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Self Help

Samuel Smiles

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Title: Self Help

Author: Samuel Smiles

Release Date: June, 1997 [EBook #935]

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SELF HELP; WITH ILLUSTRATIONS OF CONDUCT AND PERSEVERANCE

CHAPTER I--SELF-HELP--NATIONAL AND INDIVIDUAL

"The worth of a State, in the long run, is the worth of the

individuals composing it."--J. S. Mill.

"We put too much faith in systems, and look too little to men."--B.

Disraeli.

"Heaven helps those who help themselves" is a well-tried maxim,

embodying in a small compass the results of vast human experience.

The spirit of self-help is the root of all genuine growth in the

individual; and, exhibited in the lives of many, it constitutes the

true source of national vigour and strength. Help from without is

often enfeebling in its effects, but help from within invariably

invigorates. Whatever is done FOR men or classes, to a certain

extent takes away the stimulus and necessity of doing for

themselves; and where men are subjected to over-guidance and over-

government, the inevitable tendency is to render them comparatively

helpless.

Even the best institutions can give a man no active help. Perhaps

the most they can do is, to leave him free to develop himself and

improve his individual condition. But in all times men have been

prone to believe that their happiness and well-being were to be

secured by means of institutions rather than by their own conduct.

Hence the value of legislation as an agent in human advancement has

usually been much over-estimated. To constitute the millionth part

of a Legislature, by voting for one or two men once in three or

five years, however conscientiously this duty may be performed, can

exercise but little active influence upon any man's life and

character. Moreover, it is every day becoming more clearly

understood, that the function of Government is negative and

restrictive, rather than positive and active; being resolvable

principally into protection--protection of life, liberty, and

property. Laws, wisely administered, will secure men in the

enjoyment of the fruits of their labour, whether of mind or body,

at a comparatively small personal sacrifice; but no laws, however

stringent, can make the idle industrious, the thriftless provident,

or the drunken sober. Such reforms can only be effected by means

of individual action, economy, and self-denial; by better habits,

rather than by greater rights.

The Government of a nation itself is usually found to be but the

reflex of the individuals composing it. The Government that is

ahead of the people will inevitably be dragged down to their level,

as the Government that is behind them will in the long run be

dragged up. In the order of nature, the collective character of a

nation will as surely find its befitting results in its law and

government, as water finds its own level. The noble people will be

ads:

nobly ruled, and the ignorant and corrupt ignobly. Indeed all

experience serves to prove that the worth and strength of a State

depend far less upon the form of its institutions than upon the

character of its men. For the nation is only an aggregate of

individual conditions, and civilization itself is but a question of

the personal improvement of the men, women, and children of whom

society is composed.

National progress is the sum of individual industry, energy, and

uprightness, as national decay is of individual idleness,

selfishness, and vice. What we are accustomed to decry as great

social evils, will, for the most part, be found to be but the

outgrowth of man's own perverted life; and though we may endeavour

to cut them down and extirpate them by means of Law, they will only

spring up again with fresh luxuriance in some other form, unless

the conditions of personal life and character are radically

improved. If this view be correct, then it follows that the

highest patriotism and philanthropy consist, not so much in

altering laws and modifying institutions, as in helping and

stimulating men to elevate and improve themselves by their own free

and independent individual action.

It may be of comparatively little consequence how a man is governed

from without, whilst everything depends upon how he governs himself

from within. The greatest slave is not he who is ruled by a

despot, great though that evil be, but he who is the thrall of his

own moral ignorance, selfishness, and vice. Nations who are thus

enslaved at heart cannot be freed by any mere changes of masters or

of institutions; and so long as the fatal delusion prevails, that

liberty solely depends upon and consists in government, so long

will such changes, no matter at what cost they may be effected,

have as little practical and lasting result as the shifting of the

figures in a phantasmagoria. The solid foundations of liberty must

rest upon individual character; which is also the only sure

guarantee for social security and national progress. John Stuart

Mill truly observes that "even despotism does not produce its worst

effects so long as individuality exists under it; and whatever

crushes individuality IS despotism, by whatever name it be called."

Old fallacies as to human progress are constantly turning up. Some

call for Caesars, others for Nationalities, and others for Acts of

Parliament. We are to wait for Caesars, and when they are found,

"happy the people who recognise and follow them." {1} This

doctrine shortly means, everything FOR the people, nothing BY

them,--a doctrine which, if taken as a guide, must, by destroying

the free conscience of a community, speedily prepare the way for

any form of despotism. Caesarism is human idolatry in its worst

form--a worship of mere power, as degrading in its effects as the

worship of mere wealth would be. A far healthier doctrine to

inculcate among the nations would be that of Self-Help; and so soon

as it is thoroughly understood and carried into action, Caesarism

will be no more. The two principles are directly antagonistic; and

what Victor Hugo said of the Pen and the Sword alike applies to

them, "Ceci tuera cela." [This will kill that.]

The power of Nationalities and Acts of Parliament is also a

prevalent superstition. What William Dargan, one of Ireland's

truest patriots, said at the closing of the first Dublin Industrial

Exhibition, may well be quoted now. "To tell the truth," he said,

"I never heard the word independence mentioned that my own country

and my own fellow townsmen did not occur to my mind. I have heard

a great deal about the independence that we were to get from this,

that, and the other place, and of the great expectations we were to

have from persons from other countries coming amongst us. Whilst I

value as much as any man the great advantages that must result to

us from that intercourse, I have always been deeply impressed with

the feeling that our industrial independence is dependent upon

ourselves. I believe that with simple industry and careful

exactness in the utilization of our energies, we never had a fairer

chance nor a brighter prospect than the present. We have made a

step, but perseverance is the great agent of success; and if we but

go on zealously, I believe in my conscience that in a short period

we shall arrive at a position of equal comfort, of equal happiness,

and of equal independence, with that of any other people."

All nations have been made what they are by the thinking and the

working of many generations of men. Patient and persevering

labourers in all ranks and conditions of life, cultivators of the

soil and explorers of the mine, inventors and discoverers,

manufacturers, mechanics and artisans, poets, philosophers, and

politicians, all have contributed towards the grand result, one

generation building upon another's labours, and carrying them

forward to still higher stages. This constant succession of noble

workers--the artisans of civilisation--has served to create order

out of chaos in industry, science, and art; and the living race has

thus, in the course of nature, become the inheritor of the rich

estate provided by the skill and industry of our forefathers, which

is placed in our hands to cultivate, and to hand down, not only

unimpaired but improved, to our successors.

The spirit of self-help, as exhibited in the energetic action of

individuals, has in all times been a marked feature in the English

character, and furnishes the true measure of our power as a nation.

Rising above the heads of the mass, there were always to be found a

series of individuals distinguished beyond others, who commanded

the public homage. But our progress has also been owing to

multitudes of smaller and less known men. Though only the

generals' names may be remembered in the history of any great

campaign, it has been in a great measure through the individual

valour and heroism of the privates that victories have been won.

And life, too, is "a soldiers' battle,"--men in the ranks having in

all times been amongst the greatest of workers. Many are the lives

of men unwritten, which have nevertheless as powerfully influenced

civilisation and progress as the more fortunate Great whose names

are recorded in biography. Even the humblest person, who sets

before his fellows an example of industry, sobriety, and upright

honesty of purpose in life, has a present as well as a future

influence upon the well-being of his country; for his life and

character pass unconsciously into the lives of others, and

propagate good example for all time to come.

Daily experience shows that it is energetic individualism which

produces the most powerful effects upon the life and action of

others, and really constitutes the best practical education.

Schools, academies, and colleges, give but the merest beginnings of

culture in comparison with it. Far more influential is the life-

education daily given in our homes, in the streets, behind

counters, in workshops, at the loom and the plough, in counting-

houses and manufactories, and in the busy haunts of men. This is

that finishing instruction as members of society, which Schiller

designated "the education of the human race," consisting in action,

conduct, self-culture, self-control,--all that tends to discipline

a man truly, and fit him for the proper performance of the duties

and business of life,--a kind of education not to be learnt from

books, or acquired by any amount of mere literary training. With

his usual weight of words Bacon observes, that "Studies teach not

their own use; but that is a wisdom without them, and above them,

won by observation;" a remark that holds true of actual life, as

well as of the cultivation of the intellect itself. For all

experience serves to illustrate and enforce the lesson, that a man

perfects himself by work more than by reading,--that it is life

rather than literature, action rather than study, and character

rather than biography, which tend perpetually to renovate mankind.

Biographies of great, but especially of good men, are nevertheless

most instructive and useful, as helps, guides, and incentives to

others. Some of the best are almost equivalent to gospels--

teaching high living, high thinking, and energetic action for their

own and the world's good. The valuable examples which they furnish

of the power of self-help, of patient purpose, resolute working,

and steadfast integrity, issuing in the formation of truly noble

and manly character, exhibit in language not to be misunderstood,

what it is in the power of each to accomplish for himself; and

eloquently illustrate the efficacy of self-respect and self-

reliance in enabling men of even the humblest rank to work out for

themselves an honourable competency and a solid reputation.

Great men of science, literature, and art--apostles of great

thoughts and lords of the great heart--have belonged to no

exclusive class nor rank in life. They have come alike from

colleges, workshops, and farmhouses,--from the huts of poor men and

the mansions of the rich. Some of God's greatest apostles have

come from "the ranks." The poorest have sometimes taken the

highest places; nor have difficulties apparently the most

insuperable proved obstacles in their way. Those very

difficulties, in many instances, would ever seem to have been their

best helpers, by evoking their powers of labour and endurance, and

stimulating into life faculties which might otherwise have lain

dormant. The instances of obstacles thus surmounted, and of

triumphs thus achieved, are indeed so numerous, as almost to

justify the proverb that "with Will one can do anything." Take,

for instance, the remarkable fact, that from the barber's shop came

Jeremy Taylor, the most poetical of divines; Sir Richard Arkwright,

the inventor of the spinning-jenny and founder of the cotton

manufacture; Lord Tenterden, one of the most distinguished of Lord

Chief Justices; and Turner, the greatest among landscape painters.

No one knows to a certainty what Shakespeare was; but it is

unquestionable that he sprang from a humble rank. His father was a

butcher and grazier; and Shakespeare himself is supposed to have

been in early life a woolcomber; whilst others aver that he was an

usher in a school and afterwards a scrivener's clerk. He truly

seems to have been "not one, but all mankind's epitome." For such

is the accuracy of his sea phrases that a naval writer alleges that

he must have been a sailor; whilst a clergyman infers, from

internal evidence in his writings, that he was probably a parson's

clerk; and a distinguished judge of horse-flesh insists that he

must have been a horse-dealer. Shakespeare was certainly an actor,

and in the course of his life "played many parts," gathering his

wonderful stores of knowledge from a wide field of experience and

observation. In any event, he must have been a close student and a

hard worker; and to this day his writings continue to exercise a

powerful influence on the formation of English character.

The common class of day labourers has given us Brindley the

engineer, Cook the navigator, and Burns the poet. Masons and

bricklayers can boast of Ben Jonson, who worked at the building of

Lincoln's Inn, with a trowel in his hand and a book in his pocket,

Edwards and Telford the engineers, Hugh Miller the geologist, and

Allan Cunningham the writer and sculptor; whilst among

distinguished carpenters we find the names of Inigo Jones the

architect, Harrison the chronometer-maker, John Hunter the

physiologist, Romney and Opie the painters, Professor Lee the

Orientalist, and John Gibson the sculptor.

From the weaver class have sprung Simson the mathematician, Bacon

the sculptor, the two Milners, Adam Walker, John Foster, Wilson the

ornithologist, Dr. Livingstone the missionary traveller, and

Tannahill the poet. Shoemakers have given us Sir Cloudesley Shovel

the great Admiral, Sturgeon the electrician, Samuel Drew the

essayist, Gifford the editor of the 'Quarterly Review,' Bloomfield

the poet, and William Carey the missionary; whilst Morrison,

another laborious missionary, was a maker of shoe-lasts. Within

the last few years, a profound naturalist has been discovered in

the person of a shoemaker at Banff, named Thomas Edwards, who,

while maintaining himself by his trade, has devoted his leisure to

the study of natural science in all its branches, his researches in

connexion with the smaller crustaceae having been rewarded by the

discovery of a new species, to which the name of "Praniza

Edwardsii" has been given by naturalists.

Nor have tailors been undistinguished. John Stow, the historian,

worked at the trade during some part of his life. Jackson, the

painter, made clothes until he reached manhood. The brave Sir John

Hawkswood, who so greatly distinguished himself at Poictiers, and

was knighted by Edward III. for his valour, was in early life

apprenticed to a London tailor. Admiral Hobson, who broke the boom

at Vigo in 1702, belonged to the same calling. He was working as a

tailor's apprentice near Bonchurch, in the Isle of Wight, when the

news flew through the village that a squadron of men-of-war was

sailing off the island. He sprang from the shopboard, and ran down

with his comrades to the beach, to gaze upon the glorious sight.

The boy was suddenly inflamed with the ambition to be a sailor; and

springing into a boat, he rowed off to the squadron, gained the

admiral's ship, and was accepted as a volunteer. Years after, he

returned to his native village full of honours, and dined off bacon

and eggs in the cottage where he had worked as an apprentice. But

the greatest tailor of all is unquestionably Andrew Johnson, the

present President of the United States--a man of extraordinary

force of character and vigour of intellect. In his great speech at

Washington, when describing himself as having begun his political

career as an alderman, and run through all the branches of the

legislature, a voice in the crowd cried, "From a tailor up." It

was characteristic of Johnson to take the intended sarcasm in good

part, and even to turn it to account. "Some gentleman says I have

been a tailor. That does not disconcert me in the least; for when

I was a tailor I had the reputation of being a good one, and making

close fits; I was always punctual with my customers, and always did

good work."

Cardinal Wolsey, De Foe, Akenside, and Kirke White were the sons of

butchers; Bunyan was a tinker, and Joseph Lancaster a basket-maker.

Among the great names identified with the invention of the steam-

engine are those of Newcomen, Watt, and Stephenson; the first a

blacksmith, the second a maker of mathematical instruments, and the

third an engine-fireman. Huntingdon the preacher was originally a

coalheaver, and Bewick, the father of wood-engraving, a coalminer.

Dodsley was a footman, and Holcroft a groom. Baffin the navigator

began his seafaring career as a man before the mast, and Sir

Cloudesley Shovel as a cabin-boy. Herschel played the oboe in a

military band. Chantrey was a journeyman carver, Etty a journeyman

printer, and Sir Thomas Lawrence the son of a tavern-keeper.

Michael Faraday, the son of a blacksmith, was in early life

apprenticed to a bookbinder, and worked at that trade until he

reached his twenty-second year: he now occupies the very first

rank as a philosopher, excelling even his master, Sir Humphry Davy,

in the art of lucidly expounding the most difficult and abstruse

points in natural science.

Among those who have given the greatest impulse to the sublime

science of astronomy, we find Copernicus, the son of a Polish

baker; Kepler, the son of a German public-house keeper, and himself

the "garcon de cabaret;" d'Alembert, a foundling picked up one

winter's night on the steps of the church of St. Jean le Rond at

Paris, and brought up by the wife of a glazier; and Newton and

Laplace, the one the son of a small freeholder near Grantham, the

other the son of a poor peasant of Beaumont-en-Auge, near Honfleur.

Notwithstanding their comparatively adverse circumstances in early

life, these distinguished men achieved a solid and enduring

reputation by the exercise of their genius, which all the wealth in

the world could not have purchased. The very possession of wealth

might indeed have proved an obstacle greater even than the humble

means to which they were born. The father of Lagrange, the

astronomer and mathematician, held the office of Treasurer of War

at Turin; but having ruined himself by speculations, his family

were reduced to comparative poverty. To this circumstance Lagrange

was in after life accustomed partly to attribute his own fame and

happiness. "Had I been rich," said he, "I should probably not have

become a mathematician."

The sons of clergymen and ministers of religion generally, have

particularly distinguished themselves in our country's history.

Amongst them we find the names of Drake and Nelson, celebrated in

naval heroism; of Wollaston, Young, Playfair, and Bell, in science;

of Wren, Reynolds, Wilson, and Wilkie, in art; of Thurlow and

Campbell, in law; and of Addison, Thomson, Goldsmith, Coleridge,

and Tennyson, in literature. Lord Hardinge, Colonel Edwardes, and

Major Hodson, so honourably known in Indian warfare, were also the

sons of clergymen. Indeed, the empire of England in India was won

and held chiefly by men of the middle class--such as Clive, Warren

Hastings, and their successors--men for the most part bred in

factories and trained to habits of business.

Among the sons of attorneys we find Edmund Burke, Smeaton the

engineer, Scott and Wordsworth, and Lords Somers, Hardwick, and

Dunning. Sir William Blackstone was the posthumous son of a silk-

mercer. Lord Gifford's father was a grocer at Dover; Lord Denman's

a physician; judge Talfourd's a country brewer; and Lord Chief

Baron Pollock's a celebrated saddler at Charing Cross. Layard, the

discoverer of the monuments of Nineveh, was an articled clerk in a

London solicitor's office; and Sir William Armstrong, the inventor

of hydraulic machinery and of the Armstrong ordnance, was also

trained to the law and practised for some time as an attorney.

Milton was the son of a London scrivener, and Pope and Southey were

the sons of linendrapers. Professor Wilson was the son of a

Paisley manufacturer, and Lord Macaulay of an African merchant.

Keats was a druggist, and Sir Humphry Davy a country apothecary's

apprentice. Speaking of himself, Davy once said, "What I am I have

made myself: I say this without vanity, and in pure simplicity of

heart." Richard Owen, the Newton of Natural History, began life as

a midshipman, and did not enter upon the line of scientific

research in which he has since become so distinguished, until

comparatively late in life. He laid the foundations of his great

knowledge while occupied in cataloguing the magnificent museum

accumulated by the industry of John Hunter, a work which occupied

him at the College of Surgeons during a period of about ten years.

Foreign not less than English biography abounds in illustrations of

men who have glorified the lot of poverty by their labours and

their genius. In Art we find Claude, the son of a pastrycook;

Geefs, of a baker; Leopold Robert, of a watchmaker; and Haydn, of a

wheelwright; whilst Daguerre was a scene-painter at the Opera. The

father of Gregory VII. was a carpenter; of Sextus V., a shepherd;

and of Adrian VI., a poor bargeman. When a boy, Adrian, unable to

pay for a light by which to study, was accustomed to prepare his

lessons by the light of the lamps in the streets and the church

porches, exhibiting a degree of patience and industry which were

the certain forerunners of his future distinction. Of like humble

origin were Hauy, the mineralogist, who was the son of a weaver of

Saint-Just; Hautefeuille, the mechanician, of a baker at Orleans;

Joseph Fourier, the mathematician, of a tailor at Auxerre; Durand,

the architect, of a Paris shoemaker; and Gesner, the naturalist, of

a skinner or worker in hides, at Zurich. This last began his

career under all the disadvantages attendant on poverty, sickness,

and domestic calamity; none of which, however, were sufficient to

damp his courage or hinder his progress. His life was indeed an

eminent illustration of the truth of the saying, that those who

have most to do and are willing to work, will find the most time.

Pierre Ramus was another man of like character. He was the son of

poor parents in Picardy, and when a boy was employed to tend sheep.

But not liking the occupation he ran away to Paris. After

encountering much misery, he succeeded in entering the College of

Navarre as a servant. The situation, however, opened for him the

road to learning, and he shortly became one of the most

distinguished men of his time.

The chemist Vauquelin was the son of a peasant of Saint-Andre-

d'Herbetot, in the Calvados. When a boy at school, though poorly

clad, he was full of bright intelligence; and the master, who

taught him to read and write, when praising him for his diligence,

used to say, "Go on, my boy; work, study, Colin, and one day you

will go as well dressed as the parish churchwarden!" A country

apothecary who visited the school, admired the robust boy's arms,

and offered to take him into his laboratory to pound his drugs, to

which Vauquelin assented, in the hope of being able to continue his

lessons. But the apothecary would not permit him to spend any part

of his time in learning; and on ascertaining this, the youth

immediately determined to quit his service. He therefore left

Saint-Andre and took the road for Paris with his havresac on his

back. Arrived there, he searched for a place as apothecary's boy,

but could not find one. Worn out by fatigue and destitution,

Vauquelin fell ill, and in that state was taken to the hospital,

where he thought he should die. But better things were in store

for the poor boy. He recovered, and again proceeded in his search

of employment, which he at length found with an apothecary.

