing  wrong,  yea  truly  a  difficult 
thing  it  is  to  construe  the  wrongest  way,  the  which 
thing  he  who  doth  best  hath  best  likelihood  of 
gaining  a  full  Pluck.  Whereof  let  the  following 
be  examples  for  imitation. 

As  first,  since  vices  meaneth  shiftings  and 
changings,  to  construe  mutat  terra  vices ,  “the 
earth  changeth  her  shift.”  So  from  the  same 
author,  horridus  aper ,  “  a  horrid  bore.”  And 
whereas  Livy  hath  the  following  sentence,  Hanni¬ 
bal  Alpes  transivit  summa  diligentia ,  which  mean¬ 
eth,  “  Hannibal  passed  over  the  Alps  as  fast  as  he 
could,”  so  let  him  who  desireth  a  Pluck,  departing 
from  this  method  construe  it  thus,  “  Hannibal 
passed  over  the  Alps  on  the  top  of  a  dilligence.” 
So  much  for  Latin.  Then  for  Greek  as  followeth, 

7 roWrj  ai&oos  ScogarcnfrOopeiv,  HSsch.  Aga.  921. 
“  It  is  a  great  shame  to  squander  ones  goods.”  c ogot 
TreTrXrjyfiai.  id.  1314.  “Oh  dear!  I’m  blowed.” 
haipLovLos  <po/3os.  id.  “  A  deuced  fright.”  atrg- 
(Tovres  yr\v  kcu  vScop.  “To  ask  for  gin  and  water.” 
ep^erai  yvvij  eic  T779  'Zagapetas.  John  cap.  4.  “  I 



perceive  that  thou  art  a  prophet/’  Syvacal  tcopai ; 
Prom.  819.  “  Old  maids.”  So  also  from  Aristotle’s 
Poetics,  SeScScc^e  Se  paXccrra" Opcypos  ^JrevSy  \e- 
yecv  cos*  Sec.  “  Now  Homer  hath  taught  better  than 
all  others  how  to  tell  lies  in  the  right  style.”  From 
which  examples  is  seen  how  first,  simple  words 
which  cannot  be  construed  wrong,  so  far  as  gram¬ 
mar  concerneth,  may  yet  be  turned  to  a  wrong 
meaning  by  fit  attention;  how  secondly,  a  complex 
sentence  so  turned  to  a  wrong  meaning,  may  yet 
be  further  improved  in  wrongness  by  bad  gram¬ 
mar  :  as  happened  with  Mr.  Thomas  T***  of  *****, 
who  when  he  had  construed  Hannibal  Alpes  tran¬ 
swit  summa  diligentia ,  “Hannibal  passed  over  the 
Alps  on  the  top  of  a  dilligence,”  was  straightway  re¬ 
proved  by  the  examiner  as  having  construed  wrong, 
whereon  he  yet  improved  the  wrongness  by  bad 
grammar,  construing  thus;  “the  Alps  passed  over 
Hannibal  on  the  top  of  a  dilligence  and  again, 
“  a  dilligence  passed  over  Hannibal  on  the  top  of 
the  Alps.”  So  much  for  good  construing,  which  re- 
quireth  further  that  in  place  of  originals  thou  read 
translations,  especially  such  as  be  of  a  free  kind. 


Concerning  Parsing. 

As  for  Parsing,  which  cometh  next  in  order,  it 
requireth  but  little  to  say  upon  it.  Only  let  each 
remember,  where  he  can,  for  masculine  to  say 


feminine ;  for  singular  plural ;  for  nominative  ac¬ 
cusative  ;  and  so  on  through  all  the  divers  ramifi¬ 
cations  of  nouns  adjective  and  substantive.  For 
verbs,  let  him  not  omit  to  put  active  for  passive, 
present  for  past,  and  future  for ,  present,  whereby 
he  will  gain  a  Pluck  in  good  style.  Yet  to  this 
end  doth  Greek  offer  more  facility  than  Latin*, 
for  that  it  hath  a  middle  voice,  which  the  Latin 
hath  not,  or  but  a  little.  Likewise  it  hath  paulo 
post  futurums ,  whereby  boys  at  school  do  get 
floggings  many,  insomuch  that  at  one  time  it  was 
meditated  by  the  learned  to  dismiss  paulo  post  fu¬ 
turums  altogether;  yet  still  do  they  exist,  for  the 
sake  of  making  an  easy  way  to  Plucks.  Now  to 

CHAP.  V. 

Concerning  Logic. 

Logic  is  defined  to  be  that  instrumental  art 
which  helpeth  a  man  to  be  plucked  in  his  Little-go 
and  Great-go  by  aid  of  his  reason.  For  verily  as 
the  right  use  of  Logic  doth  give  an  acuteness  and 
readiness  to  the  intellect,  so  doth  the  wrong  use 
thereof  mystify  the  mind  and  lead  to  Pluck. 

Among  good  examples  of  Logic  take  the  follow¬ 
ing.  For  definition,  as  of  Oxford  nominally,  “  a 
place  where  oxen  do  ford  through;”  accidently, 
“a  learned  society;”  essentially,  “a  place  where  are 

Vide  Edward's  Eton  Latin  Grammar., 



many  Plucks.”  For  division,  as  of  “  a  plumb-cake 
into  raisins  and  suet;”  of  “a  kingdom  into  Tories 
and  Whigs.”  For  proposition,  as  when  it  was 
“proposed  to  admit  Dissenters,”  which  proposi¬ 
tion,  as  was  indeed  affirmative  at  the  first,  but  be¬ 
came  negative  afterward.  For  the  mood  of  a  pro¬ 
position,  as  when  that  proposition  being  so  nega¬ 
tived  did  put  the  Dissenters  in  an  “  ill  mood.” 
For  conversion,  “some  wives  love  their  husbands,” 
converted  to,  “  all  husbands  love  their  wives” — 
“  Nothing  is  better  than  a  good  conscience,”  con¬ 
verted  to,  “  a  good  conscience  is  better  than  no¬ 
thing.”  “  I  saw  two  cats  fighting  on  the  leads,” 
converted  to,  “I  saw  two  dogs  fighting  in  the 
street.”  Of  conversion  do  all  words  admit,  saving 
the  word  Jew,  according  to  some.  Then  for  op¬ 
position,  Cain  hated  his  brother  Abel;  therefore 
it  is  argued,  he  also  “  opposed  him,”  As  for  syl¬ 
logism  which  in  cases  of  Pluck  is  called  “silly- 
gism,”  it  hath  divers  kinds  whereof  let  suffice  one 
instance,  as 

All  reading  men  are  animals. 

Some  animals  (that  is  to  say  pigs)  are  learned 

Therefore  is  it  not  to  be  denied  that  some  reading  men 
may  be  learned. 


Concerning  Euclid. 

Of  Euclid  is  but  little  to  be  said,  save  that  for 
Pluck  it  is  best  to  be  learned  by  rote  and  not  by 
understanding.  Also  to  the  same  end,  it  is  a 



good  thing  to  take  for  granted  such  problems  as 
be  difficult  to  learn.  Wherefore  let  thy  Euclid  be 
bought  second-hand,  for  so  shall  two  advantages 
accrue  to  thee,  inasmuch  as  firstly,  thou  shalt 
know  by  the  thumbing  which  be  the  hard  pro¬ 
blems  and  so  avoid  them  ;  secondly,  of  that  same 
thumbing  shalt  thou  have  the  glory  when  thou 
shewest  the  book  to  thy  governor. 


Concerning  History. 

Of  History  useful  to  Pluck  are  there  four  di¬ 
visions,  for  the  most  part,  that  is  to  say  Herodo¬ 
tus,  Thucydides,  Livy,  and  Tacitus,  whereof  He¬ 
rodotus  produceth  Plucks  in  proportion  40, 
Thucydides  30,  Livy  53,  and  Tacitus  44 ;  whence 
it  appeareth  that  Thucydides  produceth  fewest 
Plucks,  and  Livy  most.  Now  the  reason  of  this 
is,  that  Thucydides  being  difficult  is  most  studied, 
but  Livy  being  easy,  is  studied  but  a  little,  being 
read  for  the  most  part,  that  is  to  say,  the  second 
decade,  in  an  analysis.  In  the  reading  of  History 
for  Pluck,  let  each  be  mindful  to  consider  of 
chronology,  as  of  a  separate  thing  not  to  be  mixed 
up  with  history,  for  indeed  history  is  of  things, 
but  chronology  of  times.  Therefore  let  him  be 
careful  either  first,  not  to  read  chronology  at  all ; 
or  secondly,  to  read  it  in  such  a  way  as  for  it  to 
have  no  congruity  with  history.  For  example,  let 



him  put  Pericles  after  Cicero,  and  Virgil  before 
Thucydides,  this  being  the  true  way,  which  in 
geography  also  is  to  be  observed.  For  as  Spar¬ 
ta  is  commonly  said  to  be  in  the  Peloponnesus, 
and  Ephesus  in  Asia  Minor,  so  let  him  who  aimeth 
at  a  good  Pluck  put  Sparta  boldly  into  the  Baltic, 
and  Ephesus  among  the  “  Silly”  islands  ;  also,  let 
each  consider  this  general  rule,  that  in  proportion, 
as  a  book  is  more  difficult,  so  if  it  be  the  less 
studied  it  will  produce  more  Plucks.  Likewise 
this  other,  that  if  a  person  remember  not  one  par¬ 
ticular  event  of  history,  the  first  that  he  calleth  to 
mind  will  do  in  its  stead.  The  same  for  names 
also,  as  to  put  for  Alcibiades,  Heliogabalus ;  for 
Julius  Ceesar,  Og  the  King  of  Basan. 


Concerning  Divinity . 

Next  cometh  a  discussion  of  the  kind  of  Di¬ 
vinity  needful  for  Pluck,  whereto  let  the  rules 
following  suffice. 

First,  Let  a  man  make  himself  master  of  many 
and  divers  answers  in  Divinity  from  Watts’  Scrip¬ 
ture  History  ;*  which  let  be  done  in  the  morning 
before  examination,  so  when  his  examination  com- 

*  Of  this  kind  also  was  the  divinity  of  George  H  *  *  *,  who 
passed  indeed  his  Little  go  with  ease,  hut  being  asked  who  Moses 
was  and  what  happened  unto  him,  said  he  remembered  not,  save 
that  “  he  was  nearly  drowned  when  he  was  a  baby.” 



eth,  let  him  put  in  one  of  the  answers  that  first 
riseth  to  his  memory,  not  minding  the  question  at 
ail  as  happened  with  Mr.  Hugh  who  being 

asked  “  if  he  remembered  what  animal  is  recorded 
in  the  Bible  to  have  spoken?”  answered  confidently, 
“the  whale  whereupon  the  examiner  further  in¬ 
terrogated  him,  “  unto  whom  the  whale  spake  ?” 
on  this  did  Mr.  H****  think  awhile,  considering 
what  answers  he  had  still  left,  which  being  done, 
he  replied  that  “  the  whale  spake  to  Moses  in  the 
bull-rushes.”  Now  this  answer  might  have  satis¬ 
fied  another  examiner  ;  yet  was  this  examiner  not 
content,  but  yet  further  asked,  “  what  the  whale 
said,”  to  which  was  answer  made  boldly,  that  the 
whale  said,  “  almost  thou  persuadest  me  to  be  a 
Christian.”  This  is  an  example  of  an  answer  in 
divinity  good  for  plucking. 

Secondly,  It  is  best  not  to  read  the  Bible,  yet  if 
a  man  do,  let  him  read  forty  chapters  a  day  at  the 

Thirdly,  Let  a  man  be  careful  not  to  listen  to 
what  is  read  each  day  in  chapel,  for  thereby  he  will 
escape  much  knowledge  of  divinity.  For  which  rea¬ 
son  let  him  read  a  novel  instead  of  a  Prayer  Book. 

Fourthly  and  lastly,  Let  a  man  consider  of  di¬ 
vinity  that  it  is  an  easy  thing  and  to  be  got  up  in 
half  a  day ;  so  will  he  come  to  be  plucked  more 
surely,  for  he  will  ever  put  it  off  to  the  last,  as  in 
human  life  is  the  custom  also. 




Concerning  Sciences. 

Sciences  are  useful  to  Pluck  but  seldom,  for  in¬ 
deed  few  persons  do  take  up  sciences  for  a  Pluck, 
save  as  did  Mr.  Andrew  D*#***,  who  being  con¬ 
scious  of  knowing  nothing,  nevertheless  went  up 
for  a  first  class,  hoping  cunningly  so  to  pass. 
However  he  succeeded  not,  but  was  plucked  yet 
the  more.  Therefore  of  sciences  I  have  but  little 
to  say,*  save  that  it  is  best  for  Pluck  to  read  no 
more  than  an  analysis  of  them  in  English  the 
night  before ;  for  which  purpose,  it  seems,  were 
such  books  writ  at  the  first. 

CHAP.  X. 

Concerning  the  composition  of  Latin  and  Greek. 

For  writing  Latin  and  Greek,  consider  well  the 
rules  for  construing  and  parsing,  writ  above  f 
which  will  suffice  for  the  most  part.  Yet  must  it 
not  be  omitted,  that  useful  also  are  letters  wrigged 
and  tortuous,  whereby  the  examiner  is  puzzled  in 

*  It  requireth  a  full  and  perfect  ignorance  of  philosophy  both 
ancient  and  modern,  to  understand  the  sciences  in  a  way  useful 
towards  Pluck,  Nevertheless  many  persons  in  Oxford  do  attain 
to  this  every  year,  for  which  they  are  highly  to  be  praised, 

f  Likewise  Crombie’s  Gymnasium,  that  is  to  say,  so  it  be  read 



the  reading,  wherefore,  further  do  I  recommend  a 
bad  pen,  that  spurteth  the  ink.* 


Concerning  Poesy. 

As  for  Poesy,  it  compriseth  many  books  useful 
to  Pluck,  whereof  are  most  in  use,  Virgil,  Ho¬ 
race,  Juvenal,  and  Euripides.  Now  these  poets, 
wrhen  they  wrote,  knew  not  the  high  use  to 
which  their  books  would  be  put.  Yet  neverthe¬ 
less  have  they  by  intuition  writ  many  things  easy 
to  be  mistaken,  and  therefore  useful  to  Pluck. 
Nay  indeed,  where  they  have  writ  in  a  clear  man¬ 
ner,  still  it  is  possible  to  construe  them  wrong,  as 
hath  been  before  shewn.  Therefore  let  every  one 
in  learning  them,  take  care  out  of  many  bad  mean¬ 
ings  to  choose  the  worst.  Here  also  to  conclude 
do  I  give  this  further  rule  for  poesy  and  prose, 
which  deserveth  no  small  attention,  that  is  to  say, 
to  construe  prose  as  if  it  were  poesy,  and  poesy 
as  if  it  were  prose. 

*  Among  examples  of  Latin  composition  good  for  plucking  take 
these  following,  a  man  of  a  good  constitution,  “  homo  bonae  reipub- 
licae  they  came  down  at  a  quick  rate,  “  celeri  rate  descenderunt ; 
a  woman  of  good  carriage,  “  mulier  boni  vehiculi ;  Theodosius 
was  the  younger  son  of  a  decayed  family,  “  Theodosius  erat  ju¬ 
nior  filius  corrosae  familiae  ;  it  is  well  to  punish  tyrants,  “  bene 
est  ad  puniendum  tyrannorum.”  Also  in  spelling,  as  to  spell 
Horatius,  Horatious,  and  the  like. 

These  examples  are  enough  for  diligent  learners  ;  as  for  exam¬ 
ples  in  Greek,  they  are  not  needful,  for  he  that  writeth  bad  Latin 
can  also  write  bad  Greek  if  it  be  necessary ;  albeit  he  that  writeth 
good  Latin,  cannot  for  that  reason  write  good  Greek  also. 


CHAP.  I. 

Concerning  Idleness. 

Thus  much  for  the  preparation  direct  for  pluck¬ 
ing,  to  which  follo'weth  next  in  order,  the  prepara¬ 
tion  indirect,  that  is  to  say,  Idleness.  Whereof 
do  both  require  much  care  and  attention,  but  most 
of  all  the  latter.  For  indeed  it  is  a  hard  thing  to 
be  idle  for  a  continuance ;  the  which  thing  teach- 
eth  Virgil,  when  he  saith  studiis  otiif  the  which 
also  is  to  be  seen  in  the  idle  persons  themselves, 
who  for  the  most  part  do  seem  weary  and  way-be- 
gone ;  shewing  how  hard  a  thing  it  is,  and  what 
trouble  it  taketh  to  be  well  plucked. 


The  Idleness  of  Smoking. 

Of  Idlenesses  there  be  many,  among  which 
first  cometh  the  idleness  of  smoking.f  Smoking 
is  defined  to  be  the  sucking  in  of  smoke  at  one 
part  of  the  mouth,  and  the  ejection  thereof  at 
another  part.  Yet  is  *  there  a  difference  (as 

*  Likewise  philosophers  do  teach  the  same  when  they  discuss 
the  vis  inertioe. 

f  Vide  Arist.  31.  Eth.  lib.  3. 



Aristotle  saith  of  justice)  between  a  smoker  and 
him  who  smoketb,  for  the  first  hath  the  habit  of 
smoking  which  the  last  hath  not  yet.  Of  smoking 
there  be  two  grand  kinds;  first, with  a  cigar ;  second, 
with  a  pipe.  Whereof  the  smoking  with  a  cigar  is 
divided  into  two  kinds,  first,  with  a  cigar  of  paper  as 
at  school;*  second,  with  a  cigar  of  tobacco  as  at  col¬ 
lege  ;  whence  cometh  a  still  further  subdivision  of 
the  first  into  white  paper  or  brown  paper  according 
to  quality ;  thin  or  thick  according  to  substance ; 
long  or  short  according  to  quantity.  In  like  manner 
also  is  subdivided  the  cigar  of  tobacco  according  to 
its  different  kinds.  As  for  the  other  grand  division  ; 
the  smoking  with  a  pipe  divideth  itself  into  two 
kinds ;  first,  with  a  common  clay ;  second,  with  a 
German  pipe.  Whereof  the  first  is  subdivided 
into  the  straight  pipe  ;  the  twisted  pipe  of  modern 
fashion  ;  the  pipe  with  a  plain  bowl ;  the  pipe  with 
a  flowery  bowl ;  the  pipe  with  red  sealing  wax  at 
the  end,  the  pipe  with  black  sealing  wax ;  the  pipe 
with  no  sealing  wax ;  the  pipe  with  resin  ;  the  pipe 
full  length ;  the  pipe  broken  short,  (as  is  the  pipe 
of  a  coal-heaver,)  and  so  on.  For  the  German 
pipe  it  admitteth  of  no  division  save  division  of 

*  Likewise  on  the  continent  do  they  smoke  cigars  of  paper 
with  this  difference,  that  there  they  put  tobacco  inside,  but  at 
school  the  cigar  is  of  paper  wholly,  whence  it  is  seen  how  wrong 
was  Mr,  H  *  *  *,  who  said  of  this  book  that  it  was  written  by 
a  man  who  knew  not  the  noble  science  of  smoking,  for  that  he 
spoke  of  “ paper  cigars.” 




age,  seeing  that  the  best  German  pipe  is  that 
which  hath  been  longest  smoked ;  for  which  rea¬ 
son  it  is  in  use  with  a  certain  tobacconist  of  High- 
street  to  employ,  on  direction,  two  boys  for  smok¬ 
ing  new  pipes  into  old.  Thus  much  for  the  in¬ 
strument  wherewith  smoking  is  done.  As  for  the 
manner  of  smoking,  it  is  of  divers  kinds.  Some 
do  smoke  sitting,  some  walking,  and  some  standing. 
For  sitting;  a  man  may  smoke  first,  in  his  own 
rooms ;  second,  in  another  man’s  rooms ;  each  of 
which  admitteth  the  subdivision  following.  For 
it  is  possible  to  smoke  at  the  fire,  which  may  be 
done,  first,  with  legs  over  the  grate ;  second,  with 
legs  on  the  grate  ;  third,  with  legs  under  the 
grate.  And  it  is  possible  to  smoke  at  table,  which 
may  be  done,  first,  at  breakfast  ;  second,  at 
luncheon ;  third,  at  tea  ;  fourth,  at  supper;  which 
last  is  most  practised.  Now  all  these  instruments 
and  manners  of  smoking  are  useful  to  Pluck ;  but 
as  to  which  produceth  most  idleness,  and  there¬ 
fore  most  Pluck,  it  is  hard  to  say  :  for  every  one 
differeth  in  his  adaptation  to  things  external.  Yet 
in  the  abstract  is  standing  more  idle  than  walking? 
and  therefore  to  be  preferred ;  as  likewise  is  sit¬ 
ting  more  idle  than  standing.  Also  in  the  ab¬ 
stract,  to  smoke  with  a  German  pipe  hath  in  it 
more  of  laziness  than  to  smoke  with  a  cigar ;  for 
why  ?  He  who  smoketh  ydth  a  cigar  hath  need 
to  reach  his  hand  for  another  when  the  first  is 
smoked  ;  but  he  that  useth  a  German  pipe  may 



sit  a  long  while,  for  that  it  lasteth  longer.  There¬ 
fore  is  it  found  in  the  records  of  Oxford,  that  in 
the  year  1 833,  of  those  that  used  German  pipes 
were  plucked  72,  but  of  those  that  used  cigars  only 
53.  Whence  for  the  most  part  do  I  recommend 
German  pipes,  as  being  the  better  way  of  prose¬ 
cuting  idleness  with  vigour. 


The  Idleness  of  Love . 

Next  cometh  the  idleness  of  Love  which  lead- 
eth  to  no  few  Plucks.  For  he  that  is  in  love  *, 

albeit  his  dictionary  lie  open  before  him,  thinketh 

not  of  study.  He  walketh  backward  and  forward 
in  his  rooms ;  he  turneth  his  back  to  the  fire  lift¬ 
ing  up  his  coat-tail;  he  looketh  out  of  the  window 
wishing  to  be  a  bird;  he  openeth  the  most  secret 
part  of  his  desk  for  a  lock  of  hair  and  so  passeth 
his  time,  thinking  thereon  till  his  Little-go  or 
Great-go  cometh  unawares.  Of  love  are  there  di¬ 
vers  kinds  according  to  the  person  loved,  where¬ 
fore  it  followeth  to  consider,  what  sort  of  lady  pro- 
duceth  the  love  most  likely  to  cause  Pluck. 

Now  ladies  may  be  considered  in  three  ways 
first,  as  to  substance ;  second,  as  to  quality;  third, 
as  to  relation. 

Under  category  of  substance  co  rich 

*  Vide  Rhet.  lib.  i.  cap.  5 



lady,  the  fat  lady,  the  tall  lady,  the  heavy  lady, 
the  plump  lady,  together  with  the  contraries  there¬ 
to,  as  the  poor  lady,  the  thin  lady,  the  short  lady, 
the  light  lady,  the  skinny  lady.* 

For  quality;  it  is  of  two  kinds,  first,  of  person; 
second,  of  mind.  Under  the  first  cometh  the 
round-faced  lady,  the  long-faced  lady,  the  wide¬ 
faced  lady,  the  Roman-nosed  lady,  the  red-haired 
lady,  the  gooseberry-eyed  lady  with  their  oppo¬ 
sites.  Under  the  second  cometh  the  amiable 
lady,  the  romantic  lady,  the  quick  lady,  the  sen¬ 
sible  lady,  the  flirting  lady,  all  these  with  their  op¬ 

Lastly;  under  category  of  relation  cometh  first, 
the  lady  without  relations,  the  widow,  the  ward  in 
Chancery,  the  lady  without  brothers,  the  lady  with 
first  cousins,  the  lady  with  first  cousins  once  re¬ 
moved,  and  so  on.  Secondly,  relation  to  age  ;  as 
the  young  lady,  the  middle-aged  lady,  the  old 
maid,  the  lady  with  teeth,  the  lady  without  teeth, 
the  lady  that  useth  paint,  the  little  girl,  the  big 
girl,  the  old  lady,  and  so  on. 

Wherefore  in  considering  the  lady  most  likely 
to  produce  Pluck;  there  being  three  things  con¬ 
cerned,  first,  substance ;  second,  quality ;  third, 
relation  ;  it  followeth  that  the  lady  to  be  chosen, 
is  she  who  hath  the  best  in  each.  As  in  sub- 

*  Thus  Aristotle  hath,  Rhet.  lib.  i.  cap.  5.  Qt)\ziSiv  ape r)/  <ro>- 
p.aros  neyeQos,  k.  t.  A.  see  also,  for  what  followeth,  his  doctrine 
concerning  noses. 



stance,  the  rich  lady  is  best ;  in  quality  of  person, 
the  Roman-nosed  lady ;  in  quality  of  mind,  the 
romantic  lady ;  in  relation,  the  lady  without  bro¬ 
thers,  and  the  young  lady.  Yet  is  it  after  all  a 
matter  uncertain  which  lady  produceth  most  love, 
and  therefore  most  idleness  in  each  particular  per¬ 
son.  For  sometimes  a  young  man  falleth  in  love 
with  an  old  lady  having  money,  as  happened  with 
Mr.  Andrew  who  was  plucked  at  Little-go 

in  1827  ;  and  sometimes  a  handsome  man  falleth 
in  love  with  a  gooseberry-eyed,  fat,  poor,  red- 
haired  l&dy,  if  she  be  amiable,  of  which  last  how¬ 
ever  hath  been  but  one  example  in  Oxford.  There- 
fore  as  I  said,  is  the  matter  of  love  an  uncertain 
thing,  yet  from  what  hath  been  here  writ  concern¬ 
ing  it,  may  one  nevertheless  learn  something  of  it 
at  the  least,  as  regardeth  Pluck  in  the  abstract, 
and  now  to  proceed  to  other  idlenesses. 



„  CHAP.  TV. 

^  W  /d 3 

'Of  the  Idleness  of  Novels. 

Next  to  the  idleness  of  love  cometh  the  idleness 
of  reading  novels,  inasmuch  as  they  concern  love 
for  the  most  part.  Now  novels  are  to  be  consi¬ 
dered  first,  as  to  places  where  they  are  to  be  got ; 
second,  as  to  the  most  fitting  time  for  reading 
them  ;  third,  in  respect  of  their  kinds ;  for  place, 
there  be  four  places  in  Oxford  where  novels  are 
to  be  got;  Mr.  Weatherstone’s,  Mr.  Dewe’s,  Mr. 



Hawkins’,  and  Mr.  Richards’ ;  whereof  the  first, 
which  is  the  oldest  is  in  St.  Aldates’ ;  the  second, 
which  hath  many  new  books  and  various,  is  in 
Broad-street ;  the  third,  in  High-street ;  and  the 
fourth,  in  Magdalen-street.  For  time ;  the  best 
time  to  read  a  novel  is  just  before  thy  examination, 
for  thereby  the  mind  is  diverted  from  study  and  so 
produceth  Pluck ;  also  let  thy  reading  be  at  night 
for  the  most  part,  for  in  day  time  thou  hast  other 
idlenesses  busying  thee.  As  for  the  kinds  of  novels 
they  be  divers ;  as  first,  in  respect  of  age  ;  the 
novel  well  thumbed,  the  novel  that  is  sticky,  the  old 
novel  new  bound,  the  novel  whence  the  preface  is 
torn,  the  novel  whence  the  conclusion  is  torn ;  se¬ 
cond,  in  respect  of  subject,  as  the  novel  that  hath 
many  love  scenes,  which  is  called  by  Mr.  Bulwer 
in  speaking  of  his  own  novels,  the  novel  philoso¬ 
phical;  the  novel  maritime  which  treateth  of  sailors’ 
oaths  ;  the  novel  fashionable  which  bringeth  high 
life  down  stairs,  and  discusseth  ladies’  maids ;  the 
novel  of  real  life  which  treateth  of  elopements ;  the 
novel  religious  wherein  pretty  Protestants  do  con¬ 
vert  Roman  Catholics ;  third,  in  respect  of  man¬ 
ner,  as  the  novel  which  sendeth  asleep,  the  novel 
which  letteth  go  to  sleep,  the  novel  which  keepeth 
awake.  Now  all  these  sorts  are  useful  to  Pluck  ; 
wherefore  let  them  be  read  abundantly  and  with¬ 
out  ceasing,  so  that  the  boy  who  carrieth  the 
novels  be  even  tired  thereby ;  nor  let  it  be  forgot 
to  scribble  notes  on  the  leaves  with  thy  philoso- 



phical  opinion  of  things,  as  of  the  author  that  he 
is  “  a  great  ass  ;”  of  the  book  that  it  is  cc  written 
confoundedly  bad  and  very  absurd  throughout;” 
and  of  certain  expressions  that  “  there  is  no  such 
word,”  for  so  shall  succeeding  readers  gain  wisdom 
by  thy  notices. 

CHAP.  V. 

The  Idleness  of  Riding  and  Driving . 

Of  riding  there  be  two  grand  kinds,  first,  to  ride 
on  an  animal;  second,  to  ride  on  a  vehicle;  where¬ 
of  the  first  is  called  specifically  to  ride,  the  second 
to  drive. 

The  first  differeth  firstly  according  to  the  divers 
kinds  of  animals,  for  some  do  ride  horses,  some 
ponies,  and  some  donkeys,  whereof  the  two  first 
only  do  subsist  in  Oxford.  For  horses ;  a  man 
may  ride  a  white  horse,  a  black  horse,  and  a  bay 
horse,  as  also  a  mixture  of  these,  as  a  grey  horse, 
a  horse  skewbald,  a  horse  piebald  ;  each  of  which 
admitteth  this  further  subdivision ;  a  horse  with  a 
long  tail,  a  horse  with  a  short  tail,  a  horse  with 
one  eye,  a  horse  broken-kneed,  a  horse  that  plung- 
eth,  a  horse  that  kicketh,  a  horse  with  white  hoofs, 
a  horse  broken  winded;  of  which  last  are  many  in 
Oxford.  The  same  also  of  ponies.  Then  for  the 
manner  of  riding,  there  is  this  further  difference  ; 
for  it  is  possible  to  walk,  to  amble,  to  trot,  to  can¬ 
ter,  to  gallop,  to  race,  and  to  leap ;  which  last  may 



be  done  first,  with  the  rider  on  the  horse;  second, 
with  the  rider  over  the  horse;  third,  with  the  rider 
under  the  horse,  as  in  Oxford.  To  these  let  be 
added  hunting  which  differeth  in  three  ways ;  for 
it  is  possible  to  hunt  a  living  animal,  as  a  fox,  a 
hare,  a  donkey ;  and  it  is  possible  to  hunt  a  piece 
of  flesh  that  is  dragged  on  in  front  by  a  little  boy; 
and  it  is  possible  to  hunt  a  steeple,  which  is  called 
a  steeple-chase ;  each  of  which  may  be  done,  first, 
having  a  red  coat  or  not  having  a  red  coat;  second, 
having  a  dinner  party  afterward  or  not  having  a 
dinner  party  afterward.  For  driving,  it  differeth 
according  to  vehicles,  for  some  do  drive  phaetons, 
some  coaches,  some  gigs,  and  some  tandems,  which 
last  differeth  from  the  former  in  being  forbidden 
by  the  Proctors.  Furthermore  some  do  drive 
their  own  vehicles,  some  the  vehicles  of  their 
friends,  and  some  vehicles  which  are  let.  Of  these 
the  first  do  avoid  rough  places,  the  second  and 
third  care  not ;  also  the  third,  which  is  he  that 
driveth  let  vehicles,  is  of  two  kinds  ;  first,  he  that 
payeth ;  second,  he  that  payeth  not ;  whereof  the 
former  admitteth  a  still  further  division  into  two ; 
first,  he  that  payeth  much  at  the  time ;  second, 
he  that  payeth  more  afterward. 

Let  so  much  have  been  said  concerning  the 
genus,  species,  and  difference  of  riding.  As  for 
the  property,  it  is  of  two  kinds  ;  for  some  do  ride 
that  have  property  and  can  afford,  some  likewise 
do  ride  that  cannot  afford.  For  the  accidents, 



they  differ  as  follows  :  for  some  do  break  their 
wheels,  some  their  noses,  and  some  their  fortunes; 
whereof  the  first  is  separable,  but  the  second  and 
third  inseparable ;  for  the  wheel  cometh  off  being 
broken,  and  so  is  replaced  by  a  new  wheel ;  but 
this  happeneth  not  to  the  nose,  nor  to  the  fortune, 
whence  many  do  leave  Oxford  with  broken  noses, 
but  more  with  broken  fortunes. 


The  Idleness  of  Billiards. 

The  Idleness  of  Billiards,  is  an  idleness  good 
for  Pluck  and  not  to  be  dis-esteemed,  albeit  many 
that  pass  do  also  play  at  billiards.  Of  billiard 
rooms  useful  to  Pluck  there  be  eleven,  whereof  one 
by  Mr.  TyrreFs  hath  of  late  been  decorated  with  a 
new  painted  board  at  the  outside.  There  is  also 
another  in  New  College-lane  much  to  be  recom¬ 
mended,  which  was  among  the  first  to  have  metal¬ 
lic  tables  whereby  were  Plucks  increased  not  a 
little  that  year. 


