Chapter VII: Part 7

The sudden birth and rapid development of mechanically perfect means for preparing and spinning fibres were due largely to the comparatively simple movements required to draw and twist the yarn, but in the loom no such problem was presented. Here the movements were complicated and varied, and the application of power to the manipulation of the delicate threads was not susceptible of sudden and successful solution. The warps, stretched in a sheet between two beams, had to be opened to form the shed, the shuttle had to be passed therethrough, the weft beaten to place, and means provided to feed the warp and to take up of the fabric an amount at each beat-up corresponding to the size of the weft. These were the movements necessary in the most simple kind of weaving, and though fully understood for many centuries, as evidenced by the Indian and Egyptian looms, and as embodied in hand machines of the seventeenth century, it was not till 1787 that they were clothed with the application of power. Even then the first embodiment did not emanate from the hands of a weaver or engineer, but from Dr. Cartwright, a clergyman in the church of England. It was not surprising that these looms failed of their expectations, for the shuttle would frequently get trapped in the shed, the driven power-lay would break out the warp threads, the take-up and let-off motions were not graduated to compensate for the decrease of the warp and increase of the cloth beams, resulting in thin and thick places in the cloth. But this application of power to the loom was the initial step in the industrial supremacy of the machine, which to-day works with the perfect cadence of an automaton.

The first years of the present century were of unsurpassed activity in the inventive field. The spinners were putting forth more yarn than the hand-looms could use. It remained for the loom to keep pace with the times. Miller, in 1800, Todd and Horrocks in 1803, Johnston in 1807, Cotton in 1810, Taylor in 1815, and many others, concentrated their efforts to develop the plain power-loom; but the second decade of the present century saw the old hand-loom with its slow and cumbrous movements still mistress of the art.

The name of Richard Roberts stands preëminent at this period, between 1820 and 1825, as giving to the power-loom several perfecting touches in the means for letting off the warp the small amount necessary at each pick, the means for taking up the finished cloth, the means for shedding the warp for the passage of the shuttle, and the adaptation of the stop motions of his predecessors. These changes gave practical life to the machine, and overthrew the barrier that obstructed the advance of the textile industry. They were, however, only a few of the improvements added in perfecting the power-loom, such as the automatic temple to hold the cloth extended and prevent drawing of the weft, the shuttle-guard to prevent accidental jumping of the shuttle from the race, the perfect weft-stop to bring the loom to a stand on breakage or failure of the weft, the protector mechanism to obviate a “smash” when the shuttle failed to box, and the loose reed, all of which stand out in bold relief as evidences of the progressive tendencies of the age, and combined in about the year 1838, more than a half century after Cartwright’s first conception of the idea, to complete the practical power-loom.

The loom had not reached a stage of mechanical perfection; much yet remained to be done, but the plain power-loom of this period was both a practical and financial success. By its immediate predecessor, the hand-loom, a good weaver and assistant could work from forty to fifty picks per minute, and weave plain cloth. By the power-loom of 1840, one weaver could “tend” two looms running from 100 to 120 picks per minute and produce the same cloth. Without passing through the various steps which culminated in the power-loom for plain cloth, now in use, and tracing the causes that led to perfection of details, the amazing advance from the ancient and 18th-century hand loom to the power-loom of 1840 and that of to-day may well be shown by comparing the machines themselves.

Such was the simple form of the power-loom. One half of the warps were alternately raised and lowered for the shot of weft; but as a woven fabric is one in which the warp and weft are united by passing them over and under each other, the figure or pattern of the cloth will be varied as the threads are crossed in different combinations, and this will depend on the order of raising and lowering the warp threads, and the introduction of different characters and colors of weft. This brings up for review the most important parts of the loom structure—the shedding mechanism and shuttle-box motions—through whose agencies the most beautiful and complicated designs are produced.

Shedding mechanism was present of course in all looms, but in the power-looms of the early part of this century it was confined to tappets adjusted on a revolving shaft, and the number of heddles was limited to six or eight. Fairly good twills and other like fabrics could be produced within the limits of the few heddles, but with the introduction of the “dobbie,” or that part of the loom which raises and lowers the harness-frames, a new era in fancy weaving was inaugurated. By this ingenious device as many as thirty-six or even forty heddles could be used and raised at will to form figures. The creation of the dobbie belongs to the 19th century, and it is found in practical form about 1863 in the United States under the name of the American or Knowles dobbie. The essentials are the two cylinder gears revolving constantly, the vibrating gears, carried on the end of pivoted arms and having teeth on a part of their periphery, the harness jacks connected to the heddle frames, and the links joining the vibrating gears and harness jacks in such manner that part revolution of the former causes the latter to move the connected heddle frame, and consequently the warp threads, up or down. A pattern chain determines what vibrator gears shall engage the cylinder gears, and, once the chain is fitted to the design to be woven, nothing remains for the loom tender but to oversee the operation of the machine.