Shortly after, he became known to Fourcroy the eminent chemist, who

was so pleased with the youth that he made him his private

secretary; and many years after, on the death of that great

philosopher, Vauquelin succeeded him as Professor of Chemistry.

Finally, in 1829, the electors of the district of Calvados

appointed him their representative in the Chamber of Deputies, and

he re-entered in triumph the village which he had left so many

years before, so poor and so obscure.

England has no parallel instances to show, of promotions from the

ranks of the army to the highest military offices; which have been

so common in France since the first Revolution. "La carriere

ouverte aux talents" has there received many striking

illustrations, which would doubtless be matched among ourselves

were the road to promotion as open. Hoche, Humbert, and Pichegru,

began their respective careers as private soldiers. Hoche, while

in the King's army, was accustomed to embroider waistcoats to

enable him to earn money wherewith to purchase books on military

science. Humbert was a scapegrace when a youth; at sixteen he ran

away from home, and was by turns servant to a tradesman at Nancy, a

workman at Lyons, and a hawker of rabbit skins. In 1792, he

enlisted as a volunteer; and in a year he was general of brigade.

Kleber, Lefevre, Suchet, Victor, Lannes, Soult, Massena, St. Cyr,

D'Erlon, Murat, Augereau, Bessieres, and Ney, all rose from the

ranks. In some cases promotion was rapid, in others it was slow.

Saint Cyr, the son of a tanner of Toul, began life as an actor,

after which he enlisted in the Chasseurs, and was promoted to a

captaincy within a year. Victor, Duc de Belluno, enlisted in the

Artillery in 1781: during the events preceding the Revolution he

was discharged; but immediately on the outbreak of war he re-

enlisted, and in the course of a few months his intrepidity and

ability secured his promotion as Adjutant-Major and chief of

battalion. Murat, "le beau sabreur," was the son of a village

innkeeper in Perigord, where he looked after the horses. He first

enlisted in a regiment of Chasseurs, from which he was dismissed

for insubordination: but again enlisting, he shortly rose to the

rank of Colonel. Ney enlisted at eighteen in a hussar regiment,

and gradually advanced step by step: Kleber soon discovered his

merits, surnaming him "The Indefatigable," and promoted him to be

Adjutant-General when only twenty-five. On the other hand, Soult

{2} was six years from the date of his enlistment before he reached

the rank of sergeant. But Soult's advancement was rapid compared

with that of Massena, who served for fourteen years before he was

made sergeant; and though he afterwards rose successively, step by

step, to the grades of Colonel, General of Division, and Marshal,

he declared that the post of sergeant was the step which of all

others had cost him the most labour to win. Similar promotions

from the ranks, in the French army, have continued down to our own

day. Changarnier entered the King's bodyguard as a private in

1815. Marshal Bugeaud served four years in the ranks, after which

he was made an officer. Marshal Randon, the present French

Minister of War, began his military career as a drummer boy; and in

the portrait of him in the gallery at Versailles, his hand rests

upon a drum-head, the picture being thus painted at his own

request. Instances such as these inspire French soldiers with

enthusiasm for their service, as each private feels that he may

possibly carry the baton of a marshal in his knapsack.

The instances of men, in this and other countries, who, by dint of

persevering application and energy, have raised themselves from the

humblest ranks of industry to eminent positions of usefulness and

influence in society, are indeed so numerous that they have long

ceased to be regarded as exceptional. Looking at some of the more

remarkable, it might almost be said that early encounter with

difficulty and adverse circumstances was the necessary and

indispensable condition of success. The British House of Commons

has always contained a considerable number of such self-raised men-

-fitting representatives of the industrial character of the people;

and it is to the credit of our Legislature that they have been

welcomed and honoured there. When the late Joseph Brotherton,

member for Salford, in the course of the discussion on the Ten

Hours Bill, detailed with true pathos the hardships and fatigues to

which he had been subjected when working as a factory boy in a

cotton mill, and described the resolution which he had then formed,

that if ever it was in his power he would endeavour to ameliorate

the condition of that class, Sir James Graham rose immediately

after him, and declared, amidst the cheers of the House, that he

did not before know that Mr. Brotherton's origin had been so

humble, but that it rendered him more proud than he had ever before

been of the House of Commons, to think that a person risen from

that condition should be able to sit side by side, on equal terms,

with the hereditary gentry of the land.

The late Mr. Fox, member for Oldham, was accustomed to introduce

his recollections of past times with the words, "when I was working

as a weaver boy at Norwich;" and there are other members of

parliament, still living, whose origin has been equally humble.

Mr. Lindsay, the well-known ship owner, until recently member for

Sunderland, once told the simple story of his life to the electors

of Weymouth, in answer to an attack made upon him by his political

opponents. He had been left an orphan at fourteen, and when he

left Glasgow for Liverpool to push his way in the world, not being

able to pay the usual fare, the captain of the steamer agreed to

take his labour in exchange, and the boy worked his passage by

trimming the coals in the coal hole. At Liverpool he remained for

seven weeks before he could obtain employment, during which time he

lived in sheds and fared hardly; until at last he found shelter on

board a West Indiaman. He entered as a boy, and before he was

nineteen, by steady good conduct he had risen to the command of a

ship. At twenty-three he retired from the sea, and settled on

shore, after which his progress was rapid "he had prospered," he

said, "by steady industry, by constant work, and by ever keeping in

view the great principle of doing to others as you would be done

by."

The career of Mr. William Jackson, of Birkenhead, the present

member for North Derbyshire, bears considerable resemblance to that

of Mr. Lindsay. His father, a surgeon at Lancaster, died, leaving

a family of eleven children, of whom William Jackson was the

seventh son. The elder boys had been well educated while the

father lived, but at his death the younger members had to shift for

themselves. William, when under twelve years old, was taken from

school, and put to hard work at a ship's side from six in the

morning till nine at night. His master falling ill, the boy was

taken into the counting-house, where he had more leisure. This

gave him an opportunity of reading, and having obtained access to a

set of the 'Encyclopaedia Britannica,' he read the volumes through

from A to Z, partly by day, but chiefly at night. He afterwards

put himself to a trade, was diligent, and succeeded in it. Now he

has ships sailing on almost every sea, and holds commercial

relations with nearly every country on the globe.

Among like men of the same class may be ranked the late Richard

Cobden, whose start in life was equally humble. The son of a small

farmer at Midhurst in Sussex, he was sent at an early age to London

and employed as a boy in a warehouse in the City. He was diligent,

well conducted, and eager for information. His master, a man of

the old school, warned him against too much reading; but the boy

went on in his own course, storing his mind with the wealth found

in books. He was promoted from one position of trust to another--

became a traveller for his house--secured a large connection, and

eventually started in business as a calico printer at Manchester.

Taking an interest in public questions, more especially in popular

education, his attention was gradually drawn to the subject of the

Corn Laws, to the repeal of which he may be said to have devoted

his fortune and his life. It may be mentioned as a curious fact

that the first speech he delivered in public was a total failure.

But he had great perseverance, application, and energy; and with

persistency and practice, he became at length one of the most

persuasive and effective of public speakers, extorting the

disinterested eulogy of even Sir Robert Peel himself. M. Drouyn de

Lhuys, the French Ambassador, has eloquently said of Mr. Cobden,

that he was "a living proof of what merit, perseverance, and labour

can accomplish; one of the most complete examples of those men who,

sprung from the humblest ranks of society, raise themselves to the

highest rank in public estimation by the effect of their own worth

and of their personal services; finally, one of the rarest examples

of the solid qualities inherent in the English character."

In all these cases, strenuous individual application was the price

paid for distinction; excellence of any sort being invariably

placed beyond the reach of indolence. It is the diligent hand and

head alone that maketh rich--in self-culture, growth in wisdom, and

in business. Even when men are born to wealth and high social

position, any solid reputation which they may individually achieve

can only be attained by energetic application; for though an

inheritance of acres may be bequeathed, an inheritance of knowledge

and wisdom cannot. The wealthy man may pay others for doing his

work for him, but it is impossible to get his thinking done for him

by another, or to purchase any kind of self-culture. Indeed, the

doctrine that excellence in any pursuit is only to be achieved by

laborious application, holds as true in the case of the man of

wealth as in that of Drew and Gifford, whose only school was a

cobbler's stall, or Hugh Miller, whose only college was a Cromarty

stone quarry.

Riches and ease, it is perfectly clear, are not necessary for man's

highest culture, else had not the world been so largely indebted in

all times to those who have sprung from the humbler ranks. An easy

and luxurious existence does not train men to effort or encounter

with difficulty; nor does it awaken that consciousness of power

which is so necessary for energetic and effective action in life.

Indeed, so far from poverty being a misfortune, it may, by vigorous

self-help, be converted even into a blessing; rousing a man to that

struggle with the world in which, though some may purchase ease by

degradation, the right-minded and true-hearted find strength,

confidence, and triumph. Bacon says, "Men seem neither to

understand their riches nor their strength: of the former they

believe greater things than they should; of the latter much less.

Self-reliance and self-denial will teach a man to drink out of his

own cistern, and eat his own sweet bread, and to learn and labour

truly to get his living, and carefully to expend the good things

committed to his trust."

Riches are so great a temptation to ease and self-indulgence, to

which men are by nature prone, that the glory is all the greater of

those who, born to ample fortunes, nevertheless take an active part

in the work of their generation--who "scorn delights and live

laborious days." It is to the honour of the wealthier ranks in

this country that they are not idlers; for they do their fair share

of the work of the state, and usually take more than their fair

share of its dangers. It was a fine thing said of a subaltern

officer in the Peninsular campaigns, observed trudging alone

through mud and mire by the side of his regiment, "There goes

15,000l. a year!" and in our own day, the bleak slopes of

Sebastopol and the burning soil of India have borne witness to the

like noble self-denial and devotion on the part of our gentler

classes; many a gallant and noble fellow, of rank and estate,

having risked his life, or lost it, in one or other of those fields

of action, in the service of his country.

Nor have the wealthier classes been undistinguished in the more

peaceful pursuits of philosophy and science. Take, for instance,

the great names of Bacon, the father of modern philosophy, and of

Worcester, Boyle, Cavendish, Talbot, and Rosse, in science. The

last named may be regarded as the great mechanic of the peerage; a

man who, if he had not been born a peer, would probably have taken

the highest rank as an inventor. So thorough is his knowledge of

smith-work that he is said to have been pressed on one occasion to

accept the foremanship of a large workshop, by a manufacturer to

whom his rank was unknown. The great Rosse telescope, of his own

fabrication, is certainly the most extraordinary instrument of the

kind that has yet been constructed.

But it is principally in the departments of politics and literature

that we find the most energetic labourers amongst our higher

classes. Success in these lines of action, as in all others, can

only be achieved through industry, practice, and study; and the

great Minister, or parliamentary leader, must necessarily be

amongst the very hardest of workers. Such was Palmerston; and such

are Derby and Russell, Disraeli and Gladstone. These men have had

the benefit of no Ten Hours Bill, but have often, during the busy

season of Parliament, worked "double shift," almost day and night.

One of the most illustrious of such workers in modern times was

unquestionably the late Sir Robert Peel. He possessed in an

extraordinary degree the power of continuous intellectual labour,

nor did he spare himself. His career, indeed, presented a

remarkable example of how much a man of comparatively moderate

powers can accomplish by means of assiduous application and

indefatigable industry. During the forty years that he held a seat

in Parliament, his labours were prodigious. He was a most

conscientious man, and whatever he undertook to do, he did

thoroughly. All his speeches bear evidence of his careful study of

everything that had been spoken or written on the subject under

consideration. He was elaborate almost to excess; and spared no

pains to adapt himself to the various capacities of his audience.

Withal, he possessed much practical sagacity, great strength of

purpose, and power to direct the issues of action with steady hand

and eye. In one respect he surpassed most men: his principles

broadened and enlarged with time; and age, instead of contracting,

only served to mellow and ripen his nature. To the last he

continued open to the reception of new views, and, though many

thought him cautious to excess, he did not allow himself to fall

into that indiscriminating admiration of the past, which is the

palsy of many minds similarly educated, and renders the old age of

many nothing but a pity.

The indefatigable industry of Lord Brougham has become almost

proverbial. His public labours have extended over a period of

upwards of sixty years, during which he has ranged over many

fields--of law, literature, politics, and science,--and achieved

distinction in them all. How he contrived it, has been to many a

mystery. Once, when Sir Samuel Romilly was requested to undertake

some new work, he excused himself by saying that he had no time;

"but," he added, "go with it to that fellow Brougham, he seems to

have time for everything." The secret of it was, that he never

left a minute unemployed; withal he possessed a constitution of

iron. When arrived at an age at which most men would have retired

from the world to enjoy their hard-earned leisure, perhaps to doze

away their time in an easy chair, Lord Brougham commenced and

prosecuted a series of elaborate investigations as to the laws of

Light, and he submitted the results to the most scientific

audiences that Paris and London could muster. About the same time,

he was passing through the press his admirable sketches of the 'Men

of Science and Literature of the Reign of George III.,' and taking

his full share of the law business and the political discussions in

the House of Lords. Sydney Smith once recommended him to confine

himself to only the transaction of so much business as three strong

men could get through. But such was Brougham's love of work--long

become a habit--that no amount of application seems to have been

too great for him; and such was his love of excellence, that it has

been said of him that if his station in life had been only that of

a shoe-black, he would never have rested satisfied until he had

become the best shoe-black in England.

Another hard-working man of the same class is Sir E. Bulwer Lytton.

Few writers have done more, or achieved higher distinction in

various walks--as a novelist, poet, dramatist, historian, essayist,

orator, and politician. He has worked his way step by step,

disdainful of ease, and animated throughout by the ardent desire to

excel. On the score of mere industry, there are few living English

writers who have written so much, and none that have produced so

much of high quality. The industry of Bulwer is entitled to all

the greater praise that it has been entirely self-imposed. To

hunt, and shoot, and live at ease,--to frequent the clubs and enjoy

the opera, with the variety of London visiting and sight-seeing

during the "season," and then off to the country mansion, with its

well-stocked preserves, and its thousand delightful out-door

pleasures,--to travel abroad, to Paris, Vienna, or Rome,--all this

is excessively attractive to a lover of pleasure and a man of

fortune, and by no means calculated to make him voluntarily

undertake continuous labour of any kind. Yet these pleasures, all

within his reach, Bulwer must, as compared with men born to similar

estate, have denied himself in assuming the position and pursuing

the career of a literary man. Like Byron, his first effort was

poetical ('Weeds and Wild Flowers'), and a failure. His second was

a novel ('Falkland'), and it proved a failure too. A man of weaker

nerve would have dropped authorship; but Bulwer had pluck and

perseverance; and he worked on, determined to succeed. He was

incessantly industrious, read extensively, and from failure went

courageously onwards to success. 'Pelham' followed 'Falkland'

within a year, and the remainder of Bulwer's literary life, now

extending over a period of thirty years, has been a succession of

triumphs.

Mr. Disraeli affords a similar instance of the power of industry

and application in working out an eminent public career. His first

achievements were, like Bulwer's, in literature; and he reached

success only through a succession of failures. His 'Wondrous Tale

of Alroy' and 'Revolutionary Epic' were laughed at, and regarded as

indications of literary lunacy. But he worked on in other

directions, and his 'Coningsby,' 'Sybil,' and 'Tancred,' proved the

sterling stuff of which he was made. As an orator too, his first

appearance in the House of Commons was a failure. It was spoken of

as "more screaming than an Adelphi farce." Though composed in a

grand and ambitious strain, every sentence was hailed with "loud

laughter." 'Hamlet' played as a comedy were nothing to it. But he

concluded with a sentence which embodied a prophecy. Writhing

under the laughter with which his studied eloquence had been

received, he exclaimed, "I have begun several times many things,

and have succeeded in them at last. I shall sit down now, but the

time will come when you will hear me." The time did come; and how

Disraeli succeeded in at length commanding the attention of the

first assembly of gentlemen in the world, affords a striking

illustration of what energy and determination will do; for Disraeli

earned his position by dint of patient industry. He did not, as

many young men do, having once failed, retire dejected, to mope and

whine in a corner, but diligently set himself to work. He

carefully unlearnt his faults, studied the character of his

audience, practised sedulously the art of speech, and industriously

filled his mind with the elements of parliamentary knowledge. He

worked patiently for success; and it came, but slowly: then the

House laughed with him, instead of at him. The recollection of his

early failure was effaced, and by general consent he was at length

admitted to be one of the most finished and effective of

parliamentary speakers.

Although much may be accomplished by means of individual industry

and energy, as these and other instances set forth in the following

pages serve to illustrate, it must at the same time be acknowledged

that the help which we derive from others in the journey of life is

of very great importance. The poet Wordsworth has well said that

"these two things, contradictory though they may seem, must go

together--manly dependence and manly independence, manly reliance

and manly self-reliance." From infancy to old age, all are more or

less indebted to others for nurture and culture; and the best and

strongest are usually found the readiest to acknowledge such help.

Take, for example, the career of the late Alexis de Tocqueville, a

man doubly well-born, for his father was a distinguished peer of

France, and his mother a grand-daughter of Malesherbes. Through

powerful family influence, he was appointed Judge Auditor at

Versailles when only twenty-one; but probably feeling that he had

not fairly won the position by merit, he determined to give it up

and owe his future advancement in life to himself alone. "A

foolish resolution," some will say; but De Tocqueville bravely

acted it out. He resigned his appointment, and made arrangements

to leave France for the purpose of travelling through the United

States, the results of which were published in his great book on

'Democracy in America.' His friend and travelling companion,

Gustave de Beaumont, has described his indefatigable industry

during this journey. "His nature," he says, "was wholly averse to

idleness, and whether he was travelling or resting, his mind was

always at work. . . . With Alexis, the most agreeable conversation

was that which was the most useful. The worst day was the lost

day, or the day ill spent; the least loss of time annoyed him."

Tocqueville himself wrote to a friend--"There is no time of life at

which one can wholly cease from action, for effort without one's

self, and still more effort within, is equally necessary, if not

more so, when we grow old, as it is in youth. I compare man in

this world to a traveller journeying without ceasing towards a

colder and colder region; the higher he goes, the faster he ought

to walk. The great malady of the soul is cold. And in resisting

this formidable evil, one needs not only to be sustained by the

action of a mind employed, but also by contact with one's fellows

in the business of life." {3}

Notwithstanding de Tocqueville's decided views as to the necessity

of exercising individual energy and self-dependence, no one could

be more ready than he was to recognise the value of that help and

support for which all men are indebted to others in a greater or

less degree. Thus, he often acknowledged, with gratitude, his

obligations to his friends De Kergorlay and Stofells,--to the

former for intellectual assistance, and to the latter for moral

support and sympathy. To De Kergorlay he wrote--"Thine is the only

soul in which I have confidence, and whose influence exercises a

genuine effect upon my own. Many others have influence upon the

details of my actions, but no one has so much influence as thou on

the origination of fundamental ideas, and of those principles which

are the rule of conduct." De Tocqueville was not less ready to

confess the great obligations which he owed to his wife, Marie, for

the preservation of that temper and frame of mind which enabled him

to prosecute his studies with success. He believed that a noble-

minded woman insensibly elevated the character of her husband,

while one of a grovelling nature as certainly tended to degrade it.

{4}

In fine, human character is moulded by a thousand subtle

influences; by example and precept; by life and literature; by

friends and neighbours; by the world we live in as well as by the

spirits of our forefathers, whose legacy of good words and deeds we

inherit. But great, unquestionably, though these influences are

acknowledged to be, it is nevertheless equally clear that men must

necessarily be the active agents of their own well-being and well-

doing; and that, however much the wise and the good may owe to

others, they themselves must in the very nature of things be their

own best helpers.

CHAPTER II--LEADERS OF INDUSTRY--INVENTORS AND PRODUCERS

"Le travail et la Science sont desormais les maitres du monde."--De

Salvandy.

"Deduct all that men of the humbler classes have done for England

in the way of inventions only, and see where she would have been

but for them."--Arthur Helps.