The  Idleness  of  Bowing. 

Rowing,  by  which  is  understood  the  pushing  of 
a  boat  with  oars,  hath  not  idleness  in  its  own  na¬ 
ture  simply,  for  indeed  sometimes  he  that  ab- 



staineth  from  rowing  is  idle,  for  the  reason  that 
he  abstaineth,  as  with  a  London  boatman.  Yet 
when  it  be  practised  in  the  extreme,  where  it  is 
not  necessary,. it  is  an  idleness  nevertheless  ;  as  to 
row  every  evening  in  an  eight  oar,  when  one  hath 
skiffed  beyond  Iffley  of  a  morning.  King  and 
Davis  have  good  boats,  also  Franklin,  and  Mrs. 
Hall  of  ancient  memory.  The  last  mentioned  hath 
a  new  sailing  boat  surnamed  Pilot,  which  by  reason 
of  its  goodness  hath  already  brought  in  five  Plucks, 
whereof  were  three  in  Great-go. 


The  Idleness  of  Music. 

Albeit  to  have  a  good  ear  bringeth  not  a  Pluck 
of  necessity,  yet  the  playing  of  many  instruments 
leadeth  to  Pluck  not  a  little,  and  therefore  is  a 
thing  to  be  practised.  Of  instruments,  the  flute 
bringeth  fewest  Plucks,  and  the  piano-forte  most, 
for  the  first  cannot  be  played  for  many  hours  in  a 
day,  but  the  last  admitteth  of  this. 


The  Idleness  of  Wine  Drinking 

Wine  drinking  produceth  Pluck  each  year  in 
the  proportion  following  :  Sherry  72,  Claret  23, 
Madeira  2  7,  Champagne  13,  Port  90.  The  reason 
whereof  is,  that  Port  is  most  drunk,  Champagne 



There  hath  been  long  wanting  to  philosophy  a  Fuji  and  perfect  Synopsis  of  drinking.  The  question  hath  indcod  been  touched  upon  by  Xenophon 
in  his  Symposium  but  to  speak  truth  that  author  h»th  not  treated  his  subject  in  a  manner  adapted  to  these  times ;  and  indeed  how  was  this  possible, 
when  it  is  considered  that  the  ancients  though  rich  ill  learning,  possessed  not  decanters  of  cut  glass,  nor  knew  how  to  make  either  Punch  or  Bishop  ! 
Therefore  without  meaning  any  derogation  to  Xenophon,  or  yet  to  Aristotle,  I  here  set  before  the  reader  a  Synopsis  of  modern  Drinking,  as  prac¬ 
tised  at  the  Universities  ;  wherein  the  categories  are  mixed  together  so  far  as  appearance  gocth,  yet  may  be  easily  separated  each  to  itself  by  such 
as  are  fond  of  more  logical  exactness.  And  this  Synopsis  is  made  partly  for  the  sake  of  philosophy  in  general,  but  chiefly  for  the  sake  of  this  parti¬ 
cular  branch  thereof,  which  teacheth  how  to  be  plucked,  of  which  drinking  formeth  a  constituent. 

He  that  drinketh  may  be  considered 

1st.  He  that  drinketh  water, 
which  is  divided  into 

1st.  He  that  drinketh 
pure  water,  which  is 
done  when  there  is 
nothing  else  to  drink. 

2nd.  He  that  drinketh  strong 
drink,  which  is  divided  into 

He  that  drinketh 
died  water,  which 
j  divided  into 

k  I 

1st.  lie  that  2nd.  lie  that  3rd.  He  that  4'h.  He  that  5th.  He  that 
drinketh  mud-  drinketh  toast  drinketh  water-  drinketh  lemon-  drinketh 
,|y  water,  as  andwaterwhich  gruel,  which  is  adc,gingerbecr,  1st.  lea. 

ihe  water  of  a  is  done,  when  done,  when  a  and  the  like,  .ml.  Coflce. 

ditch,  when  beer  is  bad.  mandesircth  to  which  is  mostly  3rd.  Chocolate, 

capsized  out 

1st.  He  that  drinketh  2nd.  He  that  3rd.  He  that  drinketh 
malt  liquor,  which  drinketh  spi-  wine,  which  is  di- 

is  divided  into  ritswhicharc 

1st.  Porter.  divided  into 

2nd.  Beer,  which  may 
be  divided  into 

be  thought  tc-  done  after  being  all  which  may  be 
ger.  on  the  river.  considered. 

1st.  As  to  sugar, 
for  a  man  may 
drink  | 

2nd.  As  to  sugar-tongs, 
for  it  is  possible 

1st.  Without 

2nd.  With  1st.  To  use 
sugar,  sugartongs, 
which  may  as  '  ”  ’ 


tongs,  as  do 

3rd.  As  to  cups, 
which  may  be 


With  2nd.  Without 
dies.  handles,whieh 
may  be 

1st.  Beer  pure,  2nd.  Beer  mixed, 
which  is  di-  as  B  eer  Flip, 
vided  into  and  the  like. 


2nd.  Ale. 

3rd.  Swipes, 
whereof  there  is 
in  Oxford  not 
a  little. 

1st.  Brown 

2nd.  White 

3rd.  Wliity  1st.  Essentially  without  2nd.  Accidentally  1st.  Spirits  put 

brown  handles,  as  being  bo  without  handles.  a  umn  drinketh  brandy 

sugar.  made  by  the  potter.  which  may  be 

done  | 

to  exhibit  his  fortitude 
aud  strength  of  head. 

2nd.  Spirits 
mixed  which 

may  be 

1st.  By  thy  scout 
*  n  tipsy. 

2nd.  By  thy  friends 

when  tipsy. 

3rd.  By  thyself  when 



1st.  Mixed  before  the  limo  of 
drinking,  as 
1st.  Noycau. 

2nd.  Curajoa. 

3rd.  Maraschino,  andthelike. 

2nd.  Mixed  at  the  tii 

drinking,  os 
1st.  Cardinal. 

2nd.  Pone. 

3rd.  Bishop. 

4th.  Punch,  which  i 
vided  into  | 

1st. ,  Ie  that  drinketh  pure  wine,  os  abroad. 

2u(L  Hu  that  drinketh  impure  wine,  os 

which  may  bo  considered 

1st.  As  to  the  wine  drunk,  which 
in  Oxford  is 


2nd.  As  to  the  manner  of  drinking, 
which  may  be  considered 

1st.  Bud  Chumpngne.  2nd.  Bad  1 

ort  3rd.  Bad  Claret'.  4th.  Bad  Sherry.  5th.  Bad  Madeira,  and  the  like. 

1st.  As  tit  the  thing  out  of  which  2nd.  As  to  the  state 
one  driokethwine, which  may  be  of  mind  and  body 

1st.  A  large  gloss,  as  used  by 
the  Undeq-Taduatc. 

2nd.  A  moderate  glass,  as  used 
by  the  Bachelor. 

3rd.  A  6mall  glass,  as  used  by 
the  Master  of  Arts. 

4th.  A  fox’s  head,  as  used  by 

...  ./Inch one  drink¬ 
eth  wine,  which 

maybe  considered 
according  to  the 
four  categories  fol¬ 

a  used  by  the 

which  compriseth  the  ca¬ 
tegory  of  relation,  for  it  is 

1st.  To  drink  by  thyself. 
2nd.  To  drink  with  thy 

3rd.  To  drink  with  many 

4th.  To  drink  wine  with 

lation,  as 

With  thy  futher,  when 
thou  drinkest  little. 

With  thine  uncle,  when 
thou  drinkest  much. 

With  thy  cousin,  when 
thou  drinke6t  more. 

in  drinking  wine,  which 
priseth  the  category  of  time, 
for  it  is  possible. 

1st.  To  drink  from  breakfast 

3rd.  To  drink  till  thou  gcttesl 

^th.  To  drink  till  thou  gettest 
sober.  _  , 

6th.  To  drink  on  a  Sunday. 

e  takelh  5th.  As  to  the  place  in  which  oi 

drinketh  wine,  which  compriseth 
the  category  of  place,  for  it  is 

1st.  To  drink  in  thy  tutor’s 
rooms,  where  thou  drinkest  spar¬ 
ingly,  so  as  to  appear  of  a  sober 

2nd.  To  drink  in  thine  own 
rooms,  when  thou  drinkest  little. 

3rd.  To  drink  in  thy  friond's 
rooms,  when  thou  drinkest  much. 

4th.  To  drink  in  thy  enemy’s 
rooms,  when  thou  drinkest  more. 

1st.  Of  Habit,  us 
To  drink  habitually. 

To  drink  without  having  the 
habit.  .... 

To  drink  oneself  into  the  habit. 
To  drink  oneself  out  of  the 

To  drink  with  ones  legs  on  the 

To  drink  rtanding  up. 

To  drink  sitting  in  a  chair. 

To  drink  under  the  table,  and 
the  like. 

waving  the  glass. 

To  make  action  with  ones  legs. 
To  upset  a  glass. 

To  upset  the  table. 

To  upset  thy  friend. 

To  upset  thyself,  and  the  like. 

4th.  Of  Passion,  as 

To  have  a  pnssiou 
To  drink  without  having  a  passion. 
To  drink  oneself  into  a  passion. 

To  drink  oneself  out  of  a  passion. 
To  drink  in  a  passion. 

To  drink  coolly,  and  the  like. 

*tKj  °K) 






least,  and  the  rest  in  proportion.  Of  late  also 
hath  Beer  contributed  not  a  little  to  produce 
Plucks,  for  indeed  beer  is  a  good  thing  for  making 
the  mind  heavy  and  loaded.  Nevertheless  as  yet 
beer  hath  not  such  consequence  in  Oxford  as  in 
Cambridge,  being  a  new  fashion  in  this  place. 

CHAP.  X. 

Concerning  other  Idlenesses 
There  be  many  other  Idlenesses  of  the  like  sort 


with  those  mentioned,  such  are  the  kicking  up  of 
rows,  the  sleeping  all  day  long  in  an  easy  chair, 
as  does  Mr.  S****,  the  writing  of  poesy,  the  going 
to  plays  at  Abingdon,  the  shying  at  lamps,  the 
playing  at  whist  with  the  oak  sported,  the  shoot¬ 
ing  with  a  bow  and  arrow,  and  such  like ;  all 
which,  so  they  be  taken  in  discretion,  that  is 
to  say,  as  not  to  interrupt  one  another,  do 
lead  to  Pluck.  But  it  mattereth  not  to  say 
more  of  them  for  the  present,  seeing  that  the 
principle  of  them  may  be  drawn  from  what  hath 
been  aforesaid  concerning  the  rest.  Moreover  in 
Oxford  they  do  grow  up  naturally,  and  therefore 
are  best  to  be  learned  by  practice,  and  the  close 
following  of  the  many  good  examples  thereto. 
Yet  is  there  one  other  idleness  that  deserveth 
mention  particular  in  this  place,  for  that  it  is  not 
known  as  an  idleness,  albeit  it  is  one;  that  is  to 
say,  the  idleness  of  thinking  upon  one’s  debts, 



wherein  is  much  time  consumed.  Therefore  mind 
that  thy  debts  be  many,  for  so  shalt  thou  come  to 
lie  better  plucked  •  moreover  thou  doest  good  to 
thy  fellow  creatures  thereby,  for  what  thing  is 
more  divine  than  confidence  betwixt  man  and 
man  ?  the  which  thou  promotest  exceedingly  by 
living  upon  trust. 


The  things  to  be  avoided  so  as  to  get  Plucked. 

Among  things  to  be  avoided  for  Pluck  are  these, 
for  in  this  also  consisteth  an  idleness,  yet  not  par¬ 
ticular  but  general.  As  for  example,  if  thou  really 
studiest  to  get  plucked,  thou  must  consider  that 
economy  of  time,  together  with  good  counsel  and 
discreet  doings,  are  vain  things  not  to  be  practised. 
Thou  must  shun  a  sober  friend.  Thou  must  de¬ 
spise  honourable  ambition,  having  opinion  of  thy 
superiors  as  persons  of  no  respect.  Beware  also 
of  having  a  Dictionary  or  Lexicon  in  thy  room ; 
and  take  heed  that  thou  attend  not  lecture  whe¬ 
ther  public  or  private.  But  instead  of  that,  give 
thyself  up  to  whatever  thy  fancy  pleaseth  best  dis¬ 
regarding  all  else.  So  much  for  things  to  be 
avoided,  which  concludeth  this  part  of  the  treatise. 


CHAP.  I. 

How  to  demean  oneself  at  Examination. 

As  to  the  demeaning  of  oneself  at  Examination, 
which  was  the  second  grand  division,  it  consisteth 
of  live  things.  For  in  examination  are  three 
things  to  be  considered ;  first,  the  person  who  ex- 
amineth  ;  second,  the  person  examined ;  third,  the 
subject  whereon  the  examination  fixeth  ;  whereof 
to  the  examiner  belongeth  question ;  to  the  per¬ 
son  examined  answer.  First  then  to  consider 
him  who  examineth. 


Concerning  the  Examiner. 

Let  an  Examiner  be  defined  to  be  one  who 
plucketh,  whence  cometh  it  that  examiners  are  of 
three  kinds;  first,  the  morose  examiner  who  pluck¬ 
eth  ill-naturedly ;  second,  the  good  humoured  ex¬ 
aminer  who  plucketh  with  a  smile  on  his  face ; 
third,  the  good  natured  examiner  who  plucketh 
with  pity.  Whereof  there  is  this  difference ;  that 
the  first  endeavoureth  to  pluck;  the  second  careth 
not ;  the  third  avoideth.  Whence  cometh  further, 
a  distinction  of  manner ;  for  the  first  questioneth 
oft  and  loud  on  a  thing  which  he  knoweth  to  be 
difficult,  making  an  austere  face  and  frightening ; 




the  second,  speaketh  blandly  and  joketh  not  a 
little,  playing  his  wit  as  occasion  serveth ;  but  the  * 
third,  which  is  the  best,  desireth  thee  first  to  sit 
down ;  then  speaking  with  sweetness  indescrib¬ 
able,  giveth  such  questions  as  may  draw  out  not 
thy  ignorance,  but  thy  knowledge.  So  the  first 
treateth  thee  as  a  naughty  schoolboy;  the  second, 
as  a  gentleman ;  but  the  third,  as  a  friend. 


Concerning  the  person  Examined. 

As  for  the  Persons  Examined,  they  be  each  of 
them  different  according  to  their  different  idle¬ 
nesses.  For  all  are  idle,  inasmuch  as  they  who 
sport  now,  do  sport  for  present  idleness;  and  they 
who  read  now,  do  read  for  the  most  part,  that  they 
may  be  idle  afterward  with  better  grace.  Thus 
the  one  set  are  idle  in  practice,  and  the  other  in 
expectation.  Now  the  different  idlenesses  are 
seen  from  what  hath  been  before  writ  concerning 
them,  therefore  needless  it  is  to  mention  them 
afresh.  Yet  let  it  not  be  omitted,  that  oftentimes 
the  person  examined  changeth  according  to  the 
examiner;  for  first,  if  the  examiner  be  morose,  the 
person  examined  becometh  nervous  and  afraid,  so 
that  oftentimes  he  forgetteth  himself  and  cometh 
to  be  plucked;  yea,  even  though  he  may  have 
taken  much  pains  contrarywise.  Second,  if  the 
examiner  be  good  humoured  yet  not  good  natured, 



and  so  playeth  his  wit  with  laughing  and  jesting, 
then  doth  the  person  examined  grow  flippant  and 
saucy,  fancying  he  shall  pass  to  be  sure  with  such 
a  good  sort  of  man.  Third,  if  the  examiner  be  a 
person  kind,  yet  haying  respect  for  himself  (as  in 
truth  be  the  Oxford  examiners  for  the  most),  then 
the  person  examined  settleth  into  his  natural  self 
and  so  is  it  easily  discerned  whether  he  have 
wisdom  or  not. 


Concerning  the  Subject. 

As  for  the  Subject,  it  consisteth  of  Logic,  Eu¬ 
clid,  and  such  other  authors  as  have  been  men¬ 
tioned  in  the  first  book;  besides  which,  is  nothing 
else  to  be  observed. 

CHAP.  V. 

The  Doctrine  of  Questions. 

For  Questions,  they  differ  in  many  ways  and 
are  to  be  considered ;  first,  in  respect  of  sub¬ 
stance  ;  that  is  to  say,  whether  they  be  easy  or 
difficult ;  second,  in  respect  of  quality ;  that  is  to 
say,  whether  they  be  put  in  a  loud  or  soft  voice  ; 
third,  in  respect  of  quantity  ;  that  is  to  say,  whe¬ 
ther  they  be  many  or  few. 

Now  as  to  substance;  the  morose  examiner 
putteth  an  easy  question  in  a  difficult  way ;  the 
good  humoured  examiner  putteth  each  in  its  own 



way;  the  good  natured  examiner  putteth  a  diffi¬ 
cult  question  in  an  easy  way. 

As  to  quality ;  the  morose  examiner  useth  a 
loud  surly  voice ;  the  good  humoured  examiner 
useth  a  quick  voice ;  the  good  natured  examiner 
useth  a  soft  voice. 

As  to  quantity  ;  the  morose  examiner  putteth 
many  questions  and  difficult;  the  good  humoured 
examiner  putteth  few  questions  and  difficult ;  the 
good  natured  examiner  putteth  few  questions  and 
easy.  So  to  proceed  to  the  doctrine  of  answers. 


The  Doctrine  of  Answers. 

Of  Answers,  there  be  three  kinds  useful  to 
Pluck  ;  the  answer  indirect,  the  answer  equivocal? 
the  answer  per  accidens  ;*  whereof  the  two  first  do 
agree  as  genus  and  species.  To  these  three  hath 
one  other  of  late  been  added  by  Philosophers  ; 
that  is  to  say,  the  answer  impudent,  which  verily, 
if  well  managed,  doth  contribute  not  a  little  in  the 
production  of  Pluck,  yet  by  itself  availeth  not, 
wherefore  it  is  practised  but  seldom. 

Of  the  answer  indirect  take  the  example  follow¬ 
ing  ;  for  in  this  last  examination,  a  certain  gentle¬ 
man  being  asked  in  what  year  was  the  flood,  an- 

*  Called  also  taking  a  shy  which  is  here  used  in  the  second  in¬ 
tention  ;  for  verily  in  the  common  use  of  language,  shys  are  taken 
only  at  Proctors,  the  windows  of  tutors,  lamps  and  the  like. 



swered  that  “the  flood  covered  the  highest  moun¬ 
tains  3  but  being  asked  again  the  same  question, 
he  replied  thereto,  that  “  the  flood  of  Deucalion 
is  not  supposed  to  have  prevailed  except  over 
Greece  3”  whereon  the  examiner  asked  yet  a  third 
time  the  same  question,  and  received  for  answer, 
that  “  many  shells  are  yet  to  be  found  in  proof  of 
the  flood.” 

Of  the  answer  equivocal  take  the  following  ex¬ 
ample  :  a  person  was  asked  of  what  substance 
were  the  walls  of  Plataea?  whereto  he  answered 
that  “one  side  was  of  the  same  substanee  with  the 
other  side  3”  but  being  asked  again,  he  said  that 
“  the  substance  at  the  top  differed  not  from  the 
substance  at  the  bottom.” 

Of  the  answer  per  accidens,  as  followeth :  to 
the  question  where  is  Sicily,  cometh  answer,  “  in 
the  deserts  of  Siberia,  near  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope  3”  to  the  question  who  were  the  Pelasgi, 
cometh  answer  that  “  the  Pelasgi  were  two  crows, 
which  settled  one  at  Dodona,  the  other  at  Jeru¬ 
salem  to  the  question  which  party  conquered  at 
Philippi,  cometh  answer  “  Nebuchadnezzar.*” 

*  There  is  another  answer  in  the  records,  which  some  philoso¬ 
phers  do  consider  to  be  the  answer  impudent;  but  the  learned 
W.  ****  in  his  last  edition  putteth  it  down  as  the  answer  per  ac¬ 
cidens,  which  is  this.  For  a  person  being  asked  who  Moses  was, 
answered,  that  “he  won  the  last  Derby.”  This  next  also  ad- 
mitteth  of  discussion:  for  Mr.  G****  being  asked,  “who  were 
the  major  and  minor  Prophets,”  answered  thereto  that  “  he  liked 
not  to  make  invidious  distinctions.” 



Of  the  answer  impudent,  there  is  but  one  ex¬ 
ample  of  note  ;  for  a  person  being  asked  in  what 
way  the  pyramids  were  built,  according  to  He¬ 
rodotus,  answered  thereto,  that  “  he  was  a  gentle¬ 
man  and  not  a  bricklayer.” 

Thus  much  for  the  examiner,  the  person  exa¬ 
mined,  the  subject,  the  question,  and  the  answer ; 
whence  it  is  to  be  seen  clearly,  that,  as  respecteth 
demeanour  at  examination,  it  is  best  for  Pluck 
that  the  examiner  be  morose ;  that  the  person  ex¬ 
amined  be  nervous  and  idle ;  that  the  subject  be 
such  as  he  comprehendeth  not ;  that  the  questions 
be  many  and  difficult;  and  that  the  answers  be 
per  accidens. 


Distinctions  of  Little-Go  and  Great-go. 

Now  all  this,  together  with  the  two  former 
books,  hath  been  said  of  Great-go  indeed  particu¬ 
larly,  yet  also  of  Little-go,  the  appurtenances  of 
which  Great-go  compriseth,  as  was  before  said. 
Yet  since  there  be  some  things  wherein  these  two 
do  difter,  it  followetli  to  detail  these  things  in 
order,  that  so  the  apprehension  of  the  whole  art 
may  be  full  and  perfect.  Thus  first,  Little-go  ad- 
mitteth  not  of  divinity,  which  Great-go  admitteth 
of,  nay  requireth ;  second,  Little-go  cometh  always 
before  Great-go,  but  Great- go  never  cometh  be- 



fore  Little-go ;  third,  Little-go  adhereth  rather 
to  strictness  of  rule,  but  Great-go  to  philosophy 
of  things  ;  fourth,  Little-go  requireth  not  exa¬ 
miners  of  a  first  class,  which  Great-go  requireth  ; 
fifth,  Little-go  in  comparison  with  Great-go  ad- 
mitteth  but  little  of  paper  work ;  sixth,  Little-go 
admitteth  not  sciences  nor  writing  of  Greek; 
seventh,  Little-go  hath  no  classes,  which  Great- 
go  hath. 


Examples  of  approved  Plucks. 

And  now  that  these  distinctions  of  Little-go 
and  Great-go  have  been  fully  set  forth,  it  re- 
maineth  firstly,  to  give  some  examples  of  ap¬ 
proved  Plucks  for  imitation,  taken  from  the 
records  of  Oxford;  secondly,  to  lay  down  certain 
topics,  whereby  to  argue  that  a  man  will  be 
plucked  or  not ;  and  thirdly,  to  make  a  classifi¬ 
cation  of  Plucks  according  to  the  matter  ;  whereof 
the  second  especially  is  much  needed  for  helps  to 

Examples  of  approved  Plucks  are  the  following. 

The  case  of  Geoffrey  C  *  *  *  *  who  verily  at 
Eton  was  counted  no  small  genius,  being  able  to 
write  forty  good  lines  of  Latin  poesy  in  the  hour ; 
yet  when  he  came  to  *  *  *  *  *,  taking  much  pains 
he  forgot  all  at  last,  and  so  was  plucked. 

The  case  of  Thomas  T  *  *  *  *  who  went  up  for 



Little-go,  knowing  his  books  well,  yet  returned 
not  in  triumph,  for  that  out  of  spite  to  the  exa¬ 
miner,  as  he  declared,  he  answered  every  question 

The  case  of  John  D****,  commonly  called 
Jack  o’Dandy,  who  because  that  his  brothers  had 
been  plucked,  arguing  it  unlikely  that  he  also 
should  come  to  be  plucked,  gave  himself  up  to 
racing  and  hunting ;  yet  was  he  cut  short.  For 
being  asked  in  Little-go  where  Athens  was,  he 
answered  “  in  the  Hebrides nevertheless,  after 
two  Plucks,  he  passed  through  Little-go  in  tri¬ 
umph,  and  so  in  due  time  he  came  to  Great-go, 
which  also  he  passed  in  triumph  after  three 
Plucks ;  whereon  he  gave  a  supper  yet  remem¬ 
bered  and  to  be  remembered. 

The  case  of  John  F****,  who  indeed  had 
read  not  a  little,  and  thereby  being  certain  of  a 
pass,  nevertheless  was  plucked.  For  truly  many 
friends  offering  to  bet  with  him  that  he  would 
pass,  he  took  their  bets  with  the  cunning  intent  of 
demeaning  himself  ill ;  for  his  debts  were  many, 
especially  to  Mr.  p***##  for  horses.  Thereupon 
when  his  examination  came,  he  did  his  best  to  be 
plucked  and  so  succeeded,  pocketing  thereby 
manv  hundreds. 


The  case  of  Paul  P****,  who  on  the  morning 
of  his  examination,  did  eat  eleven  sausages,  one 
cold  chicken,  fivQ  slices  of  ham,  three  eggs,  yea  and 
toast  with  bread  and  butter  besides,  in  quantity 



not  to  be  conceived ;  whereby  he  thought  to  make 
himself  courageous,  yet  was  mistaken,  for  he  gained 
nought  thereby  save  a  Pluck  and  a  head-ache. 
Nevertheless  he  passed  next  time,  although  he 
was  fat  exceedingly,  whence  had  a  wit  said  ot 
him,  that  he  was  too  fat  to  squeeze  through.  Yet 
are  wits  sometimes  wrong,  as  in  this  case,  the 
reason  whereof  is,  that  they  do  for  the  most  part 
choose  what  is  funny,  rather  than  what  is  true. 

The  case  of  Joseph  J  *****  *?  who  being  in 
love,  meditated  thereon  till  his  Great-go  came, 
wherein  being  plucked  he  cleared  twenty  thousand 
pounds.  For  indeed,  when  he  got  home,  he  wisely 
told  the  lady  that  to  be  plucked  was  the  greatest 
honour  in  Oxford  :  whereby  gaining  admiration, 
he  came  to  be  married  next  week.  So  he  quitted 
College,  yet  first  paid  a  visit  to  the  examiner  with 
many  thanks. 

The  case  of  Andrew  who  having  put  up 

his  name,  thinking  himself  ready  for  Little-go, 
was  told  by  his  tutor  afterward,  that  he  was  sure 
to  come  to  a  Pluck ;  yet  scorned  he  to  take  his 
name  down,  and  therefore  was  plucked  with  no 
small  glory. 

The  case  of  Henry  ****,  in  this  last  examina¬ 
tion  who,  when  he  was  examined,  answering  each 
question  with  a  pun  was  not  understood;  so  when 
he  came  to  be  plucked,  the  examiner  said  of  him 
to  a  friend  in  secret,  (which  was  afterward  told, 
as  is  common  at  Oxford,  in  public,)  that  he  was 



witty  but  not  wise,  thereby  meaning  that  he  would 
have  passed  but  for  his  puns  which  he  made, 

The  case  of  a  gentleman,  whose  name  shall  not 
be  mentioned  in  this  place,  who  indeed  laughed 
exceedingly  at  another  for  being  plucked,  yet  in 
the  end  was  plucked  himself,  for  that  he  could 
not  write  Latin. 

The  case  of  Abel  P***,who  was  plucked  in  Little- 
go,  and  afterward  added  thereto  so  many  other 
honours,  that  none  were  left  for  those  that  followed. 

So  much  for  instances  of  approved  Plucks, 
whereon  it  seemeth  fit  to  notice,  that  sometimes 
one  ignorance  only,  as  of  Euclid,  leadeth  to  Pluck, 
as  also  one  idleness  only,  as  of  smoking.  Yet  to 
him  who  aimeth  at  Pluck,  it  is  best  to  make  sure 
of  it  by  many  idlenesses  and  many  ignorances, 
whereby  his  Pluck  will  be  more  certain  before  ex¬ 
amination  and  more  perfect  afterward. 


Topics  concerning  Pluck. 

For  arguing  that  a  man  will  be  plucked  take  the 
Topics  following,  which  are  writ  according  to  the 
manner  indeed  of  Aristotle,  but  with  allowance 
for  modern  times  :  now  among  men  likely  to  be 
plucked  are  these  for  the  most  part. 

He  that  hath  no  friends,  he  that  hath  many 



friends  ;*  the  first,  because  he  hath  none  to  put 
him  in  the  way  to  escape  Pluck ;  the  second,  be¬ 
cause  he  hath  many  to  draw  him  therefrom.  He 
that  liketh  good  eating.  lie  that  liketh  good  drink¬ 
ing.  He  that  goeth  to  Ascot  races.  He  that  buy- 
eth  many  cigars;  for  he  thatbuyeth  many  smoketh 
many,  and  he  that  smoketh  many  wasteth  much 
time  in  smoke,  and  he  that  wasteth  much  time  in 
smoke  is  idle,  and  he  that  is  idle  is  likely  to  be 
plucked.  He  that  loungeth  in  Quad.  Pie  that  is 
often  proctorized.  He  that  hath  much  money; 
he  that  hath  no  money;  for  the  first  hath  too 
many  pleasures,  and  the  last  too  little  time,  since 
he  must  needs  spend  time  in  getting  money.  He 
that  readeth  many  books.  Pie  that  readetli  few 
books.  He  that  readeth  no  books.  He  that 
readeth  novels,  for  verily  pleasant  things  are 
novels  and  entice  the  mind  away  exceedingly. 
He  that  sporteth  not  his  oak.  He  that  taketh  no 
exercise,  as  was  the  case  with  Mr.  Benjamin 
B*****,  who  indeed  did  read  sixteen  hours  a  day 
for  three  years,  yet  did  never  pass  for  that  he 
fainted  thrice  in  the  schools.  He  that  sporteth 
many  new  whips.  He  that  mixeth  punch  well;  for 
truly  is  punch  well  mixed,  sweet  to  the  taste  of  all 
but  most  to  the  mixer.  He  that  keepeth  more  than 
one  large  dog.  He  that  drinketh  out  of  a  fox’s 
head.  He  that  hath  a  large  bill  at  the  pastry 
cooks’,  for  such  an  one  liketh  good  eating  which 
*  Vide  Aristot.  Rhet.  lib.  ii.  cap.  23. 


3  6 

was  before  shewn  to  produce  Pluck.  He  that  hath 
many  large  bills,  for  such  an  one  hath  doubtless  one 
large  bill  at  the  pastry  cooks’.  He  that  hath  many 
little  bills,  for  such  an  one  hath  doubtless  one  large 
bill.  He  that  is  in  love.  He  that  hath  been  in  love, 
for  he  is  likely  so  to  be  again.  He  that  knoweth 
many  pretty  girls.  He  that  knoweth  one  pretty  girl. 
He  that  roweth  overmuch  in  eight-oared  boats. 
He  that  hateth  Greek.  He  that  was  often  flogged 
at  school.  He  that  was  never  flogged  at  school. 
He  that  is  his  own  master.  He  that  writeth  not 
his  own  essays  but  employeth  a  barber.  He  that 
thinketh  himself  clever.  He  that  thinketh  himself 
a  fool.  He  that  despiseth  the  tutor’s  lectures,  for 
such  an  one  thinketh  himself  clever.  He  that 
prideth  himself  on  his  coat.  He  that  prideth  him¬ 
self  on  his  waistcoat,  for  the  same  prideth  himself 
also  on  his  coat.  He  that  prideth  himself  on  his 
trowsers,  for  the  same  prideth  himself  on  his 
waistcoat  also.  He  that  is  careless  in  little  things. 
He  that  is  careless  in  great  things.  He  that  is 
over-careful  in  trifles.  He  that  hath  his  common 
books  finely  bound,  for  such  an  one  careth  only  for 
their  outside,  moreover  he  is  fearful  of  soiling  them 
with  over  use.  He  that  hath  in  his  rooms  an 
easy  chair,  wherein  he  constantly  sitteth.  He 
that  hath  a  private  tutor  from  the  first,  for  needs 
must  such  an  one  learn  to  depend  not  on  himself. 
He  that  cometh  from  a  large  school,  for  needs 
must  such  an  one  have  many  friends.  He  that 



cutteth  chapel  often.  He  that  getteth  up  his 
Greek  Testament  in  chapel.  He  that  scribbleth 
in  chapel.  He  that  being  poor  sporteth  Cham¬ 
pagne.  He  that  betteth  and  loseth  many  times. 
He  that  hath  gone  a  second  time  to  a  dog  fight. 
He  that  playeth  oftentimes  at  billiards,  yet  play- 
eth  not  well  after  all.  He  that  is  of  a  nervous 
nature.  He  that  is  a  radical  albeit  his  father  is 
a  tory,  for  such  an  one  thinketh  himself  clever. 
He  that  useth  a  high-priced  walking  stick.  He 
that  weareth  his  hat  cocked.  He  that  weareth 
white  kid  gloves  when  shooting,  for  such  an  one 
is  over  careful  in  trifles,  and  therefore  careth  not 
for  things  important.  He  that  belongeth  not  to 
the  debating  society,  for  such  an  one  hath  no  in¬ 
terest  for  present  history,  how  then  for  ancient, 
that  is,  for  Latin  and  Greek  ?  He  that  driveth 
tandems.  He  that  writeth  poesy.  He  that  hunt- 
eth  more  than  twice  a  week.  He  that  doeth  what 
his  acquaintances  please.  He  that  hath  more  than 
seven  pairs  of  top  boots.  He  that  always  weareth 
a  tattered  cap  and  gown.  He  that  getteth  tipsy  of 
a  morning.  He  that  breaketh  lamps  in  the  street. 
He  that  learneth  more  than  two  instruments  of 
music.  He  that  eateth  much  pudding.  He  that 
hath  an  over-pity  for  others  that  are  plucked,  for 
verily  he  pittieth  others  because  he  feareth  for 
himself*  He  that  eateth  much  on  the  morning; 
before  examination.  He  that  rideth  often  yet  not 
*  Vide  Aristotle’s  Analysis  of  Pity. 




well.  He  that  rideth  steeple-chases  often.  He 
that  hath  many  German  pipes.  He  that  hath  a 
lock  of  hair  in  his  desk.  He  that  feareth  shame 
overmuch.  He  that  disregardeth  shame.  He  that 
thinketh  he  will  be  plucked.  He  that  thinketh  he 
will  not  be  plucked.  Now  if  thou  knowest  a  man 
to  be  in  one  of  these  predicaments  thou  mayest 
suppose  him  likely  to  be  plucked;  if  thou  knowest 
a  man  to  be  in  two  or  three,  thou  mayest  guess 
he  will  be  plucked ;  but  if  thou  knowest  a  man 
to  be  in  sixteen  or  seventeen,  thou  mayest  bet  in 
safety,  since  he  will  be  plucked  for  a  certainty. 

