Mont St Michel was a sacred place even in the time of the Druids. It became a seat of Christian worship in the 8th century, when a monastery was founded upon it (with the usual miraculous accompaniments) by St Aubert, bishop of Avranches. It soon became a favourite resort of pilgrims, not only from all parts of France, but also from Great Britain and Ireland, and even from Italy. It was plundered by the Normans; but Rollo, on his conversion, made restitution. At the time of the Conquest it supplied William of Normandy with six ships, and received a considerable share of the English spoils. About this time the monks began to give themselves to learning and to collect a large library, and in the 12th century the establishment reached its highest prosperity. It was burnt by the troops of Philip Augustus, who afterwards furnished large sums for its restoration (La Merveille). St Louis (Louis IX. ) made a pilgrimage to Mont St Michel, and was afterwards very liberal to it. During the hundred years’ war it offered a memorable resistance to the English; and here, on 1st August 1469, Louis XI. instituted the order of St Michel, and held a brilliant chapter. A similar celebration was held by Francis I. During the religious wars the Huguenots made repeated unsuccessful attempts to seize the fortress; it opened its gates to Henry IV. after his abjuration. About 1615 the Benedictine monks of Mont St Michel were replaced by monks of the Congregation of St Maur; after the Revolution the abbey was used as a prison for political offenders. It is now an historical monument; it contains an orphanage, and is undergoing repairs.

It has been said that his health was never strong, and it had been further weakened by the hard living (in both senses of that phrase) which was usual at the time. He resolved, accordingly, to retire to a life of study and contemplation, though he did not in the least seclude himself, and indulged in no asceticism except careful diet. Montaigne was a large country house unfortified (in which circumstance its astute possessor saw rather safety than danger from the turbulence of the religious wars), and its owner’s revenues, without being large, appear to have been easy. He neither had nor professed any enthusiastic affection for his wife, but he lived on excellent terms with her, and bestowed some pains on the education of the only child (a daughter) who survived infancy. In his study, which he has minutely described, he read, wrote, dictated, meditated, inscribed moral sentences, which still remain on the walls and rafters, and in other ways gave himself up to learned ease. He was not new to literature. In his father’s lifetime, and at his request, he had translated the Theologia Naturalis of Raymond de Sebonde, a Spanish schoolman. On first coming to live at Montaigne he edited the works of his deceased friend Étienne de la Boétie, who had been the comrade of his youth, who died early, and who, with poems of real promise, had composed a declamatory and schoolboyish theme on republicanism, entitled the Contr ’ Un, which is one of the most overestimated books in literature. But the years of his studious retirement were spent on a work of infinitely greater importance. Garrulous after a fashion, as Montaigne is, he gives us no clear idea of any original or definite impulse leading him to write the famous Essays. It is very probable that if they were at first intended to have any special form at all it was that of a table-book or journal, such as was never more commonly kept than in the 16 th century. But the author must have been more or less conscious of an order existing in the disorder of his thoughts, and this may have induced him to keep them apart in chapters, or at least under chapter-headings, and at the same time not to cut them up into mere pensées. It is certainly very noticeable that the earlier essays, those of the first two books, differ from the later in one most striking point, in that of length. Speaking generally, the essays of the third book average fully four times the length of those of the other two. This of itself would suggest a difference in the system of composition. For the present, however, we may confine ourselves to the first two books. These appeared in 1580, when their author was forty-seven years old.

They contain, as at present published, no less than ninety-three essays, besides an exceedingly long apology for the already-mentioned Raymond Sebonde, which amounts to about a quarter of the whole in bulk, and differs curiously from its companions in matter no less than in scale. The book begins with a short avis (address to the reader), opening with the well-known words, “C’est icy un livre de bon foy lecteur,” and sketching in a few lively sentences the character of meditative egotism which is kept up throughout. His sole object, the author says, is to leave for his friends and relations a mental portrait of himself, defects and all; he cares neither for utility nor fame. The essays then begin without any attempt to explain or classify their subjects. Their titles are of the most diverse character. Sometimes they are proverbial sayings, or moral adages, such as: “Par divers moyens on arrive à pareille fin ”, “Qu’il ne faut juger de notre heur qu’après la mort ”, “Le profit de l’on est le dommage de Γaultre.” Sometimes they are headed like the chapters of a treatise on ethics: “De la tristesse ”, “De l’oisiveté ”, “De la peur”, “De l’amitié.” Sometimes a fact of some sort which has awaked a train of associations in the mind of the writer serves as a title, such as: “On est puni de s’opiniastrer à une place sans raison ”, “De la bataille de Dreux ”, &c. Occasionally the titles seem to be deliberately fantastic, as: “Des puces ”, “De Γusage de se vestir.” Sometimes, though not very often, the sections are in no proper sense essays, but merely commonplace book entries of singular facts or quotations with hardly any comment. These point to the haphazard or indirect origin of them which has been already suggested. But generally the essay-character—that is to say, the discussion of a special point, it may be with wide digressions and divergences—displays itself. The digressions are indeed constant, and sometimes have the appearance of being absolutely wilful. The nominal title, even when most strictly observed, is rarely more than a starting-point; and, though the brevity of these first essays for the most part prevents the author from journeying very far, he contrives to get to the utmost range of his tether. Quotations are very frequent. These are the principal external characteristics of the book; its internal spirit had better be treated when it can be spoken of completely.