One of the most strongly-marked features of the English people is

their spirit of industry, standing out prominent and distinct in

their past history, and as strikingly characteristic of them now as

at any former period. It is this spirit, displayed by the commons

of England, which has laid the foundations and built up the

industrial greatness of the empire. This vigorous growth of the

nation has been mainly the result of the free energy of

individuals, and it has been contingent upon the number of hands

and minds from time to time actively employed within it, whether as

cultivators of the soil, producers of articles of utility,

contrivers of tools and machines, writers of books, or creators of

works of art. And while this spirit of active industry has been

the vital principle of the nation, it has also been its saving and

remedial one, counteracting from time to time the effects of errors

in our laws and imperfections in our constitution.

The career of industry which the nation has pursued, has also

proved its best education. As steady application to work is the

healthiest training for every individual, so is it the best

discipline of a state. Honourable industry travels the same road

with duty; and Providence has closely linked both with happiness.

The gods, says the poet, have placed labour and toil on the way

leading to the Elysian fields. Certain it is that no bread eaten

by man is so sweet as that earned by his own labour, whether bodily

or mental. By labour the earth has been subdued, and man redeemed

from barbarism; nor has a single step in civilization been made

without it. Labour is not only a necessity and a duty, but a

blessing: only the idler feels it to be a curse. The duty of work

is written on the thews and muscles of the limbs, the mechanism of

the hand, the nerves and lobes of the brain--the sum of whose

healthy action is satisfaction and enjoyment. In the school of

labour is taught the best practical wisdom; nor is a life of manual

employment, as we shall hereafter find, incompatible with high

mental culture.

Hugh Miller, than whom none knew better the strength and the

weakness belonging to the lot of labour, stated the result of his

experience to be, that Work, even the hardest, is full of pleasure

and materials for self-improvement. He held honest labour to be

the best of teachers, and that the school of toil is the noblest of

schools--save only the Christian one,--that it is a school in which

the ability of being useful is imparted, the spirit of independence

learnt, and the habit of persevering effort acquired. He was even

of opinion that the training of the mechanic,--by the exercise

which it gives to his observant faculties, from his daily dealing

with things actual and practical, and the close experience of life

which he acquires,--better fits him for picking his way along the

journey of life, and is more favourable to his growth as a Man,

emphatically speaking, than the training afforded by any other

condition.

The array of great names which we have already cursorily cited, of

men springing from the ranks of the industrial classes, who have

achieved distinction in various walks of life--in science,

commerce, literature, and art--shows that at all events the

difficulties interposed by poverty and labour are not

insurmountable. As respects the great contrivances and inventions

which have conferred so much power and wealth upon the nation, it

is unquestionable that for the greater part of them we have been

indebted to men of the humblest rank. Deduct what they have done

in this particular line of action, and it will be found that very

little indeed remains for other men to have accomplished.

Inventors have set in motion some of the greatest industries of the

world. To them society owes many of its chief necessaries,

comforts, and luxuries; and by their genius and labour daily life

has been rendered in all respects more easy as well as enjoyable.

Our food, our clothing, the furniture of our homes, the glass which

admits the light to our dwellings at the same time that it excludes

the cold, the gas which illuminates our streets, our means of

locomotion by land and by sea, the tools by which our various

articles of necessity and luxury are fabricated, have been the

result of the labour and ingenuity of many men and many minds.

Mankind at large are all the happier for such inventions, and are

every day reaping the benefit of them in an increase of individual

well-being as well as of public enjoyment.

Though the invention of the working steam-engine--the king of

machines--belongs, comparatively speaking, to our own epoch, the

idea of it was born many centuries ago. Like other contrivances

and discoveries, it was effected step by step--one man transmitting

the result of his labours, at the time apparently useless, to his

successors, who took it up and carried it forward another stage,--

the prosecution of the inquiry extending over many generations.

Thus the idea promulgated by Hero of Alexandria was never

altogether lost; but, like the grain of wheat hid in the hand of

the Egyptian mummy, it sprouted and again grew vigorously when

brought into the full light of modern science. The steam-engine

was nothing, however, until it emerged from the state of theory,

and was taken in hand by practical mechanics; and what a noble

story of patient, laborious investigation, of difficulties

encountered and overcome by heroic industry, does not that

marvellous machine tell of! It is indeed, in itself, a monument of

the power of self-help in man. Grouped around it we find Savary,

the military engineer; Newcomen, the Dartmouth blacksmith; Cawley,

the glazier; Potter, the engine-boy; Smeaton, the civil engineer;

and, towering above all, the laborious, patient, never-tiring James

Watt, the mathematical-instrument maker.

Watt was one of the most industrious of men; and the story of his

life proves, what all experience confirms, that it is not the man

of the greatest natural vigour and capacity who achieves the

highest results, but he who employs his powers with the greatest

industry and the most carefully disciplined skill--the skill that

comes by labour, application, and experience. Many men in his time

knew far more than Watt, but none laboured so assiduously as he did

to turn all that he did know to useful practical purposes. He was,

above all things, most persevering in the pursuit of facts. He

cultivated carefully that habit of active attention on which all

the higher working qualities of the mind mainly depend. Indeed,

Mr. Edgeworth entertained the opinion, that the difference of

intellect in men depends more upon the early cultivation of this

HABIT OF ATTENTION, than upon any great disparity between the

powers of one individual and another.

Even when a boy, Watt found science in his toys. The quadrants

lying about his father's carpenter's shop led him to the study of

optics and astronomy; his ill health induced him to pry into the

secrets of physiology; and his solitary walks through the country

attracted him to the study of botany and history. While carrying

on the business of a mathematical-instrument maker, he received an

order to build an organ; and, though without an ear for music, he

undertook the study of harmonics, and successfully constructed the

instrument. And, in like manner, when the little model of

Newcomen's steam-engine, belonging to the University of Glasgow,

was placed in his hands to repair, he forthwith set himself to

learn all that was then known about heat, evaporation, and

condensation,--at the same time plodding his way in mechanics and

the science of construction,--the results of which he at length

embodied in his condensing steam-engine.

For ten years he went on contriving and inventing--with little hope

to cheer him, and with few friends to encourage him. He went on,

meanwhile, earning bread for his family by making and selling

quadrants, making and mending fiddles, flutes, and musical

instruments; measuring mason-work, surveying roads, superintending

the construction of canals, or doing anything that turned up, and

offered a prospect of honest gain. At length, Watt found a fit

partner in another eminent leader of industry--Matthew Boulton, of

Birmingham; a skilful, energetic, and far-seeing man, who

vigorously undertook the enterprise of introducing the condensing-

engine into general use as a working power; and the success of both

is now matter of history. {5}

Many skilful inventors have from time to time added new power to

the steam-engine; and, by numerous modifications, rendered it

capable of being applied to nearly all the purposes of manufacture-

-driving machinery, impelling ships, grinding corn, printing books,

stamping money, hammering, planing, and turning iron; in short, of

performing every description of mechanical labour where power is

required. One of the most useful modifications in the engine was

that devised by Trevithick, and eventually perfected by George

Stephenson and his son, in the form of the railway locomotive, by

which social changes of immense importance have been brought about,

of even greater consequence, considered in their results on human

progress and civilization, than the condensing-engine of Watt.

One of the first grand results of Watt's invention,--which placed

an almost unlimited power at the command of the producing classes,-

-was the establishment of the cotton-manufacture. The person most

closely identified with the foundation of this great branch of

industry was unquestionably Sir Richard Arkwright, whose practical

energy and sagacity were perhaps even more remarkable than his

mechanical inventiveness. His originality as an inventor has

indeed been called in question, like that of Watt and Stephenson.

Arkwright probably stood in the same relation to the spinning-

machine that Watt did to the steam-engine and Stephenson to the

locomotive. He gathered together the scattered threads of

ingenuity which already existed, and wove them, after his own

design, into a new and original fabric. Though Lewis Paul, of

Birmingham, patented the invention of spinning by rollers thirty

years before Arkwright, the machines constructed by him were so

imperfect in their details, that they could not be profitably

worked, and the invention was practically a failure. Another

obscure mechanic, a reed-maker of Leigh, named Thomas Highs, is

also said to have invented the water-frame and spinning-jenny; but

they, too, proved unsuccessful.

When the demands of industry are found to press upon the resources

of inventors, the same idea is usually found floating about in many

minds;--such has been the case with the steam-engine, the safety-

lamp, the electric telegraph, and other inventions. Many ingenious

minds are found labouring in the throes of invention, until at

length the master mind, the strong practical man, steps forward,

and straightway delivers them of their idea, applies the principle

successfully, and the thing is done. Then there is a loud outcry

among all the smaller contrivers, who see themselves distanced in

the race; and hence men such as Watt, Stephenson, and Arkwright,

have usually to defend their reputation and their rights as

practical and successful inventors.

Richard Arkwright, like most of our great mechanicians, sprang from

the ranks. He was born in Preston in 1732. His parents were very

poor, and he was the youngest of thirteen children. He was never

at school: the only education he received he gave to himself; and

to the last he was only able to write with difficulty. When a boy,

he was apprenticed to a barber, and after learning the business, he

set up for himself in Bolton, where he occupied an underground

cellar, over which he put up the sign, "Come to the subterraneous

barber--he shaves for a penny." The other barbers found their

customers leaving them, and reduced their prices to his standard,

when Arkwright, determined to push his trade, announced his

determination to give "A clean shave for a halfpenny." After a few

years he quitted his cellar, and became an itinerant dealer in

hair. At that time wigs were worn, and wig-making formed an

important branch of the barbering business. Arkwright went about

buying hair for the wigs. He was accustomed to attend the hiring

fairs throughout Lancashire resorted to by young women, for the

purpose of securing their long tresses; and it is said that in

negotiations of this sort he was very successful. He also dealt in

a chemical hair dye, which he used adroitly, and thereby secured a

considerable trade. But he does not seem, notwithstanding his

pushing character, to have done more than earn a bare living.

The fashion of wig-wearing having undergone a change, distress fell

upon the wig-makers; and Arkwright, being of a mechanical turn, was

consequently induced to turn machine inventor or "conjurer," as the

pursuit was then popularly termed. Many attempts were made about

that time to invent a spinning-machine, and our barber determined

to launch his little bark on the sea of invention with the rest.

Like other self-taught men of the same bias, he had already been

devoting his spare time to the invention of a perpetual-motion

machine; and from that the transition to a spinning-machine was

easy. He followed his experiments so assiduously that he neglected

his business, lost the little money he had saved, and was reduced

to great poverty. His wife--for he had by this time married--was

impatient at what she conceived to be a wanton waste of time and

money, and in a moment of sudden wrath she seized upon and

destroyed his models, hoping thus to remove the cause of the family

privations. Arkwright was a stubborn and enthusiastic man, and he

was provoked beyond measure by this conduct of his wife, from whom

he immediately separated.

In travelling about the country, Arkwright had become acquainted

with a person named Kay, a clockmaker at Warrington, who assisted

him in constructing some of the parts of his perpetual-motion

machinery. It is supposed that he was informed by Kay of the

principle of spinning by rollers; but it is also said that the idea

was first suggested to him by accidentally observing a red-hot

piece of iron become elongated by passing between iron rollers.

However this may be, the idea at once took firm possession of his

mind, and he proceeded to devise the process by which it was to be

accomplished, Kay being able to tell him nothing on this point.

Arkwright now abandoned his business of hair collecting, and

devoted himself to the perfecting of his machine, a model of which,

constructed by Kay under his directions, he set up in the parlour

of the Free Grammar School at Preston. Being a burgess of the

town, he voted at the contested election at which General Burgoyne

was returned; but such was his poverty, and such the tattered state

of his dress, that a number of persons subscribed a sum sufficient

to have him put in a state fit to appear in the poll-room. The

exhibition of his machine in a town where so many workpeople lived

by the exercise of manual labour proved a dangerous experiment;

ominous growlings were heard outside the school-room from time to

time, and Arkwright,--remembering the fate of Kay, who was mobbed

and compelled to fly from Lancashire because of his invention of

the fly-shuttle, and of poor Hargreaves, whose spinning-jenny had

been pulled to pieces only a short time before by a Blackburn mob,-

-wisely determined on packing up his model and removing to a less

dangerous locality. He went accordingly to Nottingham, where he

applied to some of the local bankers for pecuniary assistance; and

the Messrs. Wright consented to advance him a sum of money on

condition of sharing in the profits of the invention. The machine,

however, not being perfected so soon as they had anticipated, the

bankers recommended Arkwright to apply to Messrs. Strutt and Need,

the former of whom was the ingenious inventor and patentee of the

stocking-frame. Mr. Strutt at once appreciated the merits of the

invention, and a partnership was entered into with Arkwright, whose

road to fortune was now clear. The patent was secured in the name

of "Richard Arkwright, of Nottingham, clockmaker," and it is a

circumstance worthy of note, that it was taken out in 1769, the

same year in which Watt secured the patent for his steam-engine. A

cotton-mill was first erected at Nottingham, driven by horses; and

another was shortly after built, on a much larger scale, at

Cromford, in Derbyshire, turned by a water-wheel, from which

circumstance the spinning-machine came to be called the water-

frame.

Arkwright's labours, however, were, comparatively speaking, only

begun. He had still to perfect all the working details of his

machine. It was in his hands the subject of constant modification

and improvement, until eventually it was rendered practicable and

profitable in an eminent degree. But success was only secured by

long and patient labour: for some years, indeed, the speculation

was disheartening and unprofitable, swallowing up a very large

amount of capital without any result. When success began to appear

more certain, then the Lancashire manufacturers fell upon

Arkwright's patent to pull it in pieces, as the Cornish miners fell

upon Boulton and Watt to rob them of the profits of their steam-

engine. Arkwright was even denounced as the enemy of the working

people; and a mill which he built near Chorley was destroyed by a

mob in the presence of a strong force of police and military. The

Lancashire men refused to buy his materials, though they were

confessedly the best in the market. Then they refused to pay

patent-right for the use of his machines, and combined to crush him

in the courts of law. To the disgust of right-minded people,

Arkwright's patent was upset. After the trial, when passing the

hotel at which his opponents were staying, one of them said, loud

enough to be heard by him, "Well, we've done the old shaver at

last;" to which he coolly replied, "Never mind, I've a razor left

that will shave you all." He established new mills in Lancashire,

Derbyshire, and at New Lanark, in Scotland. The mills at Cromford

also came into his hands at the expiry of his partnership with

Strutt, and the amount and the excellence of his products were

such, that in a short time he obtained so complete a control of the

trade, that the prices were fixed by him, and he governed the main

operations of the other cotton-spinners.

Arkwright was a man of great force of character, indomitable

courage, much worldly shrewdness, with a business faculty almost

amounting to genius. At one period his time was engrossed by

severe and continuous labour, occasioned by the organising and

conducting of his numerous manufactories, sometimes from four in

the morning till nine at night. At fifty years of age he set to

work to learn English grammar, and improve himself in writing and

orthography. After overcoming every obstacle, he had the

satisfaction of reaping the reward of his enterprise. Eighteen

years after he had constructed his first machine, he rose to such

estimation in Derbyshire that he was appointed High Sheriff of the

county, and shortly after George III. conferred upon him the honour

of knighthood. He died in 1792. Be it for good or for evil,

Arkwright was the founder in England of the modern factory system,

a branch of industry which has unquestionably proved a source of

immense wealth to individuals and to the nation.

All the other great branches of industry in Britain furnish like

examples of energetic men of business, the source of much benefit

to the neighbourhoods in which they have laboured, and of increased

power and wealth to the community at large. Amongst such might be

cited the Strutts of Belper; the Tennants of Glasgow; the Marshalls

and Gotts of Leeds; the Peels, Ashworths, Birleys, Fieldens,

Ashtons, Heywoods, and Ainsworths of South Lancashire, some of

whose descendants have since become distinguished in connection

with the political history of England. Such pre-eminently were the

Peels of South Lancashire.

The founder of the Peel family, about the middle of last century,

was a small yeoman, occupying the Hole House Farm, near Blackburn,

from which he afterwards removed to a house situated in Fish Lane

in that town. Robert Peel, as he advanced in life, saw a large

family of sons and daughters growing up about him; but the land

about Blackburn being somewhat barren, it did not appear to him

that agricultural pursuits offered a very encouraging prospect for

their industry. The place had, however, long been the seat of a

domestic manufacture--the fabric called "Blackburn greys,"

consisting of linen weft and cotton warp, being chiefly made in

that town and its neighbourhood. It was then customary--previous

to the introduction of the factory system--for industrious yeomen

with families to employ the time not occupied in the fields in

weaving at home; and Robert Peel accordingly began the domestic

trade of calico-making. He was honest, and made an honest article;

thrifty and hardworking, and his trade prospered. He was also

enterprising, and was one of the first to adopt the carding

cylinder, then recently invented.

But Robert Peel's attention was principally directed to the

PRINTING of calico--then a comparatively unknown art--and for some

time he carried on a series of experiments with the object of

printing by machinery. The experiments were secretly conducted in

his own house, the cloth being ironed for the purpose by one of the

women of the family. It was then customary, in such houses as the

Peels, to use pewter plates at dinner. Having sketched a figure or

pattern on one of the plates, the thought struck him that an

impression might be got from it in reverse, and printed on calico

with colour. In a cottage at the end of the farm-house lived a

woman who kept a calendering machine, and going into her cottage,

he put the plate with colour rubbed into the figured part and some

calico over it, through the machine, when it was found to leave a

satisfactory impression. Such is said to have been the origin of

roller printing on calico. Robert Peel shortly perfected his

process, and the first pattern he brought out was a parsley leaf;

hence he is spoken of in the neighbourhood of Blackburn to this day

as "Parsley Peel." The process of calico printing by what is

called the mule machine--that is, by means of a wooden cylinder in

relief, with an engraved copper cylinder--was afterwards brought to

perfection by one of his sons, the head of the firm of Messrs. Peel

and Co., of Church. Stimulated by his success, Robert Peel shortly

gave up farming, and removing to Brookside, a village about two

miles from Blackburn, he devoted himself exclusively to the

printing business. There, with the aid of his sons, who were as

energetic as himself, he successfully carried on the trade for

several years; and as the young men grew up towards manhood, the

concern branched out into various firms of Peels, each of which

became a centre of industrial activity and a source of remunerative

employment to large numbers of people.

From what can now be learnt of the character of the original and

untitled Robert Peel, he must have been a remarkable man--shrewd,

sagacious, and far-seeing. But little is known of him excepting

from traditions and the sons of those who knew him are fast passing

away. His son, Sir Robert, thus modestly spoke of him:- "My father

may be truly said to have been the founder of our family; and he so

accurately appreciated the importance of commercial wealth in a

national point of view, that he was often heard to say that the

gains to individuals were small compared with the national gains

arising from trade."

Sir Robert Peel, the first baronet and the second manufacturer of

the name, inherited all his father's enterprise, ability, and

industry. His position, at starting in life, was little above that

of an ordinary working man; for his father, though laying the

foundations of future prosperity, was still struggling with the

difficulties arising from insufficient capital. When Robert was

only twenty years of age, he determined to begin the business of

cotton-printing, which he had by this time learnt from his father,

on his own account. His uncle, James Haworth, and William Yates of

Blackburn, joined him in his enterprise; the whole capital which

they could raise amongst them amounting to only about 500l., the

principal part of which was supplied by William Yates. The father

of the latter was a householder in Blackburn, where he was well

known and much respected; and having saved money by his business,

he was willing to advance sufficient to give his son a start in the

lucrative trade of cotton-printing, then in its infancy. Robert

Peel, though comparatively a mere youth, supplied the practical

knowledge of the business; but it was said of him, and proved true,

that he "carried an old head on young shoulders." A ruined corn-

mill, with its adjoining fields, was purchased for a comparatively

small sum, near the then insignificant town of Bury, where the

works long after continued to be known as "The Ground;" and a few

wooden sheds having been run up, the firm commenced their cotton-

printing business in a very humble way in the year 1770, adding to

it that of cotton-spinning a few years later. The frugal style in

which the partners lived may be inferred from the following

incident in their early career. William Yates, being a married man

with a family, commenced housekeeping on a small scale, and, to

oblige Peel, who was single, he agreed to take him as a lodger.