Thus  much  for  Little-go  and  Great-go  together ; 
then  for  Great-go,  they  likely  to  be  plucked  in 
Great-go  are  these  following.  He  that  was 
plucked  in  Little-go,  He  that  made  a  shave  in 
Little-go.  He  that  passed  Little-go  with  ease, 
for  he  will  take  no  pains  towards  his  Great-go. 
He  that  gave  a  party  after  passing  Little-go,  for 
verily  such  an  one  esteemed  his  Little-go  difficult, 
much  more  therefore  his  Great-go.  He  that  gave 
a  party  after  being  plucked  in  Little-go,  for  such 
an  one  had  no  shame.  He  that  was  idle  just 
before  Little-go.  He  that  took  off  his  name  at 
Little-go.  He  that  was  nervous  in  Little-go,  for 
truly  much  more  nervous  will  he  be  in  Great-go. 
He  that  was  flippant  in  Little-go.  He  that  in 
Little-go  wrote  two  pieces  of  Latin. 



CHAP.  X. 

A  Classification  of  Plucks  according  to  the  matter. 

These  be  they  likely  to  be  plucked,  whereby  a 
man  may  judge  almost  for  a  certainty  if  he  wish 
to  bet  on  a  friend.  For  the  classification  of 
Plucks  according  to  the  matter ;  they  are  to  be 
put  in  the  same  gradations  with  Passes ;  for  a 
first  class  in  Pluck  is  got  by  him  that  hath  the 
highest  ignorance,  as  in  Passes  by  him  that  hath 
the  lowest  knowledge.  So  also  of  seconds,  thirds, 
and  fourths,  all  which  do  follow  in  regular  pro¬ 
portion,  and  therefore  need  not  further  account  of 
them  in  this  place.  Let  every  man  therefore  try 
for  a  first  for  so  shall  he  make  sure  at  the  least  of 
his  second  or  third ;  to  which  honours  there  is  but 
this  drawback  only,  that  they  are  not  registered 
in  the  books,  nor  advertised  in  newspapers.  Yet 
it  is  to  be  hoped  that  in  the  gradual  progression 
of  ignorance,  this  also  will  be  brought  about  by 
the  worthy  reformers  of  these  times. 


Such  is  a  classification  of  Plucks  according  to 
the  matter ;  and  so  to  conclude,  let  me  say  that 
this  Treatise  is  now  finished,  wherein  I  take  to 
myself  no  small  glory,  as  having  been  the  inventor 
of  a  new  art  never  before  known.  Yet  am  I  not 



ignorant  that  as  it  is  new,  so  it  must  needs  be 
imperfect  in  part,  which  imperfections  let  future 
editors  mend  as  occasion  shall  call.  For  that  this 
art  being  once  begun,  will  progress  no  further  is  a 
thing  not  to  be  conceived ;  when  is  brought  to 
mind  its  great  use  in  helping  men  to  be  plucked 
on  principle,  which  before  was  done  at  random. 
So  that  henceforth  when  a  man  is  plucked,  no 
person  can  say  it  was  by  accident  or  mistake  of 
his,  seeing  that  all  the  ways  leading  to  Pluck  have 
been  here  put  down  in  strict  order  of  philosophy. 
Wherefore  from  this  time  when  a  man  hath  gained 
a  Pluck  after  much  pains-taking  to  that  end,  let 
no  person  be  so  unjust  as  to  take  away  from  him 
the  credit  thereof,  and  give  it  to  others ;  nay, 
rather  let  every  one  say,  that  he  deserved  what 
he  got  for  his  labour :  and  so  I  wish  my  reader 
farewell,  hoping  from  what  I  have  writ,  he  may 
understand  fully  the  true  way  to  get  plucked  and 
so  act  accordingly. 





In  1838. 



Vf  1.  a.  t  A  r,  "e,  vm  &  \  \ 








.  ,  • 



Learned  reader,  as  the  perfection  of  an  art 
consisteth  in  the  excellence  of  its  theory,  so 
the  excellence  of  an  artificer  consisteth  in  the 
perfection  of  his  practice.  For  it  is  a  small  thing 
to  know  how  to  get  plucked,  unless  thou  gettest 
plucked  also,  and  that,  both  many  times,  and  tho¬ 
roughly,  and  with  ease. 

For  this  purpose  I  present  thee  in  this  book 
with  some  Pluck  Examination  Papers,  whereby 
thou  shalt  be  able  to  turn  thy  science  in  pluck  to 
account ;  and  procure  for  thyself  at  the  least 
a  second  class  in  pluck,  if  not  a  first,  which  is  to 
be  preferred.  As  respecteth  the  plan  of  the  book, 
it  resembleth  all  other  examination  papers  of  Ox¬ 
ford  and  Cambridge,  like  to  them  pointing  out  the 
degree  of  ignorance  that  is  required  for  the  gain¬ 
ing  of  honours.  It  behoveth  thee,  however,  to 



bear  in  mind,  that  this  book  of  papers  containeth 
rather  a  collection  of  the  most  needful  papers 
from  many  sets,  than  one  entire  set,  which  ac- 
counteth  for  the  little  quantity  of  Latin  and 
Greek,  as  well  as  for  certain  other  differences 
which  thou  wilt  readily  perceive ;  as,  for  example, 
the  two  pieces  of  English  for  translation,  and  the 
greater  number  of  pages  than  be  usual  in  one  set 
of  examination  papers.  Thou  wilt  also  observe 
that  sciences  be  introduced  in  these  papers,  some¬ 
what  beyond  what  is  absolutely  needful  for  being 
plucked,  yet  did  it  seem  to  me  best,  rather  to  run 
hazard  of  being  too  comprehensive  than  too  meagre. 
Concerning  the  authors  here  quoted,  I  leave  thee 
to  discover  respecting  them,  not  choosing  to  lay 
open  the  secrets  of  examinations.  Nevertheless 
if  thou  wilt  come  and  be  my  pupil  in  the  art,  I 
promise  not  but  I  will  explain  to  thee  even  these 
secrets ;  and  thus  get  thee  plucked  much  more 
easily  than  will  even  Mr.  A****,  or  Mr.  B***,  or 
Mr.  C***. 

To  conclude,  I  beg  thee  to  understand  these 
things  in  the  way  they  be  meant,  not  following 



the  evil  practice  of  some  persons,  who  are  wont 
to  understand  of  an  author,  that  lie  meaneth  to 
ridicule  things  sacred  or  grave,  because  his  book 
toucheth  thereon  of  necessity  sometimes,  and  who 
do  thus  distort  his  meaning,  looking  not  to  the 
context.  Such  persons,  it  seemeth  to  me,  do  forget, 
that  from  the  nature  of  things  human,  every  book, 
like  a  glass,  changeth  its  feature  according  to  the 
feature  of  him  that  is  looking  therein ;  or  rather 
indeed,  that  every  book  is  likened  to  a  certain 
young  lady  of  Oxford,  concerning  whom,  as  she 
walketh  along  High-street,  Mr.  T.  saith  that  she 
is  horrible,  Mr.  L.  that  she  is  ugly,  Mr.  F.  that  she 
is  bad  looking,  Mr.  A.  that  she  is  passable,  Mr.  G. 
that  she  is  good  looking ;  another  Mr.  A.  that  she 
is  pretty,  Mr.  P.  that  she  is  handsome,  Mr.  F.  that 
she  is  beautiful,  and  Mr.  N.  that  she  is  lovely, 
not  according  as  the  truth  is,  but  according  as  he 
chooseth  from  his  preconceived  fancy  to  think  of 
the  different  parts.  Thus  one  praiseth  her  blue 
eye,  but  another  condemneth  the  same.  One 
thinketh  a  curl  too  long,  but  another  desireth  it  to 
be  cut.  Of  such  an  error  touching  this  book  I  beg 



thee  to  beware,  except  in  the  matter  of  praising,, 
for  thou  hast  free  leave  to  praise  it  as  much  as 
thou  wilt,  in  return  for  which  I  will  not  cease 
wishing  thee  to  be  rusticated  a  second  time,  or 
even  to  be  expelled,  if  thou  so  desireth. 


P  L  U  C  K 


To  be  translated  into  your  worst  Attic  Greek ,  in 
the  style  of  Thucydides ,  where  he  is  describ¬ 
ing  the  character  of'  Themistocles,  Lib.  i. 
cap.  138. 

For  Mr.  Flashman  was  a  person  in  whom 
most  truly  was  manifested  a  natural  strength 
of  head,  wherein  he  was  worthy  of  admira¬ 
tion  beyond  any  other  man  of  his  college. 
For  by  this  strength  of  head  alone,  and 
without  aid  of  instruction,  he  was  enabled 
to  drink  all  others  tipsy,  and  not  become 
drunk  himself  till  he  chose.  Moreover  he 
was  the  best  discerner  of  Proctors  at  a  dis¬ 
tance,  and  in  respect  of  things  to  come, 
could  predict  for  certain  whether  a  man 
would  be  rusticated  or  expelled  for  an  ac¬ 
tion.  Also  no  man  better  than  he  perceived 


where  he  could  run  on  tick;  and  he  knew  at 
once,  by  his  natural  sagacity,  when  it  was 
time  to  leave  his  old  tradesman,  and  begin 
a  new  bill  elsewhere.  Likewise  there  was 
no  steeple-chase  that  he  went  not  to,  yet  of 
him  it  could  never  be  said  that  he  was 
spilled.  And  to  say  all  in  a  few  words,  this 
man,  by  the  powrer  of  his  understanding, 
did  contrive  to  get  numberless  others  rusti¬ 
cated  and  plucked,  but  never  suffered  him¬ 
self  either  the  one  or  the  other,  being 
considered  a  person  of  most  discreet  be¬ 
haviour  by  his  tutor,  albeit  in  real  truth  he 
was  the  most  noisy  man  of  his  time.  Let 
so  much  have  been  said  of  his  character. 
But  having  thus  honourably  passed  his  col¬ 
lege  career,  he  became  a  sincere  clergyman, 
sporting  a  white  tie,  nor  ever  breaking  a 
poor  man’s  gate  out  hunting,  but  when  it 
was  difficult  to  get  through  otherwise. 

From  the  Secret  History  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  as 
translated  by  Hobbes  of  Malmsbury. 

Or  else  the  following  into  your  worst  Ionic ,  in  the 
style  of  Herodotus. 

In  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  and  nigh  upon 
Cornwall,  are  some  islands  called  anciently 


Cassiterides,  or  the  tin  islands,  but  now  sur- 
named  Silly,  which  are  much  to  be  admired 
for  their  wonderful  use  and  excellence.  For 
therein  does  tin  grow  in  such  plenty  that 
the  inhabitants  pass  a  most  loveable  life, 
being  ever  able  to  pay  their  debts,  from 
having  plenty  of  tin .  These  islands  were 
first  discovered,  according  to  tradition,  by  a 
man  of  Cambridge,  who  being  plucked  on  a 
time,  and  having  likewise  great  debts,  deter¬ 
mined  nobly  to  go  in  search  of  them  upon 
the  bare  report.  Therefore  letting  himself 
down  at  night  time  from  his  college  window, 
while  the  porter  slept,  and  being  armed  with 
an  Ainsworth’s  dictionary  for  defence,  he 
descended  to  the  Cam,  and  taking  a  skiff 
went  along  with  the  stream,  through  much 
wild  and  barbarous  country,  as  was  to  be 
expected  in  those  times ;  till  in  the  end, 
after  ten  days’  travel,  he  reached  the  sea 
coast,  with  much  danger  from  the  savages, 
which  nevertheless  he  escaped  bravely,  by 
wielding  of  his  dictionary.  From  the  coast 
he  proceeded  by  land  till  he  came  opposite 
to  a  small  island,  which  having  reached  by 
swimming,  he  found  thereon  much  tin,  lying 
in  heaps  of  sovereigns  along  the  shore.  Like- 

A  3 


wise  the  trees  had  for  leaves  bank  notes, 
whereof  some  were  of  five  pound  and  others 
of  ten  pound,  according  to  their  age.  Seeing 
which,  he  stuffed  his  pockets,  not  excepting 
even  his  fob,  with  the  last  mentioned,  wise¬ 
ly  neglecting  the  first.  But  perceiving  the 
islanders  to  approach,  he  was  forced  to  flee, 
and  thus  escaping  to  land  by  swimming 
reached  Cambridge  in  thirteen  days,  where 
he  paid  all  his  own  debts,  besides  those  of 
his  friends,  albeit  not  a  few  of  the  notes 
had  been  destroyed  by  the  salt  water.  Since 
his  time  many  undergraduates  in  debt  have 
gone  on  the  same  journey,  but  as  yet  no 
one  hath  succeeded,  which  is  much  to  be 

A  True  and  Faithful  Account  of  the  Cassiterides,  or  Tin 
Islands,  by  Herodotus  Britannicus,  in  his  History 
of  Undergraduates. 

Historical  Questions . 

1.  Give  a  particular  account  of  the  earli¬ 
est  town  and  gown  rows  recorded  in  his¬ 
tory.  Are  there  supposed  to  have  been 
gown  and  town  rows  in  Athens  when  it  was 
the  University  of  the  world  ? 


2.  Does  history  say  how  many  caps  were 
broken  in  the  last  gown  and  town  row, 
when  Oxford  was  entertained  by  the  Queen  ? 

3.  Livy  says,  that  the  “  equites”  of  Rome 
were  called  “  celeres”  originally.  How  does 
Niebuhr  prove  this  to  be  an  historical  fable, 
signifying  that  the  Roman  knights  were  ge¬ 
nerally  fast  men  ? 

4.  Give  an  account  of  the  number  of 
horses  driven  to  death  last  term,  and  com¬ 
pare  the  cavalry  of  Alexander  with  that  of 
Oxford  and  Cambridge. 

5.  What  historical  associations  are  con¬ 
nected  with  brandy  and  water  ?  Give  an 
account  of  the  rise  and  progress  of  drinking 
in  the  Universities,  and  shew  in  what  way 
our  ancestors  used  to  get  drunk  when  at  col¬ 
lege.  Give  also  a  correct  analysis  of  that  phi¬ 
losophical  work  called  Oxford  Night  Caps. 

6.  We  read  in  the  history  of  Greece,  that 
it  was  first  peopled  by  means  of  migrations. 
Shew  how  the  same  principle  still  works  at 
Oxford  and  Cambridge.  And  explain  the 


terms  “  licet  migrare,”  and  “  exeat/’  by  an 
historical  reference  to  the  causes  which  in 
general  produce  these  migrations  from  one 
college  to  another.  What  was  the  most 
famous  migration  of  this  sort  last  term  ? 

7.  Give  a  full  account  of  the  last  steeple¬ 
chase,  detailing  minutely  the  different  falls 
that  occurred,  and  what  parts  were  bruised. 
Draw  also  a  map  of  the  ground,  and  explain 
the  geographical  position  of  each  rider  and  of 
his  horse  respectively  at  the  close  of  the  chase. 

8.  How  long  ago  is  it  since  the  wild 
beasts  were  in  the  town  ?  Give  a  clear  nar¬ 
rative  of  the  row  which  occurred  with  the 
authorities  on  that  occasion.  Who  was  the 
gentleman  with  a  glazed  hat,  who  told  one 
of  the  authorities  that  he  might  go  to  a 
place  that  need  not  be  mentioned  ?  and 
what  did  he  gain  in  return  for  this  proper 
exhibition  of  spirit  ? 

9.  Give  a  succinct  account  of  the  origin 
of  the  Debating  Society,  explaining  the  al¬ 
terations  in  its  government  since  its  com¬ 
mencement,  and  the  influence  of  certain 


laws  lately  passed,  towards  producing  a  de¬ 
mocratic  spirit. 

10.  Draw  up  a  statistical  account  of  the 
impositions  set  last  term ;  distinguishing  be¬ 
tween  those  which  were  written  by  the  man 
himself,  and  those  which  were  paid  for.  Ex¬ 
plain  likewise  in  what  parts  of  the  town 
those  persons  live  who  gain  an  honest  live¬ 
lihood  by  writing  impositions  for  the  men ; 
and  conclude  by  drawing  up  a  table  of  the 
fluctuation  in  prices  paid  for  impositions 
during  the  last  ten  years.  Compare  like¬ 
wise  the  Cambridge  and  Oxford  system  of 

11.  How  many  bulldogs  receive  bloody 
noses  on  an  average  every  term,  and  at 
what  period  of  history  did  the  application 
of  the  term  bulldog  first  begin  ? 

1.  Under  what  class  of  revenue  do  you 
put  the  income  derived  from  knocking  in  ? 
Compare  the  revenue  of  Oxford,  in  this 
point  of  view,  with  that  of  Athens  in  the 
time  of  Aristides. 


2.  Describe  faithfully  the  last  match  at 
pigeon  shooting. 

3.  Who  is  the  best  tailor  in  the  Univer¬ 
sity  ?  Account  for  the  invention  of  swallow¬ 
tailed  coats,  and  describe  accurately  the  rise 
and  progress  of  pea-jackets,  and  in  what 
their  flashness  consists. 

4.  What  Greek  books  burn  best  for  light¬ 
ing  a  cigar  ? 

5.  Give  a  clear  account,  with  the  chrono¬ 
logy,  of  the  painting  red  of  all  the  doors  of 
Christ  Church,  and  compare  this  with  the 
mutilation  of  the  Mercuries  at  Athens,  be¬ 
fore  the  expedition  to  Sicily. 

6.  Shew  what  may  be  learnt  of  the  his¬ 
tory  of  the  University  from  the  philosophy 
of  its  flash  language.  State  the  metaphy¬ 
sical  derivation  of  the  Cambridge  words 
mumption  and  spitting  a  cantilene ;  and  ex¬ 
plain  the  principle  upon  which  it  is  that 
Cambridge  men  use  more  terms  of  this 
kind  than  Oxford  men. 



7.  Niebuhr,  from  observing  that  caps  have 
tassels,  and  that  the  streets  of  Oxford  are 
not  macadamized,  comes  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  University  was  originally  inhabited 
by  Pelasgi,  which  he  further  confirms  by 
observing,  that  the  inhabitants  of  it  depart 
and  return  periodically,  according  to  the  va¬ 
cations,  in  which  we  see  the  very  migratory 
principle  of  the  Pelasgi  exemplified.  State 
the  force  of  the  argument. 

8.  Explain  the  use  of  dumb-bells  and 
pokers  in  storming  citadels,  comparing  the 
late  attack  of  the  undergraduates  upon  the 
Theatre  with  the  siege  of  Plataea.  It  is 
reported  that  one  of  the  dumb-bells  was 
covered  with  red  leather ;  shew  that  this 
is  contrary  to  fact,  from  your  own  observa¬ 

Translate  into  your  worst  English  the  following 
account  of  an  event  at  Cambridge,  last  term. 

Jamque,  duobus  lampadibus  fractis,  con¬ 
tra  earn  quae  tertia  stat  in  vico,  progredia- 
bantur,  quum  subito,  laniariis  canibus  sti- 


pattis,  Proctor  supervenit.  Is  jam  antea, 
dum  in  inferiore  vici  parte  versatur,  sonitus 
gliscentes  audiverat ;  quibus  excitus,  collega 
relicto,  ad  tumultum  cum  majore  copiarum 
parte,  summa  celeritate  processit.  Ejus  ad- 
ventu  perculsi  proximi  duo  fugam  capessunt. 
Ti  *es  jamdudum  vino  gravati,  et  pugnare  et 
fugere  seque  impotentes,  manu  statim  capti 
sunt.  Hos  ad  collegias  suas  Proctor  ferri 
jubet.  Ipse  duobus  canibus  stipatus  cseteros 
duo  persequitur,  quorum  alter  dux  facino- 
ris  fuerat.  Et  ille  quidem  comitem  arripiens 
“  curramus”  inquit ;  “  Proctor  adest.  Cito 
pede  opus  est.”  His  dictis,  ambo  per  vicum 
quemdam  devium  versus  rivum  profugiunt. 
Proctor  cum  canibus  insequitur.  Jamque 
togati  juvenes  marginem  prope  rivi  tetige- 
rant,  quum  alter,  pede  lapso,  in  gramen 
humidum  sternitur  ;  alter  (atque  idem  dux 
facinoris  fuit)  a  cane  arreptus,  sanguineum 
nasum  ei  dat,  deinde  in  rivum  se  projicit, 
ad  ripam  oppositam  nando  se  laturus.  Hie 
Proctor  paulisper  se  inhibuit,  neque  enim 
nare  didicerat  et  Autumnus  erat :  duorum 
praeterea  ejus  canium  alter  togatum  juve- 
nem  qui  prolapsus  erat,  vix  tenebat ;  alter 
sanguineum  suum  nasum  abstergens  vix 


cernere  prse  lachrymis  potuit.  J antique  dux 
facinoris  ad  alteram  prope  ripam  accesserat, 
quum  subito,  Proctore  scapham  per  margi- 
nem  quserente,  canis  vulneratus  pudore  vic- 
tus  in  rivum  salit.  Celeriter  ad  ripam  oppo- 
sitam  pervenit.  Illic  dubius  in  noctis  tene- 
bris,  ad  quern  locum  hostis  se  abripuisset, 
per  duas  horas  frustra  se  versat,  omnes  locos 
explorans.  Re  infecta  ad  Proctorem  super 
pontem  redit.  Proxima  die  Proctor  conci¬ 
lium  collegae  et  Proproctorum  vocat.  Ptem 
cunctam,  quo  ordine  gesta  fuerat,  exponit. 
Tribus  togatis  qui  primi  capti  sunt  quin- 
genti  versus  imponuntur.  Ille  qui  ad  rivum 
prolapsus  erat  ad  rusticandum  terminum  it. 
Dux  facinoris  non  punitur,  neque  enim  ag- 
nosci  potest. 

Livius  Novus,  lib.  viii.  cap.  7. 

Moral  Essay. 

The  evil  tendency  of  reading  slow  in 
chapel  considered  with  respect  to  breakfast 
parties  and  hunting  appointments  ;  shewing 
how  far  a  man  has  a  moral  right  to  read 
slow;  and  what,  according  to  Aristotle’s  the- 


ory  of  the  habits,  are  the  proper  requisites  in 
a  human  being  for  getting  fast  through  a 
chapter  of  the  Old  Testament. 

Translate  the  following  into  the  style  of  Horace's 
Epistles ,  as  badly  as  you  can,  introducing  the 
greatest  number  of  false  quantities  that  you 
can  think  of. 

A  tradesman’s  son,  whom  once  I  knew, 

No  matter  when,  or  where,  or  who, 

Bred  at  the  desk  to  daily  rounds 
From  pounds  to  pence,  and  pence  to  pounds, 
Seiz’d  with  a  sudden  fit  for  knowledge, 
Determin’d  straight  to  go  to  College ; 

The  thing  was  done  as  soon  as  said, 

A  cap  with  tassel  decks  his  head  ; 

He  buys  three  teacups  of  his  scout, 

One  with  a  saucer,  two  without, 

And  by  kind  Alma  takes  his  stand, 

With  gown  on  back,  and  stick  in  hand. 

Friends  call  and  ask  him  out  to  dine, 

To  breakfast  some,  and  some  to  wine  ; 

Saving  is  what  he  takes  delight  in, 

He  goes  whenever  they  invite  him  ; 

On  others’  wine  gets  wondrous  merry, 

And,  drunk  with  port,  still  calls  for  sherry. 
Meanwhile  to  pence  and  farthings  true, 

Though  rich  as  Croesus,  or  a  Jew  ; 


He  quite  forgets  to  ask  his  friends, 

To  taste  his  own,  and  make  amends  ; 

“  The  man  is  stingy,”  flew  about, 

“  Stingy’s  the  word,”  his  friends  cried  out, 

And  straight  devised,  from  animosity, 

To  trick  him  into  generosity! 

“  I’ve  heard,”  says  one,  “  you’ve  got  some  port, 
“  Of  a  most  truly  wondrous  sort ; 

“  Let’s  have  a  taste,  I  wish  to  try  it, 

“  And  if  you  choose  would  like  to  buy  it !  ” 

This  said,  he  op’d  the  bin,  and  spied 
Four  dozen  bottles  side  by  side, 

Demands  two  forks,  the  cork  to  draw, 

And  finds  the  wine  without  a  flaw ! 

Just  at  this  time,  (as  ’twas  agreed, 

In  case  the  first  friend  should  succeed,) 

Another  thirsty  friend  drops  in, 

“  Oh,  ho,”  says  he,  “  you’ve  op’d  your  bin  ! 

“  Give  me  a  glass,  we’ll  drink  at  ease, 

“  Or  else  a  tumbler,  which  you  please.” 

He  takes  a  chair,  (of  which  were  plenty,) 

No  sooner  sat,  the  bottle’s  empty! 

Another  bottle  sees  the  light, 

Another  friend  appears  in  sight, 

Walks  up  the  staircase,  kicks  the  door, 

Drinks  up  his  glass  and  calls  for  more ; 

Our  host  reluctant,  sees  his  cheer 
Like  smoke  appear  and  disappear  ; 

While  drinkers  fresh  come  every  minute, 

And  seem  to  take  a  pleasure  in  it. 

At  last,  when  all  his  wine  is  gone, 

Himself  grown  drunk  from  looking  on , 



Runs  into  Quad,  kicks  up  a  row, 

And  breaks  four  panes,  he  don’t  know  how, 

For  which  next  morning  he  is  fated 
For  two  terms  to  be  rusticated  ; 

And  learns  at  last,  in  his  sobriety, 

How  to  get  drunk  with  due  propriety  ; 

Nor  when  to  tippling  he  is  prone, 

To  swill  his  friends’,  but  spare  his  own. 

A  Fact  of  1833,  versified  in  the  manner  of  Swift. 

Historical  Essay. 

The  origin  of  boat  races  in  the  Univer¬ 
sity,  with  a  detailed  account  of  the  principal 
victories  gained  in  them  since  their  com¬ 
mencement,  tracing  their  influence  upon 
the  morals  and  studies  of  the  place,  and 
comparing  the  Athenian  navy  at  the  death 
of  Pericles  with  the  navy  of  Oxford  and 

To  be  translated  into  your  worst  Latin  Prose , 
in  the  style  of  Cicero's  Orations. 

Mr.  President,  the  honourable  member  is 
mistaken  ;  for  I  beg  leave  to  affirm,  in  the 


most  distinct  and  positive  manner,  that  when 
I  said  of  the  honourable  member  that  he 
spoke  an  untruth,  I  meant  nothing  what¬ 
ever  against  his  private  character.  But  to 
return  to  the  question  before  the  house,  if 
there  be  any  gentleman  here  who  has  at 
heart  the  interests  of  this  societv,  and 
therefore  of  the  University,  and  therefore 
of  the  world ;  if  there  be  any  gentleman 
here  who  respects  virtue  and  reveres  anti¬ 
quity  ;  I  beseech  him  again  and  again  to 
consider  most  seriously  the  disastrous  con¬ 
sequences  that  must  inevitably  result  from 
the  admission  of  dogs ,  however  small,  into 
the  reading  room.  It  is  very  easy  for  ho¬ 
nourable  members  to  say  that  dogs  are  ad¬ 
mitted  at  the  sister  University ;  that  it  is  a 
shame  to  keep  them  out  in  the  street ,  while 
we  ourselves  are  sitting  snug  over  our  news¬ 
papers  ;  or  that  they  will  always  be  barking 
at  the  door  so  long  as  they  are  kept  out. 
All  this  is  very  easy  to  say,  Mr.  President ; 
but  I  appeal  to  facts ;  I  appeal  to  the  articles 
and  ancient  statutes  of  this  society,  in  which 
it  is  expressly  stated  that  dogs  be  not  ad¬ 
mitted.  I  am  sure  I  have  no  enmity  against 
dogs,  Mr.  President.  They  are  very  useful 


and  excellent  animals  in  their  place  ;  but  if 
once  admitted  into  our  reading  room,  be 
assured  they  will  overturn  the  inkstands ; 
they  will  tear  the  books  to  pieces ;  they  will 
smear  the  carpet  with  mud  from  the  streets ; 
they  will  dirty  the  trousers  of  honourable 
members;  and  finally  and  eventually  will  not 
rest,  till  the  ancient  honours  of  this  society 
are  become  the  common  property  of  the 
scum  of  creation. 

Speech  by  a  Tory  in  the  Debating  Society  at  Cambridge, 
against  the  admission  of  dogs  into  the  reading  room. 

Or  the  following ,  in  the  style  of  Cicero's 
'philosophical  works . 

The  custom  of  sending  in  bills  to  young 
men  at  college,  is  a  thing  plainly  contrary 
to  the  usages  of  morality  and  the  principles 
of  religion.  But  what  is  more  than  all  this, 
it  is  opposed  to  my  doctrine  of  expediency, 
as  is  to  be  seen  in  the  following  respects. 
It  curtails  generosity,  that  noblest  principle 
of  our  nature,  since  men  sometimes  do  not 
give  champagne  at  parties  because  they  can¬ 
not  afford  it,  and  are  afraid  of  having  to  pay 


for  it  afterwards.  It  condemns  the  human 
species  to  innumerable  petty  vexations,  for 
the  sight  of  bills  is  odious  to  all,  especially 
when  one  has  no  money.  It  corrupts  that 
serenity  of  mind  which  philosophy  requires. 
It  has  a  strong  tendency  to  destroy  all  cha¬ 
ritable  feelings  between  a  gentleman  and 
his  tradesman.  It  checks  the  circulation  of 
capital,  for  it  prevents  tradesmen  from  fail¬ 
ing.  It  gives  shopkeepers  a  facility  of  cheat¬ 
ing,  enabling  them  as  it  does  to  send  in 
the  same  bill  twice  with  additions  of  what 
one  never  bought.  It  promotes  the  extinc¬ 
tion  of  the  gentry  ;  for  if  a  man  pays  he 
loses  his  money,  if  he  does  not  pay,  his  ho¬ 
nour.  Such  are  some  few  of  the  evil  con¬ 
sequences  which  result  from  the  too  preva¬ 
lent  custom  of  sending  in  bills  ;  an  impro¬ 
priety  on  the  part  of  tradesmen  which  de¬ 
serves  strong  censure  from  the  legislative 
powers.  It  is  to  be  confessed,  indeed,  that 
if  the  custom  were  destroyed,  it  would  oc¬ 
casion  the  misery  of  some  few  private  shop¬ 
keepers,  but  what  is  this  compared  with  the 
happiness  of  the  whole  human  race,  more 
especially  the  higher  classes  of  it,  which,  to 
all  appearance,  have  the  opposite  principle 


of  not  paying  implanted  in  their  nature, 
(for  here  I  am  constrained  to  allow  a  moral 
sense,)  as  one  of  the  first  duties  of  mo¬ 

From  Paley’s  Moral  Philosophy,  in  Lord  Brougham’s 
improved  edition. 

Critical  Questions. 

Explain  the  use  of  the  word  Brick  in  the 
following  sentences : — As  fast  as  a  brick. 
As  slow  as  a  brick.  As  idle  as  a  brick.  To 
read  like  a  brick.  To  run  like  a  brick.  To 
swear  like  a  brick.  To  ride  like  a  brick. 
To  be  as  drunk  as  a  brick.  To  be  a  brick. 
As  hungry  as  a  brick.  An  old  brick.  A 
young  brick.  Do  you  suppose  this  phrase 
to  be  borrowed  from  ancient  authors  ?  If 
so,  what  author  is  it  who  uses  the  corre¬ 
sponding  Latin  or  Greek  term  in  the  same 
manner  ? 

