Chapter VI: Part 6

At the present time, we are told by the same authority, the machinemakers of Lancashire are making power-looms with the greatest rapidity, and they cannot be made sufficiently fast to meet the demands of the manufacturers. This quick increase, notwithstanding the considerable expense of outfit, which by employing hand-weavers the manufacturer avoids entirely, may safely be taken as a test of the advantages and national importance of the power-loom. The following estimate is given of its productiveness as compared with hand-loom labour. A very good hand-weaver, twenty-five or thirty years of age, will weave _two_ pieces of cloth per week, of a certain description, each twenty-four yards long. In 1833, a steam-loom weaver, from fifteen to twenty years of age, assisted by a girl about twelve years of age, attending to four looms, can weave _eighteen_ similar pieces in a week; some can weave twenty pieces. It appears from the fuller statement given by Mr. Baines, that the comparative productiveness of steam-looms has rapidly increased up to the last-mentioned period, and therefore it may be conjectured not yet to have reached its maximum; and it is also stated, that in those descriptions of plain goods for which they have hitherto been chiefly used, “cloth made by these looms, when seen by those manufacturers who employ hand-weavers, at once, excites admiration, and a consciousness that their own weavers cannot equal it.” The set-off against these advantages is the interest on capital employed, and the expense of supplying power. It is not asserted by the more intelligent, either among masters or workmen, that the power-loom has been more than a secondary and minor cause of the lamentable depression and misery now existing among the hand-weavers; a depression which it is to be feared will never be removed but by the gradual relinquishment of that laborious and ill-paid trade.

The hardships of Dr. Cartwright’s case, his merits, and the extent to which the country was then profiting by his discoveries, had become, by 1807, so manifest to those who were best acquainted with the cotton trade, that a considerable number of the most respectable and influential gentlemen of Manchester presented a memorial to government, praying that some remuneration for his useful inventions might be taken into consideration. He petitioned the legislature himself to the same effect; and in 1809 obtained from parliament a grant of £10,000 for “the good service he had rendered the public by his invention of weaving.” The compensation thus awarded, though falling far short of the sums he had expended in perfecting his inventions, as well as in defending his patent-rights, contributed essentially to place him in comparatively easy circumstances; and being advanced in life, he was thankful to be enabled to pass the remainder of his days in tranquil retirement. The activity of his mind however was unabated. Engaged to the last in scientific pursuits, with an occasional revival of the poetic spirit of his youth, he closed his active, useful, and benevolent life at Hastings, October 30, 1823, in the eighty-first year of his age.

Like many inventors, Dr. Cartwright was negligent of his pecuniary interests: he possessed another quality less common to that class of persons, entire freedom from jealousy, and great liberality in communicating his ideas and assistance to others engaged in pursuits similar to his own. And we may fairly conjecture that the temper of mind in which such conduct originated, promoted his happiness much more than any increase to his fortune, procured by a less frank and generous spirit, could have done. It is also stated, that whether from absorption in the pursuits of the moment, or carelessness of their value, he was remarkably apt to forget his own productions, even when offered to his notice. Among other instances of this disposition, it is related, that on examining the model of one of his own machines, he expressed great admiration, and said that he should have been proud to have been the inventor of it; nor could he readily be convinced that the merit was indeed his own.

In this sketch of Dr. Cartwright’s life a limited notice only has been taken of his productions. He is chiefly known as the inventor of the power-loom; but the public are also reaping the advantage of several minor improvements in the arts of life, which emanated from his active and observing mind. It is sufficient here to state that he obtained ten patents, either for original inventions, or improvements upon his earlier mechanical attempts: and in addition to the kindred arts of weaving, spinning, wool-combing, and rope-making, he had successfully applied his talents to a variety of subjects unconnected with those manufactures.

An account of his life, containing a more detailed description of his various inventions, as well as a relation of the struggles and difficulties which he encountered, is now, we are informed, in preparation for the press. The portrait from which our engraving is taken was copied from one painted by Robert Fulton, when studying the art under his countryman, Benjamin West.

PORSON.

It is perhaps not easy to invest the memoirs of a verbal critic with the interest which attaches itself to the lives of men distinguished in other departments of literature and science: the classical scholar has little sympathy, in respect of his peculiar vocation, with the world around him, and the world for the most part repays his indifference with interest. Nevertheless, it is due to the great reputation of the subject of this memoir to relate the principal events of his life.

Richard Porson was born December 25, 1759. His father, Mr. Huggin Porson, was the parish-clerk of East Ruston, near North Walsham, in the county of Norfolk. Notwithstanding his poverty, Porson had the good fortune to obtain a first-rate education. Even in his childhood he was taught by a careful father more than is generally learned by the children of the rich; and after he had spent a short time at a village school, to which he was sent at the age of nine, his abilities attracted the notice of Mr. Hewitt, the vicar of his native place, who kindly undertook to teach the young prodigy the rudiments of Greek and Latin. In these elementary studies Porson passed his time till 1774, being also occasionally employed as a shepherd or a weaver. But his reputation had reached the ears of Mr. Norris, of Grosvenor Place, who in the summer of that year undertook the charge of maintaining him at Eton College. His name soon became favorably known beyond the circle of his admiring school-fellows. The interest which he excited was fortunate for him, for on the death of his kind patron Mr. Norris, he would have been unable to continue at Eton, had it not been for a subscription collected by Sir George Baker, then President of the Royal College of Physicians, from a number of gentlemen who had heard of Porson’s talents, and were desirous of giving him a fair opportunity to cultivate them to the uttermost. With this subscription, an annuity of 80_l._ for a few years was purchased for him; and thus he was enabled to finish his course at Eton, and to proceed thence to Trinity College, Cambridge.