Another form of dobbie, not less popular than the Knowles, developed into a perfect automatic device about fifty years ago in England. Here two reciprocating knives are engaged, under the direction of a pattern chain, by one of two hooked jacks connected to the harness levers, and the shed is again formed without human intervention. Other forms of dobbie structures have been evolved during the last fifty years, but these two, with some modifications and additions of details, have come extensively into practical use, and represent the zenith of development at the present time. By their aid great variety is rendered possible in the design on the resulting fabric. The figured tablecloths, damasks, twills, satins, bordered and cross-bordered fabrics, are now possible at a cost of a thousandth part only of that incurred when produced by any of the old types of machines.

The subject of shedding, i. e., of opening the warp-threads to afford a passage for the shuttle, is so inseparably connected with the name of Jacquard, that attention is now carried to that wonderful invention evolved in the first few years of the present century, and by the use of which it may truly be said that anything can be woven as figure in a fabric that can be designed by the hand of man. It is as well adapted for the finest silks as for heavy carpets and figured velvets, and by an operation theoretically so simple as to excite wonder that it remained hidden until this age. Jacquard was a native of France and exhibited his machine complete in 1804, but so bitter was the opposition that the first machine was destroyed and burned. Its merits were clear, however, and reconstruction and general adoption in France followed soon after. It has since been applied not only for shedding but for every purpose where mechanical operations could be controlled by a pattern. In brief, this machine simply controls each warp thread separately by a cord having a hook attached. These hooks are arranged near the path of a reciprocating griffe or frame carrying cross bars, and are controlled, as to engagement with the bars, by a card perforated according to a pattern; thus any one or any number of threads can be raised at will. The dobbie controls harness frames each carrying a large number of warp threads; the Jacquard controls every thread separately. The greatly increased capacity of the latter machine is apparent. Thus a 1500-hook Jacquard will do the work of thirty dobbies of fifty jacks each.

The hand-shuttle box mechanism of Kay’s time has developed into the machine operated as a sliding or revolving shuttle-box controlled by pattern devices, which, being added to a dobbie or Jacquard equipped loom within the last twenty-five years, presents the highest point of perfection attained in the textile art. In such looms the warp threads, arranged in any colors, may be raised at will collectively or individually, any one of ten or twelve different colored wefts may be introduced as desired, and combinations may thus be formed to produce designs of the most complicated nature.

Pile fabrics, cut, uncut, and tufted, represent a type quite distinct from those produced on the ordinary fancy loom just described, and, in the form of velvets, imitation animal skins, and Brussels carpet, were almost unknown prior to the invention of Samuel Bigelow of Boston, in 1837. Fabrics of this character, if made at all, were the products of tedious hand methods, and on account of the consequent high price were the exclusive property of the very wealthy. Carpets with pile surface had been made by the Persians and Turks ages ago, by tying pieces of woolen yarn around longitudinal or warp threads, and binding the whole together by a weft at intervals; and such tufts, being carefully selected as to color, were made to present rich designs, but, like all other hand-produced fabrics, these were the property of the few.

The pile fabric loom of Bigelow opened the way for an advance in the carpet industry which continues to the present time; its ultimate effect being to place carpets within the reach of the humble cottager; and floors which were strewn with brush, or at best concealed by the home-made rag carpet, now became covered by a soft and beautifully figured fabric. This loom was a practical machine, and at once commended itself to the manufacturer. It consisted of the old power-loom provided with a Jacquard, already well understood, to which was added an attachment to introduce wires at intervals as false weft, and bind the warp around them by the usual weft threads. The wires being withdrawn after a few shots had been woven, left the warp loops standing, and these loops being formed under the dictates of the Jacquard, any character of beautiful design could be produced. Velvets, brocades, even the fine imitation of sealskin, are the simple products of this form of power-loom when the pile loops are cut. Greater cheapness in weaving cut pile fabrics has been secured by a slight modification in the Bigelow loom, so that two fabrics could be woven at one time. This idea was introduced about 1850, and it contemplated weaving the two fabrics face to face, keeping them separated by the usual pile wires of Bigelow, and passing the pile threads from one fabric to the other. Upon cutting the two cloths apart through the threads uniting them, two cut pile or velvet fabrics resulted. This loom required the service of two shuttles and double the number of warp-beams, but it worked well, and is to-day largely in use and well adapted to its purpose.

The demand for tufted pile fabrics, meaning those in which the pile is formed from tufts or yarns, individually tied to the foundation fabric, and of which the rich Turkish and Persian rugs are examples, had not been met by the Bigelow loom; in fact it was only about forty years ago that the mechanical production of such fabrics became possible. Smith and Skinner were the pioneers to enter this field, and the first, by the aid of machinery, to compete with the cheap hand-labor of the orientals. The invention of a machine that will select any desired color from a large number of yarns, carry it between the warp-threads at the exact spot necessary to form the figure, tie it around these threads, cut it off to the length necessary to form an even and smooth surface, return the unused portion to place, and do all quickly, accurately, and with little cost, is an achievement that may rightly claim the admiration of the industrial world. Yet this is what the machine inaugurated by Smith and Skinner does to-day. The general movements and complicated parts of the power-loom are present as for weaving a plain fabric, and on beams or large spools carried by a chain, under the control of a pattern, are arranged the tuft yarns, in the order in which they should appear in the figure. Through the pattern devices the proper spool or beam is brought into position to be seized by a pair of fingers which rise, take the spool from the chain, lower it to the warp, pass the ends of the tuft yarn through and around the proper warp thread, hold them till the insertion of a binding weft, then, when they have been properly cut to length, return the spool into its place in the chain. This creation of mechanical genius takes rank with the wonders of the spinning mule and, like that machine, passes through its entire operation with the _precision of an automaton_. By its aid close imitations of the oriental hand-made rugs are placed before the world at one quarter the former price, and, as a result, the fine moquette and axminster carpets lend their beauty to nearly every home in the land.