2.  Explain  the  expressions  “  you’re  sold 
and  “  a  fine  sell and  shew  from  the  Anti¬ 
gone  what  Greek  word  is  used  in  the  same 



3.  Soft  fades  the  sun;  the  moon  is  sunk  to  sleep ; 
Through  heaven’s  blue  fringe  the  stars  serenely 


An  azure  calm  floats  o’er  the  breathing  sky, 

Like  Memory  brooding  over  days  gone  by  ; 

And  while  the  owls  in  tender  notes  complain, 
Grim  Silence  holds  her  solitary  reign. 

From  which  of  the  Oxford  or  Cambridge 
Prize  Poems  are  these  lines  taken  ?  Ex¬ 
plain  their  beauties,  and  give  parallel  pas¬ 

4.  Has  any  Prize  Poem  appeared  for  the 
last  ten  years  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge, 
without  the  sun,  moon,  or  stars  in  it  ?  Ex¬ 
plain  the  use  of  these  great  auxiliaries  to 
verse-making ;  and  shew  how  inferior  the 
ancients  are  to  the  moderns  in  the  number 
of  their  suns,  moons,  and  stars. 

5.  Are  you  acquainted  with  any  other 
use  of  the  sun  and  moon  besides  this  use 
of  helping  writers  of  prize  poems  ?  Give 
reasons  why  these  authors  have  not  made 
an  equal  use  of  comets,  especially  when 
modern  science  has  discovered  there  are  so 
many  to  spare. 



6.  Trace  analogically  the  application  of 
the  word  coach,  when  it  is  said  by  a  man, 
that  he  has  “  just  taken  such  a  coach  to 
help  him  through  his  small.” 

7.  Longinus  says  of  swearing,  w Ean  Be  ov 

to  oircocrovv  tivcl  bfiocrai  fieya,  to  Be  n rod,  Kal  7nws', 
Kal  i<f>  cov  fccupwv,  Kal  tlvos  eveKa.  That  is  to 
say,  “  the  excellence  of  swearing  consists  in 
the  manner,  the  place,  the  occasion,  and 
the  object,  being  all  fitting.”  Compare  an¬ 
cient  and  modern  swearing  in  this  respect, 
and  give  a  philological  history  of  swearing 
from  the  dark  ages  to  the  present  times ;  ex¬ 
plaining  the  true  standard  of  correct  swear¬ 
ing,  from  the  metaphysical  system  of  man. 

8.  Among  old  writers  Plato  and  Xeno¬ 
phon  are  great  swearers,  being  very  frequent 
in  their  use  of  the  term  “  by  Jove.”  Com¬ 
pare  these  two  great  philosophers  in  this 
point  of  view. 

1,  Tres  fratres  Coeli  navigabant  roundabout  Ely. 
Omnes  drownderunt  qui  swimmaway  non  potu- 

Shew  the  false  quantities  in  these  lines. 


Who  are  the  tres  fratres  supposed  to  have 
been  ?  How  many  were  drowned  according 
to  the  last  line  ?  At  what  era  of  Cambridge 
did  this  important  event  occur  ?  and  what 
poet  is  supposed  to  have  written  the  lines  ? 
Give  Heyne’s  reading  of  the  fourth  word  in 
the  second  line,,  and  shew  on  what  ground 
Porson  objects  to  it. 

2.  Dr.  Bentley  argues  that  Phalaris  was 
not  plucked  at  college.  Upon  what  grounds  ? 
State  the  argument. 

3.  When  a  man  is  trying  to  remember  a 
thing  it  is  common  to  say,  that  “  he  feels  it 
at  his  fingers’  ends.”  Shew  how  this  ex¬ 
pression  took  its  rise  from  the  custom  of 
writing  problems  and  chronological  tables 
on  one’s  nails,  just  before  going  in  to  be 

4.  Explain  philosophically  the  following 
terms :  gip ;  scout ;  no  end  of  clever ;  a 
tough  chap;  a  splendid  man;  a  shady  man  ; 
and  any  flash  terms  that  you  can  call  to 

*  * 

B  2 


5.  The  words,  mala  ducis  avi  domum, 
have  been  construed,  “  thou  bringest  apples 
to  the  house  of  thy  grandfather.”  What 
does  Bos  object  to  this  mode  of  constru¬ 
ing  the  words  ?  A  certain  learned  Oxford 
editor  has  construed,  as  follows,  the  follow¬ 
ing  pieces  of  Latin  and  Greek :  explain  his 
arguments  for  such  an  interpretation  of 

''A/u,(f)L  S’  6(j)0a\/jLOL$  cf)6/3os.  Persse.  My  eyes  ! 
if  I’m  not  ill  Ct  fright .  Oapcrelre  n raiSe?  purjTe- 

poov  reOpapipLevoL.  Sept,  contra  T heb.  Shew 
your  pluck ,  every  mother’s  son  of  you.  Ite 
capellae.  Virg.  Go  it,  you  cripples.  Mari- 
num  equum.  Plin.  A  horse  marine.  ’Airow- 
<jov  t  av  irpyraveLM  criTia.  I  will  cut  ojf 
thy  battels  in  the  buttery.  Nostri  pugna- 
bant  rari.  Csesar.  Our  men  fought  uncom¬ 

6.  Distinguish  between  a  drag,  a  tandem, 
a  buggy,  a  gig,  a  phaeton,  and  a  coach. 

7.  When  Cicero  designates  himself  as 
Novus  homo,  does  he  not  simply  mean  that 
he  was  a  Fresh-man  ?  Compare  the  two 


8.  Translate  every  oath  that  you  use 
into  Latin  and  Greek,  according  to  the 
learned  Dammii  Lexicon. 

Translate  the  following  into  ijour  worst  English. 

Oh  fortunatos  nimium  sua  si  bona  norint 
Sleevatos  bachelors  !  neque  enim  sub  sidere  nightae 
Ad  hookas  sweatant ;  nec  dum  Greattomia  quartam 
Lingua  horam  strikat,  saveall  sine  candle  tenentes, 
Ad  beddam  creepunt  semisleepi ;  nec  mane  prima 
Scoutus  adest  saevus  tercentum  knockibus  instans 
Infelix  vvakare  caput.  Sed  munera  mater 
Ipsa  dat  Alma  illis,  keepuntque  secantque  chapellam 
Quandocunque  volunt.  Si  non  velvete  minaci 
Ornati  incedunt,  non  pisces  ad  table  higham 
Quaque  die  comedunt,  ast  illis  cuttere  semper 
Quemque  licet  tutorem,  illis  lectura  nec  ulla, 

At  secura  quies,  et  nescia  pluckere  vita. 

1.  Explain  the  uses  of  sleeves,  comparing 
ancient  and  modern  sleeves.  What  substi¬ 
tutes  did  the  early  Romans  use  for  pocket 
handkerchiefs.  Describe  Cicero’s  pocket 
handkerchief,  mentioning  the  most  remark¬ 
able  holes.  Was  it  marked  with  his  name  ? 
At  which  corner?  In  patent  ink,  or  thread? 
And  by  which  of  the  maids  ? 


2.  Prove  to  which  of  the  Universities  these 
verses  apply  from  the  third  and  sixth  lines. 

3.  Shew  from  internal  evidence  at  what 
period  of  history  these  lines  were  composed. 
Give  the  history  of  the  most  remarkable 
dog-latin  poets ;  and  analyse  the  most  fa¬ 
mous  poem  of  this  kind  that  has  appeared 
in  this  century. 

4.  Porson  reads  shoutibus  instead  of 
knockibus.  Heyne  has  proposed  bawlibus 
suo  periculo,  and  the  very  learned  Oxford 
editor  chooses  for  his  reading  kickibus. 
Shew  why  the  present  reading  is  preferable, 
from  what  historians  tell  us  concerning  the 
manner  in  which  scouts  used  to  wake  the 
men  in  those  times. 

5.  Does  not  the  poet  seem  to  exaggerate 
the  privileges  of  bachelors,  in  what  he  says 
concerning  their  cutting  chapel.  May  not 
this  be  accounted  for,  by  supposing  him  to 
have  been  an  undergraduate  ? 

6.  From  what  part  of  these  verses  does 
Virgil  seem  to  have  borrowed? 


7.  Translate  the  following  into  dog  Eng¬ 
lish  : 

Turn  forte  in  turri,  sic  fama  est,  reading  man  alta 
Invigilans  studiis  pensum  carpebat,  at  ilium 
Startulat  horrid  uproar,  evertitur  inkstand — ibi  omnis 
EfFusus  labor,  impurus  nam  labitur  amnis 

Ethica  per  Rhetoricque. - 

Qualis  ubi  ingentes,  coacha  veniente,  portmantos 
Greatcoatosque  bagosque  humeros  onerare  ministri 
Bendentis  vidi,  quern  dura  ad  munia  mittit 
Angelus  aut  Mitre,  vicinave  Stella  Gazellae. 

By  what  poet  of  what  era  were  these  verses 
composed  ?  Give  a  chronological  history 
of  the  principal  events  in  his  life  ;  mention¬ 
ing  whether  he  is  noticed  by  any  contempo¬ 
rary  poet. — What  reading  has  been  proposed 
by  Heyne  instead  of  “  portmantos,”  for  the 
sake  of  removing  the  false  quantity?  Is  this 
poet  in  general  very  particular  about  his  quan¬ 
tities  ?  May  we  not  infer  from  the  expression 
“  quern  mittit  Mitre,”  that  the  author  had  in 
view  a  certain  bishop  ? — What  was  the  name 
of  the  person  so  poetically  termed  “  reading 
man?”  and  to  what  fable  is  allusion  made  by 
the  term  “  sic  fama  est?” — Shew  how  Mr. 
B***  cannot  be  the  gentleman  alluded  to. 


Logical  and  Rhetorical  Questions. 

1.  Aristoteles  novus,  among  other  charac¬ 
ters  which  he  sketches  in  his  Rhetoric,  says 
of  the  freshman,  as  follows  : 

“  Now  the  freshman  differeth  from  the 
man  of  standing  in  these  respects.  He  often 
weareth  his  cap  and  gown,  sometimes 
bearing  a  walking-stick  also.  He  calleth 
another,  “  Sir.”  He  speaketh  of  the  boys 
at  his  college.  He  determineth  on  a  first 
class,  scorning  less.  He  attendeth  lecture 
with  reverence.  He  approveth  not  the  man¬ 
ner  of  dining.  He  respecteth  the  grass-plat. 
He  thinketh  at  chapel  that  all  others  be 
looking  at  him.  He  seemeth  ashamed  at 
his  own  wine  party,  making  excuses  many. 
He  putteth  on  a  grave  countenance  in  pass¬ 
ing  the  Proctor.  He  looketh  this  way  and 
that  way  in  walking.  He  appeareth  proud 
of  something.  He  despiseth  schoolboys. 
He  buyeth  one  cigar.  He  beggeth  your  par¬ 
don  if  you  upset  his  skiff.  He  useth  often 
the  word  Governor.  He  buyeth  a  large  lex¬ 
icon.  He  thinketh  it  time  for  him  to  Pall  in 
love.  He  goeth  to  bed  at  ten.  He  writeth 
home  once  a  fortnight.  He  weareth  a  long 


tassel  to  his  cap.  He  payeth  ready  money, 
refusing  discount  as  dishonourable.  He  tell- 
eth  you  concerning  his  uncle.  He  pur- 
chaseth  a  Calendar  to  see  his  own  name 
therein.  He  toucheth  the  bottle  with  re¬ 
verence.  He  buyeth  false  collars,  changeth 
shoes  for  boots,  sporteth  straps,  and  of  all 
great  things  considereth  the  University  to 
be  the  greatest,  whereof  in  his  own  mind 
himself  formeth  no  small  portion.” 

Explain  this  character  by  a  reference  to 
persons  whom  you  know,  and  refer  each 
point  to  the  wrong  head  in  the  Rhetoric. 

2.  Illustrate  Aristotle’s  sketch  of  youth, 
middle  age,  and  old  age,  from  the  above  cha¬ 
racter,  and  from  the  two  following  sketches 
of  the  same  gentleman  at  two  other  stages 
of  his  college  career. 

7 he  same  person  when  he  hath  passed  his 

Little-go . 

He  getteth  tipsy  twice  a  week.  He  cut- 
teth  chapel  and  lecture.  He  buyeth  a  pea, 
and  taketh  to  him  a  swallow-tailed  coat. 
He  promoteth  rows.  He  sporteth  a  blue 
and  white  shirt.  He  sweareth  genteelly. 

B  3 


He  talketh  loud  against  bigotry.  He  buyeth 
cigars  by  the  box.  He  borroweth  a  pink. 
He  ridiculeth  his  former  self.  He  consi- 
dereth  a  quantity  of  bills  to  be  gentle- 
manly.  He  boasteth  of  cutting  the  Proctor. 
He  thinketh  a  first  class  a  slow  thing.  He 
liketh  to  be  seen  with  one  who  hath  been 
rusticated.  He  acteth  contumeliously  at  col¬ 
lections.  He  knocketh  in  late.  He  scorneth 
tea  and  bread  and  butter.  He  dineth  sel¬ 
dom  in  hall.  He  preferreth  shrewdness  to 
learning.  He  writeth  home  once  a  term, 
and  that  for  money.  He  buyeth  transla¬ 
tions.  He  considereth  ladies  to  be  a  bore. 
He  hath  a  good  hand  at  whist,  but  chooseth 
rather  to  play  with  beginners.  He  cutteth 
his  reading  friend,  as  being  slow.  He  shieth 
at  the  tutor’s  window,  if  there  be  others 
looking  on.  He  encourageth  whiskers.  He 
killeth  hacks.  He  selleth  his  large  lexicon 
for  ready  money.  He  desireth  to  be  in  the 
army ;  considering  of  the  University  that 
it  is  a  mean  place,  and  becometh  not  a  man 
that  knows  the  world,  and  hath  spirit. 

The  same  when  a  Bachelor. 

He  consoleth  himself  by  thinking  that  he 


could  have  done  better  if  he  had  pleased. 
He  affirmeth  that  he  hath  never  enjoyed 
himself.  He  keepeth  a  quiet  pony.  He 
considereth  a  fellowship  to  be  a  good  thing. 
He  payeth  his  pastrycook,  but  not  his  tai¬ 
lor.  He  giveth  a  quiet  breakfast-party  twice 
a  term.  He  oftentimes  adviseth  others.  He 
weareth  continually  his  cap  and  gown.  He 
disputeth  in  divinity.  He  angle th  for  pupils. 
He  changeth  whist  and  ecarte  for  chess. 
He  approveth  of  toast-and-water.  He  af¬ 
firmeth  of  smoking  that  it  is  beastly.  He 
buyeth  the  Waverley  novels  second-hand. 
He  selleth  certain  of  his  old  pictures.  He 
writeth  a  pamphlet  on  the  vices  of  the  Uni¬ 
versity.  He  studieth  Russell’s  Modern  Eu¬ 
rope.  He  mindeth  not  to  be  seen  in  an  old 
coat.  He  talketh  of  the  time  when  he  was 
an  undergraduate.  He  goeth  to  bed  at 
eleven.  He  beginneth  German.  He  falleth 
in  love.  He  getteth  sweetmeats  from  home, 
and  buyeth  apples  by  bushel  for  dessert. 
He  prideth  himself  on  neatness.  He  buyeth 
a  picture  of  his  college.  He  respecteth 
himself  as  one  that  is  experienced.  He 
taketh  upon  him  to  order  dinner.  He  con¬ 
sidereth  the  University  to  be  a  decent 


place,  and  himself  to  be  a  decent  member 

9ifj  d'oycmf 

3.  All  members  of  the  University  wear  caps  and 

Some  ladies  wear  caps  and  gowns  ; 

t  herefore  some  ladies  are  members  of  the  Uni¬ 

Prove  the  correctness  of  this  syllogism ; 
also  of  the  following : 

A  man  in  a  skiff  has  got  sculls  in  the  water, 

Sculls  contain  brains, 

Therefore  a  man  in  a  skiff  has  got  water  in  the 

1*.  Is  the  following  a  correct  Sorites  ? 

All  young  ladies  are  agreeable ;  all  agree¬ 
able  things  are  pleasant ;  all  pleasure  is  un¬ 
certain  ;  all  uncertain  things  are  vain ;  all 
vanity  is  good  for  nothing ;  therefore  all 
young  ladies  are  good  for  nothing. 

5.  Put  the  following  argument  into  a 
syllogistic  form : 

“  I  must  say  it  was  a  great  shame  in  the 
examiners  to  pluck  such  a  fellow  as  me, 
especially  when  I  have  been  plucked  twic^ 


before  by  accident.  And  I  am  sure  no  one 
can  say  I  was  idle ;  for  I  read  all  day 
through  the  last  fortnight,  except  on  hunt¬ 
ing  days.  However,  I  dare  say  the  Governor 
wont  find  it  out,  for  he  is  deuced  slow.” 

6.  The  schoolmen  define  man  to  be  “  ani¬ 
mal  implume.”  Prove  this  definition  to  be 
false,  from  the  fact  that  a  man  is  capable  of 
being  plucked. 

7.  Are  the  speeches  in  the  Debating  So¬ 
ciety  to  be  considered  as  deliberative,  judicial, 
or  epideictic  ?  Explain  the  singular  circum¬ 
stance  that  no  mention  of  the  Debating  So¬ 
ciety  is  to  be  found  in  Aristotle’s  Politics. 

8.  “We  understand  that  Major  D**  of 
W***  near  Yarmouth,  has  been  convicted 
of  receiving  three  kegs  of  smuggled  brandy.’* 
May  not  this  be  called  an  “  illicit  process 
of  the  major  ?” 

9.  Explain  the  logical  distribution  of  a 
term  by  reference  to  the  meaning  of  the 
word  term-trotter. 


10.  Distinguish  metaphysically  between 
Oxford  milk  and  Oxford  cream,  shewing 
from  Plato  how  much  water  is  necessary  to 
constitute  the  first,  and  how  much  milk  the 

11.  Explain  the  following  remarks  of 
Aristoteles  novus  in  his  Rhetoric  upon  the 
character  of  the  reading  man  : 

“  He  supposeth  that  Henry  the  8th  must 
certainly  have  been  a  king  of  England,  or 
something  of  the  kind.  He  hath  an  indis¬ 
tinct  idea  that  the  Clyde  is  a  trout  stream 
in  the  West  of  England,  or  somewhere 
thereabouts.  He  expecteth  to  pass  through 
Bristol  on  his  road  from  Oxford  to  London, 
but  not  having  a  modern  map  is  yet  afraid  to 
ask.  He  keepeth  his  brush  and  combs  on  the 
chimney  piece  of  his  sitting  room.  He  putteth 
off  having  his  hair  cut  till  after  his  degree. 
He  hath  a  list  of  his  books  in  his  desk.  He 
laugheth  at  another  because  he  knew  not  the 
father  of  Zerubbabel.  He  taketh  a  pill  on 
Saturday  evenings.  He  grieveth  severely  for 
not  getting  a  first  class.  He  hath  a  pale  face. 
He  feareth  that  he  will  make  a  hash  of  his 
history.  He  taketh  a  constitutional  of  forty 


minutes  every  day.  He  rideth  out  once  a 
term  galloping  fast,  and  pinning  in  front  the 
tails  of  his  coat  lest  they  get  soiled.  He  de- 
spiseth  amusements,  considering  man  to  be 
a  reading  animal.  He  loungeth  in  quad,  that 
he  may  seem  idle.  He  weareth  gloves  sel¬ 
dom,  but  oftentimes  appeareth  in  dirty  shoes. 

Translate  the  following  into  your  worst  English. 

01  8e  67rei$r)  irapeortcevaaro  avrols,  r rjpr^aavres 
votcra  ^eLgepevov  v8arc,  Kal  aveg(p,  /cal  dfia 
daeXrjvov ,  et-rjecrav.  'Hyeiro  8e  ^puOos  ocnrep  /cal 
rrjs  7 relpas  alnos  rjv.  Kal  irpwrov  gbv  rpia 
ftXdvKerra  avv^rjcravres  \jvyr\aav  avra  e^co.  Tore 
8b  6  2/jl10os  'irapaivecras  ©og^cova  Kal  ’ lovawva 
Kal  ’ IaKa)/3(TGova  8ovvXerret  eavrov  irpos  rrjv  y rjv. 
Oi  S’  dXXoc  icfibXXovcrav  avrov.  Kal  8rj  o  Gog- 
yjrMV  Kal  o  ’ Iovcrciov ;  dvev  '^rbffiov  68ouvy6rrr)aav‘ 
6  8b  ’ IaKco/3a(bv ,  {yn repcparros  yap  rjv,)  /3XavKerrMV 
tlvos  /3peaK0evTO9 ,  < f>aXX8ovvei,  Kal  t bv  Troprepbv 
££  vttvov  aveyelpei.  01  aXXot  gbv  eijecfruyov:  6  8b 
iroprepos  Kal  yrrorr  opr  epos  TrpocreXOovres  IaKw/3- 
crcbva  rov  KaKo8algova  crvXXagj3dvov<Jo.  Oi  8b 
rpeis  oi  airoc^vyovres  7 roXXrjv  o8ov  pvvvrjaavres  (bs 
rdyiara,  reXos  earoTTrcrjcrav'.  Kal  ttoXXmv  yvdifiMV 
XeyOelcrMV  ivLKrja’ev  rj  reXevrala  rj  rov  XgiOov, 
ore  8el  XapKT) v  e^eiy,  Kal  rore  XapKrjaavres  eis 


KoXkrj'ylavTrpbs  rov  iroprepov pervpveiv.  roheovoga 
rod  7 roprepod  r\v  'Icodvvrjy,  /cal  rod  viroiroprepod 
Ocogay.  Tadra  ovv  bereppuvrfaavrey  /cal  67 rpa^av 
ourcoy.  Tlpwrov  <ydp  XlOocy  i^pea/ajaav  rrdvay 
el/coaL  iv  rco  crrprfra),  k.  r.  X. 

The  Secret  History  of  Oxford,  by  Thucydides  Novus, 

Put  the  following  into  bad  English  verse. 

ecftar’  oi  fie  kXcittov  Mdcri^oi  paXa  yrjdoavvoi  Krjp, 
Kai  tcov  iaaovrcov  yevero  re  Kai  vrrpcop. 

Kai  rore  '2ivKXaipos  "EKippr/pios  dXro  yapd^' 

IloXXas  e\cov  nanepas,  Kai  croup  Alavri  eoiKtos. 

Tov  \oi8r]v  fie  KaK  dcrcropevos  npoo-etfir)  re  Kai  elrrev' 

“  T iVrre  peXei  vpiv,  Maeri^oi,  on  'VdpfiXepos  dpi  ; 
Kai  rt  nor  e’crr  vpLv  avdeopirl  pe  TTpr/fpevreiv  ; 

’AXX’  ofi’  dvi)p  M  aal^ps  ire  pi  ndvrcvv  eppevai  aXX  ojv, 
Udvroiv  fie  pvXelv  edeXei,  Kai  rrdvras  d(3v£eiv, 

Tldai  fie  Koppavhdiv'  dnv  ov  neiaecrdai  oiot. 

Ei  fie  piv  evcnraKovr  edecrav  6eol  alev  eovres 
TovveKa  oi  npodeovcnu  dveidea  Train  Xeyecrdai  ; 
llamas  fie  etjrreXXeiv  dyadovs  rpetovai  M acrev^oi, 

Oi?  aiei  roi  epis  re  cfiiXr)  noXepoi  re  pa%ai  re. 

Mj)S’  ovroos  KXdacrpav  7rep  eiov,  Maai^rj  deoeibes, 

K Xerrre  vdco’  enel  ov  frjipo)  e^i reXXeai  ijpus.” 


1.  To  what  alteration  in  the  constitution 
of  the  Union  do  these  verses  allude  ? 

2.  What  is  understood  by  the  disputed 


term  'Pdp/SXepo^7.  Do  you  agree  with  the 
learned  editor  in  supposing  it  must  have 
meant  some  opposition  society,  which  has 
been  gradually  destroyed  in  the  progress  of 
college  generations  ? 

3.  Who  was  the  hero  Maa-lxv^,  and  wrhat 
do  we  know  of  his  history  ?  Discuss  this.  ' 

4.  Dunderheadius  explains  ^IvtcXatpos,  by 
a  reference  to  the  Saxon  language.  Give 
any  explanation  of  your  own  that  you  think 

5.  Explain  the  term  evo-irrjfcovr,  mention¬ 
ing  who  is  the  best  speaker  in  the  Union  at 
present,  and  of  what  country  he  is.  Also 
what  the  last  motion  was  that  he  intro¬ 
duced,  and  whether  it  passed  or  not. 

Questions  in  Moral  Philosophy . 

1.  Prove  the  morality  of  swearing  from 
the  Bible  and  the  nature  of  man. 

2.  Shew  from  Whately,  whether  Sunday 


is  most  properly  spent  in  reading  Thucy¬ 
dides  and  Algebra,  or  in  playing  at  ecarte 
and  drinking  claret.  Discuss  this. 

3.  According  to  Locke’s  theory  of  ideas, 
we  are  to  consider  the  human  mind  as  a 
piece  of  blank  paper.  Does  the  philosopher 
here  mean  brown  paper,  whity  brown  paper, 
or  white  paper,  according  to  the  coarseness 
of  men’s  minds  ?  Or  does  he  mean  white 
paper  only  ?  And  if  the  last,  what  sort  of 
white  paper  ?  whether  hot  pressed  or  fools¬ 
cap  ?  Give  reasons  for  preferring  the  latter, 
and  discuss  the  subject. 

f4.  Aristotle  in  his  Ethics  lays  down  the 
biting  of  one’s  nails  to  be  the  height  of  vice. 
Prove  from  this  that  he  agreed  with  Paley 
in  considering  the  seat  of  morals  to  be  in 
one’s  fingers’  ends. 

5.  Connect  Plato’s  theory  with  New 
College  puddings,  and  discuss  the  latter 

6.  Defend  upon  philosophical  principles 
the  conduct  of  Paley,  in  having  a  large  and 


small  hole  cut  in  his  door  for  his  cat  and 
kitten.  What  was  the  colour  of  this  famous 
cat  ?  and  what  of  its  remarkable  actions  in 
the  philosopher’s  study  are  recorded  ? 

7.  Discuss  the  theory  which  justifies 
men  in  taking  freshmen’s  caps  and  gowns, 
instead  of  their  own  old  academicals,  when 
at  a  party. 

8.  Make  clear  the  correctness  of  the  fol¬ 
lowing  reasons  for  cutting  a  man,  according 
to  Aristotle’s  doctrine  of  friendship  in  the 
Ethics  : 

“  A  man  may  be  cut,  because  he  has  got 
on  an  old  coat.  Because  he  has  got  on 
a  white  hat  in  winter  Because  he  has 
taken  to  reading.  Because  he  has  splashed 
you  out  hunting.  Because  he  has  taken  a 
scholarship.  Because  he  advised  you.  Be¬ 
cause  you  have  found  a  new  acquaintance. 
Because  he  would  not  go  with  you  to 
W***  [n  a  tandem.  Because  he  would 
not  get  tipsy  at  your  request.  Because  he 
has  taken  to  wearing  his  cap  and  gown. 
Because  he  would  not  carry  into  chapel  for 
you  the  second  volume  of  Jacob  Faithful. 


Because  he  refused  to  meet  C***  at  a 
wine  party.  Because  his  wine  is  bad.  Be¬ 
cause  his  rooms  are  up  three  pair  of  stairs, 
and  therefore  difficult  to  be  got  at.  Be¬ 
cause  another  man  says  he  is  an  ass. 
Because  he  would  not  go  with  you  on  the 
river.  Because  his  hat  is  narrow  brimmed. 
Because  you  find  it  a  bore  to  nod.  Because 
his  dog  hurt  yours.  Because  his  skiff  run¬ 
ning  against  yours  hurt  your  middle  finger. 
Because  he  got  a  new  novel  before  you, 
although  your  name  was  down  first.  Be¬ 
cause  he  beat  you  at  pigeon  shooting.  Be¬ 
cause  he  would  not  let  you  break  your  own 
decanter.  Because  he  was  spilled.  Be¬ 
cause  he  is  against  Dr.  Hampden.  Because 
he  shews  the  white  of  his  stockings. 

Questions  in  Divinity . 

1.  Who  was  the  third  cousin  once  re¬ 
moved  of  Tiglath  Pelezer’s  great  nephew  ? 


2.  What  sort  of  stone  was  that  which 
David  made  use  of,  and  were  there  any 
others  in  the  brook  like  it  ? 


3.  How  often  is  that  important  word 
“and”  repeated  in  the  New  Testament? 

Mathematical  Questions. 

1.  A  bets  B  a  certain  sum  that  he  will 
drive  a  tandem  past  the  Proctor  in  daylight. 
B  bets  C  the  same  sum,  that  he  will  ride 
through  the  College  quadrangle.  The  Proc¬ 
tor  imposes  on  B  three  times  as  many 
lines  as  he  bet  shillings,  and  the  Vice  on  A 
fourteen  and  a  half  times  as  many  lines  as 
he  bet  pounds.  What  was  the  original  sum 
bet  ? 

2.  A  Freshman  engages  to  eat  a  sponge 
cake  while  a  Bachelor  is  drinking  a  bottle 
of  port.  The  Bachelor  begins  half  a  second 
before  the  Freshman,  and  has  reached  his 
ninth  glass  by  the  time  that  the  Fresh¬ 
man  is  swallowing  the  sixth  mouthful. 
How  long  will  it  be  before  the  Freshman  is 
choked  ? 

3.  A  and  B  had  drunk  two  bottles  and  a 
quarter  of  Port  at  the  proportionate  rate  of 


three  to  five.  A  bets  B,  after  this,  that  he 
shall  be  able  to  distinguish  between  port  and 
sherry  after  sipping  six  times  of  each  alter¬ 
nately.  He  is  blindfolded  accordingly,  and 
ceases  to  distinguish  when  he  has  sipped 
half  as  many  times  as  B  had  drunk  more 
glasses  than  himself.  How  many  glasses 
had  A  drunk  before  he  began  sipping  ? 

4.  Drink  half  a  pint  of  negus,  add  to  this 
a  pint  of  beer,  seven  and  a  half  glasses  of 
Sherry,  a  bottle  and  a  quarter  of  Port,  three 
glasses  of  brandy,  a  tumbler  of  rum,  and 
four  drops  of  water.  What  will  be  the 
result  ? 

5.  At  what  angle  with  the  horizon  is  a 
tipsy  man  most  easily  upset,  according  to 
Newton  ? 

6.  Reconcile  this  philosopher’s  theory  of 
gravitation  with  the  saying,  that  when  such 
a  man  was  going  home  from  a  party  the 
ground  rose  up  and  hit  him  on  the  nose. 

7.  At  what  ratio  of  velocity  will  an  empty 
bottle  in  concussion  with  a  nose  break  the 


nose  in  question  ?  Explain  this  mathema¬ 
tical  process  of  reduction  to  vulgar  frac¬ 

8.  Account  for  the  phenomenon  in  acous¬ 
tics,  that  the  sound  of  your  voice  in  calling 
the  porter  from  your  room  up  three  pair  of 
stairs  travels  at  a  ratio  proportionate  to  your 

9.  Explain  Newton’s  theory  concerning 
the  antagonistic  principles  of  undergraduates 
and  chapel. 

10.  Allowing  every  man  in  the  University 
to  have  six  friends,  each  of  whom  has  six 
friends,  and  so  on ;  at  what  degree  of  ac¬ 
quaintanceship  is  every  man  connected 
with  every  man,  supposing  there  to  be  1200 

11.  If  one  bottle  is  enough  for  eight  read¬ 
ing  and  a  half,  how  many  bottles  will  be  re¬ 
quisite  for  one  man  who  does  not  read  ? 

12.  Of  two  Cambridge  controversialists, 
one  asserts  that  the  apple  which  Newton  saw 


fall  was  a  codlin,  the  other  that  it  was  a 
golden  pippin.  State  the  dispute  of  these 
learned  philosophers,  and  shew  its  effect 
upon  Newton’s  theory. 

J  -*• 

13.  According  to  the  theory  of  light,  what 
light  is  best  for  escaping  the  eye  of  the 
Proctor  ? 

14.  If  three  men  out  of  seven  are  plucked 
when  the  examiner  is  in  a  good  humour, 
how  many  out  of  nine  will  be  plucked  when 
he  is  in  a  bad  humour  ? 

15.  Let  A  be  a  hunter,  B  a  freshman  on 
the  hunter’s  back,  C  a  fence,  and  D  a  muddy 
ditch,  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence.  The 
hunter  A  suddenly  draws  up  at  the  fence  C. 
What  connection  will  follow  between  the 
freshman  B  and  the  ditch  D  ? 









The  following  Letter,  which,  in  its  original  form, 
was  addressed  by  a  Fellow  and  Tutor  of  a  College 
at  Oxford  to  a  student  there,  is  now  printed  for 
circulation  among  the  junior  members  of  this 
University,  in  the  hope  that  it  may  meet  with 
their  serious  and  attentive  perusal. 