_Engraved by B. Holl._

PORSON.

_From a Print engraved by W. Sharpe, after a Picture by Hoppner._

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]

In the second term of his third year (1781), Porson obtained one of the Craven University Scholarships, which, being open to the free competition of the whole body of undergraduates, have always been regarded among our most honourable academical distinctions. He took the degree of B. A. in 1782; and, on the mathematical tripos, obtained the respectable place of third senior optime: but he gained the first of the medals annually given by the Chancellor of the University to the two commencing bachelors of arts, under certain restrictions, who pass the best examination in classical learning. In the following September he was elected Fellow of Trinity College. He proceeded to the degree of M.A. in 1785; but being unwilling, from conscientious motives, to subscribe to the articles of the Established Church, he could not take orders, and, according to the rules of the College, vacated his Fellowship in 1791. He was thus for the second time dependant upon the liberality of his friends. Nor did they neglect him: a subscription was entered into by Mr. Cracherode and some others, from the proceeds of which a life annuity of 100_l._ was purchased for him.

In 1792 he was elected Regius Professor of Greek: but, as the salary of this office is only 40_l._ per annum, he was still a poor man; and not being able to procure a suitable lecture room, he was prevented from making the usual addition to his income, by delivering lectures on the Greek authors. In 1795 he married Mrs. Lunan, the sister of Mr. Perry, the well-known Editor of the Morning Chronicle. From this union, short as it proved, Porson derived important benefits. He laid aside, while it lasted, most of the unseemly and intemperate habits which he had contracted at College: but unfortunately his wife died of consumption in 1797, and he subsequently relapsed into his former course of life, and, as is too notorious, sacrificed friends, health and fortune, to his passion for drinking. After her death the kindness of his brother-in-law provided him with a home, gave him an opportunity of mixing in good society, and preserved him from many inconveniences, to which a man of Porson’s careless habits is always exposed.

About the time of his wife’s death, in 1797, Porson published an edition of the Hecuba of Euripides; which he intended to form the first portion of a complete edition of that poet, and which, with very modest pretensions, was at once acknowledged to be a piece of first-rate criticism by the scholars not only of England but of all Europe. However, in 1800, Gottfried Hermann of Leipzig, who has since become very eminent as a verbal critic, published an edition of the same play, as a professed attack on Porson’s; and there was something in the tone, as well as in the matter of his strictures, which more than counterbalanced the compliment at the commencement of the preface. When, therefore, Porson republished the ‘Hecuba,’ in 1802, he added to the preface a long Supplement, in which Hermann was treated rather superciliously; indeed it appears from a letter which Porson wrote to Professor Dalzel, of Edinburgh, on the third of September, 1803, that he entertained a most sincere contempt for his German censor. The Supplement, however, obtained the applause of the learned in all countries, and, in its kind, it has rarely been surpassed in learning and ingenuity. Porson subsequently published the ‘Orestes,’ ‘Phœnissæ,’ and ‘Medea,’ and the four plays, collected into one volume, have gone through numerous editions.

When the London Institution was established, in 1805, Porson was appointed Librarian, with a salary of 200_l._ per annum. The situation however gave him no opportunity of useful exertion. He selected indeed an excellent classical library, and was tolerably diligent in his attendance; but he acquired in this monotonous employment a habit of selfish intemperance, which impaired his faculties and ruined his health. From the beginning of 1808 he was afflicted with asthma; and neglecting the usual modes of treating this disease, he endeavoured to cure it by abstinence. Under this regimen he grew weaker and weaker, and on Monday, September 19, 1808, he was attacked with apoplexy in the street. Being unknown, he was carried to a neighbouring workhouse; but on the following day he was discovered and taken home by his friends, whose attention had been called to an advertisement describing his person, and some scraps of Greek writing and algebra, which were found in his pockets. He recovered so far as to receive a visit from his friend Dr. Adam Clarke, at the Institution; but the hand of death was upon him, and he never regained the full use of his faculties. He died on the night of the following Sunday, just as the clock struck twelve. His body was conveyed to Cambridge, and buried, with the highest academical honours, in Trinity College Chapel, near the statue of Newton, where a monument, with a bust by Chantrey, is erected to his memory.