Between the publication of the first two books of essays in 1580 and the publication of the third in 1588, Montaigne’s life as distinguished from his writings becomes somewhat better known, and somewhat more interesting. He had, during the eight years of composition of his first volume, visited Paris occasionally and travelled for health or pleasure to Cauterets, Eaux Chaudes, and elsewhere. Charles IX., apparently, had made him one of his gentlemen in ordinary, and perhaps conferred on him the order of St Michael. The fiercest period of the religious wars, save that yet to come of the League, passed over him without harming him, though not without subjecting him to some risks. But his health grew worse and worse, and he was tormented by stone and gravel. He accordingly resolved to journey to the baths of Lucca. Late in the 18th century a journal was found in the chateau of Montaigne, giving an account of this journey, and it was published in 1774; part of it is written in Italian and part dictated in French, the latter being for the most part the work of a secretary or servant. Whatever may be the biographical value of this work, which has rarely been reprinted with the Essays themselves, it is almost entirely destitute of literary interest. Written, moreover, according to its own showing merely for the author’s own eye, it contains abundance of details as to the medicinal effect of the various baths which he visited, details which may be said to be superfluous to a medical reader, and disgusting to any other. The course of the journey was first northwards to Plombières, then by Basel to Augsburg and Munich, then through Tyrol to Verona and Padua in Italy. Montaigne visited most of the famous cities of the north and centre, staying five months at Rome, and finally establishing himself at the baths of Lucca for nearly as long a time. There he received news of his election as mayor of Bordeaux, and after some time journeyed homewards. The tour contains much minute information about roads, food, travelling, <fcc., but the singular condition in which it exists, and the absence of a really good critical edition hitherto, make it rather difficult to use it as a document. The freak of writing part of it in a strange dog-Italian is not uncharacteristic of Montaigne, but the words of his last and best editors, MM. Courbet and Royer, who speak of the letters as “l’unique complément des essais,” seem to indicate that they are not of those who accept the published Voyage as authentic. Of the fact of the journey there is no doubt whatever.

Montaigne (as was not unnatural in a man of his temperament, who had for some years, if not for the greater part of his life, lived solely to please himself) was not altogether delighted at his election to the mayoralty, which promised him two years of responsible if not very hard work. The memory of his father, however, and the commands of the king, which seem to have been expressed in a manner rather stronger than a mere formal confirmation, induced him to accept it; and he seems to have discharged it neither better nor worse than an average magistrate. Indeed, he gave sufficient satisfaction to the citizens to be re-elected at the close of his term, and it may be suspected that the honour of the position, which was really one of considerable dignity and importance, was not altogether indifferent to him. Unfortunately, it cannot be said that nothing in his office became him like the leaving of it, for it was at the close of his second tenure that he gave the only sign of the demoralizing effect which is sometimes alleged by severe moralists to come of the half epicurean, half sceptical philosophy which he undoubtedly professed. It was his business, if not exactly his duty, to preside at the formal election of his successor, the maréchal de Matignon; but there was a severe pestilence in Bordeaux, and Montaigne writes to the jurats of that town, in one of the few undoubtedly authentic letters which we possess, to the effect that he will leave them to judge whether his presence at the election is so necessary as to make it worth his while to expose himself to the danger of going into the town in its then condition, “which is specially dangerous for men coming from a good air as he does.” That is to say, the chief magistrate of one of the greatest towns in France not only declined to visit it because of sickness prevailing there, but had left it to itself at a time when nearly half the population perished, and when, according to the manners of the age, civil disturbance was almost sure to follow accordingly. Attempts have been made to justify Montaigne, and it may be at least said that he at no time pretended to unselfish heroism; but it is to be feared that the facts and the inference drawn from them admit of no dispute. At the least, Montaigne’s conduct must be allowed to contrast very little to his advantage with that of Rotrou in the next century under somewhat similar circumstances though in a position of much less responsibility. It may, however, be urged in Montaigne’s favour that the general circumstances of the time, where they did not produce reckless and foolhardy daring, almost necessarily produced a somewhat excessive caution. The League was on the point of attaining its greatest power; the extreme Calvinist and Navarrese party, on the other side, was (as may be seen in Agrippa d’Aubigné) no less fanatical than the League itself, and the salvation of France seemed to lie in the third party oi politiques, or trimmers, to which Montaigne belonged. The capital motto of this party was that of the Scotch saying, “Jouk and let the jaw gang by,” and the continual habit of parrying and avoiding political dangers might be apt to extend itself to dangers other than political. However this may be, Montaigne had difficulty enough during this turbulent period, all the more so from his neighbourhood to the chief haunts and possessions of Henry of Navarre. He was able, however, despite the occupations of his journey, his mayoralty, and the pressure of civil war and pestilence, which was not confined to the town, to continue his essay writing, and in 1588, after a visit of some length to Paris, the third book of the Essays was published, together with the former ones considerably revised. The new essays, as has been remarked, differ strikingly from the older ones in respect of length; there being only one which confines itself to the average of those in the first two books. The whimsical unexpectedness of the titles, moreover, reappears in but two of them: “Des coches” and “Des boiteux.” They are, however, identical with the earlier ones in spirit, and make with them a harmonious whole—a book which has hardly been second in influence to any of the modern world.