It  is  extracted  by  permission  from  the 
“  Domestic  Portraiture/’  one  of  the  volumes 
of  the  Christian' $  Family  Library ,  published 
by  Messrs.  Seeley,  London. 


November,  1835. 




You  request  my  advice  on  a  subject  which  will 
probably  give  a  direction  to  your  whole  life.  I  give 
it  you  with  the  more  satisfaction,  because  I  believe 
you  are  not  one  of  those  who  ask  counsel  with 
a  previous  determination  to  follow  their  own  judg¬ 
ment,  and  who  set  no  value  on  experience  for  which 
they  have  not  paid  the  price  in  their  own  mistakes  ; 
but  are  anxiously  looking  out  for  a  guide,  and  ready 
to  follow  him.  After  twelve  years’  residence  in  one 
of  our  Universities,  1  may  fairly  be  supposed  to  know 
something  both  of  their  dangers  and  advantages. 
I  am  aware  of  the  temptations  to  which  you  will 
be  exposed  in  your  new  situation  ;  yet  with  respect 
to  myself,  I  may  assert,  that  they  were  by  no  means 
so  great  as  others  have  represented  them, — fewer 
and  less  dangerous  than  the  after  trials  of  manhood, 
or  even  those  of  my  boyish  days  at  school. 



The  opportunity  you  now  have  of  acquiring  solid 
learning,  and  of  laying  the  foundation  of  all  that  will 
be  useful  to  you  in  life,  is  incalculably  valuable,  and 
it  should  be  your  chief  concern  to  embrace  the  golden 
moment  with  firm  and  steady  grasp.  Accept,  then, 
with  my  best  wishes  and  prayers  for  your  welfare,  the 
result  of  past  observation  at  Alma  Mater. 

1.  Wherever  you  are,  in  or  out  of  the  University, 
much  will  depend  on  the  regulation  of  yourself.  We 
are  apt  to  lay  the  blame  of  our  indiscretions  and 
failures  on  our  circumstances,  and  to  suppose  that  we 
should  act  differently  under  other  influences :  but 
this  is  a  great  mistake  ;  for  circumstances,  though 
I  admit  they  have  a  powerful  influence  on  our  conduct, 
do  not  so  much  form,  as  discover  our  character.  Be 
“lord  of  your  own  mind,”  and  you  will  rise  above 
outward  trials.  Try,  then,  to  understand  yourself — 
your  weak  points. 

Begin  and  end  the  day  with  prayer ;  but  content 
not  yourself  with  an  indolent  or  hurried  exercise  of 
devotion,  without  heart  or  meaning,  and  a  cursory  or 
irregular  glancing  at  a  passage  of  scripture,  under  an 
idea  of  satisfying  conscience,  or  “  doing  your  duty.” 
Consider  seriously  the  chief  end  of  the  appointment, 
as  the  prescribed  channel  of  intercourse  with  God. 
Your  strength,  success,  and  preservation  from  evil, 
all  depend  on  communion  with  him.  Every  thing 
will  go  well  or  ill  with  you,  in  proportion  as  you  live 
in  dependence  on,  and  obedience  to,  the  Spirit  of  God. 



In  reading  the  Bible,  (I  am  now  speaking  of  religion 
and  its  practical  application  to  your  heart  and  con¬ 
science,  and  not  of  theology  as  a  science  and  profession,) 
take  a  few  verses,  and  meditate  and  pray  over  them  till 
you  get  not  only  the  meaning,  but  the  very  spirit  of 
them  wrought  into  your  own  soul.  If  you  do  not 
understand  a  passage,  you  may  apply  to  a  commen¬ 
tator  for  explanation ;  otherwise  be  your  own  expo¬ 
sitor, — preach  to  your  own  heart,  and  feed  on  the 
word  of  God  amidst  the  aspirations  of  prayer  and 
praise,  and  heavenly  thoughts  and  affections.  Examine 
yourself  by  it,  to  obtain  conviction  of  sin,  and  to 
discover  your  defects  and  evil  propensities, — to  judge 
of  your  progress,  and  pray  for  uprightness  and  deep 
seriousness.  Look  forward  to  the  probable  events 
of  the  day,  and  seek  grace  and  support  to  meet  any 
trials  that  may  occur,  and  improve  your  oppor¬ 
tunities  for  good.  Consider  that  you  are  entering 
society  with  a  body  of  sin  and  death,  ever  liable  to 
impart  injury  or  to  receive  it ;  and  while  you  carefully 
guard  against  the  approaches  of  evil,  you  should  aim, 
like  your  Master,  to  “go  about  doing  good.”  \our 
first  hour  may  be  well  employed  in  this  holy  exercise. 
At  night,  a  shorter  time  may  suffice ;  for  the  spirits 
will  flag,  and  the  body  be  wearied.  The  efficacy 
of  prayer  does  not  depend  on  the  length  of  time 
employed  in  acts  of  devotion  :  God  thinks  of  mercy, 
and  not  sacrifice  ;  and  so  must  you. 

Such  remarks  are  applicable  to  all  persons  and 



situations,  but  are  more  especially  important  to  one 
in  your  circumstances,  You  are  now  deprived  of  your 
father’s  conversation,  and  the  devotional  exercises  of 
the  family ;  and  you  have  need  to  redouble  your 
diligence  in  private  devotion.  Remember,  then, 
that  your  first  and  greatest  trial  will  be  in  your 
closet ;  and  if  you  fail  here,  all  will  go  wrong  with 
you  throughout  the  day.  If  you  rob  God,  to 
turn  to  Euclid  or  Euripides,  or  hurry  away  to 
chapel  without  private  prayer,  because  you  have 
given  way  to  sloth, — other  motives  may  stimulate 
you  to  be  diligent  in  business,  but  you  will  not  long 
continue  “fervent  in  spirit,  serving  the  Lord;”  and 
if  his  Holy  Spirit  forsake  you, — and  he  will  forsake 
you  if  you  grieve  him  by  neglect  of  the  means  of 
grace, — you  will  fall  into  many  inconsistencies,  and  in 
the  end  lose  all  love  for  religion,  and  concern  for 
your  soul,  and  perhaps  by  your  conduct  discredit 
yourself  even  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 

It  is  a  good  habit  to  keep  some  subject  in  mind 
for  occasional  employment, — a  promise — a  precept — 
an  attribute  of  God,  on  which  to  meditate  in  every 
vacant  moment.  There  are  intervals  in  the  course 
of  your  college  duties,  when  you  cannot  sit  down  to 
serious  studies.  An  idle  moment  furnishes  at  all  times 
a  nidus  for  a  temptation. 

2.  Be  very  cautious  in  the  formation  of  friend - 
ships.  Your  religious  and  general  improvement  will 
be  closely  -connected  with  the  character  of  your 




You  will  find  me  correct  in  dividing  the  young 
men  into  two  classes;  of  which  one  affects  to  despise, 
and  the  other  professes  to  honour  religion.  The 
former  class  comprises  three  sets  or  parties,  all  agree¬ 
ing!:  to  live  without  God  in  the  world,  but  differing  in 
their  manners  and  pursuits.  The  first  of  the  three  are 
the  men  of  family  and  fortune,  who  spend  their  time  in 
amusement,  attending  as  little  as  possible  to  the 
studies  of  the  place.  For  the  most  part  they  are 
men  of  profligate  habits,  though  not  all  equally 
vicious.  There  is  another  set  of  young  men  who 
are  not  better  disposed  than  the  former,  but  who 
have  not  the  same  means  of  doing  mischief  to  them¬ 
selves  or  others  :  they  are,  however,  quite  as  ignorant, 
idle,  and  thoughtless,  with  perhaps  the  addition  of 
coarseness  and  vulgarity  of  manners.  To  neither 
of  these  classes  must  you  approximate,  but  (to 
speak  academically)  you  must  cut  them  all.  I  am 
under  no  apprehension  of  your  familiarizing  yourself 
with  low  company;  but  a  silk  gown,  or  a  gold  tuft, — 
a  wish  to  form  a  high  connexion,  may  tempt  you  to 
tolerate  what  ought  to  be  intolerable  to  you.  At  first 
you  may  feel  disgust  at  profane  and  vicious  language 
and  manners.  Insensibly  they  will  excite  less  horror. 
After  a  time  you  will  think  it  enough  to  be  personally 
exempt  from  these  offences — then  you  may  begin  to 
excuse  and  palliate ;  till  at  length  you  break  bounds, 
and  assume  a  conduct,  and  avow  a  creed,  repugnant 
to  your  judgment,  and  which  your  heart  secretly 



condemns.  You  will  have  no  difficulty  in  avoiding 
such  associates;  for,  unless  you  seek  an  introduction, 
they  will  not  notice  you.  There  is  a  third,  party 
which  pretends  to  no  religion,  but  whose  diligent 
application  to  study,  and  desire  of  distinction  in 
the  university,  are  worthy  of  your  imitation ;  for 
you  are  sent  to  college,  not  merely  to  get  a  degree, 
and  barely  escape  rejection  at  last,  but  to  obtain  a 
creditable  testimony  that  you  have  profited  by  the 
studies  of  the  place :  yet,  while  I  commend  the 
industry  of  the  characters  alluded  to,  and  their 
generally  correct  conduct,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say, 
that  their  motives  and  objects  are  not  such  as  I  could 
enforce  upon  you. 

It  is  possible  that  my  advice  to  you  may  be 
different  from  that  of  some  who  nevertheless  agree 
with  me  in  principle.  1  remember  it  was  said  to 

you  by - “Don’t  look  at  every  man  not  strictly 

religious  as  a  wild  bear,  and  a  dangerous  companion.” 
Certainly  it  is  not  a  duty  to  cherish  morose  feelings, 
but  rather  to  cultivate  a  sweetness  of  temper  and 
a  courteous  behaviour  towards  all :  and  an  occa* 
sional  interchange  of  visits,  with  those  who  will 
converse  profitably  on  literary  pursuits,  cannot  be 
objected  to.  Yet  I  wish  to  be  more  explicit  as  to 
the  proper  degree  of  intercourse  with  those  who  do 
not  fear  God,  however  creditable  and  desirable  the 
acquaintance  may  be  in  other  respects.  If  you  were 
of  long  standing  in  religion,  you  might  venture  on 



many  things  which  you  cannot  now  attempt  with 
safety.  They  might  even  become  a  duty.  The  fire¬ 
men  must  scale  the  burning  roof,  while  the  spectator 
of  the  flames  had  better  keep  at  a  distance.  You 
must  not  try  how  much  poison  your  constitution  will 
bear,  or  risk  your  soul’s  health  for  the  sake  of  any 
temporal  advantage.  The  world — by  which  I  mean 
those  who  are  ignorant  of  religion,  or  whose  hearts 
are  not  in  it, — must  ever  he  to  the  true  Christian 
either  a  cross  or  a  snare;  and  when  it  ceases  to  he  the 
one ,  it  will  invariably  become  the  other.  I  cannot 
approve  of  whole  evenings  passed  in  company  where 
it  is  understood  that  God  is  never  to  be  referred 
to,  and  where  the  least  observation  connected  with 
eternity  creates  a  silence,  if  it  does  not  provoke 
a  sneer,  an  opposition  of  sentiment,  or  a  feeling  of 
distaste.  To  be  much  in  society  of  this  kind,  beyond 
the  demands  of  duty  or  necessity,  which  you  can 
seldom  plead,  is  surely  no  better  than  constructive 
treason  against  our  Lord  and  Saviour.  If  you  make 
the  experiment,  mark  the  effect  on  your  own  mind. 
If  the  tone  of  religious  feeling  be  impaired,  if  you 
grow  dull  and  heartless  in  devotion,  be  assured  that 
something  is  wrong  in  your  motives,  pursuits,  and 
associations.  So  long  as  you  agree  to  live  and 
converse  as  if  the  world  were  every  thing,  and  God 
nothing,  you  may  be  tolerated,  though  your  professed 
attachment  to  religion  be  known  ;  or  you  may  even 
be  respected  for  qualities  that  are  amiable  and 



estimable,  and  your  society  may  afford  satisfaction  to 
literary  young  men,  who  would  keep  you  at  a  distance 
if  you  acted  consistently  with  your  profession  of 
a  purer  faith  and  stricter  conversation.  The  old 
rule  “noscitur  a  sociis”  is  a  very  wise  and  safe  one. 
Compare  the  conversation  of  your  new  associates,  if 
you  form  such,  with  the  discussions  you  have  heard 
under  the  paternal  roof ;  where,  though  the  subjects 
were  not  always  strictly  religious,  yet  the  spirit  in 
which  they  were  treated  had  a  tendency  not  only 
to  improve  the  mind,  but  in  some  way  or  other  to 
sanctify  the  heart.  Perhaps  I  feel  the  more  strongly 
on  this  subject,  partly  from  having  seen  many  a 
hopeful  young  person  entirely  ruined  by  a  friend¬ 
ship  formed  on  merely  literary  grounds,  and  partly 
because  I  perceive  a  gradual  breaking  down  of  old- 
fashioned  distinctions,  to  the  serious  injury  of  true 

Your  father  has,  I  find,  earnestly  entreated  you  to 
cast  in  your  lot  with  those  who,  by  way  of  reproach, 
are  termed  the  saints.  But  remember  that,  if  you 
are  not  on  the  one  hand  to  despise  any  man,  neither 
are  you,  on  the  other,  to  attach  yourself  to  any  man 
on  account  of  a  mere  name.  You  must  judge  every 
man,  not  by  his  professions,  but  by  the  measure  in 
which  he  adorns  his  profession.  Certainly  piety  is 
an  indispensable  requisite  for  a  select  and  endeared 
companion ;  but  you  must  look  also  for  good  sense 
and  intelligence,  for  studious  habits,  for  a  con- 



scientious  discharge  of  all  collegiate  duties,  and  very 
particularly  for  a  modest  and  amiable  deportment. 
These  are  the  things  which  recommend  religion  in 
the  estimation  of  others,  especially  of  those  who  are 
in  authority  in  any  college  ;  and  they  will  render  the 
possessor  of  them  a  safe  and  valuable  companion  to 

If  there  be  any  who,  amidst  their  pretensions  to 
piety,  manifest  an  indifference  to  the  studies  of  the 
university,  and  an  open  contempt  for  its  honours, 
and  who  are  forward  in  disputing  on  points  of  con¬ 
troversy,  and  arrogant  in  maintaining  some  peculiar 
views  of  their  own,  to  the  neglect  of  the  plain  and 
practical  truths  of  religion,  withdraw  yourself  from 
them.  Those  alone  deserve  your  notice,  who  carry 
religion  into  all  the  duties  and  offices  of  life,  and 
who  unite  diligence  in  their  appointed  studies,  with 
fervour  of  spirit  in  the  service  of  the  Lord,  (Rom. 
xii.  11.)  At  the  same  time,  it  will  be  well  to  join 
yourself  to  those,  who  are  gentlemanly  in  their 
deportment,  rather  than  to  persons,  who,  by  a  vulga¬ 
rity  in  their  manner,  give  offence  to  those  of  more 
polished  habits  ;  but  yet,  on  the  whole,  you  will  do 
well  to  prefer  an  honest, man,  with  somewhat  of  a 
rough  unmannered  exterior,  before  one  of  more 
fashionable  appearance,  with  a  heart  less  upright,  and 
a  life  less  devoted  to  the  Lord. 

3.  I  particularly  recommend  you  to  decline  break¬ 
fast  'parlies  as  a  custom ;  for  even  when  the  conver- 



sation  may  be  interesting  and  generally  improving, 
there  is  a  temptation  to  prolong  it  unreasonably,  and 
thus  to  infringe  upon  the  regular  hours  and  habits  of 

4.  When  at  college,  I  had  a  great  dread  of  loun¬ 
gers.  They  are  the  bane  of  all  study.  Security  from 
morning  interruptions  must  be  obtained  at  any  expense. 
Idleness  is  very  contagious,  and  gossiping  of  all  kinds 
is  a  sad  waste  of  time.  The  best  way  of  avoiding 
the  evil,  is  to  resort  to  the  common  usage  of  shutting 
your  outer  door. 

5.  Remember,  (for  it  is  an  invaluable  maxim)  that 
method  is  the  soul  of  business ,  and  that  steady  perse¬ 
verance  is  necessary  to  your  successful  cultivation  of 
knowledge.  Let  your  time  be  duly  portioned  out, 
and  every  thing  done  in  its  season. — Let  each  hour 
have  its  allotted  employment.  Rise  early.  Keep 
good  hours — your  health  and  success  both  depend 
on  it.  Sitting  up  late  is  a  very  bad  habit.  Guard 
against  inequality  and  irregularity  :  if  you  read  hard 
for  a  week,  and  then  idle  away  whole  days  in  boating 
and  riding,  you  will  make  less  progress  than  persons 
inferior  to  yourself  in  ability,  but  who  are  steady  and 
regular  in  their  application.  Nothing  is  done  well 
that  is  done  by  fits  and  starts. 

6.  You  ought  not  to  think  of  degrading  into  the 

o  o  o 

class  called  the  non-reading  men,  under  an  idle 
pretence  of  gaining  more  general  knowledge :  you 
should  aim  at  some  academical  distinction.  I  dare 



not  hold  out  to  you,  as  a  motive,  the  love  of 
reputation  or  the  gratification  of  pride  ;  but  study 
continually  to  honour  God  and  religion.  It  is 
worth  while  to  labour  hard  to  have  something  valu¬ 
able  in  the  eyes  of  the  ivorld,  to  lay  at  the  foot  of 
the  cross.  I  have  always  admired  Selden’s  reply, 
when  asked  how  a  man  of  his  attainments  could  lower 
himself  by  superstition,  (for  such  his  piety  was  mis¬ 
called) — “  You  may  despise  religion,  but  whatever 
be  my  attainments  in  human  learning,  I  do  count 
them  all  but  dung  and  dross  in  comparison  of  the  ex¬ 
cellency  of  the  knowledge  of  Jesus  Christ  my  Lord.” 
Many  men  will  value  the  truth  in  proportion  to  their 
respect  for  those  who  profess  it.  You  may  find  per¬ 
sons  who  cloak  their  indolence  or  their  dulness  under 
a  misapplication  of  some  text  of  scripture  ;  but  be 
assured  the  most  spiritual  and  really  useful  men,  if 
not  always  possessed  of  the  greatest  talent,  are  those 
who  have  made  the  most  of  their  opportunities.  No 
one’s  name  slumbers  in  the  Tripos  :  it  follows  him 
through  life  ;  and  what  he  has  been  at  college,  will 
help  or  injure  his  influence  in  many  a  country  village. 
When  a  young  clergyman  excites  attention  by  a  serious 
application  to  his  duties,  it  is  a  common  inquiry 
amongst  persons  who  might  be  supposed  not  to 
trouble  themselves  about  such  matters,  What  degree 
did  he  take  ?  Was  he  distinguished  at  college  ?  and 
he  will  rise  or  sink  in  their  estimation  accordingly. 
There  may  be  prejudice  and  mistake  in  this;  but  it 



carries  no  small  weight  to  be  able  to  say,  Are  they 
philosophers,  mathematicians,  or  linguists  ?  so  am  1. 
Besides,  the  habit  of  application  to  subjects  not  im¬ 
mediately  connected  with  religion,  is  a  good  discipline 
of  the  mind,  and  will  accustom  it  to  correct  and  deep 
thinking  on  religion  itself.  The  studies  of  the  university 
are  not,  as  some  suppose,  a'  mere  literary  trial  of  skill, 
and  of  no  further  use  than  to  fill  up  a  space  in  human 
life,  or  fit  a  man  for  scientific  pursuits  alone.  If  you 
find  the  lectures  dry,  or  your  studies  irksome,  think  of 
working  for  God’s  glory  and  Christ’s  honour,  and 
it  will  infuse  a  vigour  and  a  sweetness  into  them. 
I  have  heard  some  good  young  men  complain  of  the 
loss  of  spirituality  and  taste  for  the  Bible,  and  ascribe 
this  mischief  to  the  absorbing  influence  of  their 
studies;  but  their  studies  are  not  to  blame.  If  you 
enter  into  them  with  a  desire  to  serve  and  honour 
the  Lord,  you  will  suffer  no  loss  by  means  of  them  : 
if  in  your  spirit  you  find  less  of  the  vivid  motions 
of  a  flame,  your  love  to  God  will  on  the  whole  burn 
with  a  purer  and  more  steady  fire.  A  man  may  hold 
communion  with  God  through  any  medium,  or  in  any 
occupation,  if  his  heart  and  aim  be  right :  and  whilst 
he  may  become  carnal  in  the  midst  of  theological 
pursuits,  he  may  preserve  the  utmost  spirituality 
while  wading  through  the  less  inviting  labours  of 
the  schools.  Remember  that  it  is  not  your  zvork, 
but  your  motive ,  which  will  injure  or  keep  alive  your 



You  will  be  required  to  go  to  the  college  chapel 
a  certain  number  of  times  every  week.  I  would 
advise  you,  however,  to  be  present  as  often  as 
possible.  The  example  even  of  the  religious  young 
men  may  fail  you ;  many  of  whom  regard  this  regular 
attendance  as  a  waste  of  time.  They  complain  of 
the  way  in  which  the  service  is  sometimes  performed, 
and  that  there  is  no  devotion  in  chants  and  anthems. 
But  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  offences  of 
others,  or  with  modes  of  worship.  It  is  God’s  house, 
God’s  service.  Honour  both,  and  you  shall  not  have 
to  bewail  the  unprofitableness  of  prayer  under  any 
circumstances  or  defects. 

Go,  also,  to  chapel  in  proper  time  ;  and  never 
think  any  time  misspent  which  is  employed  in  the 
service  and  presence  of  God.  Your  attendance  at 
St.  Mary’s,  though  expected,  is  not  exacted.  You  will 
hear  many  admirable  discourses  for  head  and  heart 
at  that  church.  Sermons  indeed  are  much  improved 
in  doctrine  and  application  since  my  day;  yet  even 
then  I  seldom  heard  a  discourse  from  which  I  could 
not  sain  something  useful,  either  in  the  elucidation  of 
the  text,  or  by  inference,  and  use  of  the  preacher’s 
material.  But  whatever  be  the  defect  of  a  sermon, 
recollect  who  has  set  you  the  example  of  honouring  the 
appointment  of  lawful  authority  in  church  and  state, 
and  “  fulfilling  all  righteousness.”  1  would  have  you 
affiliate  yourself  to  the  habits,  usages,  studies,  and 
worship  of  an  university  man,  and  cultivate  a  spirit 



of  modesty,  regularity,  order,  humility,  and  sub¬ 
mission,  as  the  prime  duty  and  greatest  ornament  of 
a  young  man  in  statu  pupillari,  whose  province  it  is 
to  learn  and  not  to  teach. 

8.  You  wish  me  to  sketch  out  a  plan  of  study , 
and  an  orderly  arrangement  of  your  time.  Much 
depends  on  college  appointments  ;  but  leaving  you 
to  improve  or  alter  in  reference  to  them,  I  wall  com¬ 
ply  with  your  request,  at  the  same  time  observing 
that  it  is  more  easy  for  me  to  dictate,  than  for  you  to 
execute.  You  have  need  to  pray  for  firmness  and 
resolution;  since  any  relaxation  or  breach  cn  your 
part,  except  in  cases  of  imperious  necessity,  will 
leave  you  resolving  and  re-resolving,  but  never 
attaining  to  any  eminence.  I  suppose  the  chapel- 
service  at  seven  in  the  morning  and  six  in  the  evening, 
hall  at  four,  lecture  at  nine,  with  some  other  college 
exercise  which  you  must  arrange  as  you  can — the 
amount  of  time  will  be  the  same.  Let  your  private 
devotions  be  always  your  first  occupation  in  the 
morning.  I  need  not  repeat  what  I  have  already  said 
on  this  subject,  except  it  be  again  to  urge  you,  on  no 
account  to  proceed  to  business,  till  you  have  sought 
help  from  God.  If  you  be  not  inflexibly  steady  and 
regular  on  this  point,  you  will  lose  the  spirit  of 
religion,  and  retain  only  the  dregs  of  form.  Out  of 
the  remainder  of  the  day,  take  after  lectures  six 
hours  for  your  college  exercises  ;  and  try  to  be 
steady,  neat,  accurate,  and  eminent  in  every  thing. 



You  will  now  have  spent  seven  or  eight  hours  in 
close  application  ;  never  exceed  them.  You  may  turn 
to  music,  which  is  a  great  refreshment  of  the  spirits, — 
to  conversation,  or  whatever  requires  no  effort  of 
mind.  Never  be  out  of  your  room  after  ten  at  night, 
and  spend  half  an  hour  at  the  least  in  devotional 
exercises  before  you  retire  to  bed.  I  shall  not 
repeat  what  I  have  said  on  the  subject  of  prayer, 
but  let  me  add  one  caution.  You  will  sometimes 
have  to  lament  great  failures ;  do  not  on  such 
occasions  take  refuge  in  loose  antinomian  notions, 
nor  yet  give  way  to  recklessness  and  despondency ; 
if  God  knows  you  are  honest,  and  striving  in  all 
things  to  glorify  him,  though  you  fall  seven  times 
a  day,  he  will  raise  you  up  again.  Never  resolve 
to  do  nothing  because  you  have  not  done  every  thing ; 
but  cast  your  troubles  on  Christ,  and  set  to  wrork 
again  with  more  diligence,  caution,  and  dependence. 

I  have  said  nothing  of  modern  literature :  you 
are  already  pretty  well  acquainted  with  it,  and  if 
you  can  find  an  hour  for  lighter  reading,  w'hich  does 
not  fatigue  you,  it  may  he  well  to  enlarge  your  pre¬ 
sent  stock  ;  but  not  to  the  neglect  of  other  things  ; 
because  in  vacations  you  may  profitably  spend  some 
time  upon  the  historians  and  English  poets.  I  would 
have  you  attend,  in  turn,  the  public  lectures  on 
anatomy,  chemistry,  &c.  ; — you  will  not  be  able  to 
read  in  private  on  these  subjects,  but  you  may  thus 
acquire  a  general  knowledge  of  them,  which  will  both 



improve  and  amuse  you.  The  divinity  lectures  I  advise 
you  to  pay  particular  attention  to.  Make  copious 
notes  of  what  you  hear  there.  You  will  find  them 
abounding  in  important  and  well  digested  matter. 
With  respect  to  theological  reading,  however,  let 
me  seriously  caution  you  against  a  spirit  of  curious 
metaphysical  inquiry  into  those  parts  of  theology, which 
are  more  fit  for  age  and  experience,  if  indeed  they  are  • 
ever  safe,  or  profitable,  or  intelligible.  The  arrogant 
dogmatism  of  some  religionists  is  intolerable,  their 
presumption  full  of  danger,  and  their  spirit  and 
temper  most  unchristian.  On  many  points  it  is  best 
to  say  with  Leighton,  “  Here  I  choose  rather  to  stand 
on  the  shore,  and  in  the  survey  of  God’s  judgments 
exclaim,  ‘  Oh  the  depths, ’  than  venture  out  upon  the 
fathomless  abyss,  from  which  I  may  never  return.” 
The  present  is  a  childish  dispensation,  in  which  we 
must  be  content  to  know  little,  and  strive  to  do  much. 

There  is  one  part  of  my  sketch  on  which  I  have 
not  been  sufficiently  explicit ;  I  mean  the  exercise 
which  is  indispensably  necessary  to  health.  I  have 
scarcely  ever  had  a  pupil  to  whom  in  this  respect 
I  did  not  seem  to  be  another  Cassandra,  whose 
predictions  no  one  would  believe.  I  hope  you  will 
be  an  exception.  To  read  yourself  blind,  deaf, 
stupid,  and  nervous,  is  really  a  great  folly,  and  a 
kind  of  suicide.  There  have  been  many  sad  examples 
of  complete  failure  amongst  students,  through  neglect 
of  exercise,  rather  than  from  over-mental  exertion. 



Always  take  exercise  in  the  best  part  of  the  day,  and 
for  two  hours  consecutively  at  the  very  least. 

9.  Avoid  nine  parties,  as  much  as  possible  :  or  if 
circumstances  seem  to  make  an  occasional  visit  in  this 
way  necessary,  firmly  adhere  to  somerule  as  to  quantity. 
This  determination  will  save  you  much  trouble  and 
temptation.  Acquaintances  formed  at  these  parties 
are  transitory,  and  companions  will  soon  be  dispersed 
to  be  heard  of  no  more.  A  few  endeared  intimacies 
are  likely  to  be  more  durable  and  valuable. 

10.  The  university,  which  brings  together  so  great 
a  variety  of  persons,  is  a  good  school  for  the  study 
of  character:  avail  yourself  of  it;  by  the  defects  of 
others  learn  to  correct  your  own,  and  by  their 
virtues  improve  yourself.  You  will  seldom  find 
a  person  who  does  not  excel  you  in  something:  lead 
him  to  talk  on  his  favourite  subject,  that  you  may 
profit  by  his  superiority. 

11.  With  respect  to  your  vacations ,  I  shall  only 
now  throw  out  one  hint ;  which  is,  that  these  must  be 
almost  equally  busy  periods,  if  you  aspire  to  acade¬ 
mical  honours.  You  will,  indeed,  be  expected  to  relax 
occasionally  in  family  parties;  still  you  must  un¬ 
ceasingly  pursue  your  object,  and  attend  to  little 
else.  Get  up  your  college  subjects  for  the  next 
term ;  you  cannot  otherwise  keep  pace  with  the 

12.  Whatever  you  read,  always  keep  in  mind  the 




o-raz£  truths  of  the  Bible ,  Let  the  Bible  and  the  Bible 
only,  be  the  rule  of  your  faith  and  practice. 

13.  Never  converse  about  religion,  but  in  the 
spirit  of  religion  ;  be  earnest,  spiritual,  and  serious ; 
jokes,  and  tales,  and  absurd  associations,  produce 
levity  of  mind,  and  even  hypocrisy  ;  be  cheerful,  but 
not  light. 

14.  You  may  start  at  the  amount  of  what  I  have 
stated,  but  I  know  from  experience  that  I  have  pro¬ 
posed  nothing  which  may  not  be  achieved  by  steady 

perseverance.  Throw  your  whole  soul,  my  dear - , 

into  a  preparation  for  a  useful,  honourable,  and 
religious  life  ;  more  especially  as  you  are  looking 
forward  to  the  most  glorious  of  all  employments, 
the  office  and  work  of  the  ministry.  That  God 
may  give  you  grace,  and  health,  and  strength,  to 
become  a  workman  that  needeth  not  to  be  ashamed, 
is  the  earnest  prayer  of, 

Your  affectionate  and  faithful  friend. 


No.  18. 