A complete list of Porson’s works is given by Dr. Young in the ‘Supplement to the Encyclopædia Britannica.’ The general reader will perhaps form the best notion of his style from his celebrated ‘Letters to Archdeacon Travis,’ in which the genuineness of the long-controverted text, 1 John v. 7, is, we may venture to say, finally refuted. This work, from its subject, is chiefly interesting to the theologian and scholar: but its wit, terseness and strength of style, and force of argument, will well repay even the general reader for perusing it. Of his posthumous works the Photius requires particular notice. It was printed in 1822, from Porson’s transcript of the Galean MS. of an imperfect Lexicon, which is generally attributed to the celebrated Patriarch of Constantinople. He had transcribed and corrected this Lexicon with the intention of printing it some years before his death, but a fire having broken out in Mr. Perry’s house at Merton, and having consumed, among other papers, this transcript, he began the task again, and completed another copy in his own handwriting. A collection of his miscellaneous notes, under the title of ‘Adversaria,’ was published several years after the author’s death.

As Porson was the champion of English scholarship against the attacks of continental critics, and the head of a school of verbal criticism in this country, we must expect to find among his English contemporaries and successors a sort of reverence for him not altogether justified by his merits, and among the scholars of Germany, on the other hand, a corresponding feeling of dislike and desire to disparage him. Hermann wrote an article a few years since in the ‘Vienna Journal,’ on the characteristics of English scholarship, in which (vol. liv. p. 236,) the peculiar features of Porson’s criticism are said to be “great metrical accuracy in the kinds of verse with which he was acquainted; in others, sometimes an acquiescent acceptance of what he found, sometimes uncertain alterations: in his knowledge of the Greek language, great correctness; a sound judgment in the choice of readings, and considerate circumspection in conjecture, except where his own rules came in the way.” On the other hand, it is affirmed that “Porson’s notes are defective in acute and decisive proofs, and in that criticism which proceeds from a lively conception of the poetical: and that their contents are much more indicative of great industry and cool examination.” This is true enough as far as it goes; but had Hermann in his old age forgotten the rivalry which subsisted between Porson and himself in his earlier years, he would not have omitted to add that, with all these drawbacks, Porson was the greatest verbal critic of modern times.

It has been stated that Porson could not make himself generally agreeable; but it is well known that he had a strong turn for the humorous, and was almost always successful in his strokes of wit, so that it cannot be doubted that his society was courted even by the superficial; and we have heard from several of his surviving friends that, though his coarseness was sometimes offensive, he was often a welcome guest at the tea-table. He was also very happy in connecting classical allusions with ludicrous associations; and Professor Dobree, in his inaugural Prælection, speaks rapturously of the delight which Porson’s broad vernacular translations from Aristophanes afforded to his intimates at college. Some of his jeux d’esprit have been printed in the Classical Journal; the poem called ‘The Devil’s Walk’ was till lately attributed to him: it is stated in the last edition of Coleridge’s works to be the joint production of that poet and of Southey.

It may be necessary to say a few words in conclusion on those two peculiarities for which perhaps Porson is most talked about at the present day: his extraordinary memory, and his fondness for the manual labour of writing. The former he attributed in great measure to the latter. He told a friend, that he recollected nothing which he had not transcribed three times, or read at least six times; adding the assurance, that any one who would take the same trouble would acquire the same powers. We should incline to ascribe the tenacity of his recollection, so far as it depended on cultivation, in great measure to the early training of his father, who taught him the rules of arithmetic without the use of book or pencil; and his proficiency was such, that at nine years of age he is said to have been able to extract cube roots in his head. His memory was as indiscriminate as it was retentive and capacious. Proper names of no importance, foolish ballads, and prosing tales he could recall as easily, and repeat as accurately, as the passages of ancient authors which he required for the illustration or correction of a line of Euripides: he loved to recite, and was equally ready to repeat, ‘Jack the Giant Killer,’ or half a book of Milton, to his wearied company. As to his penmanship, it has been objected to him that he wasted many hours in an employment which would have better suited a country writing-master than a man of such talents. But it must be recollected that a reader of Greek MSS. must also be a scribe himself; and a great deal of the facility with which Porson performed his collations is to be attributed to his practice as a calligrapher. And if, as he used to say, his memory was principally formed by repeated copying, he certainly did not throw away his time; for all that he did in the way of illustrating Greek authors was mainly owing to his memory. And the world has at least derived one benefit from the perfection of Porson’s handwriting, in the adoption by the English University presses of a set of uniform types, formed after his models, of which even Hermann has said that they far exceed all attempts made in modern times to improve the beauty of Greek writing.

]

_Engraved by J. Posselwhite._

WICLIF.

_From a Print by G. White, after a Picture in the Collection of the
Duke of Dorset._

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]

WICLIF.

The village of Wiclif, distant about six miles from Richmond in Yorkshire, had long been the residence of a family of the same name, when it gave birth, about the year 1324, to its most distinguished native. The family possessed wealth and consequence; and though the name of the Reformer is not to be found in the extant records of the household, it is probable that he belonged to it. Perhaps the spirit of the times, and zeal for the established hierarchy, may have led it to disclaim the only person who has saved its name from absolute obscurity.