The sum which the latter first paid for board and lodging was only

8s. a week; but Yates, considering this too little, insisted on the

weekly payment being increased a shilling, to which Peel at first

demurred, and a difference between the partners took place, which

was eventually compromised by the lodger paying an advance of

sixpence a week. William Yates's eldest child was a girl named

Ellen, and she very soon became an especial favourite with the

young lodger. On returning from his hard day's work at "The

Ground," he would take the little girl upon his knee, and say to

her, "Nelly, thou bonny little dear, wilt be my wife?" to which the

child would readily answer "Yes," as any child would do. "Then

I'll wait for thee, Nelly; I'll wed thee, and none else." And

Robert Peel did wait. As the girl grew in beauty towards

womanhood, his determination to wait for her was strengthened; and

after the lapse of ten years--years of close application to

business and rapidly increasing prosperity--Robert Peel married

Ellen Yates when she had completed her seventeenth year; and the

pretty child, whom her mother's lodger and father's partner had

nursed upon his knee, became Mrs. Peel, and eventually Lady Peel,

the mother of the future Prime Minister of England. Lady Peel was

a noble and beautiful woman, fitted to grace any station in life.

She possessed rare powers of mind, and was, on every emergency, the

high-souled and faithful counsellor of her husband. For many years

after their marriage, she acted as his amanuensis, conducting the

principal part of his business correspondence, for Mr. Peel himself

was an indifferent and almost unintelligible writer. She died in

1803, only three years after the Baronetcy had been conferred upon

her husband. It is said that London fashionable life--so unlike

what she had been accustomed to at home--proved injurious to her

health; and old Mr. Yates afterwards used to say, "if Robert hadn't

made our Nelly a 'Lady,' she might ha' been living yet."

The career of Yates, Peel, & Co., was throughout one of great and

uninterrupted prosperity. Sir Robert Peel himself was the soul of

the firm; to great energy and application uniting much practical

sagacity, and first-rate mercantile abilities--qualities in which

many of the early cotton-spinners were exceedingly deficient. He

was a man of iron mind and frame, and toiled unceasingly. In

short, he was to cotton printing what Arkwright was to cotton-

spinning, and his success was equally great. The excellence of the

articles produced by the firm secured the command of the market,

and the character of the firm stood pre-eminent in Lancashire.

Besides greatly benefiting Bury, the partnership planted similar

extensive works in the neighbourhood, on the Irwell and the Roch;

and it was cited to their honour, that, while they sought to raise

to the highest perfection the quality of their manufactures, they

also endeavoured, in all ways, to promote the well-being and

comfort of their workpeople; for whom they contrived to provide

remunerative employment even in the least prosperous times.

Sir Robert Peel readily appreciated the value of all new processes

and inventions; in illustration of which we may allude to his

adoption of the process for producing what is called RESIST WORK in

calico printing. This is accomplished by the use of a paste, or

resist, on such parts of the cloth as were intended to remain

white. The person who discovered the paste was a traveller for a

London house, who sold it to Mr. Peel for an inconsiderable sum.

It required the experience of a year or two to perfect the system

and make it practically useful; but the beauty of its effect, and

the extreme precision of outline in the pattern produced, at once

placed the Bury establishment at the head of all the factories for

calico printing in the country. Other firms, conducted with like

spirit, were established by members of the same family at Burnley,

Foxhill bank, and Altham, in Lancashire; Salley Abbey, in

Yorkshire; and afterwards at Burton-on-Trent, in Staffordshire;

these various establishments, whilst they brought wealth to their

proprietors, setting an example to the whole cotton trade, and

training up many of the most successful printers and manufacturers

in Lancashire.

Among other distinguished founders of industry, the Rev. William

Lee, inventor of the Stocking Frame, and John Heathcoat, inventor

of the Bobbin-net Machine, are worthy of notice, as men of great

mechanical skill and perseverance, through whose labours a vast

amount of remunerative employment has been provided for the

labouring population of Nottingham and the adjacent districts. The

accounts which have been preserved of the circumstances connected

with the invention of the Stocking Frame are very confused, and in

many respects contradictory, though there is no doubt as to the

name of the inventor. This was William Lee, born at Woodborough, a

village some seven miles from Nottingham, about the year 1563.

According to some accounts, he was the heir to a small freehold,

while according to others he was a poor scholar, {6} and had to

struggle with poverty from his earliest years. He entered as a

sizar at Christ College, Cambridge, in May, 1579, and subsequently

removed to St. John's, taking his degree of B.A. in 1582-3. It is

believed that he commenced M.A. in 1586; but on this point there

appears to be some confusion in the records of the University. The

statement usually made that he was expelled for marrying contrary

to the statutes, is incorrect, as he was never a Fellow of the

University, and therefore could not be prejudiced by taking such a

step.

At the time when Lee invented the Stocking Frame he was officiating

as curate of Calverton, near Nottingham; and it is alleged by some

writers that the invention had its origin in disappointed

affection. The curate is said to have fallen deeply in love with a

young lady of the village, who failed to reciprocate his

affections; and when he visited her, she was accustomed to pay much

more attention to the process of knitting stockings and instructing

her pupils in the art, than to the addresses of her admirer. This

slight is said to have created in his mind such an aversion to

knitting by hand, that he formed the determination to invent a

machine that should supersede it and render it a gainless

employment. For three years he devoted himself to the prosecution

of the invention, sacrificing everything to his new idea. At the

prospect of success opened before him, he abandoned his curacy, and

devoted himself to the art of stocking making by machinery. This

is the version of the story given by Henson {7} on the authority of

an old stocking-maker, who died in Collins's Hospital, Nottingham,

aged ninety-two, and was apprenticed in the town during the reign

of Queen Anne. It is also given by Deering and Blackner as the

traditional account in the neighbourhood, and it is in some measure

borne out by the arms of the London Company of Frame-Work Knitters,

which consists of a stocking frame without the wood-work, with a

clergyman on one side and a woman on the other as supporters. {8}

Whatever may have been the actual facts as to the origin of the

invention of the Stocking Loom, there can be no doubt as to the

extraordinary mechanical genius displayed by its inventor. That a

clergyman living in a remote village, whose life had for the most

part been spent with books, should contrive a machine of such

delicate and complicated movements, and at once advance the art of

knitting from the tedious process of linking threads in a chain of

loops by three skewers in the fingers of a woman, to the beautiful

and rapid process of weaving by the stocking frame, was indeed an

astonishing achievement, which may be pronounced almost unequalled

in the history of mechanical invention. Lee's merit was all the

greater, as the handicraft arts were then in their infancy, and

little attention had as yet been given to the contrivance of

machinery for the purposes of manufacture. He was under the

necessity of extemporising the parts of his machine as he best

could, and adopting various expedients to overcome difficulties as

they arose. His tools were imperfect, and his materials imperfect;

and he had no skilled workmen to assist him. According to

tradition, the first frame he made was a twelve gauge, without lead

sinkers, and it was almost wholly of wood; the needles being also

stuck in bits of wood. One of Lee's principal difficulties

consisted in the formation of the stitch, for want of needle eyes;

but this he eventually overcame by forming eyes to the needles with

a three-square file. {9} At length, one difficulty after another

was successfully overcome, and after three years' labour the

machine was sufficiently complete to be fit for use. The quondam

curate, full of enthusiasm for his art, now began stocking weaving

in the village of Calverton, and he continued to work there for

several years, instructing his brother James and several of his

relations in the practice of the art.

Having brought his frame to a considerable degree of perfection,

and being desirous of securing the patronage of Queen Elizabeth,

whose partiality for knitted silk stockings was well known, Lee

proceeded to London to exhibit the loom before her Majesty. He

first showed it to several members of the court, among others to

Sir William (afterwards Lord) Hunsdon, whom he taught to work it

with success; and Lee was, through their instrumentality, at length

admitted to an interview with the Queen, and worked the machine in

her presence. Elizabeth, however, did not give him the

encouragement that he had expected; and she is said to have opposed

the invention on the ground that it was calculated to deprive a

large number of poor people of their employment of hand knitting.

Lee was no more successful in finding other patrons, and

considering himself and his invention treated with contempt, he

embraced the offer made to him by Sully, the sagacious minister of

Henry IV., to proceed to Rouen and instruct the operatives of that

town--then one of the most important manufacturing centres of

France--in the construction and use of the stocking-frame. Lee

accordingly transferred himself and his machines to France, in

1605, taking with him his brother and seven workmen. He met with a

cordial reception at Rouen, and was proceeding with the manufacture

of stockings on a large scale--having nine of his frames in full

work,--when unhappily ill fortune again overtook him. Henry IV.,

his protector, on whom he had relied for the rewards, honours, and

promised grant of privileges, which had induced Lee to settle in

France, was murdered by the fanatic Ravaillac; and the

encouragement and protection which had heretofore been extended to

him were at once withdrawn. To press his claims at court, Lee

proceeded to Paris; but being a protestant as well as a foreigner,

his representations were treated with neglect; and worn out with

vexation and grief, this distinguished inventor shortly after died

at Paris, in a state of extreme poverty and distress.

Lee's brother, with seven of the workmen, succeeded in escaping

from France with their frames, leaving two behind. On James Lee's

return to Nottinghamshire, he was joined by one Ashton, a miller of

Thoroton, who had been instructed in the art of frame-work knitting

by the inventor himself before he left England. These two, with

the workmen and their frames, began the stocking manufacture at

Thoroton, and carried it on with considerable success. The place

was favourably situated for the purpose, as the sheep pastured in

the neighbouring district of Sherwood yielded a kind of wool of the

longest staple. Ashton is said to have introduced the method of

making the frames with lead sinkers, which was a great improvement.

The number of looms employed in different parts of England

gradually increased; and the machine manufacture of stockings

eventually became an important branch of the national industry.

One of the most important modifications in the Stocking-Frame was

that which enabled it to be applied to the manufacture of lace on a

large scale. In 1777, two workmen, Frost and Holmes, were both

engaged in making point-net by means of the modifications they had

introduced in the stocking-frame; and in the course of about thirty

years, so rapid was the growth of this branch of production that

1500 point-net frames were at work, giving employment to upwards of

15,000 people. Owing, however, to the war, to change of fashion,

and to other circumstances, the Nottingham lace manufacture rapidly

fell off; and it continued in a decaying state until the invention

of the Bobbin-net Machine by John Heathcoat, late M.P. for

Tiverton, which had the effect of at once re-establishing the

manufacture on solid foundations.

John Heathcoat was the youngest son of a respectable small farmer

at Duffield, Derbyshire, where he was born in 1783. When at school

he made steady and rapid progress, but was early removed from it to

be apprenticed to a frame-smith near Loughborough. The boy soon

learnt to handle tools with dexterity, and he acquired a minute

knowledge of the parts of which the stocking-frame was composed, as

well as of the more intricate warp-machine. At his leisure he

studied how to introduce improvements in them, and his friend, Mr.

Bazley, M.P., states that as early as the age of sixteen, he

conceived the idea of inventing a machine by which lace might be

made similar to Buckingham or French lace, then all made by hand.

The first practical improvement he succeeded in introducing was in

the warp-frame, when, by means of an ingenious apparatus, he

succeeded in producing "mitts" of a lacy appearance, and it was

this success which determined him to pursue the study of mechanical

lace-making. The stocking-frame had already, in a modified form,

been applied to the manufacture of point-net lace, in which the

mesh was LOOPED as in a stocking, but the work was slight and

frail, and therefore unsatisfactory. Many ingenious Nottingham

mechanics had, during a long succession of years, been labouring at

the problem of inventing a machine by which the mesh of threads

should be TWISTED round each other on the formation of the net.

Some of these men died in poverty, some were driven insane, and all

alike failed in the object of their search. The old warp-machine

held its ground.

When a little over twenty-one years of age, Heathcoat went to

Nottingham, where he readily found employment, for which he soon

received the highest remuneration, as a setter-up of hosiery and

warp-frames, and was much respected for his talent for invention,

general intelligence, and the sound and sober principles that

governed his conduct. He also continued to pursue the subject on

which his mind had before been occupied, and laboured to compass

the contrivance of a twist traverse-net machine. He first studied

the art of making the Buckingham or pillow-lace by hand, with the

object of effecting the same motions by mechanical means. It was a

long and laborious task, requiring the exercise of great

perseverance and ingenuity. His master, Elliot, described him at

that time as inventive, patient, self-denying, and taciturn,

undaunted by failures and mistakes, full of resources and

expedients, and entertaining the most perfect confidence that his

application of mechanical principles would eventually be crowned

with success.

It is difficult to describe in words an invention so complicated as

the bobbin-net machine. It was, indeed, a mechanical pillow for

making lace, imitating in an ingenious manner the motions of the

lace-maker's fingers in intersecting or tying the meshes of the

lace upon her pillow. On analysing the component parts of a piece

of hand-made lace, Heathcoat was enabled to classify the threads

into longitudinal and diagonal. He began his experiments by fixing

common pack-threads lengthwise on a sort of frame for the warp, and

then passing the weft threads between them by common plyers,

delivering them to other plyers on the opposite side; then, after

giving them a sideways motion and twist, the threads were repassed

back between the next adjoining cords, the meshes being thus tied

in the same way as upon pillows by hand. He had then to contrive a

mechanism that should accomplish all these nice and delicate

movements, and to do this cost him no small amount of mental toil.

Long after he said, "The single difficulty of getting the diagonal

threads to twist in the allotted space was so great that if it had

now to be done, I should probably not attempt its accomplishment."

His next step was to provide thin metallic discs, to be used as

bobbins for conducting the threads backwards and forwards through

the warp. These discs, being arranged in carrier-frames placed on

each side of the warp, were moved by suitable machinery so as to

conduct the threads from side to side in forming the lace. He

eventually succeeded in working out his principle with

extraordinary skill and success; and, at the age of twenty-four, he

was enabled to secure his invention by a patent.

During this time his wife was kept in almost as great anxiety as

himself, for she well knew of his trials and difficulties while he

was striving to perfect his invention. Many years after they had

been successfully overcome, the conversation which took place one

eventful evening was vividly remembered. "Well," said the anxious

wife, "will it work?" "No," was the sad answer; "I have had to

take it all to pieces again." Though he could still speak

hopefully and cheerfully, his poor wife could restrain her feelings

no longer, but sat down and cried bitterly. She had, however, only

a few more weeks to wait, for success long laboured for and richly

deserved, came at last, and a proud and happy man was John

Heathcoat when he brought home the first narrow strip of bobbin-net

made by his machine, and placed it in the hands of his wife.

As in the case of nearly all inventions which have proved

productive, Heathcoat's rights as a patentee were disputed, and his

claims as an inventor called in question. On the supposed

invalidity of the patent, the lace-makers boldly adopted the

bobbin-net machine, and set the inventor at defiance. But other

patents were taken out for alleged improvements and adaptations;

and it was only when these new patentees fell out and went to law

with each other that Heathcoat's rights became established. One

lace-manufacturer having brought an action against another for an

alleged infringement of his patent, the jury brought in a verdict

for the defendant, in which the judge concurred, on the ground that

BOTH the machines in question were infringements of Heathcoat's

patent. It was on the occasion of this trial, "Boville v. Moore,"

that Sir John Copley (afterwards Lord Lyndhurst), who was retained

for the defence in the interest of Mr. Heathcoat, learnt to work

the bobbin-net machine in order that he might master the details of

the invention. On reading over his brief, he confessed that he did

not quite understand the merits of the case; but as it seemed to

him to be one of great importance, he offered to go down into the

country forthwith and study the machine until he understood it;

"and then," said he, "I will defend you to the best of my ability."

He accordingly put himself into that night's mail, and went down to

Nottingham to get up his case as perhaps counsel never got it up

before. Next morning the learned sergeant placed himself in a

lace-loom, and he did not leave it until he could deftly make a

piece of bobbin-net with his own hands, and thoroughly understood

the principle as well as the details of the machine. When the case

came on for trial, the learned sergeant was enabled to work the

model on the table with such case and skill, and to explain the

precise nature of the invention with such felicitous clearness, as

to astonish alike judge, jury, and spectators; and the thorough

conscientiousness and mastery with which he handled the case had no

doubt its influence upon the decision of the court.

After the trial was over, Mr. Heathcoat, on inquiry, found about

six hundred machines at work after his patent, and he proceeded to

levy royalty upon the owners of them, which amounted to a large

sum. But the profits realised by the manufacturers of lace were

very great, and the use of the machines rapidly extended; while the

price of the article was reduced from five pounds the square yard

to about five pence in the course of twenty-five years. During the

same period the average annual returns of the lace-trade have been

at least four millions sterling, and it gives remunerative

employment to about 150,000 workpeople.

To return to the personal history of Mr. Heathcoat. In 1809 we

find him established as a lace-manufacturer at Loughborough, in

Leicestershire. There he carried on a prosperous business for

several years, giving employment to a large number of operatives,

at wages varying from 5l. to 10l. a week. Notwithstanding the

great increase in the number of hands employed in lace-making

through the introduction of the new machines, it began to be

whispered about among the workpeople that they were superseding

labour, and an extensive conspiracy was formed for the purpose of

destroying them wherever found. As early as the year 1811 disputes

arose between the masters and men engaged in the stocking and lace

trades in the south-western parts of Nottinghamshire and the

adjacent parts of Derbyshire and Leicestershire, the result of

which was the assembly of a mob at Sutton, in Ashfield, who

proceeded in open day to break the stocking and lace-frames of the

manufacturers. Some of the ringleaders having been seized and

punished, the disaffected learnt caution; but the destruction of

the machines was nevertheless carried on secretly wherever a safe

opportunity presented itself. As the machines were of so delicate

a construction that a single blow of a hammer rendered them

useless, and as the manufacture was carried on for the most part in

detached buildings, often in private dwellings remote from towns,

the opportunities of destroying them were unusually easy. In the

neighbourhood of Nottingham, which was the focus of turbulence, the

machine-breakers organized themselves in regular bodies, and held

nocturnal meetings at which their plans were arranged. Probably

with the view of inspiring confidence, they gave out that they were

under the command of a leader named Ned Ludd, or General Ludd, and

hence their designation of Luddites. Under this organization

machine-breaking was carried on with great vigour during the winter

of 1811, occasioning great distress, and throwing large numbers of

workpeople out of employment. Meanwhile, the owners of the frames

proceeded to remove them from the villages and lone dwellings in

the country, and brought them into warehouses in the towns for

their better protection.

The Luddites seem to have been encouraged by the lenity of the

sentences pronounced on such of their confederates as had been

apprehended and tried; and, shortly after, the mania broke out

afresh, and rapidly extended over the northern and midland

manufacturing districts. The organization became more secret; an

oath was administered to the members binding them to obedience to

the orders issued by the heads of the confederacy; and the betrayal

of their designs was decreed to be death. All machines were doomed

by them to destruction, whether employed in the manufacture of

cloth, calico, or lace; and a reign of terror began which lasted

for years. In Yorkshire and Lancashire mills were boldly attacked

by armed rioters, and in many cases they were wrecked or burnt; so

that it became necessary to guard them by soldiers and yeomanry.

The masters themselves were doomed to death; many of them were

assaulted, and some were murdered. At length the law was

vigorously set in motion; numbers of the misguided Luddites were

apprehended; some were executed; and after several years' violent

commotion from this cause, the machine-breaking riots were at

length quelled.

Among the numerous manufacturers whose works were attacked by the

Luddites, was the inventor of the bobbin-net machine himself. One

bright sunny day, in the summer of 1816, a body of rioters entered

his factory at Loughborough with torches, and set fire to it,

destroying thirty-seven lace-machines, and above 10,000l. worth of

property. Ten of the men were apprehended for the felony, and

eight of them were executed. Mr. Heathcoat made a claim upon the

county for compensation, and it was resisted; but the Court of

Queen's Bench decided in his favour, and decreed that the county

must make good his loss of 10,000l. The magistrates sought to

couple with the payment of the damage the condition that Mr.

Heathcoat should expend the money in the county of Leicester; but

to this he would not assent, having already resolved on removing

his manufacture elsewhere. At Tiverton, in Devonshire, he found a

large building which had been formerly used as a woollen

manufactory; but the Tiverton cloth trade having fallen into decay,

the building remained unoccupied, and the town itself was generally

in a very poverty-stricken condition. Mr. Heathcoat bought the old

mill, renovated and enlarged it, and there recommenced the

manufacture of lace upon a larger scale than before; keeping in

full work as many as three hundred machines, and employing a large

number of artisans at good wages. Not only did he carry on the

manufacture of lace, but the various branches of business connected

with it--yarn-doubling, silk-spinning, net-making, and finishing.

He also established at Tiverton an iron-foundry and works for the

manufacture of agricultural implements, which proved of great

convenience to the district. It was a favourite idea of his that

steam power was capable of being applied to perform all the heavy

drudgery of life, and he laboured for a long time at the invention

of a steam-plough. In 1832 he so far completed his invention as to

be enabled to take out a patent for it; and Heathcoat's steam-

plough, though it has since been superseded by Fowler's, was

considered the best machine of the kind that had up to that time

been invented.