READER!  I  would  speak  to  you  on  the 
subject  of  Horse-races.  Do  you 
countenance  them  ?  I,  among  others,  do 
not.  We  oppose  them  on  religious  prin¬ 
ciples.  Now,  if  you  are  one  of  those 
that  abound  in  these  days  of  lukewarm¬ 
ness  and  misconceptions,  who  would  set 
down  for  idle  cant  any  allusion  to  religious 
principles  in  matters  which  they  would 
flatter  themselves  religion  has  nothing  to 
do  with,  I  pray  you  put  down  this  paper : 
1  cannot  convince  you;  the  tongue  of  an 
angel  could  not  convince  you,  that  any 
thing  is  right  which  opposes  the  inclina¬ 
tion  of  your  will  and  heart.  You  have 
determined — if  you  have  determined  any 
thing — to  serve  the  world  first  and  God 


next,  if  it  be  convenient,  or  there  should 
be  time  occasionally.  It  is  to  the  pro¬ 
fessing  Christian  that  I  address  myself. 
To  you  I  shall  be  intelligible  when  I  speak 
of  religious  principles,  and  say  that  they 
can  be  never  out  of  place ;  and  from  you 
I  shall  easily  get  an  assent  to  that  general 
rule  which  Scripture  has  established,  and 
common  experience  supports, — that  till 
by  God’s  mercy  there  is  implanted  in  the 
heart  an  anxious  concern  for  the  salvation 
of  the  soul,  nothing  is  looked  upon  in  a 
true  view,  or  in  its  right  place.  Have  I 
then  no  care  for  my  soul,  you  ask,  if  I 
patronise  the  Race-course?  Believe  me, 
Reader,  if  you  think  yourself  to  be  a  true 
follower  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  yet  can  see 
no  harm  in  such  things,  you  must  be  in 
fearful  error  one  way  or  another.  The 
true  follower  of  Jesus  is  to  look  to  the 
glory  of  God  in  all  that  he  sets  his  hand 
to ;  is  to  have  God  always  before  his  eyes; 
is  to  be  seeking  the  good  either  of  his  own 
soul,  or  the  souls  of  his  fellow-creatures. 
Can  God’s  glory,  God’s  fear,  or  man’s 
good  be  promoted  by  the  agonising  strug¬ 
gles  of  dumb  animals  ?  by  the  staking  of 
men’s  substance — those  talents  committed 
to  their  charge  to  be  laid  out  in  glorifying 


God — for  no  purpose  at  all?  by  indulging 
in  the  intoxicating  cup  ?  by  listening  to, 
and  perhaps  participating  in,  all  manner 
of  blasphemies  and  impurities  ?  Tell  me, 
Reader,  does  the  boldly  professing  Chris¬ 
tian  frequent  such  places?  he  who  pro¬ 
fesses  to  be  led  by  the  Spirit  of  God 
dwelling  in  his  heart?  Is  it  not  notorious 
that  those  who  originate,  revive,  and  con¬ 
tinue  such  scenes,  are  outwardly  and  even 
professedly,  lovers  of  pleasure  rather  than 
lovers  of  God  ?  persons  who  would  stop 
their  ears  if  you  were  to  speak  to  them 
of  Christ;  who  would  turn  their  backs 
and  blaspheme  were  a  Minister  of  his 
Gospel  to  stand  up  before  them,  and  re¬ 
prove  them  out  of  God’s  word;  who  are 
in  the  habit  of  saying  that  people  are  in 
danger  of  becoming  righteous  overmuch, 
and  that  all  the  world  are  become  saints  ? 
Is  not  this  the  language  of  the  promoters 
of  the  Race,  the  theatre,  the  revel,  and 
other  various  vanities  with  which  Satan 
amuses  his  willing  slaves  in  this  world? 
And  can  this  be  the  language  of  a  Chris¬ 
tian,  of  one  that  has  vowed  before  God 
that  he  will  by  grace  renounce,  put  far 
away  from  him,  the  world,  the  flesh,  the 
devil?  Can  one  on  whom  the  vows  of 


God  thus  lie,  countenance  a  place  where 
the  world— yea  as  its  children  call  it,  the 
fashionable  world — reigns  supreme — God 
and  eternity  shut  out  from  their  thoughts, 
that  they  may  revel  more  freely  in  the 
reckless  riot  of  blind  and  godless  hea¬ 
thens;  a  place  where  the  flesh  in  every 
shape  is  consulted,  both  in  the  lust  of  the 
eye,  and  the  pride  of  life;  where  the 
flaunting  crowds  of  the  sons  of  Adam 
and  daughters  of  Eve,  clothed  in  all  the 
glitter  and  glare  their  means  can  muster^ 
parade  their  importance  before  their  fel¬ 
low-worms  ;  a  place  where  if  God  presides 
not,  Satan  must;  and  where  it  is  plain 
that  he  does,  from  the  fruits  it  produces, 
prodigality,  profaneness,  drunkenness, 
uncleanness,  fighting,  bloodshed.  With 
what  malignant  complacency  may  we 
imagine  the  Prince  of  this  World  roams 
through  the  *  length  and  breadth  of  it, 
viewing  the  rich  harvest  he  is  about  to 
reap  in  so  many  never-dying  souls  giving 
themselves  up  to  him  in  preference,  to  be 
the  subjects  of  his  kingdom  here,  and  the 
partakers  of  his  torments  hereafter. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  all  this,  we  are 
told  that  the  Race-course  is  a  necessary 
relaxation,  and  an  innocent  amusement. 


Now  we  grant  that  there  may  be  neces¬ 
sary  relaxations ;  but  until  it  can  be  shewn 
where  God  has  said  c  relax  your  energies 
which  might  otherwise  sink  through  un¬ 
remitted  zeal  in  my  service,  by  glutting 
your  eyes  with  the  writhings  of  dumb 
animals  in  their  attempts  to  escape  from 
the  torture  of  the  lash,  and  by  gathering 
together  around  you  the  profane,  the 
drunkard,  the  gamester,  the  unclean,  and 
proclaiming  to  them  a  holiday  which,  by 
agreement,  God  and  religion,  the  Bible 
and  its  truths  shall  have  no  power  to  mar,5 
till  such  a  permission  as  this  can  be  shewn, 
we  can  never  allow  the  Horse-race  to  be 
a  necessary  relaxation.  Is  it  an  innocent 
one  ?  Many  maintain,  perhaps,  of  those 
who  desire  to  revive  and  continue  this 
relic  of  a  dark  age,  that  they  have  never 
felt  any  harm  from  promoting  a  Horse¬ 
race  ;  that  they  know  many  besides  who 
have  done  as  they  have,  and  have  likewise 
felt  no  harm.  It  may  be  so,  and  they 
should  look  to  it;  for  one  sign  of  God's 
having  given  up  men  to  walk  after  their 
own  imaginations  is  that  they  have  no 
changes,  no  interruptions.  But  even  al¬ 
lowing  that  they  have  as  yet  felt  no  harm 
to  their  souls  arising  from  the  practice,  yet 


let  them  look  a  little  further  than  them¬ 
selves,  and  see  whether  the  ruin  of  the 
souls  of  thousands  be  not  involved,  if  not 
their  own.  Do  the  great,  the  wealthy,  the 
professional,  alone  participate  in  the 
scenes,  and  swell  the  crowd  of  the  Race¬ 
course  ?  It  were  well,  perhaps,  compara¬ 
tively,  if  such  were  the  case  ;  but  such  is 
not.  See  the  effects  that  it  has  among  the 
poor.  See  the  miserable  results  it  leads 
to.  See  the  labourer  that  has  been  tempted 
to  leave  his  home,  and  take  a  part  in  the 
iniquities  of  the  day,  returning  at  night, 
reeling  perhaps  with  the  fumes  of  drunk¬ 
enness,  perhaps  stained  with  the  blood  of 
himself  or  of  his  brother ;  to  take  his 
place,  with  stifled  conscience  and  brutal¬ 
ized  heart,  before  the  little  circle  that 
clusters  around  him  from  day  to  day  to 
gather  from  him  an  example  and  rule  for 
their  future  lives ;  or,  at  any  rate,  return¬ 
ing  to  have  those  eyes,  which  amidst  his 
labours  should  be  dwelling  on  heavenly 
things,  haunted  for  months  to  come  by 
the  empty  shew  of  that  day  ;  and  his  ear, 
which  might  otherwise  be  noticing  the 
care  and  love  of  a  kind  Providence  in  the 
glad  sounds  of  creation,  stunned  with  the 
oaths  and  blasphemies  which  that  day  fell 


upon  it.  Or  see  the  youth  who  has  felt 
the  strivings  of  the  Spirit  of  God,  and 
who  has  “  escaped  the  corruptions  of  the 
world  through  lust (2  Pet.  i.  4,)  drawn 
away  by  the  deceitfulness  of  sin  into  the 
same  snare  of  the  devil,  and  returning  to 
his  home,  his  affections  cooled,  his  heart 
hardened,  to  relapse  into  a  state  more 
fearful  than  his  first.  O  how  many  a  soul 
has  looked  back  with  shame  to  the  loss  of 
its  first  love  from  the  deadly  influence  of 
some  such  worldly  vanity  as  the  Race¬ 
course  and  the  revel.  And  surely  the  fact 
that  by  such  unholy  excitements,  the  love 
of  God,  and  the  concern  for  the  soul  are 
diminished,  deserves  some  consideration 
as  to  the  innocency  of  the  amusement  we 
are  considering.  The  nourishment  of 
godliness  in  the  heart  is  different  from  the 
nourishment  of  any  thing  else  there ;  any 
thing  else  is  a  natural  plant  there,  but 
godliness  we  all  know  is  not:  and  the 
enemy  that  made  it  to  be  so,  being  still 
interested  to  keep  the  matter  as  bad  as 
possible,  makes  a  handle  of  every  thing 
he  can,  to  keep  out,  and  to  root  out,  every 
blade  of  righteousness. — And  nothing 
yields  him  a  better  handle  for  so  doing 
than  these  vanities,  which  he  first  put  into 


men’s  hearts  to  invent,  such  as  the  Race¬ 
course,  the  theatre,  the  revel,  and  so  on  ; 
for  these  profess  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  God  or  religion,  and  bring  together 
multitudes  without  the  fear  of  God  be¬ 
fore  their  eyes,  who  bring  forth  the  evil 
treasures  of  their  hearts,  and  encourage 
one  another  in  every  corruption. 

Next  the  world  holds  that  it  is  a  pa¬ 
triotic  amusement  which  we  denounce, 
that  it  diffuses  good  among  men.  I  think 
we  have  seen  the  species  of  good  which  it 
diffuses  among  others.  Let  us  see  of  what 
kind  is  the  good  it  produces  to  the  ori¬ 
ginators  and  promoters  themselves  of  such 
amusement.  “He  that  loveth  pleasure 
shall  be  a  poor  man.”  (Prov.  xxi.  17.)  The 
word  of  God  has  said  it,  and  experience 
proves  it  two  ways ;  first  in  the  man’s  sub¬ 
stance,  next  in  his  soul.  With  regard  to 
his  substance,  how  often  has  the  Race¬ 
course  reduced  a  man  from  affluence  to 
beggary  in  the  world;  from  a  state  in 
which  he  might  have  spread  blessings 
around  him,  to  a  state  in  which  he  has 
neither  power  nor  influence  to  effect  good 
if  he  would.  God  has  marked  the  place 
with  his  curse  in  making  it  the  means  of 
taking  away  from  men  those  abused 


talents  which  ought  to  have  been  laid  out 
in  promoting  his  glory,  instead  of  increa¬ 
sing  the  groans  of  the  creation.  The 
Creator  by  no  means  permits  his  creature 
to  do  what  he  pleases  with  his  own,  but 
that  which  it  has  been  commanded  him  to 
do,  and  woe  be  to  the  presumption  that 
dares  to  squander  that  trust  otherwise. 
But  besides  this  poverty  in  substance, 
there  is  a  far  more  to  be  dreaded  poverty 
spiritually,  which  we  may  say  always  ac¬ 
companies  this  devotion  to  the  pleasures 
and  sports  of  the  world — when  God 
sends  leanness  into  the  soul;  when  the 
light  of  his  countenance  is  withdrawn,  and 
every  hope  in  the  future  fades,  every  joy 
in  the  present  withers,  and  there  remains 
only  a  fearful  looking  for  of  judgment,  to 
the  reality  of  which  the  mind  must  be 
kept  blinded  by  such  stir  and  excitement 
as  the  world  and  its  gods  best  yield. 

Next,  say  the  world,  there  is  a  time  for 
all  things.  Granted,  for  the  Scripture 
saith  it;  but  remember  the  Scripture 
speaks  to  those  that  hold  the  Scripture. 
Look  at  the  Race-course  both  in  itself  and 
in  its  effects,  and  judge  ye  whether  or  not 
the  Scripture  saith  there  is  a  time  for  the 
countenancing  that  which  is  an  especial 


and  exclusive  field  for  the  world,  the  flesh, 
and  the  devil  to  revel  in.  Till  then  it  can  be 
shewn  that  such  an  amusement  is  neces¬ 
sary,  innocent,  patriotic,  and  appointed, 
(in  the  sense  which  the  world  itself  attaches 
to  the  terms)  the  baptized  Christian ,  on 
whom  are  the  vows  of  God,  must  in  duty 
resist  them.  Even  on  the  lowest  ground, 
one  would  imagine,  that  men  as  mere 
rational  creatures  would  do  so ;  that  minds 
capable  of  following  the  planets  in  their 
courses,  would  despise  the  contemptible 
pleasure  which  the  sight  of  brute  beasts 

frantic  with  torture  could  vield  them. 


And,  a  further  ground  of  resistance  will 
be  acknowledged  by  the  Christian ,  in  the 
stumbling-block  which  such  sports  are  to 
the  labours  of  the  Ministers  of  God.  He 
knows  and  considers  that  strict  and  solemn 
account  which  they  will  have  one  day  to 
give  for  every  soul  under  their  charge, 
and  trembles  lest  he  should  be  found  an 
impediment  in  their  way  by  promoting 
that  which  Satan  makes  an  especial  means 
of  entrapping  those  souls,  and  thus  as  it 
were  nullifying  their  work,  which  is  also 
God’s  work.  Here  is  enough  then  for  the 
true  disciple  of  Christ,  (who  is  command¬ 
ed  to  prove  all  things,  and  to  hold  fast 


that  which  is  good,)  to  decide  that  the 
Race-course,  involving  as  it  does  such  aw¬ 
ful  consequences,  must  be  given  up  by 
him,  having  been  examined  by  the  law 
and  by  the  testimony, and  found  not  good. 
And  here  would  I  call  upon  my  neigh¬ 
bours,  upon  those  of  them  who  care  for 
their  souls,  and  have  declared  upon  the 
Lord’s  side,  to  thank  God  for  an  oppor¬ 
tunity  that  is  about  to  be  afforded  them  of 
shewing  what  they  are,  by  separating 
themselves  from  the  God-forgetting,  God- 
despising  crew,  that  will  be  found  at  their 
orgies  on  the  high  places  of  St.  Stephens ; 
for  scarce  more  clearly  and  palpably  was 
the  golden  image  of  Nebuchadnezzar 
worshipped,  when  was  heard  the  sound  of 
the  cornet,  flute,  harp,  sackbut,  psaltery, 
and  dulcimer,  than  will  Satan  himself,  the 
god  of  this  world,  be  worshipped  by  his 
deluded  votaries,  when  the  pant  of  the 
tortured  steed,  the  shrill  whistle  of  the 
whip,  mingled  with  the  shout  of  the  gam¬ 
bler,  the  wild  roar  of  the  drunkard,  the 
blasphemy  of  the  profane,  the  ribaldry  of 
the  lascivious,  the  empty  laugh  of  the 
frivolous,  are  heard — and  heard  they  will 
be — on  the  Downs  of  St.  Stephens.  And 
blessed,  thrice  blessed,  shall  those  Sha- 


drachs,  Mesechs,  and  Abednegos  be,  who 
dare  for  conscience  sake,  at  the  command 
of  the  God  that  bought  them,  set  at 
nought  the  mandate  of  that  prince  of  the 
unbelieving  world  who  would  fain  set 
his  foot  upon  their  necks,  even  as  he  does 
upon  the  necks  of  his  willing  slaves. 

And  ye  that  have  by  grace  been  brought 
out  from  that  bitter  bondage,  envy  them 
not  their  revelry.  The  time  fast  eometh 
when  such  occupations  will  yield  no  satis¬ 
faction  to  those  that  engage  in  them. 
The  evil  day  of  peril,  sickness,  calamity, 
or  death  will  make  even  the  worldling, 
maddened  though  he  hitherto  has  been 
with  the  intoxicating  potion  which  Satan 
has  held  to  his  lips,  come  in  a  measure  to 
his  senses,  and  think — if  it  be  only  to  de¬ 
spair — of  his  soul,  and  the  eternity  that 
he  has  trilled  with  !  God  give  you  grace 
to  shew  that  you  have  chosen  that  better 
part  which  shall  not  be  taken  from  you ! 

Price  Ss.  per  100. 

Rev.  H.  A.  Simcoe,  (Penheale-Press)  Cornwall. 

IM  'tuXi  TK 



3£sta61tsf)et>  ©fitted)  tn  ErdantJ 







Bath  Church  of  England  Lay  Association, 
On  SATURDAY,  Dec.  6,  1834, 





From  the  Bath  Chronicle  of  Dec.  11,  1834. 

'  ,  /  ‘ 

BATH  : 






A  most  numerous  and  highly  respectable  Meeting  of 
members  and  friends  of  the  Established  Church  was  held  at  the 
Assembly  Rooms, Bath. onSaturday  Dec.6,1834,forthepurpose 
of  receiving  a  Deputation  from  the  Irish  Protestant  Conserva¬ 
tive  Society,  which  attended  to  submit  a  statement  respecting 
“  the  present  oppressed  condition  of  the  Protestant  Church  and 
“  religion  in  Ireland,”  in  order  that,  if  the  Meeting  should  see 
fit,  an  address  on  behalf  of  that  religion  and  Church  should  be 
forwarded  to  his  Majesty.  The  large  room  was  very  nearly 
filled,  there  being  about  a  thousand  persons  present.  The 
company  were  admitted  by  shilling  tickets,  according  to  the 
regulations  of  the  Proprietors  of  the  Rooms.  Considering  the 
very  short  time  which  intervened  between  the  issuing  of  the 
notices  and  the  day  of  meeting,  the  attendance  was  much 
greater  than  could  have  been  expected.  We  may  in  this  place 
remark,  that  the  whole  of  the  proceedings,  particularly  the 
eloquent  speech  of  Mr.  O’Sullivan,  were  listened  to  with  the 
deepest  attention,  and  were  greeted  with  the  most  enthusiastic 

Capt.  Muttlebury  stated  that  the  Meeting  had  been  called 
by  the  Bath  Church  of  England  Lay  Association,  the  object  of 
which  was  to  collect  information  necessary  to  place  in  a  clear 
light  before  the  public  the  condition  of  the  Established  Church. 
The  Association  thought  that  the  present  was  a  legitimate  oc¬ 
casion  for  the  exercise  of  the  purposes  which  they  had  in  view. 
The  Lord  Bishop  of  the  Diocese  had  been  requested  to  take 
the  Chair,  and  his  Lordship  with  his  usual  kindness  had  con¬ 
sented.  (Cheers.) 

The  Lord  Bishop  said  that  it  gave  him  much  pleasure  to 
preside  over  so  numerous  and  respectable  a  meeting  as  the  pre¬ 
sent.  Many  individuals  more  efficient  there  might  have  been 
selected  for  that  honourable  office  ;  but  he  would  assure  the 
meeting  that  he  would  yield  to  no  man  in  the  fervour  of  his 
wishes  to  preserve  the  efficiency  of  our  unrivalled  Constitution 
in  Church  and  State.  (Cheers.)  Though,  however,  this  was 
his  feeling  he  must  readily  acknowledge  that  he  was  a  friend 
to  effecting  in  the  Church  all  real  improvements.  As  to  the 
discipline  and  temporalities  of  the  Church  he  was  most  willing 


to  accede  to  all  amendments  which  would  promote  the  vital 
interests  of  the  Establishment;  but  he  must  at  the  same  time 
say,  that  with  respect  to  the  Articles  of  the  Church — her  doc¬ 
trines — and  her  spiritualities,  he  would  rather  give  up  all  that 
was  dear  to  him  on  earth  than  concede  one  single  iota  of  them, 
because  he  felt  that  the  Church  was  built  upon  a  rock,  which 
rock  was  Jesus  Christ.  (Cheers.)  He  would  not  trespass 
longer  on  the  time  of  the  meeting,  but  call  on  the  Deputation 
from  Ireland  to  enter  into  the  expected  statement  respecting 
the  Irish  Church,  whose  welfare  was  so  intimately  connected 
with  that  of  the  Establishment  in  this  country.  (Cheers.) 

Mr.  O'Sullivan  then  rose  amid  much  applause  and  spoke 
nearly  as  follows  : — My  Lord,  I  have  to  express  to  your  Lordship 
and  to  this  great  assembly,  my  deep  regret  that  affairs  of  much  im¬ 
portance  have  constrained  the  distinguished  individual  with  whom 
I  had  been  associated,  to  return  suddenly  to  Ireland.  I  lament 
the  loss  which  our  cause  must  necessarily  sustain  by  his  absence, 
and  the  disappointment  it  must  occasion  here.  1  am  painfully 
conscious  that  in  such  an  absence,  my  efforts  cannot  do  justice 
to  the  case  of  the  Protestants  of  Ireland, or  afford  you  satisfaction; 
but  I  will  not  allow  this  feeling  to  incapacitate  me  from  endea¬ 
vouring,  however  imperfectly,  to  discharge  my  duty;  and  I  will 
encourage  the  hope  that,  as  the  difficulty  of  my  position  is  en- 
creased,  you  will  regard  my  defects  with  more  than  ordinary  in¬ 
dulgence.  When  it  was  determined  by  the  Protestants  in  my 
country  to  send  a  deputation  to  England,  the  resolution  was,  it 
may  be  said,  extorted  from  them  by  a  sense  of  persecution  and 
danger.  They  could  not  be  blind  to  the  repeated  proofs  that  their 
interests  and  the  public  peace  were  not  wisely  consulted  for  by 
those  who  exercised  legal  rule  over  Ireland  ;  and  they  saw,  with 
increasing  alarm,  that  in  the  same  proportion  as  law  became  des¬ 
pised  arid  legislation  capricious,  and  the  government  seemed 
supine,  purposes  of  alarming  magnitude  shewed  themselves  more 
openly  in  the  avowals  of  those  whose  enterprises  they  had  reason 
to  dread,  and  crime  was  perpetrated  with  attendant  circumstances 
which  betrayed  more  clearly  the  system  to  which  it  ministered. 
They  saw  that,  in  obedience  to  the  dictation  of  an  individual,  the 
pledged  enemy  to  British  connection,  a  grievous  wrong  was  at¬ 
tempted  against  their  Church,  and  they  heard  this  prospering 
enemy  declare  that,  had  he  succeeded  to  the  extent  of  his  demands 
this  year,  he  would  stand  upon  the  present  success,  and  demand 
next  vear  a  further  concession.  They  learned,  that  the  disorgan¬ 
ised  and  distracted  state  of  their  country  was  such  as  to  compel, 
from  a  reluctant  Ministry,  an  Act  having  for  its  object  to  restrain 
disturbance,  and  prevent  crime;  and  they  saw  that  the  irrespon¬ 
sible  dictator  was  successful  in  mutilating  the  measure  so  as  that 
faction  should  be  free.  They  knew  the  inseparable  connection 
between  agitation  and  crime  ;  and  they  felt  that  where  an  excit¬ 
able  people  were  denied  protection  against  the  influences  of  public 
meetings  and  passionate  harangues,  it  was  of  no  moment  that,  for 
a  time,  they  were  restrained  from  outward  acts  of  violence.  The 
Rev.  Gentleman,  in  illustration  of  this  part  of  his  subject,  here 
read  the  following  extracts  from  the  Dublin  University  Magazine'. 


“  Talk  ot  the  protection  of  the  laws,  where  if  a  Protestant  farmer,  toge¬ 
ther  with  his  family,  should  escape  the  wholesale  destruction  of  the  mid¬ 
night  conflagration,  he  has  still  to  sustain  the  houghing  of  his  cattle,  the 
turning  up  of  his  lea  ground,  the  levelling  of  his  fences,  the  firing  of  his 
turf-stack,  the  ferocious  assaults  upon  himself  or  his  children,  when  re- 
turning  from  the  fair,  or  the  market;  or,  if  he  should  escape  these,  has 
yet  to  endure  what  the  poor  fellow  himself  calls  “  the  more  wearing  and 
break  down”  annoyance  arising  from  exclusive  dealing,  and  the  various 
other  petty  devices  suggested  by  a  mean  and  malignant  bigotry.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  (though  attempts  have  been  made  to  disguise  the  fact) 
as  to  the  cause  of  all  those  horrifying  atrocities.” 


“  It  surely  is  not  very  difficult  to  prove  this  to  those  who  have  ears  to 
hear.  When  the  peasantry  of  a  country  are  taught  to  believe  that  though 
not  de  facto,  they  are  dejure  the  possessors  of  the  soil — when  they  are  told 
that  some  centuries  ago  their  forefathers  were  robbed  by  a  hand  of  foreign 
invaders,  who  have  ever  since  kept  them  in  a  state  of  unequalled  slavery — 
that  their  pure  and  holy  religion  was  denounced  by  those  invaders,  who 
planted  their  own  execrable  heresy  in  its  stead.” 


“  Pleat  once  becomes  an  idler,  a  vagabond,  a  drunkard.  He  thinks  no 
more  of  going  home  to  the  bosom  of  his  family  after  his  day  of  healthful 
and  useful  labour;  he  goes  to  the  shebeen  to  hear  the  last  new  speech  of 
the  Counsellor  read  by  the  head  schoolmaster;  (a  gentleman  of  whose 
multiplied  accomplishments  even  Lord  Brougham,  with  all  his  ‘  march-of 
intellect  perfectahility  ’  has  but  little  notion. — His  earnings  soon  go  in 
drinking  potations  pottle  deep  ‘  to  the  Liberator’s  health  and  the  first  gem 
of  the  sea.  ’  Rent-day  comes  round:  all  the  money  has  disappeared.  It 
has  gone  either,  as  we  have  just  said,  in  drinking  to  the  Counsellor's  health, 
or  again,  to  pay  his  share  of  the  only  rent  he  has  been  taught  to  acknow¬ 
ledge,  viz.  the  tribute  necessary  for  keeping  the  *  Counsellor'  in  Parliament, 
while  removed  at  such  a  cruel  distance  from  the  wife  of  his  bosom  and  his 
‘  callow  nestlings  of  domestic  bliss,’ or  again — for  tnis  modern  minoiaur 
quite  distances  the  ancient  in  the  variety  of  his  swallow  for  thepublic  tri¬ 
bute — it  has  gone  to  fee  tire  ‘  Counsellor'  for  undertaking  the  defence  of 
some  brother  whiteboy,  who  is  entitled  to  the  eternal  gratitude  of  his 
country  for  freeing  them  from  such  monsters  as  Parson  Whitty.” 

This  (continued  the  Rev.  Gentleman)  is  a  clear  and  unexag¬ 
gerated  statement  of  the  connection  between  what  is  called  agita¬ 
tion  and  crime.  How  could  the  Protestants  of  Ireland  behold 
such  a  state  of  things  and  not  complain  of  the  evils  they  suffered, 
and  the  dangers  they  apprehended?  They  saw,  that,  from  the 
policy  of  the  government  and  the  purposes  of  a  large  portion  of 
the  people,  the  permanency  of  a  religious  ministration  was  severely 
shaken  ;  security  for  life  and  property  seriously  diminished  ;  and 
the  bonds  of  British  connection  rendered  more  precarious  and  un¬ 
certain,  and  then,  and  not  until  then,  when  their  existence  was 
felt  to  have  become  a  question,  they  determined  that  they  would 
submit  a  statement  of  their  wrongs  to  the  people  of  England,  and 
ask  of  you,  shall  these  things  be  so?  Better  hopes  have  risen  upon 
them  since  they  resolved  upon  this  appeal.  (Cheers.)  The  King 
has  rescued  us  and  you  from  the  domination  of  men  whose  mea¬ 
sures  would  in  the  end  have  led  to  the  separation  of  Ireland 
from  this  country.  (Cheers.)  But  still  the  Irish  Protestants  feel 
that  upon  you,  under  Cod,  it  must  depend  whether  their  hopes 
shall  be  confirmed.  They  know  that  our  gracious  Sovereign  is 
resolved,  to  the  utmost  of  his  power,  to  protect  the  right.  (Cheers.) 
They  believe  that  he  will  now  have  as  his  counsellors  men  who 
will  not,  in  scorn  of  every  thing  that  is  honourable  and  just,  ad¬ 
vise  injustice  because  they  can  uphold  it,  and  it  is  clamorously 
demanded.  They  know,  also,  that  with  the  people  it  must  rest 
whether  the  ancient  name  of  England  is  maintained  and  righte- 

B  2 


onsness  done;  and,  therefore,  they  are  not  less  careful  now  to 
take  your  judgment  on  their  case,  than  they  were  earnest  to  obtain 
your  support  when  their  condition  seemed  more  disastrous.  And 
let  it  be  premised,  in  justice  to  those  who  have  sent  me  here, 
that  they  do  not  ask  of  you  to  connive  at  a  single  defect  in  the 
structure  or  the  operation  of  any  one  of  their  institutions. 
(Cheers.)  They  ask  no  more  than  the  severest  justice ;  they  feel 
that  they  have  never  failed  in  truth  or  affection  to  you  ;  but  they 
put  forward  no  claim  to  warp  you  from  equity.  (Cheers.)  They 
are  satisfied  to  await  your  decision  on  the  merits  of  their  cause 
alone,  and  the  only  expectation  they  ground  on  their  approved 
fidelity  and  attachment  is  this,  that  when  you  have  seen,  if  you  do 
see  justice  on  their  side,  you  will  assert  the  impartial  judgment 
you  pronounce,  with  the  resolution  and  energy  which  in  uphold¬ 
ing  an  injured  friend,  is  characteristic  of  your  name  and  nation. 
I  do  not  know  whether  our  statements  have  as  yet  come  under 
your  notice.  With  your  permission  I  will  endeavour  to  recapitu¬ 
late  briefly  the  substance  of  them,  and  have  the  more  boldness  in 
submitting  them  for  your  judgment  inasmuch  as  they  have  extorted 
from  our  adversaries  personal  taunts,  but  have  not  provoked  them 
to  undertake  the  less  agreeable  task  of  endeavouring  to  prove  that 
they  weie  unfounded.  But  previously  to  laying  a  statement  of 
our  case  before  you,  it  is  fitting  that  I  should  advert  to  a  case 
which  has  been  imagined  for  us  in  thiscitv,  otherwise  I  should  be 
under  the  disadvantage  of  a  witness,  who,  bv  his  silence  as  to  some 
questions  lessens  the  value  of  his  testimony  in  the  instance  of  those 
he  answers.  The  Bath  Herald  of  Saturday  last  contains  the  fol¬ 
lowing  passage  in  reference  to  our  deputation: — “  We  hope  that, 
‘  should  the  above  named  rev.  gentlemen  visit  this  city  in  their 
“  progress  of  agitation,  some  individual  will,  for  the  public  satis- 
“  faction,  just  put  this  question  to  them, — ‘Do  you,  or  do  you  not 
“  mean  to  uphold  that  system  of  Church  government  in  Ireland, 
“  as  it  is  proved  to  exist  in  the  above  expose?’  We  should  he 
“glad  to  have  an  explicit  answer-”  I  am  willing,  my  Lord,  to 
imagine  the  question  proposed,  and  if  the  editor  will  allow  me  to 
change  one  word  in  its  form,  will  give  him  an  explicit  answer. 
The  word  is  “proved,”  let  me  substitute  the  word  “alleged;”  for 
no  one  part  of  this  “expose”  has  been  proved  (cheers),  and  I  an  ¬ 
swer  on  behalf  of  the  Protestants  of  Ireland,  that  “we  do  not  mean 
to  uphold  that  system  of  Church  government  as  it  is  alleged  to 
exist  in  the  ‘expose,’  ”  and  further  affirm,  that  there  Is  no  such 
system  for  us  to  uphold.  (Loud  cheers  and  laughter,  )  I  beg  your 
indulgence,  my  Lord,  while  I  state  in  detail  the  grounds  of  my  as¬ 
sertion.  The  charges  advanced  against  the  Church  establishment 
in  Ireland  as  alleged  in  the  “expose,”  to  which  1  have  requested 
your  attention,  are  two-fold.  It  is  said  that  the  revenues  of  the 
Church  are  excessive,  and  their  distribution  unfair  and  injudicious. 
I  sbal  1  beg  leave  to  consider  the  justice  of  each  of  these  accusations. 
First,  for  the  amount  of  revenue.  The  first  item  in  the  charge 
against  the  Establishment  is  the  amount  of  what  is  called  Bishop's 
salaries,  at  six  thousand  pounds  each,  and  in  the  total  ,£182  000. 
The  real  amount,  as  stated  by  Lord  Brougham  in  a  debate  on  the 
Church  Temporalities  Act  was  then  £’ I2S, 000,  from  which  the 
following  deductions  are  to  be  made,  as  you  may  read  in  Earl 
Grey’s  speech  on  the  same  occasion.  Immediate  reduction  on 