John Wiclif was first admitted at Queen’s College, Oxford, but speedily removed to Merton, a society more ancient and distinguished, and adorned by names of great ecclesiastical eminence. Here he engaged in the prescribed studies with diligence and success. In scholastic learning he made such great proficiency as to extort admiration from some who loved him not; and the direction in which his talents were turned is indicated by the honourable appellation, which he early acquired, of the Evangelic or Gospel Doctor. The terms, “profound,” “perspicuous,” “irrefragable,” were applied to mark the respective peculiarities of Bradwardine, of Burley, and of Hales; and so we may infer, that the peculiar bent of Wiclif’s youthful exertions was towards the book on which his subsequent principles were founded, and that he applied the ambiguous fruits of a scholastic education, not to enlarge the resources of sophistry, but to illustrate the treasures of truth. And on the other hand, in the illustration of those oracles, and in the accomplishment of his other holy purposes, it was of good and useful service to him that he had armed himself with the weapons of the age, and could contend with the most redoubtable adversaries on the only ground of argument which was at all accessible to them.

In 1356 he put forth a tract on ‘The Last Age of the Church,’ which was the first of his publications, and is on other accounts worthy of mention. It would appear that his mind had been deeply affected by meditation on the various evils which at that period afflicted the world, especially the pestilence which had laid waste, a few years before, so large a portion of it. He was disposed to ascribe them to God’s indignation at the sinfulness of man; and he also believed them to be mysterious announcements of the approaching consummation of all things. Through too much study of the book of the Abbot Joachim, he was infected with the spirit of prophecy; and, not contented to lament past and present visitations, he ventured to predict others which were yet to come. All however were to be included in the fourteenth century, which was to be the last of the world. That Wiclif should have been thus carried away by the prevalent infatuation, so as to contribute his portion to the mass of vain and visionary absurdity, was human and pardonable: but in his manner of treating even this subject, we discover the spirit and the principles of the Reformer. Among the causes of those fearful calamities, among the vices which had awakened to so much fierceness the wrath of the Almighty, he feared not to give the foremost place to the vices of the clergy, the rapacity which _ate up the people as it were bread_, the sensuality which infected the earth with its savour, and “smelt to heaven.” Here was the leaven which perverted and corrupted the community; here the impure source whence future visitations should proceed. “Both vengeance of sword, and mischiefs unknown before, by which men in those days shall be punished, shall befal them, because of the sins of their priests.” Thus it was that in this singular work, of which the foundation may have been laid in superstition, Wiclif developed notwithstanding a free and unprejudiced mind, and one which dared to avow without compromise, what it felt with force and truth.

The mendicant orders of friars were introduced into England in the year 1221; and they presently supplanted the antient establishments in the veneration of the people, and usurped many of the prerogatives, honours, and profits of the sacerdotal office. As long as they retained their original character, and practised, to any great extent, the rigid morality and discipline which they professed, so long did their influence continue without diminution, and the clamours of the monks and the priests assailed them in vain: but prosperity soon relaxed their zeal and soiled their purity, and within a century from the time of their institution, they became liable to charges as serious as those which had reduced the authority of their rivals. Accordingly, towards the middle of the following century, the contest was conducted with greater success on the part of the original orders; and some of the leading prelates of the day took part in it against the Mendicants. Oxford was naturally the field for the closest struggle, and the rising talents of Wiclif were warmly engaged in it. About the year 1360 he is generally believed to have first proclaimed his hostility “against the orders of friars;” and he persisted, to the end of life, in pursuing them with the keenest argument and the bitterest invective, denouncing them as the authors of “perturbation in Christiandome, and of all the evils of this worlde; and these errors shallen never be amended till the friars be brought to freedom of the Gospel and clean religion of Jesu Christ.”

In the year 1365 Urban V. renewed the papal claim of sovereignty over the realm of England, which was founded on the submission rendered by John to Innocent III. The claim was resisted by Edward III., and the decision of his parliament confirmed, in the strongest language, the resolution of the monarch. A zealous advocate of papacy ventured to vindicate the pretension of the Vatican, and challenged Wiclif to reply to his arguments. He did so; and his reply has survived the work which gave it birth. It is not however remarkable for any power of composition, still less can it be praised for grace or accuracy of style; but it stands as a rude monument of his principles, and proves that even then he was imbued with that anti-papal spirit which more splendidly distinguished his later years. Still, he was not yet committed as the adversary of Rome; and in a dispute, in which he was engaged with the Archbishop of Canterbury at this very time, he appealed from the decision of the Primate to the authority of the Pope.

Seven years afterwards, at the age of forty-eight, Wiclif was raised to the Theological Chair at Oxford; and from this period we may date the most memorable of his spiritual achievements. For it is a question whether, had he died before that time, his name would have come down to us distinguished by any peculiar characteristic from those of the other divines and doctors of his age; but when he turned this eminence into a vantage-ground for assailing the corruptions of his church, and thus recommended the expressions of truth and justice by the authority of academical dignity, his language acquired a commanding weight, and his person a peculiar distinction, which the former would never have possessed had he remained in an inferior station, nor the latter, had he not employed his station for the noblest purposes: purposes which, though they were closely connected with the welfare and stability of the Roman Catholic communion, were seldom advocated from the pulpits of her hierarchy, or the chairs of her professors. Had Wiclif been no more than an eminent and dignified theologian, he would have been admired, perhaps, and forgotten, like so many others. Had he been only a humble pleader for the reformation of the church, his voice might never have been heard, or it might have been extinguished by the hand of persecution: but his rank removed him above the neglect of his contemporaries; and his principles, thus acquiring immediate efficacy, have secured for him the perpetual respect of a more enlightened and grateful posterity.