This influence is almost equally remarkable in point of matter and in point of form, as regards the subsequent history of thought and as regards the subsequent history of literature. The latter aspect may be taken first. Montaigne is one of the few great writers who have not only perfected but have also invented a literary form. The essay as he gave it had no forerunner in modern literature, and no direct ancestor in the literature of classical times. It is indeed not improbable that it owes something to the body of tractates by different authors and of different dates, which goes under the name of Plutarch’s Morals, and it also bears some resemblance to the miscellaneous work of Lucian. But the resemblance is in both cases at most that of suggestion. The peculiar desultoriness and tentative character of the essay proper were alien to the orderly character of the Greek mind, as were also its garrulity and the tendency which it has rather to reveal the idiosyncrasy of the writer than to deal in a systematic manner with the peculiarities of the subject. It has been suggested that the form which the essays assumed was in a way accidental, and this of itself precludes the idea of a definite model even if such a model could be found. Beginning with the throwing together of a few stray thoughts and quotations linked by a community of subject, the author by degrees acquires more and more certainty of hand, until he produces such masterpieces of apparent desultoriness and real unity as the essay “Sur des vers de Virgile.” In matter of style and language Montaigne’s position is equally important, but the ways which led him to it are more clearly traceable. His favourite author was beyond all doubt Plutarch, and his own explicit confession makes it undeniable that Plutarch’s translator Amyot was his master in point of vocabulary, and (so far as he took any lessons in it) of style. Amyot was unquestionably one of the most remarkable writers of French in the 16th century, and to him more than to any one else is due the beauty of the prose style which marked the second half of that century, a style which, though unequal and requiring to be modified for general use, is at its best the very flower, of the language. Montaigne, however, followed with the perfect independence that characterized him. He was a contemporary of Ronsard, and his first essays were published when the innovations of the Pléiade had fully established themselves. He adopted them to a great extent, but with much discrimination, and he used his own judgment in Latinizing when he pleased. In the same way he retained archaic and provincial words with a good deal of freedom, but by no means to excess. In the arrangement as in the selection of his language he is equally original. There is little or no trace in him of the interminable sentence which is the drawback of early prose in all languages when it has to deal with anything more difficult to manage than mere narrative. He has not the excessive classicism of style which mars even the fine prose of Calvin, and which makes that of some of Calvin’s followers intolerably stiff. As a rule he is careless of definitely rhythmical cadence, though his sentences are always pleasant to the ear. But the principal characteristic of Montaigne’s prose style is its remarkable ease and flexibility. These peculiarities, calculated in themselves to exercise a salutary influence on a language as...

His great work, the fruit of many years’ labour, did not appear till he was fifty years old, and ten years before his death, which occurred before its completion. Les Moines d’Occident depuis St Bênoit jusqu'à St Bernard has some of the peculiar drawbacks which have characterized almost all historical work of any literary pretensions during the present generation. It is planned on too large a scale, and executed with too much regard to profusion of picturesque detail and abundance of fluent argument on points which the writer has at heart. Its best passages are inferior to the best of a younger writer of very different opinions though not dissimilar style and temperament—Μ. Ernest Renan; but it is a work of great interest and value.

Montalembert, who had married Mademoiselle de Merode, sister of one of Pius IX.’s ministers, but who had no male offspring, died in March 1870, the year so fatal to France. His health had long been very bad, and was understood to have suffered from the chagrins attending his exclusion from political life and the defeat of most of his plans. Since his death his works have appeared in a complete edition. They have, regarded from the literary point of view, many of the faults of their time. A voluminous and vigorous writer, Montalembert was more of a journalist, a pamphleteer, and an orator than of a man of letters properly so called. His talents were diffused rather than concentrated, and they were much occupied on merely ephemeral topics. But of picturesque eloquence in a fluent and rather facile kind he was no inconsiderable representative.

Topographically, Montana may be separated into two great divisions—that of the plains comprising the eastern two-thirds, and that of the mountains comprising the western portion. The former, a monotonous rolling expanse, broken only by the beds of the few streams which traverse it, and by a few small groups of hills, extends over nine degrees of longitude in a gentle uniform slope, rising from 2000 feet above the sea at the eastern boundary to 4000 at the base of the Rocky Mountains. Except along the streams and upon the scattered groups of hills, this section is entirely devoid of forest-growth of any kind. Vegetation is limited to the bunch grasses, artemisia, and cacti. The grasses are the most abundant and luxuriant near the mountains, where the rainfall is greatest. The mountain section, comprising the western third of the Territory, is composed, in general terms, of a succession of ranges and valleys running very uniformly somewhat in a north-west and south-east direction. The mountains vary in height from 8000 to 10,000, even in isolated cases reaching 11,000 feet, with mountain-passes 6000 to 8000 feet above the sea. Towards the north the ranges become almost continuous, forcing the streams into long and circuitous courses in order to disentangle themselves from the maze of mountains, while, on the other hand, the ranges of the south-western part of the Territory are much broken, affording numerous low passes and water-gaps.