The credit for improving the power-loom so as to adapt it for weaving fancy cassimeres and suitings, belongs to William Crompton, a native of England, who came to the United States in 1836, and shortly thereafter, in the Middlesex Mills at Lowell, Mass., constructed and operated the first fancy cassimere power-loom, not only in this country, but in the world. Prior to this the harness for all woolen and worsted power-looms was worked by cams, and the cloth was woven plain; but Crompton’s loom of 1840 started a new era in the woolen industry, rendering it possible to produce any fancy weave by an arrangement of pattern chain and large number of harnesses in connection with the change shuttle-boxes. Improvements followed, by the substitution of the reverse shuttle-box motion in 1854, the perfection of the general loom structure in 1857, the addition of the upright lever harness motion in 1864, and the centre-stop in 1879, so that at the present time this machine is adapted to run at high speeds and weave at moderate cost the most complicated designs in woolen and worsted—such as shawls, checks, suitings, and all forms of fancy cassimeres.

The general industrial activity in all matters pertaining to textile manufacture between the years 1835 and 1860, brought forth many forms of looms of special adaptation to meet the increasing demands of society. The narrow-ware loom appeared in the third decade of this century, and the addition of the dobbie, or Jacquard, later, equipped this loom for the simultaneous production of several ribbons, or narrow fabrics, side by side, having plain or figured effect. The lay was divided into several reed spaces, and a corresponding number of shuttles, operated by rack and pinion, carried the weft-threads through the adjacent warp.

About the middle of this century, and until the adoption of the more rich and delicate fabrics, hair-cloth was the accepted covering for furniture, and power-looms for its production quickly answered the demand. They reached such a degree of perfection and efficiency in this country that almost the entire industry was centred here. This fabric was made from the hair of horses’ tails as weft, and a strong cotton warp; and as the weft could not be wound upon bobbins, as usual, each separate hair was inserted by an ingenious device made to reciprocate through the shed, and select one out of a bundle of hairs cut to the same length. The conception of a power device capable of the delicate operation necessary to weave hair-cloth, could never have been realized except in a highly intelligent manufacturing community; but in 1870, Rhode Island alone produced on such machines over 600,000 yards, consuming thereby the hair of about eight hundred thousand horse-tails.

The evolution of the lappet loom started between 1840 and 1850 in England and Germany. It sought to enhance the pleasing effect of plain fabrics, by placing an embroidered or raised figure over the surface during the weaving process. Near the lower edge of ladies’ skirts, on the ends of neckties and like articles, an embroidered effect was desirable; and this has been secured by the lappet attachment to the present power-loom. In this a needle is mounted in appropriate location, usually back of the lay, and through an eye in the end thereof the lappet thread is led from a suitable supply. This needle is normally either above or below the warp. When a spot or figure is wanted, it is caused to move into the plane of the opposite warps of the shed, under the direction of suitable controlling pattern mechanisms. The shuttle being then shot, the lappet thread appears upon the surface, and it may be made to thus appear as often as desired; its position being shifted as necessary under the guidance of a pattern-chain to form, in embroidery effect, any character of small design.

Closely allied to the lappet loom in the effect produced is the swivel-shuttle loom, which has come extensively into use during the last thirty years to supply demands for spotted or embroidered figures. The loom is of the plain type, having small swivel-shuttles movable in carrier blocks, which are secured to the supporting bar near the top of the lay-reed, in convenient location to permit the shuttles to be depressed into the shed. Each swivel-shuttle is provided with a rack engaging a suitable operating pinion to move the shuttles simultaneously from one carrier to the next. Normally these shuttles are held above the warp plane, and the loom in this condition weaves tabby or twill. At the desired moment, the supporting-bar is lowered by a cam or Jacquard to bring the shuttles in the shed; the shuttles are moved from one carrier to the next adjacent, and then all are raised to their normal position above the warp. The ground weft is laid and the beat-up takes place. Repetition develops a spot or figure at intervals across the entire fabric, and with the use of different colored swivel-threads the greatest diversity of embroidered effect is secured over the entire ground. Some of the most beautiful spotted silks for ladies’ dresses and fancy scarfs, never before contemplated, are now woven on this loom at prices that are very moderate for such a class of goods.

A radical departure from the paths traveled by prior inventors was inaugurated about 1859, in adapting the power-loom for weaving tubular fabrics, resulting twenty years later in perfecting a machine in which the warp threads were arranged in circular series and the weft laid in the circular shed by a continuously moving shuttle. Fire-hose and like tubular cloths resulted. Rapid development continued from the middle of the present century, so that nearly every conceivable form of loom, from the light running plain fabric and gingham looms to the heavy structures for weaving canvas and wire cloth, claimed the attention of the inventor; and in this last decade of the century looms are constructed to weave anything that can be woven. Wire, slats, cane, straw, and glass, as well as the light fibres of cotton, wool, or silk, are now easily manipulated on the power-loom and woven into cloths, mattings, baskets, cane-seats for furniture, bottle-covers, and ever so many irregular forms that, in the dormant condition of this industry prior to the nineteenth century, were quite beyond consideration of the most active enthusiast of the art.