At this time the various profitable devices, by which the Vatican turned into its own channels the wealth and patronage of the church, were come into full operation. By its provisions and reservations, and other expedients, it had filled many valuable benefices with foreign ecclesiastics; these, for the most part, were non-resident, and spent in other countries the rich revenues which they derived from England. This system had been vigorously opposed both by kings and people, but with little effectual success; for the Pope commonly contrived to repair the losses which he had sustained in the tempest during the interval which succeeded it. In 1374 Edward III. dispatched an embassy to Avignon to remonstrate on these subjects with Gregory XI., and procure the relinquishment of his pretensions. The Bishop of Bangor was at the head of this commission, and the name of Wiclif stood second on the list. The negociation was protracted, and ended in no important result; and the various arts of the Vatican triumphed over the zeal of the Reformer, and, as some believe, over the honesty of the Bishop. Howbeit, Wiclif obtained on that occasion a nearer insight into the pontifical machinery, and beheld with closer eyes the secret springs which moved it. And if he carried along with him into the presence of the vicar of Christ no very obsequious regard for his person, or reverence for his authority, he returned from that mission armed with more decided principles, and inflamed with a more determined animosity. At the same time his sovereign rewarded his services at the Papal Court by the prebend of Aust, in the Collegiate Church of Westbury, in the diocese of Worcester; and soon afterwards by the rectory of Lutterworth, in Leicestershire.

After this period, his anti-papal opinions were more boldly declared, and he became more and more distinguished as an advocate for the Reformation of the Church. The suspicions of the hierarchy were aroused; and whatever reasons the Prelates might have had for sometimes siding with their sovereign against the usurpations of the Pope, they were ill-disposed to listen to the generous remonstrances of a private Reformer. Accordingly, at a Convocation held Feb. 3, 1377, they summoned him to appear at St. Paul’s, to clear himself from the fatal charge of holding erroneous doctrines. Had Wiclif trusted to no other support than the holiness of his cause—had he thrown himself, like Huss and Jerome of Prague, only on the mercy and justice of his ecclesiastical judges—it might have fared as ill with him as it did with his Bohemian disciples. But his principles, recommended as it would seem by some private intercourse, had secured him the patronage of the celebrated John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, under whose protection he presented himself on the appointed day before the assembled bishops. A tumultuous scene ensued: and after an undignified and indecent dispute between the Duke and the Bishop of London, the meeting dispersed without arriving at any conclusion, or even entering on any inquiry respecting the matter concerning which it was convened. The process against Wiclif was however suspended; and this good result was at least obtained, though by means more in accordance with the violent habits of the age, than with the holiness of his cause.

In the course of the same year, while the Pope was endeavouring to re-establish and perpetuate his dominion in fiscal matters over the English, and the Parliament struggling to throw it off altogether, Wiclif was again called forth as the advocate of national independence; and he argued with great force and boldness against the legality of the papal exactions. In this Treatise, he entered more generally into the question, as to what were the real foundations, not only of papal but of spiritual pretensions; he pressed the Gospel of Christ as the last appeal in all reasonings respecting the Church of Christ; and he contrasted the worldliness and rapacity of his Vicar with the principles of the religion, and the character of its Divine founder. The name and example of Christ were never very pleasing objects of reflection to the hierarchy of that age; and the argument with which they loved to repel such ungrateful suggestions was, the personal oppression of those who ventured to advance them. Accordingly, the storm gathered; and four Bulls were issued forthwith against the doctrines and person of Wiclif. “His holiness had been informed that John Wiclif, rector of the church of Lutterworth, and Professor of the Sacred Page, had broken forth into a detestable insanity, and had dared to assert opinions utterly subversive of the Church, and savouring of the perversity and ignorance of Marsilius of Padua, and John of Ganduno, both of accursed memory.” It was then ordained that he should be apprehended and imprisoned; and in an address to Edward III., the arm of the flesh was invoked to co-operate with the spiritual authorities for the suppression of this monstrous evil. One of these Bulls was addressed to the University of Oxford; and what may seem singular, it found there a spirit so far in advance of the bigotry of the age, that a question was raised whether it should be received, or indignantly rejected. After long hesitation, it was received; but still no readiness was shown to comply with its requisitions, nor were any measures taken to punish or degrade the Reformer.

Howbeit, in the beginning of the year following, Wiclif presented himself at Lambeth, before the Tribunal of the Papal Commissioners, to meet the various charges of heretical pravity. We have no room to doubt the wishes and intentions of his judges. But on this occasion he was rescued from them, for the second time, by extraneous circumstances. The populace of London, among whom his opinions may have made some progress, and by whom his name was certainly respected, interrupted the meeting with much clamour and violence, and showed a fierce determination to save him from oppression. And at the same time, while the delegates were confounded by this interference, a message was delivered to them from the Queen Mother, prohibiting any definitive sentence against Wiclif. Thus unexpectedly assailed, and from such different quarters, the Prelates immediately softened their expressions, and abandoned their design; and Wiclif returned once more in safety to the propagation of his former opinions, and to the expression of others which had not yet been broached by him.