In the mountainous part of the Territory are the headwaters of the Missouri (Atlantic basin) and Clark’s Fork of the Columbia (Pacific basin). The former rises in the south-west of the territory in three large branches, the Jefferson, Madison, and Gallatin, which meet at the foot of the Gallatin valley at a point known as the " Three Forks of the Missouri.” Here the Missouri is a good-sized stream, fordable with difficulty even when the current is lowest. From this point to its mouth navigation is possible when the stream is not below its mean height; it is interrupted only at the Great Falls of the Missouri, near Fort Benton, above which, however, it is practically little used for navigation. Its other principal tributaries in its upper course are the Sun, Teton, Marias, Musselshell, and Milk rivers, all of which vary much in size with the season, —the last two being nearly or quite dry near their ihouths in the fall of the year. The Yellowstone, one of the most important tributaries of the Missouri, has nearly all its course in Montana, and is navigable for small steamers as far as the Crow Agency, except when the water is low. Clark’s Fork of the Columbia is formed by the junction of the Flathead and the Missoula or Hellgate river. The former rises in the mountains of British Columbia and flows nearly south through Flathead Lake to its point of junction with the Missoula. The latter rises opposite the Jefferson river and flows north-westward, receiving on its way several large affluents. Below the point of junction of these streams, Clark’s Fork flows north-west along the base of the Bitter-root Mountains into Idaho. This stream is very rapid, and is not navigable. Its course, as well as those of most of its tributaries, passes through narrow valleys, the surrounding country being well watered and covered with dense forests of Coniferae. Geology. — Most of the mountain area belongs to the Eozoic and Silurian formations. Along the base of the mountains is a Triassic belt of variable width. Succeeding this is a broad area of nearly horizontal Cretaceous beds, followed by the Tertiary formation, which covers nearly one-third of the Territory. These recent formations are interrupted here and there by volcanic upheavals.

Climate.— The climate of Montana differs almost as greatly in different parts of the Territory as that of California. In the northwest it resembles that of the Pacific coast. The westerly winds blowing off the Pacific do not meet with as formidable a barrier as farther south, and consequently are not chilled, or deprived of so large a proportion of their moisture. The result is that the northwestern portion of Montana enjoys a mild temperature and a rainfall sufficient for the needs of agriculture. The valleys of the Kootenai, Flathead, Missoula, and Bitter-root can be cultivated without irrigation with little danger of loss from drought. Farther east and south the rainfall decreases. In the valleys of the upper Missouri, the Jefferson, Madison, Gallatin, and the upper Yellowstone irrigation is almost everywhere required, as well as over the broad extent of the plains. Over most of the Territory the rainfall ranges from 10 to 15 inches annually; in the north-western corner it mes to 25.

The general temperature is comparatively mild for the latitude, the elevation above the sea being decidedly less than that of the average of the Rocky Mountain region. The mean annual temperature ranges from 40° to 50° Fahr., but the variations are very great and violent. Frosts and snowstorms are possible during every month of the year, so that agriculture and stock-raising are more or less hazardous. On the other hand, the ordinary extremes of temperature are not so great as in more arid portions of the country.

Forests.— Throughout the Territory, as everywhere else in the Cordilleran region, forests follow rainfall. The plains are treeless; the mountain valleys about the heads of the Missouri are clothed only with grass and artemisia, many localities extending to a considerable height up the mountains, which are themselves timbered, though not heavily. In the north-western part, roughly defined as the drainage area of Clark’s Fork, where the rainfall is somewhat greater, the forests become of importance. The mountains are forest clad from summit to base; and the narrower valleys are also covered, while the timber is of larger size and of much greater commercial value than elsewhere in the Territory, —the valuable timber consisting entirely of the various species of Coniferae, pine, fir, cedar, &c. Of the broad-leaved species, willow, aspen, and cotton-wood are abundant.

Fauna.— The native fauna is not sharply distinguished from that of neighbouring States and Territories. The higher latitude is, however, indicated by the relatively greater abundance of species favouring a colder climate. The moose and the Rocky Mountain goat, though by no means abundant, still frequent chosen haunts in the mountains,—the former in the cool marshy valleys, the latter upon the most rugged inaccessible elevations. The black-tailed and mule deer, the antelope, elk, and mountain sheep are abundant, and the bison still ranges the plains, though in sadly reduced numbers. Among Carnivores, the black and grizzly bears, mountain lion, lynx, wild cat, and several species of wolves are still plentiful.

Agrivulture and Industry.— Agriculture is dependent in most parts of Montana upon the supply of water furnished by the streams. Owing to this fact it is probable that not more than 8 per cent, of the total area of the Territory can ever, even under the most economical distribution of the water-supply, be brought under cultivation. In the drainage area of Clark’s Fork are several fine valleys containing a considerable extent of arable land, such as those of the Missoula, Bitter-root, Deer Lodge, Jocko, and Flathead. Upon the head-waters of the Missouri is also a large extent of arable land. The valleys of the Jefferson and Madison also deserve mention. Along the eastern base of the mountains, near the head-waters of the Sun, Teton, and Marias rivers, are considerable areas susceptible of irrigation. Below the Forks the Missouri flows for 75 miles through a broad valley, much of which can be irrigated; below Fort Benton, however, the bluffs become higher and close in on the river. The Yellowstone, also, after leaving the mountains, flows through a similar kind of valley, which extends with a few minor breaks down to the point where the river turns from an east to a north-east course, when it enters a country of mauvaises terres, which, except as a mausoleum of fossil remains, is utterly valueless.