Mr. Heathcoat was a man of great natural gifts. He possessed a

sound understanding, quick perception, and a genius for business of

the highest order. With these he combined uprightness, honesty,

and integrity--qualities which are the true glory of human

character. Himself a diligent self-educator, he gave ready

encouragement to deserving youths in his employment, stimulating

their talents and fostering their energies. During his own busy

life, he contrived to save time to master French and Italian, of

which he acquired an accurate and grammatical knowledge. His mind

was largely stored with the results of a careful study of the best

literature, and there were few subjects on which he had not formed

for himself shrewd and accurate views. The two thousand workpeople

in his employment regarded him almost as a father, and he carefully

provided for their comfort and improvement. Prosperity did not

spoil him, as it does so many; nor close his heart against the

claims of the poor and struggling, who were always sure of his

sympathy and help. To provide for the education of the children of

his workpeople, he built schools for them at a cost of about 6000l.

He was also a man of singularly cheerful and buoyant disposition, a

favourite with men of all classes and most admired and beloved by

those who knew him best.

In 1831 the electors of Tiverton, of which town Mr. Heathcoat had

proved himself so genuine a benefactor, returned him to represent

them in Parliament, and he continued their member for nearly thirty

years. During a great part of that time he had Lord Palmerston for

his colleague, and the noble lord, on more than one public

occasion, expressed the high regard which he entertained for his

venerable friend. On retiring from the representation in 1859,

owing to advancing age and increasing infirmities, thirteen hundred

of his workmen presented him with a silver inkstand and gold pen,

in token of their esteem. He enjoyed his leisure for only two more

years, dying in January, 1861, at the age of seventy-seven, and

leaving behind him a character for probity, virtue, manliness, and

mechanical genius, of which his descendants may well be proud.

We next turn to a career of a very different kind, that of the

illustrious but unfortunate Jacquard, whose life also illustrates

in a remarkable manner the influence which ingenious men, even of

the humblest rank, may exercise upon the industry of a nation.

Jacquard was the son of a hard-working couple of Lyons, his father

being a weaver, and his mother a pattern reader. They were too

poor to give him any but the most meagre education. When he was of

age to learn a trade, his father placed him with a book-binder. An

old clerk, who made up the master's accounts, gave Jacquard some

lessons in mathematics. He very shortly began to display a

remarkable turn for mechanics, and some of his contrivances quite

astonished the old clerk, who advised Jacquard's father to put him

to some other trade, in which his peculiar abilities might have

better scope than in bookbinding. He was accordingly put

apprentice to a cutler; but was so badly treated by his master,

that he shortly afterwards left his employment, on which he was

placed with a type-founder.

His parents dying, Jacquard found himself in a measure compelled to

take to his father's two looms, and carry on the trade of a weaver.

He immediately proceeded to improve the looms, and became so

engrossed with his inventions that he forgot his work, and very

soon found himself at the end of his means. He then sold the looms

to pay his debts, at the same time that he took upon himself the

burden of supporting a wife. He became still poorer, and to

satisfy his creditors, he next sold his cottage. He tried to find

employment, but in vain, people believing him to be an idler,

occupied with mere dreams about his inventions. At length he

obtained employment with a line-maker of Bresse, whither he went,

his wife remaining at Lyons, earning a precarious living by making

straw bonnets.

We hear nothing further of Jacquard for some years, but in the

interval he seems to have prosecuted his improvement in the

drawloom for the better manufacture of figured fabrics; for, in

1790, he brought out his contrivance for selecting the warp

threads, which, when added to the loom, superseded the services of

a draw-boy. The adoption of this machine was slow but steady, and

in ten years after its introduction, 4000 of them were found at

work in Lyons. Jacquard's pursuits were rudely interrupted by the

Revolution, and, in 1792, we find him fighting in the ranks of the

Lyonnaise Volunteers against the Army of the Convention under the

command of Dubois Crance. The city was taken; Jacquard fled and

joined the Army of the Rhine, where he rose to the rank of

sergeant. He might have remained a soldier, but that, his only son

having been shot dead at his side, he deserted and returned to

Lyons to recover his wife. He found her in a garret still employed

at her old trade of straw-bonnet making. While living in

concealment with her, his mind reverted to the inventions over

which he had so long brooded in former years; but he had no means

wherewith to prosecute them. Jacquard found it necessary, however,

to emerge from his hiding-place and try to find some employment.

He succeeded in obtaining it with an intelligent manufacturer, and

while working by day he went on inventing by night. It had

occurred to him that great improvements might still be introduced

in looms for figured goods, and he incidentally mentioned the

subject one day to his master, regretting at the same time that his

limited means prevented him from carrying out his ideas. Happily

his master appreciated the value of the suggestions, and with

laudable generosity placed a sum of money at his disposal, that he

might prosecute the proposed improvements at his leisure.

In three months Jacquard had invented a loom to substitute

mechanical action for the irksome and toilsome labour of the

workman. The loom was exhibited at the Exposition of National

Industry at Paris in 1801, and obtained a bronze medal. Jacquard

was further honoured by a visit at Lyons from the Minister Carnot,

who desired to congratulate him in person on the success of his

invention. In the following year the Society of Arts in London

offered a prize for the invention of a machine for manufacturing

fishing-nets and boarding-netting for ships. Jacquard heard of

this, and while walking one day in the fields according to his

custom, he turned the subject over in his mind, and contrived the

plan of a machine for the purpose. His friend, the manufacturer,

again furnished him with the means of carrying out his idea, and in

three weeks Jacquard had completed his invention.

Jacquard's achievement having come to the knowledge of the Prefect

of the Department, he was summoned before that functionary, and, on

his explanation of the working of the machine, a report on the

subject was forwarded to the Emperor. The inventor was forthwith

summoned to Paris with his machine, and brought into the presence

of the Emperor, who received him with the consideration due to his

genius. The interview lasted two hours, during which Jacquard,

placed at his ease by the Emperor's affability, explained to him

the improvements which he proposed to make in the looms for weaving

figured goods. The result was, that he was provided with

apartments in the Conservatoire des Arts et Metiers, where he had

the use of the workshop during his stay, and was provided with a

suitable allowance for his maintenance.

Installed in the Conservatoire, Jacquard proceeded to complete the

details of his improved loom. He had the advantage of minutely

inspecting the various exquisite pieces of mechanism contained in

that great treasury of human ingenuity. Among the machines which

more particularly attracted his attention, and eventually set him

upon the track of his discovery, was a loom for weaving flowered

silk, made by Vaucanson the celebrated automaton-maker.

Vaucanson was a man of the highest order of constructive genius.

The inventive faculty was so strong in him that it may almost be

said to have amounted to a passion, and could not be restrained.

The saying that the poet is born, not made, applies with equal

force to the inventor, who, though indebted, like the other, to

culture and improved opportunities, nevertheless contrives and

constructs new combinations of machinery mainly to gratify his own

instinct. This was peculiarly the case with Vaucanson; for his

most elaborate works were not so much distinguished for their

utility as for the curious ingenuity which they displayed. While a

mere boy attending Sunday conversations with his mother, he amused

himself by watching, through the chinks of a partition wall, part

of the movements of a clock in the adjoining apartment. He

endeavoured to understand them, and by brooding over the subject,

after several months he discovered the principle of the escapement.

From that time the subject of mechanical invention took complete

possession of him. With some rude tools which he contrived, he

made a wooden clock that marked the hours with remarkable

exactness; while he made for a miniature chapel the figures of some

angels which waved their wings, and some priests that made several

ecclesiastical movements. With the view of executing some other

automata he had designed, he proceeded to study anatomy, music, and

mechanics, which occupied him for several years. The sight of the

Flute-player in the Gardens of the Tuileries inspired him with the

resolution to invent a similar figure that should PLAY; and after

several years' study and labour, though struggling with illness, he

succeeded in accomplishing his object. He next produced a

Flageolet-player, which was succeeded by a Duck--the most ingenious

of his contrivances,--which swam, dabbled, drank, and quacked like

a real duck. He next invented an asp, employed in the tragedy of

'Cleopatre,' which hissed and darted at the bosom of the actress.

Vaucanson, however, did not confine himself merely to the making of

automata. By reason of his ingenuity, Cardinal de Fleury appointed

him inspector of the silk manufactories of France; and he was no

sooner in office, than with his usual irrepressible instinct to

invent, he proceeded to introduce improvements in silk machinery.

One of these was his mill for thrown silk, which so excited the

anger of the Lyons operatives, who feared the loss of employment

through its means, that they pelted him with stones and had nearly

killed him. He nevertheless went on inventing, and next produced a

machine for weaving flowered silks, with a contrivance for giving a

dressing to the thread, so as to render that of each bobbin or

skein of an equal thickness.

When Vaucanson died in 1782, after a long illness, he bequeathed

his collection of machines to the Queen, who seems to have set but

small value on them, and they were shortly after dispersed. But

his machine for weaving flowered silks was happily preserved in the

Conservatoire des Arts et Metiers, and there Jacquard found it

among the many curious and interesting articles in the collection.

It proved of the utmost value to him, for it immediately set him on

the track of the principal modification which he introduced in his

improved loom.

One of the chief features of Vaucanson's machine was a pierced

cylinder which, according to the holes it presented when revolved,

regulated the movement of certain needles, and caused the threads

of the warp to deviate in such a manner as to produce a given

design, though only of a simple character. Jacquard seized upon

the suggestion with avidity, and, with the genius of the true

inventor, at once proceeded to improve upon it. At the end of a

month his weaving-machine was completed. To the cylinder of

Vancanson, he added an endless piece of pasteboard pierced with a

number of holes, through which the threads of the warp were

presented to the weaver; while another piece of mechanism indicated

to the workman the colour of the shuttle which he ought to throw.

Thus the drawboy and the reader of designs were both at once

superseded. The first use Jacquard made of his new loom was to

weave with it several yards of rich stuff which he presented to the

Empress Josephine. Napoleon was highly gratified with the result

of the inventor's labours, and ordered a number of the looms to be

constructed by the best workmen, after Jacquard's model, and

presented to him; after which he returned to Lyons.

There he experienced the frequent fate of inventors. He was

regarded by his townsmen as an enemy, and treated by them as Kay,

Hargreaves, and Arkwright had been in Lancashire. The workmen

looked upon the new loom as fatal to their trade, and feared lest

it should at once take the bread from their mouths. A tumultuous

meeting was held on the Place des Terreaux, when it was determined

to destroy the machines. This was however prevented by the

military. But Jacquard was denounced and hanged in effigy. The

'Conseil des prud'hommes' in vain endeavoured to allay the

excitement, and they were themselves denounced. At length, carried

away by the popular impulse, the prud'hommes, most of whom had been

workmen and sympathized with the class, had one of Jacquard's looms

carried off and publicly broken in pieces. Riots followed, in one

of which Jacquard was dragged along the quay by an infuriated mob

intending to drown him, but he was rescued.

The great value of the Jacquard loom, however, could not be denied,

and its success was only a question of time. Jacquard was urged by

some English silk manufacturers to pass over into England and

settle there. But notwithstanding the harsh and cruel treatment he

had received at the hands of his townspeople, his patriotism was

too strong to permit him to accept their offer. The English

manufacturers, however, adopted his loom. Then it was, and only

then, that Lyons, threatened to be beaten out of the field, adopted

it with eagerness; and before long the Jacquard machine was

employed in nearly all kinds of weaving. The result proved that

the fears of the workpeople had been entirely unfounded. Instead

of diminishing employment, the Jacquard loom increased it at least

tenfold. The number of persons occupied in the manufacture of

figured goods in Lyons, was stated by M. Leon Faucher to have been

60,000 in 1833; and that number has since been considerably

increased.

As for Jacquard himself, the rest of his life passed peacefully,

excepting that the workpeople who dragged him along the quay to

drown him were shortly after found eager to bear him in triumph

along the same route in celebration of his birthday. But his

modesty would not permit him to take part in such a demonstration.

The Municipal Council of Lyons proposed to him that he should

devote himself to improving his machine for the benefit of the

local industry, to which Jacquard agreed in consideration of a

moderate pension, the amount of which was fixed by himself. After

perfecting his invention accordingly, he retired at sixty to end

his days at Oullins, his father's native place. It was there that

he received, in 1820, the decoration of the Legion of Honour; and

it was there that he died and was buried in 1834. A statue was

erected to his memory, but his relatives remained in poverty; and

twenty years after his death, his two nieces were under the

necessity of selling for a few hundred francs the gold medal

bestowed upon their uncle by Louis XVIII. "Such," says a French

writer, "was the gratitude of the manufacturing interests of Lyons

to the man to whom it owes so large a portion of its splendour."

It would be easy to extend the martyrology of inventors, and to

cite the names of other equally distinguished men who have, without

any corresponding advantage to themselves, contributed to the

industrial progress of the age,--for it has too often happened that

genius has planted the tree, of which patient dulness has gathered

the fruit; but we will confine ourselves for the present to a brief

account of an inventor of comparatively recent date, by way of

illustration of the difficulties and privations which it is so

frequently the lot of mechanical genius to surmount. We allude to

Joshua Heilmann, the inventor of the Combing Machine.

Heilmann was born in 1796 at Mulhouse, the principal seat of the

Alsace cotton manufacture. His father was engaged in that

business; and Joshua entered his office at fifteen. He remained

there for two years, employing his spare time in mechanical

drawing. He afterwards spent two years in his uncle's banking-

house in Paris, prosecuting the study of mathematics in the

evenings. Some of his relatives having established a small cotton-

spinning factory at Mulhouse, young Heilmann was placed with

Messrs. Tissot and Rey, at Paris, to learn the practice of that

firm. At the same time he became a student at the Conservatoire

des Arts et Metiers, where he attended the lectures, and studied

the machines in the museum. He also took practical lessons in

turning from a toymaker. After some time, thus diligently

occupied, he returned to Alsace, to superintend the construction of

the machinery for the new factory at Vieux-Thann, which was shortly

finished and set to work. The operations of the manufactory were,

however, seriously affected by a commercial crisis which occurred,

and it passed into other hands, on which Heilmann returned to his

family at Mulhouse.

He had in the mean time been occupying much of his leisure with

inventions, more particularly in connection with the weaving of

cotton and the preparation of the staple for spinning. One of his

earliest contrivances was an embroidering-machine, in which twenty

needles were employed, working simultaneously; and he succeeded in

accomplishing his object after about six months' labour. For this

invention, which he exhibited at the Exposition of 1834, he

received a gold medal, and was decorated with the Legion of Honour.

Other inventions quickly followed--an improved loom, a machine for

measuring and folding fabrics, an improvement of the "bobbin and

fly frames" of the English spinners, and a weft winding-machine,

with various improvements in the machinery for preparing, spinning,

and weaving silk and cotton. One of his most ingenious

contrivances was his loom for weaving simultaneously two pieces of

velvet or other piled fabric, united by the pile common to both,

with a knife and traversing apparatus for separating the two

fabrics when woven. But by far the most beautiful and ingenious of

his inventions was the combing-machine, the history of which we now

proceed shortly to describe.

Heilmann had for some years been diligently studying the

contrivance of a machine for combing long-stapled cotton, the

ordinary carding-machine being found ineffective in preparing the

raw material for spinning, especially the finer sorts of yarn,

besides causing considerable waste. To avoid these imperfections,

the cotton-spinners of Alsace offered a prize of 5000 francs for an

improved combing-machine, and Heilmann immediately proceeded to

compete for the reward. He was not stimulated by the desire of

gain, for he was comparatively rich, having acquired a considerable

fortune by his wife. It was a saying of his that "one will never

accomplish great things who is constantly asking himself, how much

gain will this bring me?" What mainly impelled him was the

irrepressible instinct of the inventor, who no sooner has a

mechanical problem set before him than he feels impelled to

undertake its solution. The problem in this case was, however,

much more difficult than he had anticipated. The close study of

the subject occupied him for several years, and the expenses in

which he became involved in connection with it were so great, that

his wife's fortune was shortly swallowed up, and he was reduced to

poverty, without being able to bring his machine to perfection.

From that time he was under the necessity of relying mainly on the

help of his friends to enable him to prosecute the invention.

While still struggling with poverty and difficulties, Heilmann's

wife died, believing her husband ruined; and shortly after he

proceeded to England and settled for a time at Manchester, still

labouring at his machine. He had a model made for him by the

eminent machine-makers, Sharpe, Roberts, and Company; but still he

could not make it work satisfactorily, and he was at length brought

almost to the verge of despair. He returned to France to visit his

family, still pursuing his idea, which had obtained complete

possession of his mind. While sitting by his hearth one evening,

meditating upon the hard fate of inventors and the misfortunes in

which their families so often become involved, he found himself

almost unconsciously watching his daughters coming their long hair

and drawing it out at full length between their fingers. The

thought suddenly struck him that if he could successfully imitate

in a machine the process of combing out the longest hair and

forcing back the short by reversing the action of the comb, it

might serve to extricate him from his difficulty. It may be

remembered that this incident in the life of Heilmann has been made

the subject of a beautiful picture by Mr. Elmore, R.A., which was

exhibited at the Royal Academy Exhibition of 1862.

Upon this idea he proceeded, introduced the apparently simple but

really most intricate process of machine-combing, and after great

labour he succeeded in perfecting the invention. The singular

beauty of the process can only be appreciated by those who have

witnessed the machine at work, when the similarity of its movements

to that of combing the hair, which suggested the invention, is at

once apparent. The machine has been described as "acting with

almost the delicacy of touch of the human fingers." It combs the

lock of cotton AT BOTH ENDS, places the fibres exactly parallel

with each other, separates the long from the short, and unites the

long fibres in one sliver and the short ones in another. In fine,

the machine not only acts with the delicate accuracy of the human

fingers, but apparently with the delicate intelligence of the human

mind.

The chief commercial value of the invention consisted in its

rendering the commoner sorts of cotton available for fine spinning.

The manufacturers were thereby enabled to select the most suitable

fibres for high-priced fabrics, and to produce the finer sorts of

yarn in much larger quantities. It became possible by its means to

make thread so fine that a length of 334 miles might be spun from a

single pound weight of the prepared cotton, and, worked up into the

finer sorts of lace, the original shilling's worth of cotton-wool,

before it passed into the hands of the consumer, might thus be

increased to the value of between 300l. and 400l. sterling.

The beauty and utility of Heilmann's invention were at once

appreciated by the English cotton-spinners. Six Lancashire firms

united and purchased the patent for cotton-spinning for England for

the sum of 30,000l; the wool-spinners paid the same sum for the

privilege of applying the process to wool; and the Messrs.

Marshall, of Leeds, 20,000l. for the privilege of applying it to

flax. Thus wealth suddenly flowed in upon poor Heilmann at last.

But he did not live to enjoy it. Scarcely had his long labours

been crowned by success than he died, and his son, who had shared

in his privations, shortly followed him.

It is at the price of lives such as these that the wonders of

civilisation are achieved.

CHAPTER III--THE GREAT POTTERS--PALISSY, BOTTGHER, WEDGWOOD

"Patience is the finest and worthiest part of fortitude, and the

rarest too . . . Patience lies at the root of all pleasures, as

well as of all powers. Hope herself ceases to be happiness when

Impatience companions her."--John Ruskin.

"Il y a vingt et cinq ans passez qu'il ne me fut monstre une coupe

de terre, tournee et esmaillee d'une telle beaute que . . .

deslors, sans avoir esgard que je n'avois nulle connoissance des

terres argileuses, je me mis a chercher les emaux, comme un homme

qui taste en tenebres."--Bernard Palissy.

It so happens that the history of Pottery furnishes some of the

most remarkable instances of patient perseverance to be found in

the whole range of biography. Of these we select three of the most

striking, as exhibited in the lives of Bernard Palissy, the

Frenchman; Johann Friedrich Bottgher, the German; and Josiah

Wedgwood, the Englishman.

Though the art of making common vessels of clay was known to most

of the ancient nations, that of manufacturing enamelled earthenware

was much less common. It was, however, practised by the ancient

Etruscans, specimens of whose ware are still to be found in

antiquarian collections. But it became a lost art, and was only

recovered at a comparatively recent date. The Etruscan ware was

very valuable in ancient times, a vase being worth its weight in

gold in the time of Augustus. The Moors seem to have preserved

amongst them a knowledge of the art, which they were found

practising in the island of Majorca when it was taken by the Pisans

in 1115. Among the spoil carried away were many plates of Moorish

earthenware, which, in token of triumph, were embedded in the walls

of several of the ancient churches of Pisa, where they are to be

seen to this day. About two centuries later the Italians began to

make an imitation enamelled ware, which they named Majolica, after

the Moorish place of manufacture.