The sum of those opinions might be given with tolerable accuracy, though some of them were not perhaps propounded with perfect distinctness, and others have been made liable to consequences which were disclaimed by their author. In the first place, he rejected every sort of pretension, tenet, or authority, which did not rest on the foundation of Scripture: here he professed to fix the single basis of his whole system. Accordingly he denounced, with various degrees of severity, many of the popular observances of his church. He rejected auricular confession; and declared pardons and indulgences to be no better than antichristian devices for augmenting the power and wealth of the clergy, at the expense of the morality of the people. He paid no respect to excommunications and interdicts; he pronounced confirmation to be an unnecessary ceremony, invented for the aggrandizement of the episcopal dignity; he reprobated the celibacy of the clergy, and the imposition of monastic vows. And in his contempt for the outward ceremonies of the church, even to the use of Sacred music, he anticipated by more than two centuries the principles of the Puritans. In like manner, he maintained that bishops and priests, being one and the same order according to their original institution, were improperly distinguished; and that the property claimed by the clergy, being in its origin eleemosynary, was merely enjoyed by them in trust for the benefit of the people, and was disposable at the discretion of the secular government.

So long as Wiclif confined himself to the expression of these opinions, though he ensured the hatred of the hierarchy, he might reckon on a powerful party both at the Court and among the people. The objects for which he contended were at least manifest, and his arguments generally intelligible. But he was not content with this limited field. In his solicitude to assail all the holds of papacy, and denounce all its pernicious errors, he entered, in the year 1381, into a controversy respecting the nature of the Eucharist. His opinion on this mysterious question seems to have approached very nearly to that of Luther. He admitted a real presence; but though he did not presume to determine the manner, he rejected the doctrine of Transubstantiation in the Roman Catholic sense. This was ground sufficient for a new clamour, louder and more dangerous than all that had preceded it: not that there was stronger argument on the side of his opponents, but because the subject, being more obscure, was more involved in prejudice; it was more closely connected with the religious feelings and deepest impressions of his hearers; it affected, not their respect for a sensual and avaricious hierarchy, but their faith in what they had been taught to consider a vital doctrine essential to salvation. And thus it proved, not perhaps that his enemies became more violent, but that his friends began to waver in their support of him. The lower classes, who had listened with delight to his anti-sacerdotal declamations, trembled when he began to tread the consecrated ground of their belief. His noble patrons, if they were not thus sensibly shocked, perceived at least the impolicy of contending in that field; and John of Lancaster especially commanded him to retire from it.

With the sincerity of a zealot he persisted, and in the course of May, 1382, a Synod was held by Courtney, who had been just promoted to the primacy, and the heresies of Wiclif became, for the third time, the subject of ecclesiastical consultation. We have no space to pursue the details of these proceedings. The result was, that he was summoned to answer, before the Convocation at Oxford, respecting certain erroneous doctrines, the most prominent of which was that regarding the Eucharist. He prepared to defend them. And it was then that the Duke of Lancaster, who had been his faithful protector throughout all his previous troubles—whether it was that he sincerely differed with Wiclif on that particular question, or whether he was unwilling to engage in a struggle with the whole hierarchy, supported by much popular prejudice, for the sake of an abstract opinion, which might appear to him entirely void of any practical advantage—withdrew his support, and abandoned the Reformer to his own resources. Yet not then was his resolution shaken. In two Confessions of Faith, which he then produced, he asserted his adherence to his expressed doctrines. And though one of them is so perplexed with scholastic sophistry, as to have led some to imagine that it was intended to convey a sort of retractation, yet it was not so interpreted by his adversaries, six of whom immediately entered the lists against it. Neither did it persuade his judges of his innocence. He was condemned—but not, as the annals of that age would have led us to expect, to death. And whether the praise of this moderation be due to the Prelates who forbore so far to press their enmity, or to the State, which might have refused to sanction the vengeance of the Prelates, Wiclif was merely condemned to banishment from the University of Oxford. He retired in peace to his rectory at Lutterworth, and there spent the two remaining years of his life in the pursuit of his theological studies and the discharge of his pastoral duties.

The greater part of the opinions by which he was distinguished were so entirely at variance with the principles and prejudices of his age, that our wonder is not at their imperfect success, but at their escape from immediate extinction. Having thus escaped, however, and taken root in no inconsiderable portion of the community, they were such as to secure by their own strength and boldness their own progress and maturity. Neither was their author neglectful of the methods proper to ensure their dissemination. For in the first place, by his translation of the Sacred Book on which he supposed them to rest, he increased the means of ascertaining their truth, or at least the spuriousness of the system which they opposed. In the next, he sent forth numerous missionaries, whom he called his “Poor Priests,” for the express purpose of propagating his doctrines; and thus they acquired some footing even in his own generation. In succeeding years, the sect of Lollards, in a great measure composed of his disciples, professed and perpetuated his tenets; and by their undeviating hostility to the abuses of Rome, prepared the path for the Reformation.