Owing to the comparatively isolated position of the Territory, agricultural pursuits have been limited by the demands of home consumption. The census of 1880 reported the area in farms to consist of 405,683 acres, with an average of 267 acres to each farm. The whole is less than one-half per cent, of the entire area of the Territory. The improved land is reported as amountin" to 262,611 acres. The follθλving are the amounts of the principal agricultural products:—wheat, 469,688 bushels; maize, 5689 bushels; oats, 900,915 bushels; barley, 39,970 bushels; hay, 63,947 tons; wool, 995,484 pounds;—value of all farm products, $2,024,923. The livestock interest is large, and is increasing rapidly. The great extent of pasture afforded by the plains and the broad valleys of the mountains would seem to promise an almost unlimited extension of this industry in the future. Both cattle and sheep owners, however, labour under disadvantages as compared with the owners farther south. The lower temperature and heavier snows, and particularly the danger of great extremes of temperature, require that provision of shelter and food be made for a part or all of the winter season, otherwise the rancheman runs the risk of occasional severe losses. The census of 1880 furnishes the following statistics of live-stock :—horses, 35,114; mules and asses, 858; working oxen, 936; milch cows, 11,308; other cattle, 160,143; sheep, 184,277; swine, 10,278;—total value of live-stock, $5,151,554.

In mineral production Montana has never taken a leading place, although in the early days some of the placer ground yielded well. The rich placers of Little Prickly Pear, Bannack, and Alder Gulch were quickly exhausted. The produce of the latter has been reported variously at from $25,000,000 to $40,000,000, the greater part of which was extracted in a few months. In the year 1879-80 $1,805,767 worth of gold and $2,905,068 of silver were extracted, about three-fourths from deep mines and one-fourth from placers. For the year 1882 the total mineral production is reported at $8,004,000, of which about $1,000,000 was for copper and lead.

Population.— Owing largely to its remote position the population as well as the material prosperity of Montana have had a slow growth in comparison with other more favoured portions of the west. The population in 1880, as reported by the census, was 39,159 (28,177 males, and 10,982 females),—an increase of 90 1 per cent, over that in 1870. There were 27,638 natives, and 11,521 of foreign birth, while 35,385 were whites, 346 negroes or of mixed negro blood, 1765 Chinese, and 1663 citizen Indians. By far the greater portion of the population is found in the western half, upon the head-waters of the Missouri and Clark’s Fork. The eastern half is as yet but very sparsely settled, and probably it will never sustain more than a small population.

The Territory is divided into eleven counties, which, with their population in 1880, were the following: — Beaverhead, 2712; Choteau, 3058; Custer, 2510; Dawson, 180; Deer Lodge, 8876; Gallatin, 3643; Jefferson, 2464; Lewis and Clark, 6521; Madison, 3915; Meagher, 2743; Missoula, 2537. The principal settlements are—Helena, the capital (3624); Butte, a mining town (3363); and Bozeman, in the Gallatin valley upon the Northern Pacific Railway, which in 1880 had a population of 894 and has probably double that number at present (1883).

The total number of Indians in Montana is estimated by the Indian office at 19,764. These are nominally congregated at five agencies, although in reality they roam over the entire Territory. They are of various tribes, the principal of which are the Sioux, Crow, Blackfoot, Gros Ventre, Assinaboine, and Pend’ d’Oreille. Their reservations cover more than one-third of the Territory.

Government and Finance. — The government of Montana is similar to that of the other Territories. The governor, secretary, chief justice, and two associate justices are appointed by the president of the United States. The treasurer, auditor, and superintendent of public instruction are elected by the people of the Territory, as are also the members of the two houses of the legislature. Montana is represented in Congress by a delegate, also elective, who has liberty to take part in debate but has no vote. The Territorial debt at the close of 1881 was but $70,000. The amount raised by Territorial taxation was $93,211.

History.— The Montana country was originally acquired by the United States under the Louisiana purchase. It became successively a part of Louisiana Territory, of Missouri Territory, of Nebraska Territory, and of Dakota. On 26th May 1864 it was organized under a Territorial government of its own, with practically its present boundaries. The exploration of this region commenced with the celebrated expedition of Lewis and Clark in 1803-1806. Between 1850 and 1855 it was traversed and mapped by a number of exploring parties, having in view the selection of trans-continental railroad routes. Since then numberless expeditions have examined it, and some systematic topographic work has been done under different branches of the United States Government. The first settlers entered the Territory in 1861, discovered placer gold on Little Prickly Pear Creek, and shortly after built the city of Helena. Later, the placers at Bannack were discovered, and a small “rush” to the Territory commenced. In 1863 the rich placers at Alder Gulch were brought to view, and miners and adventurers swarmed in from all parts. Then it was that the early social history of California was repeated on a smaller scale in Montana. The lawless elements assumed control, and for many months neither life nor property was safe. Indeed, for a time the community was in a state of blockade; no one with money in his possession could get out of the Territory. Finally, the citizens organized a “Vigilance Committee” for self-preservation, took the offensive, and after a short sharp struggle rid the community of its disturbing elements. After the exhaustion of the placers, the population decreased, owing to the migration of the floating mining class; but their place was soon taken by more permanent settlers. (H. G*.)