Bishopric  of  Deny  £4160,  future  reduction  of  the  same  Bishopric 
£2000;  future  reduction  of  Armagh,  £4500;  produce  of  ten 
Bishoprics  suppressed,  £50,780;  tax  on  those  which  remain, 
£4600.  Adding  these  sums  together  it  appears  that  a  deduction 
of  £66,040  is  to  be  made  from  the  Episcopal  revenues,  and  that 
the  amount  with  which  the  Church  is  to  he  charged  should  be  set 
down  at  £61,960,  not  as  alleged  in  the  Bath  Herald's  ‘'expose” 
£132,000.  (Cheers  and  laughter  )  The  second  item  is  the  amount 
of  Tithe,  which  is  stated  to  be  at  the  lowest  possible  estimate 
£625,000.  If  the  meaning  be  Ecclesiastical  Tithe,  Parliament 
has  made  a  lower,  and  the  Committee  appointed  to  enquire  into 
the  tithe  system,  has  set  down  the  gross  amount  of  Ecclesiastical 
Tithe  as  not  exceeding  £600,000.  This  also  is  Mr.  Littleton’s 
statement,  and  from  it  is  to  be  deducted  the  per  centage  allowed 
by  Mr.  Stanley’s  Bill,  and  willingly  conceded  by  the  Clergy, 
amounting  to  fifteen  per  Cent  ,  or  on  the  entire  tithe  £90,000; 
so  that,  for  this  item,  instead  of  £625.000,  we  may  set  down 
£510,000.  (Loud  cheers. )  The  third  item  is  the  revenue  of  Deans 
and  Chapters,  which  is  set  down  at  £250,000.  This  should  be 
erased.  The  property  of  Deans  and  Chapters  in  Ireland  should  be 
set  down  at  less  I  am  confident  than  £.3000.  (Cheers  and  laughter.) 
I  mean  of  course,  as  distinguished  from  the  funds  of  which  they  only 
have  the  management,  not  the  benefit,  and  from  the  ecclesiastical 
income,  which  isincluded  in  theamountof  their  respective  benefices. 
The  members  of  Chapters  are  also  beneficed  clergymen,  and  as  such 
are  tithe  owners  or  entitled  to  minister’s  money,  in  towns  where 
such  impost  is  recoverable.  Their  revenues,  accordingly,  are  in¬ 
cluded  under  these  items,  and  ought  not  to  be  a  second  time  set 
down.  We  court  inquiry  into  the  matter,  and  boldly  affirm  that 
the  incomes  of  Deans  and  Chapters,  as  such,  are  not  sufficient  to 
keep  their  Cathedrals  in  repair.  (Cheers.)  At  the  present  mo¬ 
ment  a  most  necessary  alteration  is  being  effected  in  the  Cathedral 
of  Armagh — I  may  say  an  indispensable  alteration — and  the  ex¬ 
pense  is  defrayed  by  subscription,  the  members  of  the  Chapter,  out 
of  their  private  means,  contributing  largely,  and  the  Primate,  with 
his  wonted  munificence,  heading  the  subscription  list  with  a  do¬ 
nation  of  £8000.  (Cheers.)  We  may  then  lay  aside  the  charge 
for  Deans  and  Chapters  altogether,  the  incomes  of  the  dignitaries 
being  set  down  under  another  head,  and  the  very  small  deanery 
funds  they  have  to  manage  being  wholly  inadequate  to  their  ob¬ 
jects,  the  maintaining  Cathedrals  and  providing  for  public  worship. 
The  fourth  charge  is  for  fees,  and  is  set  down  at  £187,000.  This 
enormous  exaggeration  may  also  be  set  aside.  (Laughter. )  Fees 
are  received  in  Dublin,  and  in  some  town  parishes,  but,  although 
I  have  some  knowledge  of  various  parts  of  Ireland,  I  do  not  know 
a  single  country  parish  in  which  they  are  paid  or  demanded.  We 
may  set  them  aside,  and  consider  those  in  the  next  item,  which  is 
the  amount  of  income  received  by  Rectors  of  parishes  in  Dublin 
and  other  towns  who  are  paid  by  ministers’  money.  There  are 
computed  forty-eight  cases  of  this  kind,  and  it  is  supposed  that 
the  average  income  of  each  amounts  to  £500.  Half  would  be 
nearer  the  truth,  but  1  am  confident  ample  provision  will  be  made 
for  the  amount  of  all  the  fees  received  by  the  Clergy  throughout 
Ireland,  if  we  were  to  set  down  the  clerical  income  in  Ireland 
arising  out  of  fees  and  ministers’  money,  at  the  amount  fixed  in 


th e  Bath  Herald' s  “expose,”  £24,000.  This  is  a  subject  on 
which  we  court  enquiry.  1  am  acquainted  with  some  of  the  pa¬ 
rishes  in  Dublin  in  which  fees  were  paid,  and  I  know  how  very 
moderate  was  their  amount.  In  one  of  these,  wealthy  and  popu¬ 
lous,  having  a  much  frequented  burying- ground,  the  amount  of 
fees  did  not  average  £*20,  and  in  another,  where  there  were  at 
least  2000  protestant  parishioners,  and  which  is,  perhaps,  the  third 
or  fourth  in  point  of  wealth  in  the  city  of  Dublin,  the  fees,  in¬ 
cluding  those  of  burials,  did  not  exceed  fifty  pounds.  When  such 
is  the  amount  of  fees  in  parishes  where  they  are  paid,  and  when 
you  remember  that  throughout  the  rural  districts  there  are  none, 
you  will  judge  whether  I  am  not  qualified  in  expunging  them  from 
the  charge  against  us.  I  may  add  that  neither  in  the  towns  would 
they  he  demanded,  hut  because  of  the  inadequate  provision  there 
for  the  maintenance  of  the  clergy,  the  income  arising  out  of  mi¬ 
nisters'  money,  not  averaging  in  the  gross  more  than  £400  per 
annum,  and  the  crowded  population  rendering  it  necessary  for  the 
rector  to  have  in  almost  every  instance  one  curate,  and  in  the 
greater  number  of  instances,  a  second  The  concluding  item  in 
the  “  expose”  is  one  which  I  did  not  expect  to  see.  It  is  a  charge 
of  £20.000,  the  property  of  the  Dublin  university.  Of  the  eight 
individuals  among  whom  the  property  here  rated  at  £20,000,  and 
which  is,  perhaps,  not  less  than  £  1 4,000,  is  distributed,  two  are  lay¬ 
men,  and  all  are  individuals  who  have  qualified  themselves  for  their 
preferment,  at  first,  by  most  laborious  study  and  by  success  at  an 
examination  perhaps  the  severest  to  which  the  human  faculties  are 
submitted,  and  then,  after,  at  an  average,  eighteen  or  twenty  years 
of  painful  and  unremitting  attention  to  the  duties  of  a  college  tutor, 
they  are  promoted  to  a  share  in  the  government  of  the  college,  and 
rewarded  with  an  income  far  inferior  to  what  they  should  natu¬ 
rally  have  expected  had  they  for  the  same  length  of  time  devoted 
their  talents  to  the  acquirements  of  professional  reputation  and 
emolument  in  some  other  department  of  life.  1  cannot  think  it 
fair  to  charge  this  sum  against  the  Church.  All  professions,  all 
creeds,  benefit  by  the  University  of  Dublin.  Students  fiom  va¬ 
rious  countries  profit  by  it.  The  country  gentleman,  the  barris¬ 
ter,  the  soldier,  the  physician,  as  well  as  the  minister  of  religion, 
imbibe  the  advantages  of  its  culture,  and  it  is  not  correct  to  add 
the  amount  of  property  thus  generally  beneficial  to  those  items  by 
which  a  piejudice  is  sought  to  he  created  against  the  Church  esta¬ 
blishment.  To  sum  up  then  the  amount  of  Revenue — 

For  Bishoprics,  according  to  the 
Bath  Herald’s  “  expose,”  ...  .£132,000 

Tithes .  625,0 <  0 

Deans  and  Chapters .  25 0,000 

Fees .  187,000 

Hectors  in  Dublin  &  elsewhere, 
paid  by  Ministers’  money  ...  24,000 
Property  of  Dublin  University,  20,000 

By  Act  of  Parliament,  £61,900 

- 510,000 

(Expunged  altogether.) 
(Included  in  next  Item  ) 

Including  all  Fees  ...  24,000 

(Excluded  as  belonging 
to  Education.) 

Total,  Bath  Herald’s"'  expose,”  1,238,000  Correct  statement  ...  595,960 

From  this  statement  it  appears  that  the  amount  of  Ecclesiastical  Re¬ 
venue  in  Ireland  is  less  by  more  than  one  half  than  that  for  which 
the  “  expose”  would  hold  us  accountable.  (Loud  and  continued 
cheers  and  laughter. )  I  do  not  require  of  you  to  receive  my  state- 


ment  on  ray  own  showing.  I  must  adduce  corroborating:  testi¬ 
mony,  and,  as  my  subject  is  rather  more  extensive  than  the  limits 
of  time  within  which  it  would  be  right  for  me  to  detain  you,  I 
must  rely  less  upon  the  abundance  than  the  selection  of  evidence 
which  l  shall  lay  before  you  I  call  then  as  witness  on  behalf  of 
the  Church  a  noble  individual  who  certainly  never  appeared  her 
friend,  the  uncompromising  reformer  in  all  departments  of  Church 
and  State — the  Cabinet  breaker — who  was  of  late  Lord  Althorp. 
In  the  speech  delivered  by  the  noble  lord,  when  bringing  in  the 
Church  Temporalities  Act,  on  Feb.  12,  1833,  lie  states  the  amount 
of  Church  Revenue  thus— 

Revenues  of  Bishops  . , . £130,000 

Ditto  of  Deans  and  Prebends — the  Deans  and  Chapters  of  the 

Bath  Herald's  “expose” — (we  have  no  Canonries  in  Ireland)  2,000 

Ditto  of  other  Benefices  . . .  600,000 

Amounting  to .  732,000 

And,  allowing  amply  for  any  omission,  the  noble  lord  concludes 
that  the  whole  Church  in  Ireland  does  not  exceed  £800,000. 
This  exceeds  by  £68,000  the  amount  for  which  the  noble  lord  as¬ 
signed  the  specific  items.  Let  it,  however,  stand.  It  was  the 
statement  of  one  who  made  its  amount  the  ground  of  the  reduc¬ 
tions  he  had  to  propose.  It  was,  accordingly,  as  plausible  as  con¬ 
jecture  could  raise  it.  From  this  amount  we  are  to  deduct— 

For  the  allowance  on  Tithe  of  15  per  Cent .  £90,000 

Taxation  on  Clerical  Income . . .  41,800 

Actual  and  prospective  Reduction  on  Sees  of  Armagh  and  Derry  10,650 

Revenues  of  suppressed  Bishoprics  .  50,780 

Taxation  on  those  which  remain  . . . .  4,600 


This  sum  taken  from  the  amount  of  Ecclesiastical  income,  magni¬ 
fied  even  as  it  was  by  Lord  Althorp’s  conjecture,  leaves  it  as  affect¬ 
ed  by  the  Church  Temporalities  Act  £602, 170.  Taking  the  noble 
Lord’s  statement  of  the  amount  to  which  he  thought  Ecclesiastical 
revenues  would  extend,  not  that  which  he  was  sure  they  would  not 
exceed,  we  shall  have  on  his  Lordship’s  authority  a  remainder  of 
£534,970,  which  is  less  than  my  return  by  £60,990.  This,  1 
am  persuaded  is  correct.  At  least,  the  approximation  between 
the  noble  Lord’s  return  and  that  which  I  have  laid  before  you  is 
remarkable,  as  you  will  see  when  I  have  corrected  au  omission  in 
my  former  statement.  I  had  not  deducted  from  the  amount  of  the 
revenues  of  incumbents  in  Ireland,  the  taxation  to  which  the  Tem¬ 
poralities  Act  has  rendered  their  benefices  liable.  This  taxation 
Lord  Grey  rates  at  £41,800,  and  deducting  it  from  the  amount  of 
income  which  I  have  stated,  the  remainder  will  be  £554,160, 
leaving  Church  revenue,  according  to  my  calculation,  less  than 
that  stated  in  the  Hath  Herald’s  “  expose”  by  £683,840.  You 
are  not  to  be  surprised  at  this  exaggeration,  for  in  truth,  until  Lord 
Althorp,  in  his  official  capacity  as  Cabinet  minister  examined  into 
the  state  of  the  Church,  he  had,  himself,  been  under  the  most  mis¬ 
taken  impressions  as  to  its  opulence.  The  terms  in  which  he 
confesses  his  error  are  so  remarkable,  and  1  may  add,  so  instruc¬ 
tive,  that  with  your  permission  I  will  read  them  :  — 

“  The  public  mind  had  been  totally  led  astray  by  the  exaggerated  state" 
ments  as  to  the  amount  of  that  property  (Hear,  hear.)  He  candidly  con¬ 
fessed  that,  previously  to  his  looking  more  closely  into  the  question,  he 
himself  had  been  deceived  and  led  astray  by  the  exaggerated  statements 


abroad  relative  to  the  amount  of  the  church  revenue  in  Ireland  (Hear, 
hear.)  He  would  first  come  to  a  matter  which  had  been  much  talked 
about,  the  enormous  amount  of  the  revenue  of  the  bishops.  Now,  after 
what  the  house  had  previously  heard  upon  this  subject,  they  would  be  sur¬ 
prised  to  learn  from  the  returns  that  the  whole  amount  of  the  bishops’ 
revenues  in  all  the  counties  was  not  more  than  ,£130, 000  (Hear,  hear). 
The  gross  amount  was  £150,000  ;  but  the  net  revenue  did  not  exceed 
£130,000.  It  was  quite  true  that  large  tracts  of  land  belonged  to  the  Pro. 
te»tant  bishoprics;  but  the  bishops  had  by  no  means  an  exclusive  interest 
in  those  lands.  (Hear,  hear)  On  the  contrary,  it  appeared  that  five-sixths 
of  those  interests  were  vested  in  the  tenants  by  whom  those  lands  were 
held. — The  real  amount  of  that  property  was  about  £000,00  )  a  year  ;  but 
of  this  sum  the  bishops  did  not  receive  more  than  £100,000.  (Hear,  hear) 
Some  idea  of  the  exaggerated  statements  which  had  gone  forth  might  be 
formed  from  these  returns.  With  respect  to  deans  and  chapters,  and  pre¬ 
bends,  they  were  not  so  numerous,  and  were  on  a  different  footing  from 
those  of  this  country  ;  their  emoluments  were  derived  in  a  different  man¬ 
ner  ;  and  amounted  in  the  whole  to  £23,600,  but  deducting  from  that 
sum  the  expenditure  which  took  place  before  any  portions  of  it  could  be 
divided  amongst  those  parties,  and  which  amounted  to  £21,500,  it  would 
be  found  that  no  more  than  £2200  remained  to  the  whole  (Hear,  hear)  — 
With  respect  to  the  other  benefices  he  was  not  prepared  to  enter  into  the 
details.  The  returns  had  been  called  for  from  the  different  counties,  and 
had  been  made  by  a  great  proportion  of  them,  but  not  from  all. — The  only 
mode  he  had,  therefore,  of  coming  to  anything  like  a  conclusion  on  the 
subject  was  by  taking  the  average  of  the  returns  made,  and  comparing 
them  with  the  others.  The  whole  amount  of  returns  called  for  was  1401, 
of  these  1149  had  been  brought  in,  making  an  amount  of  revenue  of 
£478,346,  and  assuming  the  other  252  returns  to  be  upon  the  same  average 
the  whole  amount  would  be  £58  ,000,  or  to  speak  in  round  numbers, 
£600,000,  on  a  fair  averageof  the  whole  (Hear,  hear).  Now,  taking  the 
amount  of  bishops’  revenues  at  £130, COO,  those  ofthe  deans  and  prebends 
at  £2000,  and  the  other  benefices  at  600,000,  it  would  be  found  that  the 
whole  church  revenue  of  Ireland  did  not  exceed  £800,000  a  year.  (Loud 
cries  of  hear,  hear.)  He  found  it  the  more  necessary  to  go  into  these  de¬ 
tails  because  of  the  greatly  exaggerated  statements  which  had  gone  abroad 
upon  the  subject,  and  because  of  the  necessity  of  a  clear  understanding 
upon  the  subject  previously  to  their  coming  to  that  calm  and  dispassionate 
consideration  of  the  subject  which  its  importance  demanded.” 

It  would  be  well  for  the  interests  of  truth  if  the  r.oble  Lord’s  re¬ 
commendation  were  attended  to,  and  his  representations  of  the 
real  amount  of  Ecclesiastical  income  in  Ireland  respected  ;  but  the 
task  of  misleading  and  enflaming  the  public  mind  while  the  noble 
Lord  was  in  ignorance,  he  felt  a  much  easier  task  than  to  correct 
false  impression  and  allay  prejudice  when  he  had  himself  taken  the 
pains  to  become  instructed.  This  happens  according  to  the  con¬ 
dition  of  our  nature.  The  descent  is  easy — hut  to  recall  the  step 
— to  retrace  the  ways  which  led  from  the  light  of  truth — here  in¬ 
deed  is  the  toil  which  all  feel  most  distasteful.  Still  I  have  hope 
that  in  time  truth  will  prevail,  and  corroborated  by  the  testimony 
ofLoid  Althorp,  I  suffer  myself  to  believe  that  the  statement  of 
Revenue  which  I  have  laid  before  you  will  he  accepted  although 
it  is,  as  I  have  said,  less  than  one  half  than  that  with  which  the 
“expose”  in  the  Bath  Herald,  charges  us.  (Cheers).  I  proceed 
to  the  other  charge — that  which  concerns  the  distribution  of  this 
Revenue.  The  Church,  it  is  said,  offends  in  three  particulars — 
Unions  of  Parishes  are  improperly  large — Pluralities  are  too 
numerous,  and  Curates  are  neglected.  With  respect  to  the  first 
of  these  accusations,  it  might,  perhaps,  be  sufficient  to  say,  that 
every  union  is  now  virtually  dissolved  on  the  death  of  the  incum¬ 
bent,  and  that  a  reunion  can  be  effected  only  by  the  decision  of  the 
Privy  Council.  Rut  it  should  not  be  lost  sight  of  that  the 
Bishops  of  the  Church  in  Ireland  were  foremost  m  directing 


attention  to  this  evil— -that  thev  long  laboured  in  their  respective 
departments  to  correct  it,  and  that,  in  the  year  1819,  they  drew 
the  attention  of  Government  to  it,  and  succeeded  in  p  acing  the 
affairs  of  the  Church  on  such  a  footing  that  the  evil  may  he  con- 
sidered  at  an  end.  (Cheers).  But  how  did  it  rise  ?  Not  surely 
from  criminal  indifference  to  the  interests  of  religion  It  arose 
out  of  the  extreme  poverty  of  the  Church.  When,  at  a  time 
when  there  was  scarcely  any  agriculture  in  Ireland,  the  tithe  on 
pasturage,  or  agistment,  was  withheld,  a  maintenance  could  be 
procured  only  by  very  widely  extending  the  boundaries  of  Eccle¬ 
siastical  benefices.  In  consequence  more  than  one  or  even  two 
parishes  were  united,  not  for  the  purpose  of  rendering  the  incum¬ 
bent  opulent,  but  that  he  might  have  the  means  of  existence. 
Times  changed,  the  system  of  agriculture  became  more  favourable 
to  the  temporal  interests  of  the  tithe  owners.  The  unions  which 
had  once  been  necessary  in  order  to  provide  a  subsistence,  became 
sources  of  wealth.  It  is  not  all  at  once  that  correctives  can  be 
applied.  Vested  interests  must  be  regarded,  and  life  will  not  at 
once  cease  in  order  to  facilitate  the  march  of  improvement.  But 
it  is  quite  certain  that  improvements  were  rapidly  effected,  and 
none  who  take  the  trouble  to  enquire  will  hesitate  to  acknowledge 
that  the  heads  of  the  Church  were  the  most  forward  in  their  pro¬ 
motion-  (Cheers).  Let  any  man  look  to  the  recommendations 
of  the  Irish  Bishops  as  to  the  unions  which  are  to  be  divided  accord¬ 
ing  as  they  beeome  vacant,  and  I  defy  him  not  to  acknowledge  that 
the  Church  has  done  its  duty.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  they 
recommend  the  abolition  of  all  :  there  are  unions  of  more  than 
two  parishes  in  which  the  entire  income  is  less  than  ^£60  per 
annum  ;  hut  I,  without  any  hesitation,  affirm  that  the  Bishops 
mayr  publish  their  recommendations  for  the  dissolution  of  unions, 
and  defy  the  keenest  anO  most  malicious  scrutiny,  to  withhold  from 
them  the  praise  of  disinterested  and  prudent  counsel-  (Cheers). 
The  next  charge  is  against  pluralities.  They  have  ceased.  In 
order  to  hold  two  livings,  it  is  necessary  to  have  a  permission  from 
the  Primate,  which  is  named  a  faculty.  For  five  years  he  has  not 
issued  one.  He  had  been  gradually  lessening  the  practice  for 
some  time  before,  and  has  from  the  time  I  mentioned,  altogether 
discontinued  it  (Cheers).  With  respect  to  the  third  charge,  that 
the  salaries  of  curates  are  inadequate  it  is  one  which  I  never  yet 
heard  advanced  by  a  good  curate  in  Ireland.  Complaints  may  from 
time  to  time  be  made  that  promotion  is  not  rapid,  but  scarcely  ever 
that  the  salary  is  inadequate.  The  truth  is  there  are  many  ad¬ 
vantages  in  the  distribution  which  does  not  hold  out  to  an  indi¬ 
vidual  yet  untried,  the  prospect  of  large  emolument.  No  man 
enters  the  Cbuich  because  of  a  curate’s  salary;  but  when  he  has 
given  proof,  that,  entering  from  other  motives,  he  is  worthy  to 
minister,  it  is  right  that  he  should  be  placed  in  a  situation  where 
he  may  assist  others  in  learning  to  discharge  their  momentous 
duties.  If  there  be  any  just  ground  for  complaint  that  a  deserving 
curate  has  been  neglected,  far  be  it  from  me  to  desiie  that  the 
guilt  of  the  diocesan  who  has  been  an  unjust  steward  should  be 
concealed;  but  I  can  have  no  hesitation  in  affirming,  and  if  time  per¬ 
mitted,  it  would  be  most  easy  to  prove,  that  no  curate  who  deserves 
promotion,  can  be  found  murmuring  that  his  salary  (the  salary 
presented  by  law,)  is  not  large,  or  expressing  with  respect  to  his 


temporal  prospects  any  other  desire  than  that  in  due  time  he  may 
obtain  suitable  preferment.  The  Bath  Herald’s  “  exposd”  illus¬ 
trates  its  abstract  discussion  by  three  cases,  to  which  I  beg  to 
direct  your  attention.  One  is  of  a  gentleman,  son  of  the  late 
Archbishop  of  Dublin,  a  prelate  whose  name  is  of  the  kind  that 
endureth,  who  has  a  stall  in  Christ  Church,  an  Archdeaconry,  a 
living  in  the  metropolis,  and  another  in  thecounty  Wicklow.  As 
to  the  living  in  the  metropolis,  which  is,  in  truth,  a  curacy,  from 
wh 3 1  I  know  of  it  and  of  the  overflowing  charities  of  the  Arch¬ 
deacon  who  holds  it,  I  am  much  mistaken  if  it  is  not  merely  a 
source  of  expense.  I  know  that  the  Archdeaconry  is  of  but  in¬ 
considerable  value,  and  that  the  living  in  the  county  Wicklow 
which  involved  a  cure  of  souls  has  been  for  some  time  resigned. 
The  next  is  the  case  of  a  son  of  the  Bishop  of  Kildare,  “who 
(says  the  Bath  Herald ,)  in  addition  to  the  dignity  of  the  Arch¬ 
deaconry,  and  the  possession  of  one  of  the  richest  Rectories  in  the 
city  of  Dublin,  holds  a  benefice  in  the  adjacent  county  consisting 
of  five  or  six  parishes  united,  and  producing  a  revenue  large  enough 
to  remunerate  the  services  of  four  resident  and  really  efficient 
ministers.”  As  the  “expose”  notices  merely  “  the  dignity”  of 
the  Archdeaconry,  I  shall  not  dwell  upon  the  fact  that  it  confers 
little  more  than  dignity,  except  the  solemn  responsibility  and  the 
unavoidable  necessity  of  incurring  expense  as  well  as  enduring 
labour  in  discharging  its  onerous  duties.  Its  dignity  and  its 
necessary  expences  should  he  provided  for,  and  they  can  hardly  be 
thought  too  amply  provided  by  the  parish  in  Dublin,  which  does 
not  produce  a  clear  income  of  more  than  five  hundred  pounds,  not 
four  hundred  after  deducting  the  various  expences  and  charities 
which  it  involves,  and  the  union  of  five  or  six  country  parishes 
which  produce  under  the  operation  of  Mr.  Stanley’s  Bill  the  sum 
of  £575,  out  of  which  are  to  be  deducted  the  salaries  of  at  the  least, 
two  curates,  leaving  for  this  richly  endowed  Archdeacon,  an  in¬ 
come  of  at  the  utmost  nine  hundred  pounds  per  annum.  Is  this 
too  much?  I  do  not  know  what  may  be  the  judgment  which 
the  accuser  would  pass  upon  it,  but  little  or  much,  the  grievance 
is  coi  rected,  for  after  the  preferment  or  demise  of  the  present 
incumbent  it  must  cease,  unless  cause  can  he  shown  to  satisfy  the 
Council  that  it  ought  to  be  continued.  It  may,  in  point  of  fact, 
be  regarded  as  already  corrected  (Cheers).  The  third  case  is  of 
the  Rector  of  Granard,  who  holds  a  union  of  which  the  revenue 
is  set  down  at  £2469.  The  real  net  amount  of  revenue  is  £  1 347. 
The  Editor  of  the  Bath  Herald  and  his  informant  considered, 
probably,  the  value  of  the  Rectory,  whereas  the  incumbent  appears 
to  have  the  Vicarage.  And  the  union  is  set  down  as  one  of 
those  which  is  to  he  dissolved  (Cheers)  I  thank  you  for  your 
indulgence  to  this  tedious  statement,  and  now  may  I  not  deliver 
my  explicit  answer  on  behalf  of  those  who  sent  me  here,  that 
they  do  not  desire  to  uphold  a  system  like  that  which  is  complained 
of,  and  still  better  that  the  heads  of  the  Irish  Church  have  been 
forward  to  remove  all  just  grounds  of  complaint.  On  the  au¬ 
thority  of  Lord  Althorp,  we  show  that  the  Church  does  not 
possess  half  the  revenues  ascribed  to  her;  and  we  refer  to  the 
Reports  of  the  Church  Commissioners  to  show  that  the  evils  of 
unions  and  pluralities  are  in  rapid  process  of  correction.  (Cheers.) 
I  thank  you  for  the  indulgence  with  which  you  have  listened  to 


my  long  and  tedious  counter  “expose.”  However  disagreeable, 
it  was  necessary — I  trust  it  will  not  prove  wholly  ineffectual.  The 
Church  is  accused  of  being  too  richly  endowed.  Her  revenues 
are  less  than  one  half  of  the  amount  which  is  set  down 
against  her.  (Cheers.)  She  is  accused  of  having  offended  by  al¬ 
lowing  or  making  unions  of  parishes,  and  permitting  individuals 
to  hold  more  than  one  benefice.  The  truth  is  that  such  anomalies 
arose  out  of  the  extreme  poverty  to  which  the  Church  was  reduced, 
and  that  in  the  same  proportion  as  this  poverty  was  relieved,  the 
evils  became  corrected,  until  the  allowing  of  pluralities  wholly 
ceased  and  unions  in  every  practicable  instance  were  divided- 
As  an  indication  of  the  improvement  which  is  silently  progressing 
I  shall  quote  from  the  Bath  Herald's  “  expose,”  and  from  Par¬ 
liamentary  returns  the  number  of  benefices  in  Ireland  in  three 
different  years.  The  Bath  Herald  states,  but  without  naming 
the  year,  that  the  number  of  benefices  in  Ireland  was  1252:  in  the 
year  1829  it  was  1293;  in  1830,  1302,  indicating  a  progressive 
increase  in  the  number  of  benefices  in  proportion  to  the  opportu¬ 
nities  afforded  for  the  dissolution  of  unions.  That  the  increase 
has  been  progressive  since  there  can  be  no  doubt,  as  the  discussions 
in  Parliament  relative  to  the  Deanery  of  Down,  and  the  dissolution 
of  unions  in  the  Deanery  of  Raphoe  abundantly  prove,  and  1 
would  merely  say  to  any  who  desire  information  as  to  what  the 
Church  has  been  doing,  to  consult  the  returns  of  the  Ecclesiastical 
Commission,  and  see  whether  every  practicable  dissolution  has 
not  been  recommended.  1  will  add  but  one  remaik.  This  Com¬ 
mission  was  appointed  by  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  In  the  ad¬ 
ministration  of  his  successor,  one  of  its  leading  recommendations 
was  overruled,  and  a  union  of  six  parishes,  containing  five  churches 
and  yielding  a  gross  revenue  of  £2877,  continued  in  direct  oppo¬ 
sition  to  the  decision  of  the  Commissioners  that  it  should  be  dis¬ 
solved.  It  was  given  by  Earl  Grey  to  the  nephew  of  the  reform¬ 
ing  Chancellor.  (Hear,  hear.)  The  extent  to  which  my  observa¬ 
tions  on  the  Bath  Herald's  “expose”  have  led  me,  prevent  me 
from  entering  so  fully  into  the  case  of  our  Church  in  Ireland  as  I 
would  have  entered  under  other  circumstances.  I  trust  I  have 
succeeded  in  satisfying  you  that  the  Protestant  Church  and  people 
in  Ireland  are  worthy  of  your  countenance  and  succour,  let  me 
now  endeavour  to  set  before  you  the  difficulties  in  which  your  aid 
is  demanded.  Here,  too,  I-must  briefly  state  what  we  have  al¬ 
ready  proved,  and  what  remains  uncontradicted,  namely,  that 
there  exists  in  Ireland  a  conspiracy  of  long  standing  and  exten¬ 
sively  organised,  having  for  its  object  to  extirpate  Protestantism, 
and  separate  Ireland  from  Great  Britain.  This  we  have  shown 
on  the  clear  and  positive  evidence  of  adversaries,  and  all  has  been, 
since  our  statements  were  made  public,  still  more  strongly  corro¬ 
borated  by  the  indirect  testimony  of  their  silence.  We  have  shown 
that  this  conspiracy  is  at  the  present  moment,  in  powerful  opera¬ 
tion,  and  that  the  oaths  by  which  its  members  are  bound  together 
pledge  them  to  endeavour  the  extirpation  of  protestants,  and  that 
the  crimes  by  which  they  manifest  the  spirit  which  is  in  them,  are 
not  desultory  and  shameless  atrocities,  but  are  acts  directed  cau¬ 
tiously  and  skilfully  by  some  unknown  power  to  which  obedience 
is  yielded.  We  have  shown  that  of  late  the  southern  parts  of 
Ireland  seem  to  have  been  almost  surrendered  to  the  agents  of  this 


tremendous  confederacy,  that  law  has  sunk  into  contempt? 
and  peaceable  men  have  been  left  defenceless,  and  that  the  late  go¬ 
vernment,  instead  of  exerting  itself  to  protect  the  good,  and  to 
punish  crime,  were  sacrificing  all  the  interestsof  the  country  to  pro¬ 
pitiate  partisans  by  whose  aid  their  date  of  office  could  be  prolonged. 
All  this  we  stated,  and  when  a  sufficient  inteival  had  been  allowed 
for  its  disproval  if  we  bad  erred,  the  Protestants  of  Ireland  resolved 
that  they  would  submit  a  recital  of  their  grievances  to  the  British 
people,  and  call  for,  what  we  have  to  return  thanks  for  having 
abundantly  received,  your  equitable  and  paternal  assistance.  In 
the  mean  time  our  gracious  Sovereign  interposed,  he  rescued,  (as 
I  have  already  said )  you  and  us  from  the  domination  of  those 
whose  policy  was  calculated  to  sever  us  from  you  for  ever,  and  as 
it  was  in  the  discharge  of  a  sacred  duty  to  the  Church,  our  King 
thus  exercised  his  prerogative,  we  felt  ourselves  the  more  bound 
to  appear  before  you,  and  show  that  the  exercise  was  called  for; 
that  the  Church  was  not  undeserving  of  it,  and  that  it  was  im¬ 
peratively  demanded  by  the  imminent  dangers  which  threatened 
the  Protestant  Church  and  people  in  Ireland,  and  our  connection 
with  Great  Britain.  There  was  a  time  when  Protestant  ascend¬ 
ancy  was  talked  of  in  Ireland — it  is  talked  of  no  longer  ;  the 
question  now  is — shall  the  Protestant  Chuich  in  Ireland  be  suf¬ 
fered  to  exist?  If  you  meet  any  who  deny  that  our  case  was, 
humanely  speaking,  almost  desperate,  ask  them  will  they  call  for 
a  parliamentary  enquiry  into  the  state  of  Ireland,  and  the  conduct 
of  the  Irish  Government  during  the  late  years,  into  the  proofs  of 
conspiracy  against  the  Protestant  Church,  and  the  attention  paid 
to  the  proofs  of  the  efforts  made  to  expose  and  defeat  the  con¬ 
spiracy.  I  undertake  to  affirm,  that  our  history  does  not  contain 
the  record  of  such  a  state  of  things  as  that  enquiry  would  make 
manifest.  Assizes  adjourned  because  it  suited  not  the  purposes  of 
a  preponderating  party  to  allow  justice  to  have  free  course ;  jurors 
overawed  in  their  verdict,  and  grievously  persecuted  for  the  ver¬ 
dicts  they  had  returned  ;  witnesses  intimidated  from  giving  evi¬ 
dence,  and  submitting  to  the  rigors  of  the  law  which  punished 
their  contumely,  rather  than  encounter  the  merciless  vengeance  of 
those  who  had  enjoined  that  they  should  be  silent ;  Protestants 
threatened  and  murdered,  and  seeking  to  escape  from  barbarous 
vengeance  by  assuming  what  at  heart  they  abhorred,  the  guise  of 
a  superstitious  religion  ;  Protestant  clergymen  impoverished,  per¬ 
secuted,  murdered,  driven  forth,  homeless  outcasts;  and  the  Irish 
Government,  while  these  things  were  so,  sitting  at  ease  in  its  pos¬ 
sessions,  and  now  by  capricious  exercises  of  unsustained  power, 
now  bv  criminal  connivance,  exasperating  the  evils  it  dared  not 
attempt  to  correct,  and  rendering  the  afflictions  of  loyal  men  more 
hopeless.  (Cheers.)  What  scenes  would  be  brought  to  light  of 
the  sufferings  of  a  persecuted  Clergy;  aged  and  charitable  men 
compelled  to  swear,  at  the  dictation  of  the  nightly  desperado,  that 
they  will  forsake  the  home  in  which  they  hoped  to  end  their  days 
in  peace,  and  turn  away  from  the  Church  where  they  had  long 
faithfully  ministered,  some  noble  spirits  lingering  at  the  post  of 
duty  ;  expending  from  their  private  stores  to  relieve  the  distresses 
of  those  who  belonged  to  the  party  which,  so  far  as  it  had  the 
power,  was  bringing  poverty  upon  them;  relieving  these  dis¬ 
tresses  at  a  time  when  they  were  forced  to  meet  the  objects  of 