The reviver or re-discoverer of the art of enamelling in Italy was

Luca della Robbia, a Florentine sculptor. Vasari describes him as

a man of indefatigable perseverance, working with his chisel all

day and practising drawing during the greater part of the night.

He pursued the latter art with so much assiduity, that when working

late, to prevent his feet from freezing with the cold, he was

accustomed to provide himself with a basket of shavings, in which

he placed them to keep himself warm and enable him to proceed with

his drawings. "Nor," says Vasari, "am I in the least astonished at

this, since no man ever becomes distinguished in any art whatsoever

who does not early begin to acquire the power of supporting heat,

cold, hunger, thirst, and other discomforts; whereas those persons

deceive themselves altogether who suppose that when taking their

ease and surrounded by all the enjoyments of the world they may

still attain to honourable distinction,--for it is not by sleeping,

but by waking, watching, and labouring continually, that

proficiency is attained and reputation acquired."

But Luca, notwithstanding all his application and industry, did not

succeed in earning enough money by sculpture to enable him to live

by the art, and the idea occurred to him that he might nevertheless

be able to pursue his modelling in some material more facile and

less dear than marble. Hence it was that he began to make his

models in clay, and to endeavour by experiment so to coat and bake

the clay as to render those models durable. After many trials he

at length discovered a method of covering the clay with a material,

which, when exposed to the intense heat of a furnace, became

converted into an almost imperishable enamel. He afterwards made

the further discovery of a method of imparting colour to the

enamel, thus greatly adding to its beauty.

The fame of Luca's work extended throughout Europe, and specimens

of his art became widely diffused. Many of them were sent into

France and Spain, where they were greatly prized. At that time

coarse brown jars and pipkins were almost the only articles of

earthenware produced in France; and this continued to be the case,

with comparatively small improvement, until the time of Palissy--a

man who toiled and fought against stupendous difficulties with a

heroism that sheds a glow almost of romance over the events of his

chequered life.

Bernard Palissy is supposed to have been born in the south of

France, in the diocese of Agen, about the year 1510. His father

was probably a worker in glass, to which trade Bernard was brought

up. His parents were poor people--too poor to give him the benefit

of any school education. "I had no other books," said he

afterwards, "than heaven and earth, which are open to all." He

learnt, however, the art of glass-painting, to which he added that

of drawing, and afterwards reading and writing.

When about eighteen years old, the glass trade becoming decayed,

Palissy left his father's house, with his wallet on his back, and

went out into the world to search whether there was any place in it

for him. He first travelled towards Gascony, working at his trade

where he could find employment, and occasionally occupying part of

his time in land-measuring. Then he travelled northwards,

sojourning for various periods at different places in France,

Flanders, and Lower Germany.

Thus Palissy occupied about ten more years of his life, after which

he married, and ceased from his wanderings, settling down to

practise glass-painting and land-measuring at the small town of

Saintes, in the Lower Charente. There children were born to him;

and not only his responsibilities but his expenses increased,

while, do what he could, his earnings remained too small for his

needs. It was therefore necessary for him to bestir himself.

Probably he felt capable of better things than drudging in an

employment so precarious as glass-painting; and hence he was

induced to turn his attention to the kindred art of painting and

enamelling earthenware. Yet on this subject he was wholly

ignorant; for he had never seen earth baked before he began his

operations. He had therefore everything to learn by himself,

without any helper. But he was full of hope, eager to learn, of

unbounded perseverance and inexhaustible patience.

It was the sight of an elegant cup of Italian manufacture--most

probably one of Luca della Robbia's make--which first set Palissy

a-thinking about the new art. A circumstance so apparently

insignificant would have produced no effect upon an ordinary mind,

or even upon Palissy himself at an ordinary time; but occurring as

it did when he was meditating a change of calling, he at once

became inflamed with the desire of imitating it. The sight of this

cup disturbed his whole existence; and the determination to

discover the enamel with which it was glazed thenceforward

possessed him like a passion. Had he been a single man he might

have travelled into Italy in search of the secret; but he was bound

to his wife and his children, and could not leave them; so he

remained by their side groping in the dark in the hope of finding

out the process of making and enamelling earthenware.

At first he could merely guess the materials of which the enamel

was composed; and he proceeded to try all manner of experiments to

ascertain what they really were. He pounded all the substances

which he supposed were likely to produce it. Then he bought common

earthen pots, broke them into pieces, and, spreading his compounds

over them, subjected them to the heat of a furnace which he erected

for the purpose of baking them. His experiments failed; and the

results were broken pots and a waste of fuel, drugs, time, and

labour. Women do not readily sympathise with experiments whose

only tangible effect is to dissipate the means of buying clothes

and food for their children; and Palissy's wife, however dutiful in

other respects, could not be reconciled to the purchase of more

earthen pots, which seemed to her to be bought only to be broken.

Yet she must needs submit; for Palissy had become thoroughly

possessed by the determination to master the secret of the enamel,

and would not leave it alone.

For many successive months and years Palissy pursued his

experiments. The first furnace having proved a failure, he

proceeded to erect another out of doors. There he burnt more wood,

spoiled more drugs and pots, and lost more time, until poverty

stared him and his family in the face. "Thus," said he, "I fooled

away several years, with sorrow and sighs, because I could not at

all arrive at my intention." In the intervals of his experiments

he occasionally worked at his former callings, painting on glass,

drawing portraits, and measuring land; but his earnings from these

sources were very small. At length he was no longer able to carry

on his experiments in his own furnace because of the heavy cost of

fuel; but he bought more potsherds, broke them up as before into

three or four hundred pieces, and, covering them with chemicals,

carried them to a tile-work a league and a half distant from

Saintes, there to be baked in an ordinary furnace. After the

operation he went to see the pieces taken out; and, to his dismay,

the whole of the experiments were failures. But though

disappointed, he was not yet defeated; for he determined on the

very spot to "begin afresh."

His business as a land-measurer called him away for a brief season

from the pursuit of his experiments. In conformity with an edict

of the State, it became necessary to survey the salt-marshes in the

neighbourhood of Saintes for the purpose of levying the land-tax.

Palissy was employed to make this survey, and prepare the requisite

map. The work occupied him some time, and he was doubtless well

paid for it; but no sooner was it completed than he proceeded, with

redoubled zeal, to follow up his old investigations "in the track

of the enamels." He began by breaking three dozen new earthen

pots, the pieces of which he covered with different materials which

he had compounded, and then took them to a neighbouring glass-

furnace to be baked. The results gave him a glimmer of hope. The

greater heat of the glass-furnace had melted some of the compounds;

but though Palissy searched diligently for the white enamel he

could find none.

For two more years he went on experimenting without any

satisfactory result, until the proceeds of his survey of the salt-

marshes having become nearly spent, he was reduced to poverty

again. But he resolved to make a last great effort; and he began

by breaking more pots than ever. More than three hundred pieces of

pottery covered with his compounds were sent to the glass-furnace;

and thither he himself went to watch the results of the baking.

Four hours passed, during which he watched; and then the furnace

was opened. The material on ONE only of the three hundred pieces

of potsherd had melted, and it was taken out to cool. As it

hardened, it grew white-white and polished! The piece of potsherd

was covered with white enamel, described by Palissy as "singularly

beautiful!" And beautiful it must no doubt have been in his eyes

after all his weary waiting. He ran home with it to his wife,

feeling himself, as he expressed it, quite a new creature. But the

prize was not yet won--far from it. The partial success of this

intended last effort merely had the effect of luring him on to a

succession of further experiments and failures.

In order that he might complete the invention, which he now

believed to be at hand, he resolved to build for himself a glass-

furnace near his dwelling, where he might carry on his operations

in secret. He proceeded to build the furnace with his own hands,

carrying the bricks from the brick-field upon his back. He was

bricklayer, labourer, and all. From seven to eight more months

passed. At last the furnace was built and ready for use. Palissy

had in the mean time fashioned a number of vessels of clay in

readiness for the laying on of the enamel. After being subjected

to a preliminary process of baking, they were covered with the

enamel compound, and again placed in the furnace for the grand

crucial experiment. Although his means were nearly exhausted,

Palissy had been for some time accumulating a great store of fuel

for the final effort; and he thought it was enough. At last the

fire was lit, and the operation proceeded. All day he sat by the

furnace, feeding it with fuel. He sat there watching and feeding

all through the long night. But the enamel did not melt. The sun

rose upon his labours. His wife brought him a portion of the

scanty morning meal,--for he would not stir from the furnace, into

which he continued from time to time to heave more fuel. The

second day passed, and still the enamel did not melt. The sun set,

and another night passed. The pale, haggard, unshorn, baffled yet

not beaten Palissy sat by his furnace eagerly looking for the

melting of the enamel. A third day and night passed--a fourth, a

fifth, and even a sixth,--yes, for six long days and nights did the

unconquerable Palissy watch and toil, fighting against hope; and

still the enamel would not melt.

It then occurred to him that there might be some defect in the

materials for the enamel--perhaps something wanting in the flux; so

he set to work to pound and compound fresh materials for a new

experiment. Thus two or three more weeks passed. But how to buy

more pots?--for those which he had made with his own hands for the

purposes of the first experiment were by long baking irretrievably

spoilt for the purposes of a second. His money was now all spent;

but he could borrow. His character was still good, though his wife

and the neighbours thought him foolishly wasting his means in

futile experiments. Nevertheless he succeeded. He borrowed

sufficient from a friend to enable him to buy more fuel and more

pots, and he was again ready for a further experiment. The pots

were covered with the new compound, placed in the furnace, and the

fire was again lit.

It was the last and most desperate experiment of the whole. The

fire blazed up; the heat became intense; but still the enamel did

not melt. The fuel began to run short! How to keep up the fire?

There were the garden palings: these would burn. They must be

sacrificed rather than that the great experiment should fail. The

garden palings were pulled up and cast into the furnace. They were

burnt in vain! The enamel had not yet melted. Ten minutes more

heat might do it. Fuel must be had at whatever cost. There

remained the household furniture and shelving. A crashing noise

was heard in the house; and amidst the screams of his wife and

children, who now feared Palissy's reason was giving way, the

tables were seized, broken up, and heaved into the furnace. The

enamel had not melted yet! There remained the shelving. Another

noise of the wrenching of timber was heard within the house; and

the shelves were torn down and hurled after the furniture into the

fire. Wife and children then rushed from the house, and went

frantically through the town, calling out that poor Palissy had

gone mad, and was breaking up his very furniture for firewood! {10}

For an entire month his shirt had not been off his back, and he was

utterly worn out--wasted with toil, anxiety, watching, and want of

food. He was in debt, and seemed on the verge of ruin. But he had

at length mastered the secret; for the last great burst of heat had

melted the enamel. The common brown household jars, when taken out

of the furnace after it had become cool, were found covered with a

white glaze! For this he could endure reproach, contumely, and

scorn, and wait patiently for the opportunity of putting his

discovery into practice as better days came round.

Palissy next hired a potter to make some earthen vessels after

designs which he furnished; while he himself proceeded to model

some medallions in clay for the purpose of enamelling them. But

how to maintain himself and his family until the wares were made

and ready for sale? Fortunately there remained one man in Saintes

who still believed in the integrity, if not in the judgment, of

Palissy--an inn-keeper, who agreed to feed and lodge him for six

months, while he went on with his manufacture. As for the working

potter whom he had hired, Palissy soon found that he could not pay

him the stipulated wages. Having already stripped his dwelling, he

could but strip himself; and he accordingly parted with some of his

clothes to the potter, in part payment of the wages which he owed

him.

Palissy next erected an improved furnace, but he was so unfortunate

as to build part of the inside with flints. When it was heated,

these flints cracked and burst, and the spiculae were scattered

over the pieces of pottery, sticking to them. Though the enamel

came out right, the work was irretrievably spoilt, and thus six

more months' labour was lost. Persons were found willing to buy

the articles at a low price, notwithstanding the injury they had

sustained; but Palissy would not sell them, considering that to

have done so would be to "decry and abate his honour;" and so he

broke in pieces the entire batch. "Nevertheless," says he, "hope

continued to inspire me, and I held on manfully; sometimes, when

visitors called, I entertained them with pleasantry, while I was

really sad at heart. . . . Worst of all the sufferings I had to

endure, were the mockeries and persecutions of those of my own

household, who were so unreasonable as to expect me to execute work

without the means of doing so. For years my furnaces were without

any covering or protection, and while attending them I have been

for nights at the mercy of the wind and the rain, without help or

consolation, save it might be the wailing of cats on the one side

and the howling of dogs on the other. Sometimes the tempest would

beat so furiously against the furnaces that I was compelled to

leave them and seek shelter within doors. Drenched by rain, and in

no better plight than if I had been dragged through mire, I have

gone to lie down at midnight or at daybreak, stumbling into the

house without a light, and reeling from one side to another as if I

had been drunken, but really weary with watching and filled with

sorrow at the loss of my labour after such long toiling. But alas!

my home proved no refuge; for, drenched and besmeared as I was, I

found in my chamber a second persecution worse than the first,

which makes me even now marvel that I was not utterly consumed by

my many sorrows."

At this stage of his affairs, Palissy became melancholy and almost

hopeless, and seems to have all but broken down. He wandered

gloomily about the fields near Saintes, his clothes hanging in

tatters, and himself worn to a skeleton. In a curious passage in

his writings he describes how that the calves of his legs had

disappeared and were no longer able with the help of garters to

hold up his stockings, which fell about his heels when he walked.

{11} The family continued to reproach him for his recklessness,

and his neighbours cried shame upon him for his obstinate folly.

So he returned for a time to his former calling; and after about a

year's diligent labour, during which he earned bread for his

household and somewhat recovered his character among his

neighbours, he again resumed his darling enterprise. But though he

had already spent about ten years in the search for the enamel, it

cost him nearly eight more years of experimental plodding before he

perfected his invention. He gradually learnt dexterity and

certainty of result by experience, gathering practical knowledge

out of many failures. Every mishap was a fresh lesson to him,

teaching him something new about the nature of enamels, the

qualities of argillaceous earths, the tempering of clays, and the

construction and management of furnaces.

At last, after about sixteen years' labour, Palissy took heart and

called himself Potter. These sixteen years had been his term of

apprenticeship to the art; during which he had wholly to teach

himself, beginning at the very beginning. He was now able to sell

his wares and thereby maintain his family in comfort. But he never

rested satisfied with what he had accomplished. He proceeded from

one step of improvement to another; always aiming at the greatest

perfection possible. He studied natural objects for patterns, and

with such success that the great Buffon spoke of him as "so great a

naturalist as Nature only can produce." His ornamental pieces are

now regarded as rare gems in the cabinets of virtuosi, and sell at

almost fabulous prices. {12} The ornaments on them are for the

most part accurate models from life, of wild animals, lizards, and

plants, found in the fields about Saintes, and tastefully combined

as ornaments into the texture of a plate or vase. When Palissy had

reached the height of his art he styled himself "Ouvrier de Terre

et Inventeur des Rustics Figulines."

We have not, however, come to an end of the sufferings of Palissy,

respecting which a few words remain to be said. Being a

Protestant, at a time when religious persecution waxed hot in the

south of France, and expressing his views without fear, he was

regarded as a dangerous heretic. His enemies having informed

against him, his house at Saintes was entered by the officers of

"justice," and his workshop was thrown open to the rabble, who

entered and smashed his pottery, while he himself was hurried off

by night and cast into a dungeon at Bordeaux, to wait his turn at

the stake or the scaffold. He was condemned to be burnt; but a

powerful noble, the Constable de Montmorency, interposed to save

his life--not because he had any special regard for Palissy or his

religion, but because no other artist could be found capable of

executing the enamelled pavement for his magnificent chateau then

in course of erection at Ecouen, about four leagues from Paris. By

his influence an edict was issued appointing Palissy Inventor of

Rustic Figulines to the King and to the Constable, which had the

effect of immediately removing him from the jurisdiction of

Bourdeaux. He was accordingly liberated, and returned to his home

at Saintes only to find it devastated and broken up. His workshop

was open to the sky, and his works lay in ruins. Shaking the dust

of Saintes from his feet he left the place never to return to it,

and removed to Paris to carry on the works ordered of him by the

Constable and the Queen Mother, being lodged in the Tuileries {13}

while so occupied.

Besides carrying on the manufacture of pottery, with the aid of his

two sons, Palissy, during the latter part of his life, wrote and

published several books on the potter's art, with a view to the

instruction of his countrymen, and in order that they might avoid

the many mistakes which he himself had made. He also wrote on

agriculture, on fortification, and natural history, on which latter

subject he even delivered lectures to a limited number of persons.

He waged war against astrology, alchemy, witchcraft, and like

impostures. This stirred up against him many enemies, who pointed

the finger at him as a heretic, and he was again arrested for his

religion and imprisoned in the Bastille. He was now an old man of

seventy-eight, trembling on the verge of the grave, but his spirit

was as brave as ever. He was threatened with death unless he

recanted; but he was as obstinate in holding to his religion as he

had been in hunting out the secret of the enamel. The king, Henry

III., even went to see him in prison to induce him to abjure his

faith. "My good man," said the King, "you have now served my

mother and myself for forty-five years. We have put up with your

adhering to your religion amidst fires and massacres: now I am so

pressed by the Guise party as well as by my own people, that I am

constrained to leave you in the hands of your enemies, and to-

morrow you will be burnt unless you become converted." "Sire,"

answered the unconquerable old man, "I am ready to give my life for

the glory of God. You have said many times that you have pity on

me; and now I have pity on you, who have pronounced the words _I_

AM CONSTRAINED! It is not spoken like a king, sire; it is what

you, and those who constrain you, the Guisards and all your people,

can never effect upon me, for I know how to die." {14} Palissy did

indeed die shortly after, a martyr, though not at the stake. He

died in the Bastille, after enduring about a year's imprisonment,--

there peacefully terminating a life distinguished for heroic

labour, extraordinary endurance, inflexible rectitude, and the

exhibition of many rare and noble virtues. {15}

The life of John Frederick Bottgher, the inventor of hard

porcelain, presents a remarkable contrast to that of Palissy;

though it also contains many points of singular and almost romantic

interest. Bottgher was born at Schleiz, in the Voightland, in

1685, and at twelve years of age was placed apprentice with an

apothecary at Berlin. He seems to have been early fascinated by

chemistry, and occupied most of his leisure in making experiments.

These for the most part tended in one direction--the art of

converting common on metals into gold. At the end of several

years, Bottgher pretended to have discovered the universal solvent

of the alchemists, and professed that he had made gold by its

means. He exhibited its powers before his master, the apothecary

Zorn, and by some trick or other succeeded in making him and

several other witnesses believe that he had actually converted

copper into gold.

The news spread abroad that the apothecary's apprentice had

discovered the grand secret, and crowds collected about the shop to

get a sight of the wonderful young "gold-cook." The king himself

expressed a wish to see and converse with him, and when Frederick

I. was presented with a piece of the gold pretended to have been

converted from copper, he was so dazzled with the prospect of

securing an infinite quantity of it--Prussia being then in great

straits for money--that he determined to secure Bottgher and employ

him to make gold for him within the strong fortress of Spandau.

But the young apothecary, suspecting the king's intention, and

probably fearing detection, at once resolved on flight, and he

succeeded in getting across the frontier into Saxony.

A reward of a thousand thalers was offered for Bottgher's

apprehension, but in vain. He arrived at Wittenberg, and appealed

for protection to the Elector of Saxony, Frederick Augustus I.

(King of Poland), surnamed "the Strong." Frederick was himself

very much in want of money at the time, and he was overjoyed at the

prospect of obtaining gold in any quantity by the aid of the young

alchemist. Bottgher was accordingly conveyed in secret to Dresden,

accompanied by a royal escort. He had scarcely left Wittenberg

when a battalion of Prussian grenadiers appeared before the gates

demanding the gold-maker's extradition. But it was too late:

Bottgher had already arrived in Dresden, where he was lodged in the

Golden House, and treated with every consideration, though strictly

watched and kept under guard.

The Elector, however, must needs leave him there for a time, having

to depart forthwith to Poland, then almost in a state of anarchy.