Nor were the fruits of his exertions confined to his native country. It is certain that his works found their way, at a very early period, into Bohemia, and kindled there the first sparks of resistance to the established despotism. The venerable Huss proclaimed his adherence to the principles, and his reverence for the person, of the English Reformer; and he was wont in his public discourses to pray, that “on his departure from this life, he might be received into those regions whither the soul of Wiclif had gone; since he doubted not that he was a good and holy man, and worthy of a heavenly habitation.” The memory of Huss is associated by another incident with that of his master. The same savage Council which consigned the former to the flames, offered to the other that empty insult, which we may receive as an expression of malignant regret that he had been permitted to die in peace. It published an edict, “That the bones and body of Wiclif should be taken from the ground, and thrown far away from the burial of any church.” After a long interval of hesitation, this edict was obeyed. Thirty years after his death, his grave was violated, and his ashes contemptuously cast into a neighbouring brook. On this indignity, Fuller makes the following memorable reflection:—“The brook did convey his ashes in Avon; Avon into Severn; Severn into the narrow seas; they into the main ocean. And thus the ashes of Wiclif are the emblems of his doctrine, which now is dispersed all the world over.”

The date of Wiclif’s death renders the authenticity of his portraits in some degree uncertain, and we are not able to trace the history of any which exist. But that some memorials were preserved in his features, in illuminations or otherwise, we may conclude from the general resemblance which is to be traced in two different pictures of him—that from which our print is engraved, and that at King’s College, Cambridge, engraved in ‘Rolt’s Lives of the Reformers,’ and Verheiden, ‘Præstantium Theologorum Effigies, &c.,’ 1602.

]

CORTEZ.

Perhaps no great revolution has ever been effected by means apparently so inadequate to the end proposed, as in the first establishment of the Spanish monarchy on the continent of America. The immense importance of that revolution, and its intimate connexion with the history of geographical discovery, warrant us in assigning a place in our Gallery to a representative of the rude and daring men by whom the mighty conquest was effected. Of these, Fernando Cortez claims the first place. It is proper to mention, in explanation of what might seem a capital omission in our work, that no authentic likeness is known to exist of Columbus: a man raised above those who followed him across the Atlantic, no less by the purity of his motives, than by the originality of his daring career.

Columbus, however, did not colonize the American continent: his settlement was in Hispaniola. But the Spaniards soon took possession of other islands in the group of the Antilles. In 1511 Diego Velasquez annexed the most important of them, Cuba, to the Spanish crown, and was rewarded with the appointment of Governor. Eager to gain fresh wealth and honour, he equipped a squadron of discovery, in 1518, which tracked the southern shores of the Gulf of Mexico, and brought home so inviting a report, that he determined to attempt the conquest of the country. But he was greatly embarrassed in the choice of a commanding officer. To conduct the enterprise himself was no part of his scheme: at the same time he was very desirous to appropriate to himself the advantages likely to accrue from its successful issue. It was no easy matter to find a person qualified by talent and courage to assume the command of such an enterprise; yet so humble in rank, or so devoid of ambition, as to give no umbrage to the governor’s jealousy. After much hesitation, he invested Cortez with the chief command as his lieutenant. The early history and character of this remarkable man are clearly and concisely told by Dr. Robertson.

_Engraved by W. Holl._

CORTEZ.

_From a Picture in the Florence Gallery._

Under the Superintendence of the Society for Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]

“He was born at Medelin, a small town in Estremadura, in the year 1485, and descended from a family of noble blood, but of very moderate fortune. Being originally destined by his parents to the study of the law, as the most likely method of bettering his condition, he was sent early to the university of Salamanca, where he imbibed some tincture of learning. But he was soon disgusted with an academic life, which did not suit his ardent and restless genius, and retired to Medelin, where he gave himself up entirely to active sports and martial exercises. At this period of life he was so impetuous, so overbearing, and so dissipated, that his father was glad to comply with his inclination, and send him abroad as an adventurer in arms. There were in that age two conspicuous theatres on which such of the Spanish youth as courted military glory might display their valour: one in Italy, under the command of the Great Captain; the other in the New World. Cortez preferred the former, but was prevented by indisposition from embarking with a reinforcement of troops sent to Naples. Upon this disappointment he turned his views towards America, whither he was allured by the prospect of the advantages which he might derive from the patronage of Ovando, the Governor of Hispaniola, who was his kinsman. When he landed at St. Domingo, in 1504, his reception was such as equalled his most sanguine hopes, and he was employed by the Governor in several honourable and lucrative stations. These, however, did not satisfy his ambition; and in the year 1511 he obtained permission to accompany Diego Velasquez in his expedition to Cuba. In this service he distinguished himself so much, that, notwithstanding some violent contests with Velasquez, occasioned by some trivial events, unworthy of remembrance, he was at length taken into favour, and received an ample concession of lands and of Indians, the recompense usually bestowed upon adventurers in the New World.