Wonderful as these achievements have been, the restless ambition of inventive genius remains unsatisfied. Improvements continue—especially in the United States, under the fostering care of a liberal patent system—and attempts are now being made, and with success, to form the power-loom into a thoroughly automatic machine incapable of producing any but the best quality of cloth. Upon the breakage or undue slackening of a warp thread, the loom would continue to weave and produce imperfect fabric until the attendant had pieced the broken end or adjusted the slack thread. Means were devised some years ago to remedy this defect, but with only partial success until near the close of this century. Breakage or failure more often occurred in the weft, however, and though the weft stop-motion successfully detected the fault and stopped the loom, yet much valuable time was lost, and constant attention was needed to supply new filling. Progressive tendencies of the closing years of this decade have sought to meet this difficulty. As a result, means are now provided whereby, on failure or breakage of the weft, the loom discharges its imperfect filling from the shuttle, supplies itself with a new weft from the hopper, places it in the shuttle, and continues to weave. Such a loom provided with a warp stop-motion is almost incapable of producing imperfect cloth, and so long as the warps remain intact and the hopper is kept supplied with weft-bobbins, it will continue to weave. In fact, in many mills of the New England States these looms are now left to run during the dinner hour without an attendant, and no imperfect cloth is produced.

Such machines are almost independent of human attention, yet they are the evolution of the old-time hand loom. Just one hundred years ago the hand loom, running at 40 or 50 picks to the minute, required the watchful care of an expert weaver; in 1840, the same weaver could “tend” from two to four power-looms running 100 to 120 picks; to-day he oversees from 10 to 16 looms running from 150 to 200 picks.

The homespun, with its old familiar butternut dye, has disappeared. The spinning-wheel and loom no longer occupy a part of every home. In their stead, the farmer, as he looks beyond the thriving cornfields, beholds the reeking chimneys of a thousand mills as they proclaim the majesty of the power machines. The fabrics produced are beautiful and varied in design, and their cost so low as to excite wonder that such progress could have been the result of one hundred years of industrial activity.

The emancipation of knitting, as a domestic occupation, dates from the romantic experiences of William Lee, a subject of Queen Elizabeth, of whom it is related that while watching the deft fingers of his lady-love guide the knitting needle from loop to loop, conceived the idea of performing the operation by mechanical means. It is a singular coincidence also that the invention of this the first machine for knitting purposes, like that of the power-loom for weaving, should have emanated from the hands of a student and clergyman, unfamiliar with the art.

Lee’s device was naturally crude. It contained only twelve needles, arranged in a row with about seven or eight to the inch, but it successfully formed a knitted web. Further progress in the art was slow, on account of the strong opposition to all machines which seemed likely to deprive the hand artisan of occupation. The Queen refused to grant a patent to Lee for this reason, and knitting remained the exclusive prerogative of women for many years. Like the spinning-wheel, however, the hand knitting-needle beheld a rival, which in the diversity of human wants was destined to create one of the great industrial pursuits of the age.

Stockings, like all other garments, were first made by sewing together pieces of linen, silk, cotton, or woolen cloth, resulting in a poorly fitting article, prolific of uncomfortable seams. Knitting the entire hose in a single piece by hand needles overcame these defects to an extent, and the Lee machine opened the way for the production of such articles on a scale that now furnishes the civilized world.

Lee’s machine produced a straight web which required to be cut and sewn to shape; then to it was added the ribbing device and the narrowing and widening attachment, to shape the web to fit the body without cutting; but still a seam existed in the stocking where the edges united. In 1816, however, M. I. Brunel built a circular machine having an endless row of needles, and in 1831, Timothy Bailey, of New York, applied power to the knitting frame; the result being that at this time a tubular seamless fabric could be produced on a power machine.

The latch-needle, which has given to the knitting machine great capacity and diversity of product, was not invented until about 1847, by Mr. Aiken, of New Hampshire. A period of development then set in that continues to the present time. The needles by cam mechanism were made independently operative in a circular carrier; narrowing and widening devices to produce pouches, such as the heels and toes of stockings, were added, as was also feeding mechanism for the introduction of different colored yarn, or a reinforcing thread. Such machines, of 1868 and 1870, would form a stocking or undergarment well fitted to the form; but they required the constant attention of a skilled knitter, until pattern mechanism was introduced to control the time of introduction of the colored or additional thread, and the place for formation of the narrowed or widened web. In forming the heel and toe pockets, a part of the needles are thrown out of action, and the movements to operate the active needles are changed from round and round, or circular work, to reciprocating. At each reciprocation one or more needles, at the end of the series, are rendered inactive, until one half the required pocket is formed; then they are successively returned to action, and circular knitting resumed. It may be also an additional thread is introduced to reinforce the wearing qualities of the heel and toe, or a differently colored yarn may be thrown in to give figure, but all such movements are now automatically controlled by a pattern mechanism. The ribbed leg portion of a stocking is formed either in the same machine that fashions the foot or in a separate machine to which the foot is transferred, but in either case the pattern mechanism again controls.