1. From the middle of the 2d century a change began to take place in the outward circumstances of Christianity. The Christian faith had hitherto been maintained in a few small congregations scattered over the Roman empire. These congregations were provided with only the most indispensable constitutional forms, neither stricter nor more numerous than were required by a religious bond resting on supernatural expectations, strict discipline, and brotherly love (“Corpus sumus de conscientia religionis, de unitate disciplinae, de spei foedere”). This state of things passed away. The churches soon found numbers within their pale who stood in need of supervision, instruction, and regular control. The enthusiasm for a life of holiness and separation from the world, the eager outlook for the end of the world, the glad surrender to the gospel message, were no longer the influences by which all minds were swayed. In many cases sober convictions or submissive assent supplied the want of spontaneous enthusiasm. There were many who did not become, but who were, and therefore remained, Christians,—too powerfully attracted by Christianity to abandon it, and yet not powerfully enough to have adopted it for themselves. Then, in addition to this, social distinctions asserted themselves amongst the brethren. Christians were already found in all ranks and occupations—in the imperial palace, among the officials, in the abodes of labour and the halls of learning, amongst slaves and freemen. Were all these to be left in their callings? Should the church take the decisive step into the world, consent to its arrangements, conform to its customs, acknowledge as far as possible its authorities, and satisfy its requirements? Or ought she, on the other hand, to remain, as she had been at first, a society of religious devotees, separated and shut out from the world by a rigorous discipline and working on it only through a direct propaganda? This was the dilemma that the church had to face in the second half of the 2d century: either she must commence a world-wide mission in the comprehensive sense by an effective entrance into Roman society—renouncing, of course, her original peculiarities and exclusiveness; or, retaining these peculiarities and clinging to the old modes of life, she must remain a small ' insignificant sect, barely intelligible to one man in a thousand, and utterly incapable of saving and educating nations. That this was the question at issue ought to be obvious enough to us now, although it could not be clearly perceived at the time. It was natural that warning voices should then be raised in the church against secular tendencies, that the well-known counsels about the imitation of Christ should be held up in their literal strictness before worldly Christians, that demands should be made for a restoration of the old discipline and severity, and for a return to apostolic simplicity and purity. The church as a whole, however, under pressure of circumstances rather than by a spontaneous impulse, decided otherwise. She marched through the open door into the Roman state, and settled <lown there for a long career of activity, to Christianize the state along all its thoroughfares by imparting to it the word of the gospel, but at the same time leaving it everything ex- ∙cept its gods. On the other hand, she furnished herself with •everything of value that could be taken over from the world without overstraining the elastic structure of the organization which she now adopted. With the aid of its philosophy she created her new Christian theology; its polity furnished her with the most exact constitutional forms; its jurisprudence, its trade and commerce, its art and industry, were all taken into her service; and she contrived to borrow some hints even from its religious worship. Thus we find the church in the 3d century endowed with all the resources which the state and its culture had to offer, entering into all the relationships of life, and ready for any compromise which did not affect the confession of her faith. With this equipment she undertook, and carried through, a worldmission on a grand scale. But what of those believers of the old school who protested in the name of the gospel against this secular church, and who wished to gather together a people prepared for their God regardless alike Of numbers and circumstances? Why, they joihed an •enthusiastic movement which had originated amongst a small circle in a remote province, and had at first a merely local importance. There, in Phrygia, the cry for a strict Christian life was reinforced by the belief in a new and final outpouring of the Spirit,—a coincidence which has been observed elsewhere in church history, as, for instance, in the Irvingite movement. The wish was, as usual, father to the thought; and thus societies of “spiritual” Christians were formed, which served, especially in times of persecution, as rallying-points for all those, far and near, who sighed for the end of the world and the excessus e saeculo, and who wished in these last days to lead a holy life. These zealots hailed the appearance of the Paraclete in Phrygia, and surrendered themselves to his guidance. In so doing, however, they had to withdraw from the church, to be known as “Montanists,” or “Kataphrygians,” and thus to assume the character of a sect. Their enthusiasm and their prophesyings were denounced as demoniacal; their expectation of a glorious earthly kingdom of Christ was stigmatized as Jewish, their passion for martyrdom as vainglorious, and their whole conduct as hypocritical. Nor did they escape the more serious imputation of heresy on important articles of faith; indeed, there was a disposition to put them on the same level with the Gnostics. The effect on themselves was what usually follows in such circumstances. After their separation from the church, they became narrower and pettier in their conception of Christianity. The strict rules of conduct which in a former -age had been the genuine issue of high-strung religious emotion were now relied on as its source. Their asceticism degenerated into legalism, their claim to a monopoly of pure Christianity made them arrogant. As for the popular religion of the larger church, they scorned it as an adulterated, manipulated Christianity. But these views found very little acceptance in the 3d century, and in the course of the 4th they died out. Regardless of the scruples of her most conscientious members, and driving the most earnest Christians into secession and the conventicle, the church went on to prosecute her great mission in the world. And before she was able, as church of the state and of the empire, to call in the aid of the civil power to suppress her adversaries the Montanistic conventicles were almost extinct.

2. Such is, in brief, the position occupied by Montanism in the history of the ancient church. The rise and progress of the movement were' as follows.