But, impatient for gold, he wrote Bottgher from Warsaw, urging him

to communicate the secret, so that he himself might practise the

art of commutation. The young "gold-cook," thus pressed, forwarded

to Frederick a small phial containing "a reddish fluid," which, it

was asserted, changed all metals, when in a molten state, into

gold. This important phial was taken in charge by the Prince Furst

von Furstenburg, who, accompanied by a regiment of Guards, hurried

with it to Warsaw. Arrived there, it was determined to make

immediate trial of the process. The King and the Prince locked

themselves up in a secret chamber of the palace, girt themselves

about with leather aprons, and like true "gold-cooks" set to work

melting copper in a crucible and afterwards applying to it the red

fluid of Bottgher. But the result was unsatisfactory; for

notwithstanding all that they could do, the copper obstinately

remained copper. On referring to the alchemist's instructions,

however, the King found that, to succeed with the process, it was

necessary that the fluid should be used "in great purity of heart;"

and as his Majesty was conscious of having spent the evening in

very bad company he attributed the failure of the experiment to

that cause. A second trial was followed by no better results, and

then the King became furious; for he had confessed and received

absolution before beginning the second experiment.

Frederick Augustus now resolved on forcing Bottgher to disclose the

golden secret, as the only means of relief from his urgent

pecuniary difficulties. The alchemist, hearing of the royal

intention, again determined to fly. He succeeded in escaping his

guard, and, after three days' travel, arrived at Ens in Austria,

where he thought himself safe. The agents of the Elector were,

however, at his heels; they had tracked him to the "Golden Stag,"

which they surrounded, and seizing him in his bed, notwithstanding

his resistance and appeals to the Austrian authorities for help,

they carried him by force to Dresden. From this time he was more

strictly watched than ever, and he was shortly after transferred to

the strong fortress of Koningstein. It was communicated to him

that the royal exchequer was completely empty, and that ten

regiments of Poles in arrears of pay were waiting for his gold.

The King himself visited him, and told him in a severe tone that if

he did not at once proceed to make gold, he would be hung! ("Thu

mir zurecht, Bottgher, sonst lass ich dich hangen").

Years passed, and still Bottgher made no gold; but he was not hung.

It was reserved for him to make a far more important discovery than

the conversion of copper into gold, namely, the conversion of clay

into porcelain. Some rare specimens of this ware had been brought

by the Portuguese from China, which were sold for more than their

weight in gold. Bottgher was first induced to turn his attention

to the subject by Walter von Tschirnhaus, a maker of optical

instruments, also an alchemist. Tschirnhaus was a man of education

and distinction, and was held in much esteem by Prince Furstenburg

as well as by the Elector. He very sensibly said to Bottgher,

still in fear of the gallows--"If you can't make gold, try and do

something else; make porcelain."

The alchemist acted on the hint, and began his experiments, working

night and day. He prosecuted his investigations for a long time

with great assiduity, but without success. At length some red

clay, brought to him for the purpose of making his crucibles, set

him on the right track. He found that this clay, when submitted to

a high temperature, became vitrified and retained its shape; and

that its texture resembled that of porcelain, excepting in colour

and opacity. He had in fact accidentally discovered red porcelain,

and he proceeded to manufacture it and sell it as porcelain.

Bottgher was, however, well aware that the white colour was an

essential property of true porcelain; and he therefore prosecuted

his experiments in the hope of discovering the secret. Several

years thus passed, but without success; until again accident stood

his friend, and helped him to a knowledge of the art of making

white porcelain. One day, in the year 1707, he found his perruque

unusually heavy, and asked of his valet the reason. The answer

was, that it was owing to the powder with which the wig was

dressed, which consisted of a kind of earth then much used for hair

powder. Bottgher's quick imagination immediately seized upon the

idea. This white earthy powder might possibly be the very earth of

which he was in search--at all events the opportunity must not be

let slip of ascertaining what it really was. He was rewarded for

his painstaking care and watchfulness; for he found, on experiment,

that the principal ingredient of the hair-powder consisted of

kaolin, the want of which had so long formed an insuperable

difficulty in the way of his inquiries.

The discovery, in Bottgher's intelligent hands, led to great

results, and proved of far greater importance than the discovery of

the philosopher's stone would have been. In October, 1707, he

presented his first piece of porcelain to the Elector, who was

greatly pleased with it; and it was resolved that Bottgher should

be furnished with the means necessary for perfecting his invention.

Having obtained a skilled workman from Delft, he began to TURN

porcelain with great success. He now entirely abandoned alchemy

for pottery, and inscribed over the door of his workshop this

distich:-

"Es machte Gott, der grosse Schopfer,

Aus einem Goldmacher einen Topfer." {16}

Bottgher, however, was still under strict surveillance, for fear

lest he should communicate his secret to others or escape the

Elector's control. The new workshops and furnaces which were

erected for him, were guarded by troops night and day, and six

superior officers were made responsible for the personal security

of the potter.

Bottgher's further experiments with his new furnaces proving very

successful, and the porcelain which he manufactured being found to

fetch large prices, it was next determined to establish a Royal

Manufactory of porcelain. The manufacture of delft ware was known

to have greatly enriched Holland. Why should not the manufacture

of porcelain equally enrich the Elector? Accordingly, a decree

went forth, dated the 23rd of January, 1710, for the establishment

of "a large manufactory of porcelain" at the Albrechtsburg in

Meissen. In this decree, which was translated into Latin, French,

and Dutch, and distributed by the Ambassadors of the Elector at all

the European Courts, Frederick Augustus set forth that to promote

the welfare of Saxony, which had suffered much through the Swedish

invasion, he had "directed his attention to the subterranean

treasures (unterirdischen Schatze)" of the country, and having

employed some able persons in the investigation, they had succeeded

in manufacturing "a sort of red vessels (eine Art rother Gefasse)

far superior to the Indian terra sigillata;" {17} as also "coloured

ware and plates (buntes Geschirr und Tafeln) which may be cut,

ground, and polished, and are quite equal to Indian vessels," and

finally that "specimens of white porcelain (Proben von weissem

Porzellan)" had already been obtained, and it was hoped that this

quality, too, would soon be manufactured in considerable

quantities. The royal decree concluded by inviting "foreign

artists and handicraftmen" to come to Saxony and engage as

assistants in the new factory, at high wages, and under the

patronage of the King. This royal edict probably gives the best

account of the actual state of Bottgher's invention at the time.

It has been stated in German publications that Bottgher, for the

great services rendered by him to the Elector and to Saxony, was

made Manager of the Royal Porcelain Works, and further promoted to

the dignity of Baron. Doubtless he deserved these honours; but his

treatment was of an altogether different character, for it was

shabby, cruel, and inhuman. Two royal officials, named Matthieu

and Nehmitz, were put over his head as directors of the factory,

while he himself only held the position of foreman of potters, and

at the same time was detained the King's prisoner. During the

erection of the factory at Meissen, while his assistance was still

indispensable, he was conducted by soldiers to and from Dresden;

and even after the works were finished, he was locked up nightly in

his room. All this preyed upon his mind, and in repeated letters

to the King he sought to obtain mitigation of his fate. Some of

these letters are very touching. "I will devote my whole soul to

the art of making porcelain," he writes on one occasion, "I will do

more than any inventor ever did before; only give me liberty,

liberty!"

To these appeals, the King turned a deaf ear. He was ready to

spend money and grant favours; but liberty he would not give. He

regarded Bottgher as his slave. In this position, the persecuted

man kept on working for some time, till, at the end of a year or

two, he grew negligent. Disgusted with the world and with himself,

he took to drinking. Such is the force of example, that it no

sooner became known that Bottgher had betaken himself to this vice,

than the greater number of the workmen at the Meissen factory

became drunkards too. Quarrels and fightings without end were the

consequence, so that the troops were frequently called upon to

interfere and keep peace among the "Porzellanern," as they were

nicknamed. After a while, the whole of them, more than three

hundred, were shut up in the Albrechtsburg, and treated as

prisoners of state.

Bottgher at last fell seriously ill, and in May, 1713, his

dissolution was hourly expected. The King, alarmed at losing so

valuable a slave, now gave him permission to take carriage exercise

under a guard; and, having somewhat recovered, he was allowed

occasionally to go to Dresden. In a letter written by the King in

April, 1714, Bottgher was promised his full liberty; but the offer

came too late. Broken in body and mind, alternately working and

drinking, though with occasional gleams of nobler intention, and

suffering under constant ill-health, the result of his enforced

confinement, Bottgher lingered on for a few years more, until death

freed him from his sufferings on the 13th March, 1719, in the

thirty-fifth year of his age. He was buried AT NIGHT--as if he had

been a dog--in the Johannis Cemetery of Meissen. Such was the

treatment and such the unhappy end, of one of Saxony's greatest

benefactors.

The porcelain manufacture immediately opened up an important source

of public revenue, and it became so productive to the Elector of

Saxony, that his example was shortly after followed by most

European monarchs. Although soft porcelain had been made at St.

Cloud fourteen years before Bottgher's discovery, the superiority

of the hard porcelain soon became generally recognised. Its

manufacture was begun at Sevres in 1770, and it has since almost

entirely superseded the softer material. This is now one of the

most thriving branches of French industry, of which the high

quality of the articles produced is certainly indisputable.

The career of Josiah Wedgwood, the English potter, was less

chequered and more prosperous than that of either Palissy or

Bottgher, and his lot was cast in happier times. Down to the

middle of last century England was behind most other nations of the

first order in Europe in respect of skilled industry. Although

there were many potters in Staffordshire--and Wedgwood himself

belonged to a numerous clan of potters of the same name--their

productions were of the rudest kind, for the most part only plain

brown ware, with the patterns scratched in while the clay was wet.

The principal supply of the better articles of earthenware came

from Delft in Holland, and of drinking stone pots from Cologne.

Two foreign potters, the brothers Elers from Nuremberg, settled for

a time in Staffordshire, and introduced an improved manufacture,

but they shortly after removed to Chelsea, where they confined

themselves to the manufacture of ornamental pieces. No porcelain

capable of resisting a scratch with a hard point had yet been made

in England; and for a long time the "white ware" made in

Staffordshire was not white, but of a dirty cream colour. Such, in

a few words, was the condition of the pottery manufacture when

Josiah Wedgwood was born at Burslem in 1730. By the time that he

died, sixty-four years later, it had become completely changed. By

his energy, skill, and genius, he established the trade upon a new

and solid foundation; and, in the words of his epitaph, "converted

a rude and inconsiderable manufacture into an elegant art and an

important branch of national commerce."

Josiah Wedgwood was one of those indefatigable men who from time to

time spring from the ranks of the common people, and by their

energetic character not only practically educate the working

population in habits of industry, but by the example of diligence

and perseverance which they set before them, largely influence the

public activity in all directions, and contribute in a great degree

to form the national character. He was, like Arkwright, the

youngest of a family of thirteen children. His grandfather and

granduncle were both potters, as was also his father who died when

he was a mere boy, leaving him a patrimony of twenty pounds. He

had learned to read and write at the village school; but on the

death of his father he was taken from it and set to work as a

"thrower" in a small pottery carried on by his elder brother.

There he began life, his working life, to use his own words, "at

the lowest round of the ladder," when only eleven years old. He

was shortly after seized by an attack of virulent smallpox, from

the effects of which he suffered during the rest of his life, for

it was followed by a disease in the right knee, which recurred at

frequent intervals, and was only got rid of by the amputation of

the limb many years later. Mr. Gladstone, in his eloquent Eloge on

Wedgwood recently delivered at Burslem, well observed that the

disease from which he suffered was not improbably the occasion of

his subsequent excellence. "It prevented him from growing up to be

the active, vigorous English workman, possessed of all his limbs,

and knowing right well the use of them; but it put him upon

considering whether, as he could not be that, he might not be

something else, and something greater. It sent his mind inwards;

it drove him to meditate upon the laws and secrets of his art. The

result was, that he arrived at a perception and a grasp of them

which might, perhaps, have been envied, certainly have been owned,

by an Athenian potter." {18}

When he had completed his apprenticeship with his brother, Josiah

joined partnership with another workman, and carried on a small

business in making knife-hafts, boxes, and sundry articles for

domestic use. Another partnership followed, when he proceeded to

make melon table plates, green pickle leaves, candlesticks,

snuffboxes, and such like articles; but he made comparatively

little progress until he began business on his own account at

Burslem in the year 1759. There he diligently pursued his calling,

introducing new articles to the trade, and gradually extending his

business. What he chiefly aimed at was to manufacture cream-

coloured ware of a better quality than was then produced in

Staffordshire as regarded shape, colour, glaze, and durability. To

understand the subject thoroughly, he devoted his leisure to the

study of chemistry; and he made numerous experiments on fluxes,

glazes, and various sorts of clay. Being a close inquirer and

accurate observer, he noticed that a certain earth containing

silica, which was black before calcination, became white after

exposure to the heat of a furnace. This fact, observed and

pondered on, led to the idea of mixing silica with the red powder

of the potteries, and to the discovery that the mixture becomes

white when calcined. He had but to cover this material with a

vitrification of transparent glaze, to obtain one of the most

important products of fictile art--that which, under the name of

English earthenware, was to attain the greatest commercial value

and become of the most extensive utility.

Wedgwood was for some time much troubled by his furnaces, though

nothing like to the same extent that Palissy was; and he overcame

his difficulties in the same way--by repeated experiments and

unfaltering perseverance. His first attempts at making porcelain

for table use was a succession of disastrous failures,--the labours

of months being often destroyed in a day. It was only after a long

series of trials, in the course of which he lost time, money, and

labour, that he arrived at the proper sort of glaze to be used; but

he would not be denied, and at last he conquered success through

patience. The improvement of pottery became his passion, and was

never lost sight of for a moment. Even when he had mastered his

difficulties, and become a prosperous man--manufacturing white

stone ware and cream-coloured ware in large quantities for home and

foreign use--he went forward perfecting his manufactures, until,

his example extending in all directions, the action of the entire

district was stimulated, and a great branch of British industry was

eventually established on firm foundations. He aimed throughout at

the highest excellence, declaring his determination "to give over

manufacturing any article, whatsoever it might be, rather than to

degrade it."

Wedgwood was cordially helped by many persons of rank and

influence; for, working in the truest spirit, he readily commanded

the help and encouragement of other true workers. He made for

Queen Charlotte the first royal table-service of English

manufacture, of the kind afterwards called "Queen's-ware," and was

appointed Royal Potter; a title which he prized more than if he had

been made a baron. Valuable sets of porcelain were entrusted to

him for imitation, in which he succeeded to admiration. Sir

William Hamilton lent him specimens of ancient art from

Herculaneum, of which he produced accurate and beautiful copies.

The Duchess of Portland outbid him for the Barberini Vase when that

article was offered for sale. He bid as high as seventeen hundred

guineas for it: her grace secured it for eighteen hundred; but

when she learnt Wedgwood's object she at once generously lent him

the vase to copy. He produced fifty copies at a cost of about

2500l., and his expenses were not covered by their sale; but he

gained his object, which was to show that whatever had been done,

that English skill and energy could and would accomplish.

Wedgwood called to his aid the crucible of the chemist, the

knowledge of the antiquary, and the skill of the artist. He found

out Flaxman when a youth, and while he liberally nurtured his

genius drew from him a large number of beautiful designs for his

pottery and porcelain; converting them by his manufacture into

objects of taste and excellence, and thus making them instrumental

in the diffusion of classical art amongst the people. By careful

experiment and study he was even enabled to rediscover the art of

painting on porcelain or earthenware vases and similar articles--an

art practised by the ancient Etruscans, but which had been lost

since the time of Pliny. He distinguished himself by his own

contributions to science, and his name is still identified with the

Pyrometer which he invented. He was an indefatigable supporter of

all measures of public utility; and the construction of the Trent

and Mersey Canal, which completed the navigable communication

between the eastern and western sides of the island, was mainly due

to his public-spirited exertions, allied to the engineering skill

of Brindley. The road accommodation of the district being of an

execrable character, he planned and executed a turnpike-road

through the Potteries, ten miles in length. The reputation he

achieved was such that his works at Burslem, and subsequently those

at Etruria, which he founded and built, became a point of

attraction to distinguished visitors from all parts of Europe.

The result of Wedgwood's labours was, that the manufacture of

pottery, which he found in the very lowest condition, became one of

the staples of England; and instead of importing what we needed for

home use from abroad, we became large exporters to other countries,

supplying them with earthenware even in the face of enormous

prohibitory duties on articles of British produce. Wedgwood gave

evidence as to his manufactures before Parliament in 1785, only

some thirty years after he had begun his operations; from which it

appeared, that instead of providing only casual employment to a

small number of inefficient and badly remunerated workmen, about

20,000 persons then derived their bread directly from the

manufacture of earthenware, without taking into account the

increased numbers to which it gave employment in coal-mines, and in

the carrying trade by land and sea, and the stimulus which it gave

to employment in many ways in various parts of the country. Yet,

important as had been the advances made in his time, Mr. Wedgwood

was of opinion that the manufacture was but in its infancy, and

that the improvements which he had effected were of but small

amount compared with those to which the art was capable of

attaining, through the continued industry and growing intelligence

of the manufacturers, and the natural facilities and political

advantages enjoyed by Great Britain; an opinion which has been

fully borne out by the progress which has since been effected in

this important branch of industry. In 1852 not fewer than

84,000,000 pieces of pottery were exported from England to other

countries, besides what were made for home use. But it is not

merely the quantity and value of the produce that is entitled to

consideration, but the improvement of the condition of the

population by whom this great branch of industry is conducted.

When Wedgwood began his labours, the Staffordshire district was

only in a half-civilized state. The people were poor,

uncultivated, and few in number. When Wedgwood's manufacture was

firmly established, there was found ample employment at good wages

for three times the number of population; while their moral

advancement had kept pace with their material improvement.

Men such as these are fairly entitled to take rank as the

Industrial Heroes of the civilized world. Their patient self-

reliance amidst trials and difficulties, their courage and

perseverance in the pursuit of worthy objects, are not less heroic

of their kind than the bravery and devotion of the soldier and the

sailor, whose duty and pride it is heroically to defend what these

valiant leaders of industry have so heroically achieved.

CHAPTER IV--APPLICATION AND PERSEVERANCE

"Rich are the diligent, who can command

Time, nature's stock! and could his hour-glass fall,

Would, as for seed of stars, stoop for the sand,

And, by incessant labour, gather all."--D'Avenant.

"Allez en avant, et la foi vous viendra!"--D'Alembert.

The greatest results in life are usually attained by simple means,

and the exercise of ordinary qualities. The common life of every

day, with its cares, necessities, and duties, affords ample

opportunity for acquiring experience of the best kind; and its most

beaten paths provide the true worker with abundant scope for effort

and room for self-improvement. The road of human welfare lies

along the old highway of steadfast well-doing; and they who are the

most persistent, and work in the truest spirit, will usually be the

most successful.

Fortune has often been blamed for her blindness; but fortune is not

so blind as men are. Those who look into practical life will find

that fortune is usually on the side of the industrious, as the

winds and waves are on the side of the best navigators. In the

pursuit of even the highest branches of human inquiry, the commoner

qualities are found the most useful--such as common sense,

attention, application, and perseverance. Genius may not be

necessary, though even genius of the highest sort does not disdain

the use of these ordinary qualities. The very greatest men have

been among the least believers in the power of genius, and as

worldly wise and persevering as successful men of the commoner

sort. Some have even defined genius to be only common sense

intensified. A distinguished teacher and president of a college

spoke of it as the power of making efforts. John Foster held it to

be the power of lighting one's own fire. Buffon said of genius "it

is patience."

Newton's was unquestionably a mind of the very highest order, and

yet, when asked by what means he had worked out his extraordinary

discoveries, he modestly answered, "By always thinking unto them."

At another time he thus expressed his method of study: "I keep the

subject continually before me, and wait till the first dawnings

open slowly by little and little into a full and clear light." It

was in Newton's case, as in every other, only by diligent

application and perseverance that his great reputation was

achieved. Even his recreation consisted in change of study, laying

down one subject to take up another. To Dr. Bentley he said: "If

I have done the public any service, it is due to nothing but

industry and patient thought." So Kepler, another great

philosopher, speaking of his studies and his progress, said: "As

in Virgil, 'Fama mobilitate viget, vires acquirit eundo,' so it was

with me, that the diligent thought on these things was the occasion

of still further thinking; until at last I brooded with the whole

energy of my mind upon the subject."