Within the last twenty years this art has been so greatly improved, especially in the hosiery line, that the automatic machine of to-day passes through the entire operation of knitting the article, finishing it off, and starting afresh without other aid than a supply of yarn. Moreover, the machine now to be considered practical must be so constructed that it will continue thus to operate without repairs or loss of time from month to month; and its daily output will average more than the old hand machines could accomplish in a week. By hand knitting one hundred loops could be formed per minute; by Lee’s machine as many as fifteen hundred were possible in the same time; but to-day, the automatic machine will average between 300,000 and 400,000 loops, and at the same time will produce a finer web, shaped to fit the form of the wearer.

Such comparisons reveal the vitally important progress made in the knitting industry, through which most of our underwear, stockings, scarfs, neck-comforts, and woolen gloves are supplied. The labor and time saving devices developed in this class of machines, and the fact that unskilled workmen may “tend” from fifteen to twenty of them, largely accounts for the universal adoption of warm and comfortable wearing apparel by all classes of society.

The number of patents granted on textile machinery during the nineteenth century furnishes an index to the progress made. Prior to 1800, less than one hundred patents were granted in the United States, while since that time, and up until July, 1895, about 15,200 patents were issued, covering tangible and material improvements over the old structures. The beneficent effects of these inventions are attested by the wonderful and continuous reduction in cost to the consumer of all kinds of textile fabrics. For the manufacturer, these have made possible increased production in a given time with less manual labor. When it is remembered that the labor cost is about one half the total cost of production of textile fabrics, it will be apparent that the beneficial effects of any labor-saving device are felt as well by the consumer as the producer.

In 1870 the number of textile establishments in the United States was 3035, giving occupation to 146,897 employees, and consuming annually 359,420,829 pounds of textile fibres, while in 1890 the number of establishments had increased to 4114, employing 511,897 hands, and consuming the enormous amount of 1,572,548,933 pounds of fibres; representing progress and growth in the textile arts not excelled by any other manufacturing industry.

Food and clothing constitute the primary wants of man. The former grew ready for his use as a natural product of the soil. The latter he had to produce by artificial means to afford that protection which nature failed to provide. Next to agriculture, therefore, man’s early attention was directed to securing a covering for the body. Looking back through the vista of years dimmed by the mists of very remoteness, we find the animal and vegetable kingdoms destined to contribute to his needs. There were the blue flax-fields; cotton-bolls, scattered like powdered snow about the land, coquetting in wanton abandon with winds tempered by an all-wise Power to the shepherd-watched sheep; goats roaming the vale of Cashmere; silk-worms of Ceres, and the grasses of spring, overflowing with allurements of assistance for his adornment. With these essentials has man wrought a mighty miracle. The genius of Industrial Art, awakened by the fascinating influence of Nature, invoked the Goddess of Invention, approaching her temple not with loud acclaim, as marked the herculean strides in other arts and sciences, but modestly, though tenaciously and most effectually. For not more is woman emancipated by the sewing machine than both sexes by the doing away of the spinning-wheel, the household knitter, and hand-worked loom. Not more do electricity and steam power facilitate the various occupations of man than do the many textured fabrics add to his needs.

In all the phases of social life is this industry manifest. If the banquet hall is warmed and lighted by electricity, so, also, is it adorned with tapestries, silken and artistic, napery surpassingly smooth, and laces intricately wrought.

How like a fairy tale reads the evolution of textile progress! Conceptions, infinite in range and variety, alike pleasing to the eye and gratifying to vanity, have been spun, woven, knit, and embroidered, until, standing as we do at the dawn of another century, upon the summit of unparalleled achievements, we ask, “Can the mind conceive, the heart desire, or the hand execute more.”

THE CENTURY’S RELIGIOUS PROGRESS

BY GEORGE EDWARD REED, S.T.D., LL.D.,

_President Dickinson College, Carlisle, Pa._

The closing years of the nineteenth century, both in Europe and the United States, are characterized by a religious life as phenomenal with respect to development and influence as those of the eighteenth were phenomenal for lethargy and decline. “Never,” says a writer in the North British Review, “has a century risen on England so void of soul and faith as that which opened with Anne (1702), and reached its misty noon beneath the second George (1732–1760),—a dewless night succeeded by a sunless dawn. The Puritans were buried and the Methodists were not born.” In this opinion, all historians and essayists concur.

Among the clergy were many whose lives were of the Dominie Sampson order, described in Scott’s “Guy Mannering”—men whose lives were the scandal and reproach of the church; who openly taught that reason is the all-sufficient guide; that the Scriptures are to be received only as they agree with the light of nature; pleading for liberty while running into the wildest licentiousness. Montesquieu, indeed, did not hesitate to charge Englishmen generally with being devoid of every genuine religious sentiment. “If,” he says, “the subject of religion is mentioned in society, it excites nothing but laughter. Not more than four or five members of the House of Commons are regular attendants at church.”