“Though Cortez had not hitherto acted in high command, he had displayed such qualities in several scenes of difficulty and danger, as raised universal expectation, and turned the eyes of his countrymen towards him, as one capable of performing great things. The turbulence of youth, as soon as he found objects and occupations suited to the ardour of his mind, gradually subsided, and settled into a habit of regular indefatigable activity. The impetuosity of his temper, when he came to act with his equals, insensibly abated, by being kept under restraint, and mellowed into a cordial soldierly frankness. These qualities were accompanied with calm prudence in concerting his schemes, with persevering vigour in executing them, and with what is peculiar to superior genius, the art of gaining the confidence and governing the minds of men. To all which were added the inferior accomplishments that strike the vulgar, and command their respect; a graceful person, a winning aspect, extraordinary address in martial exercises, and a constitution of such vigour as to be capable of enduring any fatigue.

“As soon as Cortez was mentioned to Velasquez by his confidants, he flattered himself that he had at length found what he had hitherto sought in vain, a man with talents for command, but not an object for jealousy. Neither the rank, nor the fortune of Cortez, as he imagined, were such that he could aspire at independence. He had reason to believe that by his own readiness to bury ancient animosities in oblivion, as well as his liberality in conferring several recent favours, he had already gained the good-will of Cortez; and hoped, by this new and unexpected mark of confidence, that he might attach him for ever to his interest.”

It is remarkable that Velasquez, actuated by these views, should have selected for his deputy such a man as is here described. He soon repented of his confidence, and sought to revoke the commission which he had bestowed. But Cortez, in addition to the funds provided by the governor, had spent the whole of his own available means in raising troops, and making preparations for the enterprise; he was already embarked at the head of a body of impatient adventurers; and he despised a mandate which there were no means of enforcing. And one of his first steps after landing on the Main was to throw off formally all subordination to Velasquez, and to assume the title of Chief Justice and Captain General of the intended colony, by virtue of a new commission, drawn in the king’s name, and purporting to continue in force until the royal pleasure should be known.

The expedition sailed from Cuba, February 10, 1519, and following the track of the preceding one, coasted the western side of the peninsula of Yucatan. At St. Juan de Ulloa some natives came on board, and replied to the questions put to them through the medium of interpreters, that their country formed part of a great empire called Mexico, governed by a powerful monarch, Montezuma. Several interviews followed, in which Cortez, professing to come as ambassador from his own sovereign, perseveringly demanded to be led into the presence of Montezuma. This was peremptorily refused; but the denial, as if to make amends, was accompanied by presents rich enough to inflame, had that been necessary, the cupidity of the strangers. Instead of departing, they laid the foundations of a settlement, named Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz. Meanwhile, Montezuma acted indecisively and weakly: he neither admitted his formidable visitors to the friendly intercourse which they insidiously demanded, nor summoned the strength of his empire to crush them at once; but let them fortify themselves while he was making vain requisitions for their immediate departure, and gave time and opportunity to those who were discontented under his own heavy yoke, to rally round the standard of the invader. And it was not long before the Spaniards obtained that native assistance, without which their mere physical strength must have sunk under the vastness of their enterprise.

The Cacique of Zempoalla, prompted by hatred of Montezuma, was the first to assist in the ruin of his native land. Supported by a small body of that chieftain’s troops, and attended by 200 Indians of an inferior class, who in that country, where the art of breaking animals to the use of man was unknown, performed the humiliating services of beasts of burden, Cortez marched from Zempoalla towards the heart of the country, August 16, with only 500 Europeans, and six cannon. Aware that on the first reverse of fortune his men might grow disgusted with an enterprise of such formidable appearance, or from mere inconstancy might be eager to return to their homes in Cuba, a temper which had been already manifested by some, he resolved, before quitting the coast, to destroy the shipping; and it is a remarkable instance of his ascendency over his followers’ minds, that he procured a general consent to this decisive, not to say desperate measure, which left small hope of safety but in success.

His route lay through the country of the Tlascalans, a warlike people, who spurned his professions of friendship, and attacked the invaders in a series of battles. The imperfection of their weapons rendered their efforts fruitless; and having been severely taught the strength of their enemies, they sued for peace, and became faithful and active allies. The Spaniards, accompanied by a body of 6000 Tlascalans, then advanced without resistance to Mexico itself; after punishing an attempt to lead them into an ambuscade at Cholula by an indiscriminate massacre, in which 6000 persons are reported to have perished. Montezuma received them with the semblance of profound respect. He told them of an ancient tradition, that the ancestors of the Mexicans came originally from a remote region, and conquered the land: after which their leader went back to his own country, promising that at some future period his descendants should return to reform their constitution, and assume the government; and Montezuma expressed his belief that the Spaniards were the persons whom his countrymen were thus taught to expect. Another tradition, which helped to produce that weak and wavering conduct which gave the Spaniards such advantage, foretold that some great misfortune should accrue to the native inhabitants from a race of invaders from the regions of the rising sun. It is remarkable that, according to the earliest and best Spanish historians, this belief was very prevalent in the New World.