their  bounty  at  some  distance  from  their  home,  and  at  hours  es¬ 
pecially  appointed,  because  they  dared  no  longer  allow  an  unre¬ 
stricted  entrance  into  their  houses,  or  even  encourage  the  ap¬ 
proach  to  their  doors;  merciful  men  devoting  the  early  parts  of  the 
day  to  the  distribution  of  food  or  medicine,  and  medical  advice, 
and,  if  it  were  indispensable  that  they  should  leave  home,  choosing 
the  darkness  of  night  as  the  time  of  their  travel,  and  concealing 
the  direction  where  they  meant  to  proceed,  that  they  might  avoid 
the  scoffs  and  taunts,  and  injuries,  from  which  no  worth  or  bene¬ 
volence  or  services  had  the  power  to  protect  them.  What  a  time, 
when  men,  whose  going  forth  had  been  welcomed  with  smiles  of 
affection  and  reverential  greetings,  for  whom  their  large  charity  had 
secured  respect  in  those  who  valued  not  their  office;  what  a  time  when 
wherever  they  appeared  shouting  and  moc  kery  arose  around  them 
and  frequent  injuries  assailed  them  even  from  those  who  had  most 
reason  to  bless  their  well -proved  benevolence.  And  what  a  time 
when  a  government  looked  on  without  affording  protection  and 
redress;  nay,  when  a  government  could  discourage  the  complaints 
of  the  afflicted,  by  violating  a  confidence  which  ought  to  have 
been  sacred,  and  exposing  a  supplicant  to  the  consequences  of  his 
indiscreet  reliance.  Let  it  not  be  imagined^that  I  would  lightly 
pronounce  a  censure  upon  any  body  of  men,  or  that  when  their 
day  of  power  had  passed  away,  I  would  unnecessarily  asperse  the 
conduct  of  an  unwise  or  corrupt  government  The  question  is  not 
yet  decided.  There  is  a  party  in  England  who  would  force  again 
on  the  adoption  of  the  Sovereign  his  late  Ministers.  There  is  a 
party  in  Ireland  who  strongly  second  them.  Here  in  England  I 
would  persuade  myself  that,  so  far  as  our  country  is  concerned, 
the  rash  restorers  know  not  what  they  do  in  lifting  up  again  the 
fallen  government  ;  but  in  Ireland,  the  consequences  are  fully 
understood,  and  will  be  vigorously  prosecuted.  Let  it  not  then  be 
regarded  as  an  unnecessary  labor  to  set  forth  the  evils  which  fol¬ 
lowed  from  a  most  unhappy  misrule,  and  which  must  be  renewed 
in  deeper  horrors  if  the  broken  sway  be  reconstructed.  Let  it  not 
be  thought  wantonly  severe,  that  those  who  have  mourned  for  the 
sufferings  and  crimes  which  such  a  fiction  of  government  occa¬ 
sioned,  shall  not  put  their  feelings  to  silence.  What  have  I 
known  of  the  sufferings  of  an  upright  Clergy  under  the  cruel 
vial  which  their  government  poured  out  upon  them ;  some  lan¬ 
guishing  under  wounds,  which  render  the  life  with  which  they 
escaped  the  assassin’s  attempt  a  pain  and  sorrow  ;  some  perse¬ 
cuted  from  their  homes  ;  their  families  scattered  ;  their  children, 
who  never  retired  to  rest  without  a  mother's  blessing,  eating  the 
bread  of  dependance  among  strangers  ;  some  lingering  within  the 
precincts  of  their  desolate  homes,  lamenting  the  loss  or  affliction 
of  sons  wounded  in  their  defence,  or  because  they  were  their 
offspring;  some  murdered;  and  all  men  upon  whose  good  name 
the  breath  of  calumny  never  dared  to  shed  a  tarnish.  Shall 
we  think  of  these  things,  and  shall  we  be  censured  when  we  speak  of 
the  Government  at,  whose  door  all  are  to  be  laid,  if  sorrow  causes 
our  speech  to  be  unceremonious?  Need  I  recall  to  the  remembrance 
of  any  one  here  the  case  alluded  to  in  Parliament  by  Mr.  Stanley. 
The  case  of  a  venerable  clergyman,  80  years  of  age,  who  was  cruelly 
murdered  in  the  face  of  day — and  to  whose  wife,  when  she  found 
his  dead  body  bleeding  on  the  ground,  no  one  stretched  out  a  help- 


ing  hand — and  who,  as  she  sat  in  her  house  at  night  by  the  corpse 
of  her  butchered  husband,  was  insulted  by  brutal  knockings  at  the 
door? — I  will  relate  you  a  story  such  as,  perhaps,  you  have  never 
heard.  Since  I  have  been  in  England  I  have  twice  tried  to  relate 
it,  but  I  have  failed.  I  have  not  been  able  to  summon  up  courage 
sufficient  to  enable  me  to  go  through  the  task.  I  will  however  try 
again.  (The  Rev.  Gentleman  here  became  so  affected  that  he  was 
for  some  time  unable  to  proceed.)  Irwine  Whitty  was  a  man, 
perhaps,  more  calculated  than  any  human  being  you  have  known 
to  make  religion  loved.  He  was  tried  with  much  bodily  weakness 
and  pain — he  was  gentle  and  indulgent  to  a  degree  which  would 
induce  you  to  think  a  bold  effort  or  a  severe  expression  impossible 
to  him — but,  whatever  it  was  his  duty  to  do,  and  his  duty  pres¬ 
cribed  some  arduous  exertions,  he  was  empowered  to  attempt  and 
to  accomplish.  I  can  remember  well  how,  when  one  among  the 
proudest  and  most  exalted  in  station  of  his  countrymen  had  acted 
in  a  manner  to  deserve  rebuke,  this  humble  minister  of  the  Gospel 
faithfully  and  eloquently  discharged  his  severe  duty:  and  I  can 
almost  fancy  that  I  see  him  as  when  two  of  the  most  distinguished 
of  his  parishioners,  who  were  known  to  be  at  variance,  appeared 
at,  his  communion  service — he  overcame  the  shrinkings  of  his  mo¬ 
dest  nature,  and  descended  on  the  mission,  and  with  a  face  which 
was  as  the  face  of  an  angel,  that,  in  the  sight  of  his  little  congre¬ 
gation,  the  parties  might  be  reconciled.  And  they  were  reconciled, 
for,  were  it  not  for  the  manner  of  his  departing  hence,  I  would  say 
it  was  not  in  man’s  nature  to  withstand  his  gentle  solicitation.  I 
am  the  more  sensible  now  of  his  worth  because  I  have  to  confess 
that,  during  his  Christian  life,  I  did  him  one  injustice.  His  house 
was  ever  open  to  me,  and  his  wise  counsel  and  his  engaging  and 
instructive  conversation.  I  never  entered  his  doors  without  a 
feeling  as  if  I  entered  where  no  profane  thought  should  come,  nor 
returned  from  a  visit  to  him  without  bearing  with  me  an  influence 
for  good  which  did  not  readily  evaporate  For  all  this  I  am  deeply 
responsible — filial  was  about  to  speak  of  the  injustice.  I  saw  that 
his  habits  of  life  were  frugal  as  far  as  consisted  with  propriety  ;  1 
saw  that  his  broken  health  needed  relief  and  recruiting,  and  I  be¬ 
lieved  his  income  large  enough  to  allow  of  the  necessary  relaxation, 
and  I  sometimes  doubted  whether  it  would  not  be  well  if  he  al-  r1 
lowed  himself  the  benefit  he  might  derive  by  procuring  the  assist¬ 
ance  of  a  curate.  I  was  undeceived  as  to  the  means  at  the  disposal 
of  my  revered  friend  when  I  learned  that  his  dear  family  were  left 
without  any  provision,  but  I  had  previously  learned  enough  to  in¬ 
struct  me  that  thus,  in  all  human  probability,  it  must  have  been. 

In  a  year  of  scarcity,  almost  amounting  to  famine,  one  of  those 
visitations  by  which  Ireland  is  not  unfrequently  scourged,  my  re¬ 
vered  friend  was  left  almost  alone  to  succour  the  distressed  within 
the  bounds  of  his  parish,  and  incurred  in  this  charitable  agency  what 
for  himself  and  his  family  he  almost  superstitiouslv  avoided,  a  debt 
which  he  was  discharging  by  instalments  for  many  years.  It  is  not 
improbable  that  this  debt  may  have  become,  providentially,  the 
occasion  of  his  martyrdom.  In  process  of  time  I  became  separated 
from  my  friend,  but  could  not  lose  my  anxiety  for  his  welfare. 

When  disturbances  commenced  in  which  Church  property  and  the 
clergy  were  violently  assailed,  my  anxiety  was  painfully  encreased 
to  learn  that  even  the  inestimable  life  of  this  good  man  was  in  peril. 


I  had  an  opportunity  to  speak  freely  with  him,  and  urged  the  ex¬ 
pediency  of  a  temporary  removal  from  the  scene  of  danger.  I  said, 
as  I  thought,  that  it  need  be  only  temporary.  I  said  no  govern¬ 
ment  could  be  so  lost  to  all  sense  of  justice  or  self-respect  as  to  to¬ 
lerate  long  the  sanguinary  excesses  which  were  converting  Ireland 
into  something  worse  than  had  yet  been  found  on  earth,  and  that 
law  must  soon  be  vindicated.  He  was  not  to  be  moved.  He  had 
considered  well  the  entire  extent  of  his  dangers,  and  he  felt  that  his 
duty  was  plain  and  direct.  He  would  remain  at  his  post.  He 
was  not  insensible  to  the  perils  of  his  situation,  and  would  gladly, 
if  he  could,  lessen  or  remove  them.  As  to  his  income  in  tithe,  to 
him,  personally,  it  was  of  small  moment  that  it  should  be  reduced. 
If  he  could  procure  peace  by  allowing  a  reduction  which  should  af¬ 
fect  himself  alone,  he  would  sacrifice  much  to  purchase  it,  but  he 
would  not  violate  a  sacred  trust  by  alienating  Church  property 
and  defrauding  a  successor.  He  was  in  the  Lord’s  hand,  let  him 
do  what  seemeth  him  good.  He  received  my  suggestions  as  a 
Christian  would,  but  satisfied  me  that  as  to  the  point  of  residence 
he  was  immoveable.  He  even  detailed  to  me  the  circumstances  of 
the  first  threatening  notice  he  had  received.  He  was,  as  was  his 
habit,  after  all  the  family  had  retired  to  rest,  engaged  in  his  sacred 
duties,  when  suddenly  a  report  of  fire-arms,  so  loud  and  near  that 
it  seemed  to  shake  the  house,  stunned  him.  Generally  when  a  no¬ 
tice  was  posted  a  discharge  of  fire-arms  gave  signal  that  it  was 
done.  “  1  arose,”  said  he,  “and  having  satisfied  myself  quickly 
that  it  came  from  without  the  house.  I  looked  into  the  chambers 
where  my  family  lay,  dreading  that  it  must  have  alarmed  them. 
To  my  great  content  all  were  most  peacefully  sleeping,  and  I 
thanked  God  for  the  mercy  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  To¬ 
wards  the  last  days  of  this  good  man’s  life  his  dangers  seemed  to 
have  disappeared  I  received  assurances  that  his  saintly  life  and 
charities  had  produced  the  natuial  effect — but  all  was  hollow. 
He  had  been  visiting  an  infirm  parishioner  at  a  distance  of  three 
miles  from  his  home,  he  had  walked,  I  believe  he  could  not  allow 
himself  the  indulgence  of  a  horse  or  carriage,  wearied  with  the 
exertion,  he  attempted  to  return  by  a  shorter  way  than  that  of  the 
V  public  road.  In  the  fields,  a  sense  of  weariness  and  cold  over¬ 
powered  him,  and  he  approached  the  house  of  a  Roman  C  atholic 
parishioner  to  rest  for  a  little,  and  procure  warmth  in  his  chilled 
frame.  He  was  so  feeble  that  it  was  necessary  to  lift  him  over  % 
stile  which  interposed  between  his  path  and  the  house.  It  ap¬ 
pears  that  be  was  courteously  invited  to  enter  and  take  a  seat,  that 
he  was,  on  leaving  the  house,  accompanied  on  his  way  by  its 
master;  but  after  the  lapse  of  many  hours,  late  in  the  night,  he 
was  found  upon  the  earth  where  he  had  been  stoned,  mangled,  and 
bleeding,  and  speechless;  but  not  yet  quite  liberated  from  the 
agony  of  death.  Thus  Irwine  Whitty  died,  a  man  whose  counte¬ 
nance  only,  by  its  subdued  and  saintly  expression,  might  have 
disarmed  the  wildest  hatred  Thus  he  died,  returning  from  a 
charitable  office,  exhausted  with  toil,  and  languishing  under  bodily 
sickness,  and  in  the  fields  of  those  who  had  experience  of  his  kind¬ 
ness,  and  who  knew  his  worth;  in  the  sight  of  numbers  who 
owed  to  his  benevolence  many  a  comfort  in  a  season  when  but  for 
him  their  sufferings  would  have  been  extreme;  in  their  sight  he 
lay  for  many  a  fearful  hour  in  the  death  struggle,  and  none  came 

near  to  minister  to  him,  and  none  summoned  friends  to  his  relief. 
He  had  been  ready  to  give,  glad  to  distribute.  He  had  been  at 
the  bed  of  fever,  and  in  the  huts  where  penury  sought  a  shelter,  and 
there  was  a  time  when  blessings  followed  him  as  he  went  upon  his 
offices  of  mercy;  but  in  that  last  awful  day,  he  was  looked  upon 
and  deserted  in  his  parting  agony.  What  fell  poison  must  have 
been  infused  into  human  hearts  to  render  them  thus  merciless  ! 
To  him  who  departed,  his  going  hence  and  the  manner  of  it  was 
of  small  account.  He  has  had  his  crown  ;  but  it  is  an  awful  lesson 
to  think  that  he  whose  life  seemed  so  blameless  should  lie  on  the 
earth  where  neither  tear,  nor  tender  touch,  nor  prayer,  nor  bless¬ 
ing  soothed  him — a  witness,  an  unambiguous  witness,  that  the 
spirit  which  seeks  the  destruction  of  the  Protestant  Church,  is  of 
a  kind  which  quenches  the  sympathies  of  human  hearts,  arid  is  not 
to  be  charmed  into  peace  or  mercy  by  all  the  gentleness  and  all  the 
virtue  that  is  bestowed  upon  the  most  blameless  of  mortals.  There 
was  the  show  ofa  trial  for  this  portentous  crime.  Two  individuals 
were  arraigned  for  the  murder,  and  when  the  principal  witness, 
as  it  would  seem,  was  brought  forward,  he  refused  to  give  evidence. 
He  was  commanded,  he  said,  to  make  oath  that  he  would  refuse, 
and  when  the  sitting  Judge  explained  to  him  that  such  an  oath 
could  not  bind  his  conscience,  and  therefore  that  he  must  bear  tes¬ 
timony  to  the  truth,  the  poor  man  proposed  the  pertinent  ques¬ 
tion  “Must  I  be  shot,  my  lord?”  and  finally  showed  which  go¬ 
vernment  he  thought  the  strongest  by  declaring  that  he  would  go 
to  prison  rather  than  risk  his  life  by  becoming  a  witness. 
The  culprits  were  acquitted,  and  the  village  from  which  “the  mer¬ 
ciful  man  had  been  taken  away,”  celebrated,  it  is  said,  the  acquittal 
by  a  general  illumination.  Is  it  wonderful  that  we  should  strongly 
complain  when  such  things  as  these  afflict  and  affright  us  ?  Is  it 
wonderful  that  we  should  have  distrusted  a  government  which, 
while  a  conspiracy  was  raging  against  Protestantism  in  this  most 
merciless  spirit,  instead  of  exerting  every  strong  power  to  quell 
the  evil,  ministered  to  it,  by  proposing  to  number  the  protestant 
people,  and  exposing  them  to  the  hate  and  fury  of  monsters  with¬ 
out  conscience  or  pity;  was  this  a  time  when  men  could  be  ex¬ 
pected  todeclare  tbemseivesofa  religion  theprofession  ofwhich  ren¬ 
dered  them  liable  to  such  atrocities  as  this  ?  Was  it  possible  for  the 
government  to  find  persons  to  go  into  Catholic  districts  to  number 
the  people  unless  those  persons  were  Catholics  ;  and  if  they  were 
Catholics,  how  was  it  to  be  expected  they  could  be  otherwise  than 
enemies  to  the  Protestant  Church,  and  that  their  returns  would 
be  biassed  by  their  own  feelings?  In  Kildare  there  was  a  Pro¬ 
testant  gentleman  who  thought  it  necessary  for  his  safety  to  keep 
in  his  house  two  Protestant  servants.  One  night  two  graves  were 
dug  before  his  door,  inscribed  with  the  names  of  those  two  ser¬ 
vants.  Was  it  probable,  that  the  gentleman  to  whom  I  allude, 
would  avow  that  he  had  two  Protestant  servants  in  his  house? 
Or  would  any  similarly  situated  individuals  do  so?  Is  it  reason¬ 
able  to  expect  that  they  would  thus  place  in  jeopardy  the  lives  of 
any  Protestants  who  for  safety’s  sake  they  might  have  near  them? 
Is  it  easy  to  speak  in  moderate  language  of  a  government  which 
ordered  the  people  to  be  numbered,  with  reference  to  their  different 
religions,  at  such  a  time  as  this?  And  now  what  is  it  we  seek  ? 
Simply  that  we  may  not  lose  all  the  benefits  of  British  connection  ; 


that  we  may  not  be  looked  upon  as  outlaws.  I  have  seen  it  re¬ 
peatedly  assigned,  in  petitions  from  my  country  imploring  you  to 
guard  the  bonds  of  connection,  as  the  reason  for  the  prayer,  that 
Ireland  must  otherwise  become  the  battle-field  whereupon  con¬ 
tending  nations  would  decide  their  conflicts.  This  was  the  worst 
evil  which  was  dreaded  from  separation ;  and  I  do  not  hesitate  to 
affi  rm,  that  a  far  more  fearful  evil  if  found  compatible  with  what 
is  called  a  union.  Look  to  the  reports  which  recount  imperfectly 
and  partially  some  of  the  atrocities  by  which  Ireland  is  now  afflict¬ 
ed.  Look  to  the  representation  ascribed  to  the  late  Chief  Secre¬ 
tary  for  Ireland,  declaring  that  the  parts  of  the  country  where  the 
Church  of  Rome  prevails,  should  be  traced  in  blood-red  colours 
upon  the  map  ;  and  that,  on  an  average,  he  received  accounts  of 
two  murders  every  day  Look  to  the  reports  fiom  a  late  Privy 
Co  uncil  in  Dublin,  at  which  the  Lieutenant  of  Tipperary  (a  county 
to  which  the  Irish  Government  long  denied  the  benefit  of  the 
Coercion  Act)  gave  in  returns  of  crime,  and  showed  that  in  that 
one  county,  in  the  space  of  only  two  years  560  murders  had  been 
perpetrated,  and  then  say  whether  any  state  of  things  can  be  im¬ 
agined  more  dreadful  than  that  which  at  this  moment  prevails — 
war — a  battle-field  !  I  remen. her  well  when  the  brave  and  high- 
spirited  gentry  of  the  South  of  Ireland,  a  class  of  men  than  whom 
few  nobler  can  be  found  ;  I  remember  well  when  they  would  bail 
with  acclamation  war,  open,  terrible  war  in  their  own  fields,  if  it 
were  a  change  from  that  gloomy  fiendish  spirit  of  assassination 
which  came  the  blackest  curse  before  whichever  nation  withered. 
War !  If  it  have  its  terrors,  it  has  also  great  compensations.  It  calls 
out  noble  bursts  of  human  energy.  It  is  relieved  by  lights  of  tender¬ 
ness,  and  glorious  in  the  loftiest  qualitiesby  which  our  unchanged 
nature  can  be  adorned.  The  fields  which  it  has  signalized  are 
separated  to  a  peculiar  honor — pilgrims  visit  them — and  their 
names  are  spelis  to  awaken  those  deep  and  proud  emotions  which 
are  among  the  high  mysteries  of  our  being.  But  wheie  murder 
stealsout  with  coward  strideand  tell  purpose — where  he  withdraws 
to  his  lair,  and  no  indignation  smites  him — I  am  weak  and  wrong 
— where  murder  becomes  the  great  animating  and  debasing  prin¬ 
ciple — where  it  frowns  the  puny  affectation  of  courts  of  justice 
into  contempt, — where  its  baleful  presence  is  attested  by 
more  victims  than  angry  war  demands  or  numbers — where  the 
fall  of  every  victim  is  a  most  fearful  crime,  and  brings  a  curse 
and  a  cry  of  blood  upon  many  criminals — there  is  a  state  of 
things  having  less  to  compensate  its  evil  than  comes  in  the  train 
of  battle.  And  this  is  the  state  of  the  southern  provinces  of  Ire¬ 
land.  War  would  be  better.  Who  would  not  rather  go  forth 
with  the  Emperor  of  France  to  his  battles  than  abide  amid  the 
revolting  butcheries  of  Robespierre  or  Marat,  and  who  that  re¬ 
flected  would  not  prefer  to  see  Ireland  the  battle-field  of  civilized 
war  than  the  shambles  which  it  has  been  made  for  murderers  ? 
We  appeal  to  you  shall  it  continue  thus  ?  Let  it  not  be  any  longer 
the  debateable  ground  on  which  contending  parties  in  the  state 
shal  1  wage  their  political  battles.  Whether  Tory  or  Whig  or 
Radical  exert  himself  to  help  it  in  so  afflicting  a  condition,  make 
him  feel  that  you  will  not  suffer  men’s  lives  to  be  thus  slightly  re  ¬ 
garded — crimes  of  the  blackest  character  to  be  perpetrated  with 
impunity.  Make  him  feel  that  the  interests  of  Ireland  must  be 


cared  for,  and  are  of  more  moment  than  the  triumphs  of  party 
contention,  and  that  you  will  not  suffer  Protestants  to  be  rooted 
out,  and  their  religion  to  perish,  because  they  have  maintained 
an  unconquerable  affection  for  this  land  of  their  fathers.  (Cheers.) 
We  beseech  you  to  protect  your  Protestant  fellow -subjects  of  Ire¬ 
land,  and  see  that  the  religion  in  which  we  pray  in  the  same  tongue 
as  yourselves  is  not  swept  away  from  the  face  of  our  island.  All 
your  gloiy  as  a  nation  is  simultaneous  with  and  arising  from  your 
Church  being  the  ark  of  the  true  religion.  You  cannot,  forget  that 
when  you  emerged  from  the  honourable  war  in  which  vou  were 
so  long  and  so  gloriously  engaged,  your  effoits  were  immediately 
directed  to  the  sending  the  knowledge  of  the  truth  into  distant 
lands.  When  God  said,  “  Whom  shall  I  send  and  who  will  go 
for  us?”  England  replied,  “  Here  am  I,  send  me!”  A  work  at 
home  now  requires  your  earnest  support.  The  Protestant  religion 
is  assailed  at  your  own  doors.  Exert  yourself  in  its  behalf — correct 
it — clear  it  from  its  defects  and  protect  it  from  its  adversaries. 
(Enthusiastic  and  long- continued  cheers.  ) 

Col.  Jervoise  moved  the  1st  Resolution,  (for  which  and  those 
which  followed  it  seepage  26). 

The  Ven.  Archdeacon  Moysey  seconded  the  resolution.  Afterthe 
powerful  address  of  the  Rev.  Gentleman  who  had  that  day  detailed 
to  the  meeting  the  present  state  of  the  Irish  Church,  and  appealed  to 
our  sympathies  on  its  behalf,  he  thought  it  was  hardly  possible  to 
thank  him  too  much.  (Cheers-)  A  time  was  at  hand  when  most 
of  those  who  were  now  present  would  have  it  in  their  power  to  se¬ 
lect  for  the  making  of  the  laws,  such  persons  as  would  protect  the 
protestant  subjects  and  the  protestant  religion  of  Ireland.  We 
were  bound  to  choose  such  men  as  would  do  all  in  their  power  to 
repress  bloodshed,  and  uphold  m  that  land  the  tenets  of  the  pro¬ 
testant  faith.  Every  one  present  must  be  anxious  to  arrest  the 
progress  of  the  spoliation  with  which  Ireland  had  been  threatened. 
The  Meeting  would  no  doubt  bear  in  mind  the  project  which  had 
been  submitted  to  our  sovereign  by  one  of  our  late  rulers — a  pro¬ 
ject  which  would  not  only  have  led  to  the  decay  of  the  protestant 
religion  in  Ireland,  and  to  the  turning  out  upon  the  wide  world 
of  its  faithful  ministers;  but  to  the  razing  of  that  Church,  and  to 
the  extinction,  in  that  island,  of  the  reformed  religion.  All  who 
were  imbued  with  the  genuine  spirit  of  Christianity  would  have 
no  objection  to  support  that  Church.  The  last  clause  of  the  reso¬ 
lution  which  had  just  been  seconded,  alluded  to  the  prohibition  of 
the  bible  in  the  Irish  National  Schools.  He  could  not  but  de¬ 
nounce  this  prohibition  as  a  most  fatal  evil.  (Cheers.)  It  was 
once  our  pride  and  boast  that  the  holy  scriptures — not  in  parts  and 
parcels,  but  in  an  unmutilated  state — were  rendered  freely  accessi¬ 
ble  to  all  classes  of  the  people,  in  order  that  they  might  draw  from 
them  the  waters  of  salvation,  for  the  refreshment  and  health  of 
their  souls.  If  it  were  only  to  distribute  the  bible  fi  eely  among  the 
people  of  Ireland,  we  should  lend  our  sincere  efforts  to  keep  down 
the  overbearing  Hierarchy,  who  so  strenuously  endeavoured  to 
prevent  the  Catholic  population  of  Ireland  from  possessing  the 
word  of  God.  (Cheers.) 

Capt.  Muttlcbury,  in  moving  the  2nd  resolution  said,  that  every 


truly  English  heart  must  feel  deeply  grateful  to  our  gracious  sove¬ 
reign  for  his  noble  declaration,  that  he  would  maintain  inviolate 
the  Protestant  Church  (cheers),  and  also  for  the  manner  in  which 
he  had  evinced  his  determinatian  on  the  subject  by  the  late  exercise 
of  his  prerogative.  (Cheers.)  He  concluded  by  reading  the  reso¬ 
lution  and  the  address,  which  were  received  with  much  applause. 

Rev.  Edward  Tottenham  rose  to  second  the  motion  that  the 
add  less  which  had  been  read,  be  presented  to  his  most  gracious 
Majesty.  But,  in  doing  so,  he  felt  it  would  be  a  most  unwarrant¬ 
able  outrage  on  propriety,  if,  after  the  arguments  which  had  been 
so  elaborately  adduced,  and  the  facts  which  had  been  so  lucidly 
stated,  he  should  be  found  weakening,  by  any  lengthened  harangue, 
the  effect  of  the  spirit-stirring  eloquence  to  which  be  was  per¬ 
suaded,  all  present  had  listened  with  such  delight.  The  intel¬ 
lectual  powers  of  the  meeting  had  already  been  called  into,  he 
might  say,  laborious  activity,  and  it  would  not  therefore  be  well 
for  him  to  trespass  long  upon  their  attention.  Nevertheless,  he 
would  ask  his  Lordship,  could  he,  as  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  have 
a  resolution  put  into  his  hand  connected  with  the  name  of  William 
the  Fourth — could  he  remember  that  one  of  the  titles  which  he 
bears  is  that  of  “  Defender  of  the  Faith,” — a  title,  the  justice  of 
whose  application  his  Majesty  had  on  a  recent  occasion  so  nobly 
proved — could  he  believe  the  closeness  of  the  connection  that 
existed  between  the  monarchy  and  the  church,  and  yet  second  the 
resolution  committed  to  his  charge,  in  almost  perfect  silence?  He 
could  not — and,  therefore,  although  he  should  not  be  tedious,  he 
solicited  the  indulgence  of  his  Lordship  and  the  meeting  for  a  brief 
space  of  time.  He  regarded  this  meeting  as  one  of  peculiar  mo¬ 
ment,  on  account  of  the  important  fads  which  it  had  elicited, 
especially  when  he  remembered  the  proneness  to  exaggeration  and 
misapprehension  which  characterised  the  present  day.  They  had 
had  that  morning  a  powerful  expose  of  the  statements  propagated 
respecting  the  Irish  Church.  (Cheers.)  And  it  had  been  indis¬ 
putably  proved,  that  that  Church,  instead  of  being  the  over-paid 
Church  she  was  represented  to  be;  instead  of  being  the  gorgeous 
nuisance  she  was  described,  was  a  tried  and  a  persecuted  Church  ; 
and  (he  would  add,  though  he  believed  no  reference  had  been 
made  to  the  point  by  those  who  had  preceded  him),  persecuted 
simply  because  she  had  aroused  heiself  to  her  duty.  The  facts 
of  the  case,  and  the  circumstances  of  her  history,  fully  established 
this  position.  So  long  as  her  locks  were  shorn,  and  she  could  be 
bound  with  a  kind  of  moral  ligature,  so  long  did  her  enemies,  like 
the  Philistines  of  old,  make  merry.  But  when,  like  Sampson’s, 
those  locks  began  to  grow,  and  the  Church  began  to  put  forth  bet 
strength,  and  her  clergy  to  remember  their  ordination  vows,  and 
to  expose  the  fatal  errors  of  a  system  which  falsely  claimed  anti¬ 
quity  as  her  own — then  was  the  outcry  of  opposition  raised — then 
was  the  Church  denounced  as  an  incubus  on  the  land.  (Cheers.) 
She  has  therefore  had  to  go,  as  had  been  already  mentioned, 
through  the  fiery  furnace  of  heavy  persecution  ;  but  he  believed 
there  had  been  one  with  her  “  like  unto  the  Son  of  God  and 
however  hot  the  furnace  may  have  been,  or  may  yet  be,  he  trusted 
she  would  come  out  answering  the  description  in  the  Book  of 
Canticles,  “  fair  as  the  moon,  clear  as  the  sun,  and  terrible  as  an 


army  with  banners.”  (Cheers.)  He  was  sure  the  sympathies  of 
the  meeting  had  been  strongly  enlisted  on  behalf  of  the  Irish 
Church  by  the  touching  and  eloquent  delineations  that  had  been 
used,  as  well  as  their  judgments  convinced  by  the  .arguments  em¬ 
ployed,  and  the  facts  adduced.  Could  he  conceive  such  a  thing  as 
that,  bv  the  malice  of  designing  men,  the  Church  Establishment 
in  Ireland,  the  adaptation  of  which  to  the  spiritual  necessities  of 
the  country  had  been  so  clearly  proved,  should  fall — what  monu¬ 
ment  should  he  erect — what  epitaph  should  he  write — over  its 
manes?  I  may  reply,  (said  the  speaker)  in  the  words  so  familiar 
to  us  all ; — 

“  I’d  carve  not  a  line — I’d  raise  not  a  stone — 

“  But  I’d  leave  it  alone  with  its  glory.”  (Cheers.) 

The  Reverend  Gentleman  proceeded  to  press  upon  the  meeting 
the  fact  that  the  conflict  in  Ireland  was  in  leality  not  about 
Church  property.  That  was  only  an  excuse — a  plausible  pre¬ 
tence — the  conflict  really  was  about  Protestantism  itself  (cheers). 
It  was  very  convenient  for  the  Roman  Catholic  Priesthood  to 
pretend  to  be  engaged  only  with  the  outworks,  when  in  truth  it 
was  the  citadel  itself,  they  were  anxious  to  storm.  If,  said  the 
speaker,  the  Church  Establishment  in  Ireland  were  done  away  to¬ 
morrow,  think  you,  my  Lord,  that  the  Cburch  of  Rome  would 
be  content?  They  know  little  ot  Popery,  either  as  respects  its 
principles  or  its  history,  who  would  say  so  Romanism  is  no 
idle — no  indifferent — no  easily  satisfied  system  of  Religion.  It 
was  well  compared  by  a  champion  of  the  truth  informer  days,  in 
his  conference  with  the  Jesuit  Fisher,  to  a  serpent  which,  when 
once  it  had  got  its  head  in,  never  rested  till  it  wound  in  its  entire 
body.  (Cheers)  No,  my  Lord,  Rome  is  not  to  be  lulled  to  sleep 
like  Cerberus,  with  a  honied  cake — she  is  too  wary — her  appetite 
is  of  too  craving  a  nature — and  never,  never,  will  she  be  content 
unless  wielding  the  sceptre  of  universal  supremacy!  This  is 
written,  as  “with  a  pen  of  iron  and  the  point  of  a  diamond,”  in 
the  registers  of  her  history.  He  spoke  not  this  in  any  acrimonious 
spirit — he  uttered  not  this  language  for  the  purpose  of  offence — 
but  to  raise  a  warning  voice  to  the  Protestants  of  the  land.  It