From the colleges and universities, the great doctrines of the Reformation were well-nigh banished, a refined system of ethics, having no connection with Christian motives, being substituted for the principles of a divinely revealed law.

On every side faith seemed to be dying out; indeed, would have died out but for the tremendous reformation in life and morals induced by the self-denying and heroic labors of the Wesleys and their coadjutors, to whom, more than to any beside, England owes her salvation from a relapse into barbarism,—a service which in later years won for the Wesleys a memorial in Westminster Abbey.

On the Continent, religious conditions were no better. In France the masses were yet reeling amid the excesses of the Revolution. Voltaire and Rousseau were the oracles and prophets of their times,—the popular idols of the hour. Voltaire, indeed, openly boasted that he alone would laugh Christianity out of the court of public opinion, declaring the whole system to be outgrown and powerless. Germany, given over to theological speculation, crushed beneath the weight of the Napoleonic wars, and torn by internal dissensions, gave but little hope that upon her altars the dying fire of the great Reformation would ever again flame forth as in the older and more heroic days.

In the United States, similar conditions prevailed, especially during the last decade of the eighteenth century and the first of the nineteenth. Forms of infidelity the most radical and revolting prevailed throughout the land. Many of the leading statesmen, in private at least, did not scruple to confess themselves atheists or deists. Thomas Paine was the popular idol; his “Age of Reason” almost as common as the Bible itself. The majority of the men taking part with him in the founding of the government, with but few exceptions, held theological sentiments akin to his, although declining to participate in his violent and brutal assaults upon the Scriptures and the institutions of Christian society.

Speaking of the earlier days of the century, Chancellor Kent, in one of his published works, declared that in his younger days the men of his acquaintance in professional life who did not avow infidelity were comparatively few. Bishop Meade, of Virginia, in his autobiography, states that “scarcely a young man of culture could be found who believed in Christianity.”

The colleges and universities were so filled with youthful skeptics that when, in 1795, Timothy Dwight assumed the presidency of Yale, he found but four or five willing to admit that they were members of churches. So far did they go in their devotion to the French infidelity prevalent at the time, that the seniors of the college were commonly known among themselves by the names of Diderot, D’Alembert, Robespierre, Rousseau, Danton, and the like. Harvard, Princeton, William and Mary, the University of Virginia,—all the colleges indeed,—were as thoroughly hotbeds of skepticism as nurseries of learning.

The period, too, was one of internecine strife among the feeble churches themselves. Divisions on doctrinal lines were incessant; departures from the faith as numerous as they were disastrous. Of the missionary spirit so gloriously characteristic of the nineteenth century there was not even a trace. Up to 1793, not a missionary society was in existence on either side of the ocean. The same was true of hospitals, asylums, of every form of organized effort for the reclamation of the masses or the amelioration of human ill.

In Boston, as late as 1811, men of literary or political distinction, eager to listen to the marvelous revival preaching of the celebrated Dr. Griffin, attended his services surreptitiously, or in disguise, fearful lest knowledge of attendance upon religious services of such vulgar character should detract from the dignity of their social standing.

If, however, the times were bad, the outlook for Christianity dark, the period, nevertheless, was not wholly without gleams of light. The spiritual leaven imparted by Whitefield in his mighty preaching tours, by Edwards, Dwight, Asbury, Griffin, and others of equally heroic stamp, gradually began to work,—slowly at first, but with ever accelerating movement,—until at last the triumphant successes of the present century began their stately march. By degrees a new life appeared among the churches, heralding the dawn of a new and brighter day. Revivals of religion, many of them powerful and sweeping, broke out in many parts of the country. Massachusetts, Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, the Carolinas, Georgia, were in succession the theatres of movements which, before they had spent their force, had completely revolutionized the conditions of unfaith, immorality, and spiritual apathy so long prevailing. These upheavals of spiritual power, continuing during the first twenty-five years of the century, laid broad and deep the foundations of the mighty achievements of the church which we are now to consider. How extensive, how wonderful, have been these achievements can perhaps best be understood by a consideration of the changed conditions marking the close of the century.

In the first place, that the people of the United States are a religious people may be inferred from the amazing number and variety of religions abounding and flourishing within our borders. It may be doubted that in any other Christian country of the earth there can be found so many varieties of religion, so many church organizations, so many and diverse peculiarities of doctrine, polity, and usage, as here. It is a land of churches; churches for whites, churches for blacks; churches large and churches small; churches orthodox and churches heterodox; churches Christian and churches pagan; churches Catholic and churches Protestant; churches liberal and churches conservative, Calvinistic and Armenian, Unitarian and Trinitarian; representing nearly every phase of ecclesiastical and theological thought. As Americans have distanced the world in the extent and variety of their material inventions, so have they distanced the world in the extent and variety of their theological and ecclesiastical forms. The state cannot control the church, and the church is as free as the state. As a man may freely transfer his citizenship from one State to another, to each in turn, so may he, if he shall so desire, pass from one ecclesiastical communion to another, until he shall have exhausted the list. If, perchance, no one of the one hundred and forty-three distinct denominations enumerated in the census tables shall suit him, there remain innumerable separate, independent congregations, no one of which lays claim to denominational name, creed, or connection, in some one of which he yet may find an ecclesiastical home. The principle of division, indeed, has been carried so far in America that it would be a difficult task to find the religious body so small as, in the judgment of some, to be incapable of further division.