At the close of the reign of Antoninus Pius—probably in the year 156 (Epiphanius)—Montanus appeared at Ardaban in Phrygia, bringing revelations of the “Spirit” to Christendom. It is unnecessary to seek an explanation of his appearance in the peculiarities of the Phrygian temperament. The Christian churches had always held that prophecy was to be continued till the return of Christ, although, as a matter of fact, prophets had not been particularly numerous. Montanus claimed to have a prophetic calling in the very same sense as Agabus, Judas, Silas, the daughters of Philip, Quadratus, and Ammia, or as Hermas at Rome. At a later time, when the validity of the Montanistic prophecy was called in question in the interest of the church, the adherents of the new movement appealed explicitly to a sort of prophetic succession, in which their prophets had received the same gift which the daughters of Philip, for example, had exercised in that very country of Phrygia. The burden of the new prophecy was a more exacting standard of moral obligations, especially with regard to marriage, fasting, and martyrdom. But Montanus had larger schemes in view. He wished to organize a special community of true Christians to wait for the coming of their Lord. The small Phrygian towns of Pepuza and Tymion were selected as the headquarters —the Jerusalem, as the prophet called them—of his church. He spared no effort to accomplish this union of believers. Funds were raised for the new organization, and from these the leaders and missionaries, who were to have nothing to do with worldly life, drew their pay. But the ecstasy of the prophet did not prove so contagious as his preaching. Only two women, Prisca and Maximilia, were moved by the Spirit; like Montanus, they uttered in a state of frenzy the commands of the Spirit, which spoke through them sometimes as God the Father, sometimes as the Son, and urged men to a strict and holy life. This does not mean that visions and significant dreams may not have been of frequent occurrence in Montanistic circles. But, as chosen and permanent organs of the Paraclete, only three persons were recognized—Montanus, Prisca, and Maximilia; by their side, however, Alcibiades and Theodotus, from a very early date, played an active part as missionaries and organizers.

For twenty years this agitation appears to have been confined to Phrygia and the neighbouring provinces. How could it be otherwise? To assemble the whole of Christendom at Pepuza was a rather impracticable proposal. But after the year 177 a persecution of Christians, from some unexplained causes, broke out simultaneously in many provinces of the empire. Now in these days every persecution was regarded as the beginning of the end. It quickened the conscience, and gave more strength to eschatological hopes; it was a call to observe the signs of the times and the intimations of God’s presence. It would seem that before this time Montanus had disappeared from the scene; but Maximilia, and probably also Prisca, were working with redoubled energy. And now, throughout the provinces of Asia Minor, in Rome, and even in Gaul, amidst the raging of persecution, attention was attracted to this remarkable movement. The desire for a sharper exercise of discipline, and a more decided renunciation of the world, combined with a craving for some plain indication of God’s will in these last critical times, had prepared many minds for an eager acceptance of the tidings from Phrygia. There the Spirit, whom Christ had promised to His disciples, had begun His work; there, at least, there were holy Christians and joyful martyrs. The oracles of the Phrygian prophets became household words in distant churches, and it was always the more serious-minded who received them with undisguised sympathy. And thus, within the large congregations where there was so much that was open to censure in doctrine and constitution and morals, conventicles were formed in order that Christians might prepare themselves by strict discipline for the day of the Lord.

Meanwhile in Phrygia and its neighbourhood—especially in Galatia, and also in Thrace—a controversy was raging between the adherents and the opponents of the new prophecy. Between 150 and 176 the authority of the episcopate had been immensely strengthened, and along with it a settled order had been introduced into the churches. It need hardly be said that, as a rule, the bishops were the most resolute enemies of the Montanistic enthusiasm. It disturbed the peace and order of the congregations, and threatened their safety. Moreover, it made demands on individual Christians such as very few could comply with. But the disputation which Bishops Zoticus of Cumana and Julian of Apamea arranged with Maximilia and her following turned out most disastrously for its promoters. The “spirit” of Maximilia gained a signal victory, a certain Themison in particular having reduced the bishops to silence. Sotas bishop of Anchialus attempted to refute Prisca, but with no better success; he too had to retire from the field in disgrace. These proceedings were never forgotten in Asia Minor, and the report of them spread far and wide. In after times the only way in which the discomfiture of the bishops could be explained was by asserting that they had been silenced by fraud or violence. This was the commencement of the excommunication or secession, whichever it may have been, of the Montanists in Asia Minor. “I am pursued like a wolf,” exclaimed the spirit that spoke through Maximilia; and her admonitions about the end became more emphatic than ever :—“After me there will come no other prophetess, but the end.” Not only did an extreme party arise in Asia Minor rejecting all prophecy and the Apocalypse of John along with it, but the majority of the churches and bishops in that district appear (c. 178) to have broken off all fellowship with the new prophets, while books were written to show that the very form of the Montanistic prophecy was sufficient proof of its spuriousness.

In Gaul and Rome the prospects of Montanism seemed for a while more favourable. The confessors of the Gallican Church were of opinion that communion ought to be maintained with the zealots of Asia and Phrygia; and they addressed a letter to this effect to the Roman bishop, Eleutherus. Whether this is the bishop of whom Tertullian (Adv. Prax., 1) relates that he was on the point of making peace with the churches of Asia and Phrygia— i.e., the Montanistic communities—is not certain; it was either he or his successor Victor. It is certain, at anyrate, that there was a momentary vacillation, even in Rome. Nor is this to be wondered at. The events in Phrygia could not appear new and unprecedented to the Roman Church. If we may believe Tertullian, it was Praxeas of Asia Minor, the relentless foe of Montanism, who succeeded in persuading the Roman bishop to withhold his letters of conciliation.

Early in the last decade of the 2d century two considerable works appeared in Asia Minor against the Kataphrygians. The first, by a bishop or presbyter whose name is not known, is addressed to Abircius bishop of Hierapolis, and was written in the fourteenth year after the death of Maximilia, i.e., apparently about the year 193. The other was written by a certain Apollonius forty years after the appearance of Montanus, consequently about 196. From these treatises we learn that the adherents of the new prophecy were very numerous in Phrygia, Asia, and Galatia (Ancyra), that they had tried to defend them selves in writing from the charges brought against them (by Miltiades), that they possessed a fully-developed independent organization, that they could boast of many martyrs, and that they were still formidable to the church in Asia Minor. Many of the small congregations had gone completely over to Montanism, although in large towns, like Ephesus, the opposite party maintained the ascendency. Every bond of intercourse was broken, and in the Catholic churches the worst calumnies were retailed about the deceased prophets and the leaders of the societies they had founded.