It is to be observed, however, that the differences of the one hundred and forty-three denominations into which our religious population is divided are, in many instances, so slight that, should consolidation be attempted, the one hundred and forty-three could easily be reduced to a comparatively small number, and this with but little change in doctrine, polity, or usage. Consolidation into organic union, however, is hardly likely to occur in the near future, even were such consolidation desirable. In the first place such a result would be contrary to the genius of Protestantism, based, as it is, on the absolute right of private judgment with respect to matters of faith and morals, and, in the second place, it would be contrary to human experience. “Religious controversies,” as Gladstone says, “do not, like bodily wounds, heal by the genial forces of nature. If they do not proceed to gangrene and mortification, at least they tend to harden into fixed facts, to incorporate themselves into laws, character, and tradition, nay, even into language; so that at last they take rank among the data and presuppositions of common life, and are thought as inexorable as the rocks of an iron-bound coast.” In religion, when men separate, the severance is like the severance of the two early friends of whom the poet speaks:—

“They parted, ne’er to meet again,
But neither ever found another
To free the hollow heart from paining.
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs which have been rent asunder,
A dreary sea now rolls between.”

If, however, the diversities are great—increasing rather than diminishing—the “unity of the spirit in the bonds of peace” with respect to all essentials of doctrine is as remarkable as the diversity in the outward form. Never, indeed, since the dawn of Christianity, were the members of the diversified bodies of the general church of Christ in such thorough accord, in such closeness of attachment, with such generous recognition of all that is good in each of the several bodies, as now. Even the Roman Catholic Church, intolerant in all lands where its sway is practically undisputed, in the United States, at least, has caught something of the broader toleration of Protestants, giving to its millions of communicants a better and truer gospel than in those countries where it does not come into contact with Protestantism, while freely coöperating with other churches in various works of philanthropy and reform.

In the next place, that we are a religious, a Christian people may be argued from the steady and enormous increase during the century of the material and spiritual forces of the church of Christ, an increase phenomenal even amid the wonders of a phenomenal century. Whether we look at the increase of edifices or the multiplication of communicants, the results in either case are sufficient for both congratulation and amazement. Were it possible to obtain from the earlier records exact statistics of the actual number of edifices and communicants existing at the opening of the century, comparison would be comparatively easy. Such, however, is not the case, the records having been imperfectly kept and indifferently preserved. The census of 1890, indeed, was the first to furnish exhaustive and really reliable results.

Taking that census as a basis, and adding to its figures those to be obtained from the year books of the various bodies up to and including 1894, the religious strength of the United States may be summarized as follows: Churches, 189,488; religious organizations, 158,695; ordained ministers, 114,823; members or communicants, 15,217,948; value of church property, $670,000,000; seating capacity of churches, 43,000,000, while in the 23,000 places where organizations which own no edifices hold their services, accommodations could be found for 2,250,000 more. In the majority of the Protestant churches, at least two services are held on each Sabbath; in the Catholic, six or seven.

Granting these premises, it is but reasonable to say that if, on any given day, the entire population of the country should desire to attend at least one religious service, accommodations could readily be found for the entire number,—ample proof that the spiritual interests of the millions are by no means neglected so far as privileges of worship are concerned. It is a showing all the more remarkable when we consider that all this vast provision is furnished on the basis of voluntary offerings, the state contributing not a dollar for religious purposes. It is probable that in these churches and edifices, on Sabbaths and on weekdays, not less than 15,000,000 services are held each year, to say nothing of sessions of Sunday-schools, meetings of Young People’s Associations, and gatherings of kindred character. In them, too, not less than ten millions of sermons and addresses on religious themes are annually delivered.

The number of enrolled communicants, or members, however, by no means expresses the real strength of the religious life of the nation. To get at that, we must multiply each Protestant communicant by the 2.5 adherents allowed in all statistical calculations. Proceeding on this basis, omitting for the time all Catholics, Jews, Theosophists, members of Societies for Ethical Culture, Spiritualists, Latter-Day Saints, and kindred bodies, and multiplying the 15,200,000 Protestant members by 2.5, we have over 50,000,000 as the total Protestant population of the country. Adding to these 50,000,000 the Catholic population, estimated by Catholic authorities as being 15 per cent. larger than the number of Catholic communicants, we have 57,062,000 as the total Christian population, leaving only about 7,000,000 who are neither communicants nor adherents. Of the 7,000,000 opposed, for various reasons, to the churches, comparatively few are to be reckoned as either infidels or atheists; while, on the other hand, it is true that of the 57,000,000 reckoned as either communicants or adherents, millions are Christians only in name, either never attending the services of the churches, or at the best only at rare intervals. Gratifying as is this splendid exhibit of religious devotion on the part of the American people, the fact that there are millions in our land whose allegiance to Christian doctrine is but nominal, with millions more upon whose lives religion exercises no appreciable influence whatever, is a sufficient proof of the enormous task yet confronting the churches of Christ, if we are to stand before the nations as the great distinctive Christian nation of the world. The stupendous gain, however, in ninety-four years, of over 14,853,076 in Protestant churches alone is a record of religious progress unparalleled in the history of the world.

Advancing to the question of distribution of the religious forces enumerated, we find that while these forces are distributed throughout every State and under one hundred and forty-three denominational names, they are, nevertheless, massed largely in a few denominations and in a comparatively few States. Competent authorities estimate that the five largest denominations comprise fully 60 per cent. of the entire number of communicants; the ten largest, 75 per cent. With respect to communicants, the Catholic Church is first, with 7,510,000; the Methodist (all bodies) second, with 5,405,076; the Baptist third, with 3,717,373; the Presbyterian fourth, with 1,278,332; the Lutheran fifth, with 1,233,072.

With respect to population, reckoning the Catholic population at 7,510,000—which figures include children under ten years of age—and adding to the communicant strength of the four other bodies mentioned the 2.5 adherents allowed for each communicant, we have the following: Methodist population, 18,918,466; Baptist, 12,990,805; Presbyterian, 5,525,162; Lutheran, 4,358,752; total Protestant population, 50,000,000; Catholic, 7,510,000.

With respect to value of church property, the Methodists are first with $132,000,000; the Catholics second, $118,000,000; the Presbyterians third, with $95,000,000; the Episcopalians fourth, with $82,835,000; the Baptists fifth, with $82,390,000. The total value of church property, reckoning all denominations, reaches the enormous sum of $670,000,000.

To further particularize with respect to the lesser groups into which the religious forces are divided is impossible within the limits allowed for this chapter. To do it would require a volume instead of a chapter. The following summary, however, may suffice to show the gain of a century of religious effort:—

+-------+------------+----------------+--------------+
| Year. | Ministers. | Organizations. | Communicants |
| | | | or Members. |
+-------+------------+----------------+--------------+
| 1800 | 2,651 | 3,030 | 364,872 |
| 1850 | 25,555 | 43,072 | 3,529,988 |
| 1870 | 47,609 | 70,148 | 6,673,396 |
| 1880 | 69,870 | 97,090 | 10,065,963 |
| 1890 | 98,185 | 151,172 | 13,823,518 |
| 1894 | 114,823 | 158,695 | 15,217,948 |
+-------+------------+----------------+--------------+

When one remembers that one hundred years ago it was a common boast of infidels that “Christianity would not survive two generations in this country,” the above exhibit shows a religious progress unequaled in the history of the kingdom of God in any land or any age.

Turning to the field of missionary effort, we find that the spread of the Christian religion by missionary efforts, particularly during the last one hundred years, forms one of the brightest chapters in the records of human progress. Within this period, the triumphs of the first three centuries have been far more than repeated.

Following these early victories of the Christian faith came on, as all know, ages of darkness, dreary centuries, during the progress of which the power of the church gradually waned, and, with respect to purely spiritual activities, seemed to die away. The voice of exhortation ceased to be heard. Christian song was hushed. Even prayer closed its supplicating lips, and the church, overladen with corruption, worldliness, and human ambition, passed into the thick darkness of the long and disastrous eclipse of the Middle Ages. But amid the widespread darkness enveloping the world, even the ages known as the “Dark Ages” were not without their gleams of light. Among the Saracens and in the lands of the Orient, always were to be found heroic men and women toiling ceaselessly for the conversion of heathen nations to the Christ. Later on, subsequent to the thirteenth century, and especially during the centuries immediately following the discovery of the New World, the desire for the Christianizing of the world flamed into an all-absorbing passion. The tremendous labors of Xavier, of Loyola, and their followers, in every quarter of the globe, have long been the wonder and admiration of the world. Checked in Europe by the rise of the great Protestant Reformation, the Catholic Church turned its energies to the acquisition of spiritual power in other lands, and with enormous success. Along the banks of the St. Lawrence, amid the wilds of Canadian forests, far away on the shores of the Great Lakes, thence southward to the Ohio, along the Mississippi, even to the Gulf; in far Cathay, in Ceylon, in Japan, in China, in Africa,—everywhere its missionaries could be found, heedless of hunger, of cold, of peril, reckless even of life, if by any means, whether by life or by death, they might “sprinkle many nations” and establish the holy emblem of the Christian faith.

Absorbed in the struggles going on in their own lands, Protestants made but little effort for the extension of the gospel in foreign fields, save the few but successful attempts made by the Moravians of Germany, always the most zealous of all Protestant bodies in lines of missionary service. What, however, was lacking in the way of missionary effort in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries has been more than made good in the glorious nineteenth, the distinctive missionary century of the Christian era. In the room of seven societies organized for world-wide gospel evangelization at the end of the last century, there are now in Europe and America between seventy and eighty organizations, employing a force of nearly three thousand American and European missionaries, and perhaps four times that number of native assistants. Full $10,000,000 are annually raised among the Protestant bodies alone for missionary service, while the great Roman Catholic Church prosecutes its work with a zeal equally unflagging. A brief survey of the progress of a hundred years of missionary effort will make it clear to all minds that the day is not far distant when the declaration of the prophet, “The earth shall be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord, even as the waters cover the sea,” shall have abundant and magnificent realization.