In many churches outside of Asia Minor a different state of matters prevailed. Those who accepted the message of the new prophecy did not at once leave the Catholic Church in a body. They simply formed small conventicles within the clψrch; in many instances, indeed, their belief in the new prophecy may have remained a private opinion which did not affect their position as members of the larger congregation. Such, for example, appears to have been the case in Carthage (if we may judge from the Acts of the martyrs Perpetua and Felicitas) at the commencement of the persecution of Septimius Severus about the year 202. But even here it was impossible that an open rupture should be indefinitely postponed. The bishops and their flocks gave offence to the spiritualists on so many points that at last it could be endured no longer. The latter wished for more fasting, the prohibition of second marriages, a frank, courageous profession of Christianity in daily life, and entire separation from the world; the bishops, on the other hand, sought in every way to make it as easy as possible to be a Christian, lest they should lose the greater part of their congregations. The spiritualists would have excluded from the church every one who had been guilty of mortal sin; the bishops were at that time specially anxious to relax the stringency of the old disciplinary laws. And lastly, the bishops were compelled more and more to take the control of discipline into their own hands, while the spiritualists, appealing to the old principle that God alone can remit or retain sins, insisted that God Himself— i.e., the Spirit—was the sole judge in the congregation, and that therefore all proceedings must be conducted according to the directions of the prophets. On this point especially a conflict was inevitable. It is true that there was no rivalry between the new organization and the old, as in Asia and Phrygia, for the Western Montanists recognized in its main features the Catholic organization as it had been developed in the contest with Gnosticism; but the demand that the “organs of the Spirit” should direct the whole discipline of the congregation contained implicitly a protest against the actual constitution of the church. Even before this latent antagonism was made plain, there were many minor matters which were sufficient to precipitate a rupture in particular congregations. In Carthage, for example, it would appear that the breach between the Catholic Church and the Montanistic conventicle was caused by a disagreement on the question whether or not virgins ought to be veiled. For nearly five years (202-207) the Carthaginian Montanists strove to remain within the church, which was as dear to them as it was to their opponents. But at length they quitted it, and formed a congregation of their own, declaring that the Catholic Church was henceforth only a body of “psychic” Christians, because she would not acknowledge the Spirit whom God had at last poured out on His people.

It was at this juncture that Tertullian, the most famous theologian of the West, left the church of which he had been the most loyal son and the most powerful supporter, and whose cause he had so manfully upheld against pagans and heretics. He too had come to the conviction that the church at large was given over to worldliness, that she had forsaken the old paths and entered on a way that must lead to destruction. The writings of Tertullian afford the clearest demonstration that what is called Montanism was a reaction against secularism in the church, and an effort to conserve the privileges of primitive Christ ianity. At the same time, they show no less clearly that Montanism in Carthage was a very different thing from the Montanism of Montanus. Western Montanism, at the beginning of the 3d century, admitted the legitimacy of almost every point of the Catholic system. It allowed that the bishops were the successors of the apostles, that the Catholic rule of faith was a complete and authoritative exposition of Christianity, and that the New Testament was the supreme rule of the Christian life. How, then, one may well ask, was it possible to separate from the Catholic Church? On what ground could the separation be justified? How could it be said that a new era of the Spirit had come in when the Spirit had already given all necessary instructions in the Scriptures of the New Testament? And what claim could be thought to exceed the legitimate rights of the successors of the apostles? Montanus himself and his first disciples had been in quite a different position. In his time there was no fixed, divinely-instituted congregational organization, no canon of New Testament Scriptures, no anti-Gnostic theology, and no Catholic Church. There were simply certain communities of believers bound together by a common hope, and by a free organization, λvhich might be modified to any required extent. When Montanus proposed to summon all true Christians to Pepuza, in order to live a holy life and prepare for the day of the Lord, there was nothing whatever to prevent the execution of his plan except the inertia and lukewarmness of Christendom. But this was not the case in the West at the beginning of the 3d century. At Rome and Carthage, and in all other places where sincere Montanists were found, they were confronted by the imposing edifice of the Catholic Church, and they had neither the courage nor the inclination to undermine her sacred foundations....

Montauban was only a village in the time of the Romans. In the 8th century a monastery was founded there by the Benedictines, who exercised lordship over the neighbouring population. A considerable impetus was in the 12th century given to its prosperity by a decree of the counts of Toulouse offering freedom to all serfs taking up their residence in the town. Montauban was twice besieged by Simon de Montfort in the Albigensian wars, and was sacked in 1207. By the treaty of Bretigny (1360) it was ceded to the English; but shortly afterwards they were expelled by the inhabitants. In 1560 the bishops and magistrates embraced Protestantism, expelled the monks, and demolished the cathedral. About ten years later it became one of the Huguenot strongholds, and formed a small independent republic. It was the headquarters of the Huguenot rebellion of 1621, and was vainly besieged by Louis XIII. for eighty-six days; nor did it submit until after the fall of Rochelle in 1629, when its fortifications were destroyed by Richelieu. In the same year the plague cut off over 6000 of its inhabitants.