The extraordinary results effected by dint of sheer industry and

perseverance, have led many distinguished men to doubt whether the

gift of genius be so exceptional an endowment as it is usually

supposed to be. Thus Voltaire held that it is only a very slight

line of separation that divides the man of genius from the man of

ordinary mould. Beccaria was even of opinion that all men might be

poets and orators, and Reynolds that they might be painters and

sculptors. If this were really so, that stolid Englishman might

not have been so very far wrong after all, who, on Canova's death,

inquired of his brother whether it was "his intention to carry on

the business!" Locke, Helvetius, and Diderot believed that all men

have an equal aptitude for genius, and that what some are able to

effect, under the laws which regulate the operations of the

intellect, must also be within the reach of others who, under like

circumstances, apply themselves to like pursuits. But while

admitting to the fullest extent the wonderful achievements of

labour, and recognising the fact that men of the most distinguished

genius have invariably been found the most indefatigable workers,

it must nevertheless be sufficiently obvious that, without the

original endowment of heart and brain, no amount of labour, however

well applied, could have produced a Shakespeare, a Newton, a

Beethoven, or a Michael Angelo.

Dalton, the chemist, repudiated the notion of his being "a genius,"

attributing everything which he had accomplished to simple industry

and accumulation. John Hunter said of himself, "My mind is like a

beehive; but full as it is of buzz and apparent confusion, it is

yet full of order and regularity, and food collected with incessant

industry from the choicest stores of nature." We have, indeed, but

to glance at the biographies of great men to find that the most

distinguished inventors, artists, thinkers, and workers of all

kinds, owe their success, in a great measure, to their

indefatigable industry and application. They were men who turned

all things to gold--even time itself. Disraeli the elder held that

the secret of success consisted in being master of your subject,

such mastery being attainable only through continuous application

and study. Hence it happens that the men who have most moved the

world, have not been so much men of genius, strictly so called, as

men of intense mediocre abilities, and untiring perseverance; not

so often the gifted, of naturally bright and shining qualities, as

those who have applied themselves diligently to their work, in

whatsoever line that might lie. "Alas!" said a widow, speaking of

her brilliant but careless son, "he has not the gift of

continuance." Wanting in perseverance, such volatile natures are

outstripped in the race of life by the diligent and even the dull.

"Che va piano, va longano, e va lontano," says the Italian proverb:

Who goes slowly, goes long, and goes far.

Hence, a great point to be aimed at is to get the working quality

well trained. When that is done, the race will be found

comparatively easy. We must repeat and again repeat; facility will

come with labour. Not even the simplest art can be accomplished

without it; and what difficulties it is found capable of achieving!

It was by early discipline and repetition that the late Sir Robert

Peel cultivated those remarkable, though still mediocre powers,

which rendered him so illustrious an ornament of the British

Senate. When a boy at Drayton Manor, his father was accustomed to

set him up at table to practise speaking extempore; and he early

accustomed him to repeat as much of the Sunday's sermon as he could

remember. Little progress was made at first, but by steady

perseverance the habit of attention became powerful, and the sermon

was at length repeated almost verbatim. When afterwards replying

in succession to the arguments of his parliamentary opponents--an

art in which he was perhaps unrivalled--it was little surmised that

the extraordinary power of accurate remembrance which he displayed

on such occasions had been originally trained under the discipline

of his father in the parish church of Drayton.

It is indeed marvellous what continuous application will effect in

the commonest of things. It may seem a simple affair to play upon

a violin; yet what a long and laborious practice it requires!

Giardini said to a youth who asked him how long it would take to

learn it, "Twelve hours a day for twenty years together."

Industry, it is said, fait l'ours danser. The poor figurante must

devote years of incessant toil to her profitless task before she

can shine in it. When Taglioni was preparing herself for her

evening exhibition, she would, after a severe two hours' lesson

from her father, fall down exhausted, and had to be undressed,

sponged, and resuscitated totally unconscious. The agility and

bounds of the evening were insured only at a price like this.

Progress, however, of the best kind, is comparatively slow. Great

results cannot be achieved at once; and we must be satisfied to

advance in life as we walk, step by step. De Maistre says that "to

know HOW TO WAIT is the great secret of success." We must sow

before we can reap, and often have to wait long, content meanwhile

to look patiently forward in hope; the fruit best worth waiting for

often ripening the slowest. But "time and patience," says the

Eastern proverb, "change the mulberry leaf to satin."

To wait patiently, however, men must work cheerfully. Cheerfulness

is an excellent working quality, imparting great elasticity to the

character. As a bishop has said, "Temper is nine-tenths of

Christianity;" so are cheerfulness and diligence nine-tenths of

practical wisdom. They are the life and soul of success, as well

as of happiness; perhaps the very highest pleasure in life

consisting in clear, brisk, conscious working; energy, confidence,

and every other good quality mainly depending upon it. Sydney

Smith, when labouring as a parish priest at Foston-le-Clay, in

Yorkshire,--though he did not feel himself to be in his proper

element,--went cheerfully to work in the firm determination to do

his best. "I am resolved," he said, "to like it, and reconcile

myself to it, which is more manly than to feign myself above it,

and to send up complaints by the post of being thrown away, and

being desolate, and such like trash." So Dr. Hook, when leaving

Leeds for a new sphere of labour said, "Wherever I may be, I shall,

by God's blessing, do with my might what my hand findeth to do; and

if I do not find work, I shall make it."

Labourers for the public good especially, have to work long and

patiently, often uncheered by the prospect of immediate recompense

or result. The seeds they sow sometimes lie hidden under the

winter's snow, and before the spring comes the husbandman may have

gone to his rest. It is not every public worker who, like Rowland

Hill, sees his great idea bring forth fruit in his life-time. Adam

Smith sowed the seeds of a great social amelioration in that dingy

old University of Glasgow where he so long laboured, and laid the

foundations of his 'Wealth of Nations;' but seventy years passed

before his work bore substantial fruits, nor indeed are they all

gathered in yet.

Nothing can compensate for the loss of hope in a man: it entirely

changes the character. "How can I work--how can I be happy," said

a great but miserable thinker, "when I have lost all hope?" One of

the most cheerful and courageous, because one of the most hopeful

of workers, was Carey, the missionary. When in India, it was no

uncommon thing for him to weary out three pundits, who officiated

as his clerks, in one day, he himself taking rest only in change of

employment. Carey, the son of a shoe-maker, was supported in his

labours by Ward, the son of a carpenter, and Marsham, the son of a

weaver. By their labours, a magnificent college was erected at

Serampore; sixteen flourishing stations were established; the Bible

was translated into sixteen languages, and the seeds were sown of a

beneficent moral revolution in British India. Carey was never

ashamed of the humbleness of his origin. On one occasion, when at

the Governor-General's table he over-heard an officer opposite him

asking another, loud enough to be heard, whether Carey had not once

been a shoemaker: "No, sir," exclaimed Carey immediately; "only a

cobbler." An eminently characteristic anecdote has been told of

his perseverance as a boy. When climbing a tree one day, his foot

slipped, and he fell to the ground, breaking his leg by the fall.

He was confined to his bed for weeks, but when he recovered and was

able to walk without support, the very first thing he did was to go

and climb that tree. Carey had need of this sort of dauntless

courage for the great missionary work of his life, and nobly and

resolutely he did it.

It was a maxim of Dr. Young, the philosopher, that "Any man can do

what any other man has done;" and it is unquestionable that he

himself never recoiled from any trials to which he determined to

subject himself. It is related of him, that the first time he

mounted a horse, he was in company with the grandson of Mr. Barclay

of Ury, the well-known sportsman; when the horseman who preceded

them leapt a high fence. Young wished to imitate him, but fell off

his horse in the attempt. Without saying a word, he remounted,

made a second effort, and was again unsuccessful, but this time he

was not thrown further than on to the horse's neck, to which he

clung. At the third trial, he succeeded, and cleared the fence.

The story of Timour the Tartar learning a lesson of perseverance

under adversity from the spider is well known. Not less

interesting is the anecdote of Audubon, the American ornithologist,

as related by himself: "An accident," he says, "which happened to

two hundred of my original drawings, nearly put a stop to my

researches in ornithology. I shall relate it, merely to show how

far enthusiasm--for by no other name can I call my perseverance--

may enable the preserver of nature to surmount the most

disheartening difficulties. I left the village of Henderson, in

Kentucky, situated on the banks of the Ohio, where I resided for

several years, to proceed to Philadelphia on business. I looked to

my drawings before my departure, placed them carefully in a wooden

box, and gave them in charge of a relative, with injunctions to see

that no injury should happen to them. My absence was of several

months; and when I returned, after having enjoyed the pleasures of

home for a few days, I inquired after my box, and what I was

pleased to call my treasure. The box was produced and opened; but

reader, feel for me--a pair of Norway rats had taken possession of

the whole, and reared a young family among the gnawed bits of

paper, which, but a month previous, represented nearly a thousand

inhabitants of air! The burning beat which instantly rushed

through my brain was too great to be endured without affecting my

whole nervous system. I slept for several nights, and the days

passed like days of oblivion--until the animal powers being

recalled into action through the strength of my constitution, I

took up my gun, my notebook, and my pencils, and went forth to the

woods as gaily as if nothing had happened. I felt pleased that I

might now make better drawings than before; and, ere a period not

exceeding three years had elapsed, my portfolio was again filled."

The accidental destruction of Sir Isaac Newton's papers, by his

little dog 'Diamond' upsetting a lighted taper upon his desk, by

which the elaborate calculations of many years were in a moment

destroyed, is a well-known anecdote, and need not be repeated: it

is said that the loss caused the philosopher such profound grief

that it seriously injured his health, and impaired his

understanding. An accident of a somewhat similar kind happened to

the MS. of Mr. Carlyle's first volume of his 'French Revolution.'

He had lent the MS. to a literary neighbour to peruse. By some

mischance, it had been left lying on the parlour floor, and become

forgotten. Weeks ran on, and the historian sent for his work, the

printers being loud for "copy." Inquiries were made, and it was

found that the maid-of-all-work, finding what she conceived to be a

bundle of waste paper on the floor, had used it to light the

kitchen and parlour fires with! Such was the answer returned to

Mr. Carlyle; and his feelings may be imagined. There was, however,

no help for him but to set resolutely to work to re-write the book;

and he turned to and did it. He had no draft, and was compelled to

rake up from his memory facts, ideas, and expressions, which had

been long since dismissed. The composition of the book in the

first instance had been a work of pleasure; the re-writing of it a

second time was one of pain and anguish almost beyond belief. That

he persevered and finished the volume under such circumstances,

affords an instance of determination of purpose which has seldom

been surpassed.

The lives of eminent inventors are eminently illustrative of the

same quality of perseverance. George Stephenson, when addressing

young men, was accustomed to sum up his best advice to them, in the

words, "Do as I have done--persevere." He had worked at the

improvement of his locomotive for some fifteen years before

achieving his decisive victory at Rainhill; and Watt was engaged

for some thirty years upon the condensing-engine before he brought

it to perfection. But there are equally striking illustrations of

perseverance to be found in every other branch of science, art, and

industry. Perhaps one of the most interesting is that connected

with the disentombment of the Nineveh marbles, and the discovery of

the long-lost cuneiform or arrow-headed character in which the

inscriptions on them are written--a kind of writing which had been

lost to the world since the period of the Macedonian conquest of

Persia.

An intelligent cadet of the East India Company, stationed at

Kermanshah, in Persia, had observed the curious cuneiform

inscriptions on the old monuments in the neighbourhood--so old that

all historical traces of them had been lost,--and amongst the

inscriptions which he copied was that on the celebrated rock of

Behistun--a perpendicular rock rising abruptly some 1700 feet from

the plain, the lower part bearing inscriptions for the space of

about 300 feet in three languages--Persian, Scythian, and Assyrian.

Comparison of the known with the unknown, of the language which

survived with the language that had been lost, enabled this cadet

to acquire some knowledge of the cuneiform character, and even to

form an alphabet. Mr. (afterwards Sir Henry) Rawlinson sent his

tracings home for examination. No professors in colleges as yet

knew anything of the cuneiform character; but there was a ci-devant

clerk of the East India House--a modest unknown man of the name of

Norris--who had made this little-understood subject his study, to

whom the tracings were submitted; and so accurate was his

knowledge, that, though he had never seen the Behistun rock, he

pronounced that the cadet had not copied the puzzling inscription

with proper exactness. Rawlinson, who was still in the

neighbourhood of the rock, compared his copy with the original, and

found that Norris was right; and by further comparison and careful

study the knowledge of the cuneiform writing was thus greatly

advanced.

But to make the learning of these two self-taught men of avail, a

third labourer was necessary in order to supply them with material

for the exercise of their skill. Such a labourer presented himself

in the person of Austen Layard, originally an articled clerk in the

office of a London solicitor. One would scarcely have expected to

find in these three men, a cadet, an India-House clerk, and a

lawyer's clerk, the discoverers of a forgotten language, and of the

buried history of Babylon; yet it was so. Layard was a youth of

only twenty-two, travelling in the East, when he was possessed with

a desire to penetrate the regions beyond the Euphrates.

Accompanied by a single companion, trusting to his arms for

protection, and, what was better, to his cheerfulness, politeness,

and chivalrous bearing, he passed safely amidst tribes at deadly

war with each other; and, after the lapse of many years, with

comparatively slender means at his command, but aided by

application and perseverance, resolute will and purpose, and almost

sublime patience,--borne up throughout by his passionate enthusiasm

for discovery and research,--he succeeded in laying bare and

digging up an amount of historical treasures, the like of which has

probably never before been collected by the industry of any one

man. Not less than two miles of bas-reliefs were thus brought to

light by Mr. Layard. The selection of these valuable antiquities,

now placed in the British Museum, was found so curiously

corroborative of the scriptural records of events which occurred

some three thousand years ago, that they burst upon the world

almost like a new revelation. And the story of the disentombment

of these remarkable works, as told by Mr. Layard himself in his

'Monuments of Nineveh,' will always be regarded as one of the most

charming and unaffected records which we possess of individual

enterprise, industry, and energy.

The career of the Comte de Buffon presents another remarkable

illustration of the power of patient industry as well as of his own

saying, that "Genius is patience." Notwithstanding the great

results achieved by him in natural history, Buffon, when a youth,

was regarded as of mediocre talents. His mind was slow in forming

itself, and slow in reproducing what it had acquired. He was also

constitutionally indolent; and being born to good estate, it might

be supposed that he would indulge his liking for ease and luxury.

Instead of which, he early formed the resolution of denying himself

pleasure, and devoting himself to study and self-culture.

Regarding time as a treasure that was limited, and finding that he

was losing many hours by lying a-bed in the mornings, he determined

to break himself of the habit. He struggled hard against it for

some time, but failed in being able to rise at the hour he had

fixed. He then called his servant, Joseph, to his help, and

promised him the reward of a crown every time that he succeeded in

getting him up before six. At first, when called, Buffon declined

to rise--pleaded that he was ill, or pretended anger at being

disturbed; and on the Count at length getting up, Joseph found that

he had earned nothing but reproaches for having permitted his

master to lie a-bed contrary to his express orders. At length the

valet determined to earn his crown; and again and again he forced

Buffon to rise, notwithstanding his entreaties, expostulations, and

threats of immediate discharge from his service. One morning

Buffon was unusually obstinate, and Joseph found it necessary to

resort to the extreme measure of dashing a basin of ice-cold water

under the bed-clothes, the effect of which was instantaneous. By

the persistent use of such means, Buffon at length conquered his

habit; and he was accustomed to say that he owed to Joseph three or

four volumes of his Natural History.

For forty years of his life, Buffon worked every morning at his

desk from nine till two, and again in the evening from five till

nine. His diligence was so continuous and so regular that it

became habitual. His biographer has said of him, "Work was his

necessity; his studies were the charm of his life; and towards the

last term of his glorious career he frequently said that he still

hoped to be able to consecrate to them a few more years." He was a

most conscientious worker, always studying to give the reader his

best thoughts, expressed in the very best manner. He was never

wearied with touching and retouching his compositions, so that his

style may be pronounced almost perfect. He wrote the 'Epoques de

la Nature' not fewer than eleven times before he was satisfied with

it; although he had thought over the work about fifty years. He

was a thorough man of business, most orderly in everything; and he

was accustomed to say that genius without order lost three-fourths

of its power. His great success as a writer was the result mainly

of his painstaking labour and diligent application. "Buffon,"

observed Madame Necker, "strongly persuaded that genius is the

result of a profound attention directed to a particular subject,

said that he was thoroughly wearied out when composing his first

writings, but compelled himself to return to them and go over them

carefully again, even when he thought he had already brought them

to a certain degree of perfection; and that at length he found

pleasure instead of weariness in this long and elaborate

correction." It ought also to be added that Buffon wrote and

published all his great works while afflicted by one of the most

painful diseases to which the human frame is subject.

Literary life affords abundant illustrations of the same power of

perseverance; and perhaps no career is more instructive, viewed in

this light, than that of Sir Walter Scott. His admirable working

qualities were trained in a lawyer's office, where he pursued for

many years a sort of drudgery scarcely above that of a copying

clerk. His daily dull routine made his evenings, which were his

own, all the more sweet; and he generally devoted them to reading

and study. He himself attributed to his prosaic office discipline

that habit of steady, sober diligence, in which mere literary men

are so often found wanting. As a copying clerk he was allowed 3d.

for every page containing a certain number of words; and he

sometimes, by extra work, was able to copy as many as 120 pages in

twenty-four hours, thus earning some 30s.; out of which he would

occasionally purchase an odd volume, otherwise beyond his means.

During his after-life Scott was wont to pride himself upon being a

man of business, and he averred, in contradiction to what he called

the cant of sonneteers, that there was no necessary connection

between genius and an aversion or contempt for the common duties of

life. On the contrary, he was of opinion that to spend some fair

portion of every day in any matter-of-fact occupation was good for

the higher faculties themselves in the upshot. While afterwards

acting as clerk to the Court of Session in Edinburgh, he performed

his literary work chiefly before breakfast, attending the court

during the day, where he authenticated registered deeds and

writings of various kinds. On the whole, says Lockhart, "it forms

one of the most remarkable features in his history, that throughout

the most active period of his literary career, he must have devoted

a large proportion of his hours, during half at least of every

year, to the conscientious discharge of professional duties." It

was a principle of action which he laid down for himself, that he

must earn his living by business, and not by literature. On one

occasion he said, "I determined that literature should be my staff,

not my crutch, and that the profits of my literary labour, however

convenient otherwise, should not, if I could help it, become

necessary to my ordinary expenses."

His punctuality was one of the most carefully cultivated of his

habits, otherwise it had not been possible for him to get through

so enormous an amount of literary labour. He made it a rule to

answer every letter received by him on the same day, except where

inquiry and deliberation were requisite. Nothing else could have

enabled him to keep abreast with the flood of communications that

poured in upon him and sometimes put his good nature to the

severest test. It was his practice to rise by five o'clock, and

light his own fire. He shaved and dressed with deliberation, and

was seated at his desk by six o'clock, with his papers arranged

before him in the most accurate order, his works of reference

marshalled round him on the floor, while at least one favourite dog

lay watching his eye, outside the line of books. Thus by the time

the family assembled for breakfast, between nine and ten, he had

done enough--to use his own words--to break the neck of the day's

work. But with all his diligent and indefatigable industry, and

his immense knowledge, the result of many years' patient labour,

Scott always spoke with the greatest diffidence of his own powers.

On one occasion he said, "Throughout every part of my career I have

felt pinched and hampered by my own ignorance."

Such is true wisdom and humility; for the more a man really knows,

the less conceited he will be. The student at Trinity College who

went up to his professor to take leave of him because he had

"finished his education," was wisely rebuked by the professor's

reply, "Indeed! I am only beginning mine." The superficial person

who has obtained a smattering of many things, but knows nothing

well, may pride himself upon his gifts; but the sage humbly

confesses that "all he knows is, that he knows nothing," or like

Newton, that he has been only engaged in picking shells by the sea

shore, while the great ocean of truth lies all unexplored before

him.

The lives of second-rate literary men furnish equally remarkable

illustrations of the power of perseverance. The late John Britton,

author of 'The Beauties of England and Wales,' and of many valuable

architectural works, was born in a miserable cot in Kingston,

Wiltshire. His father had been a baker and maltster, but was

ruined in trade and became insane while Britton was yet a child.

The boy received very little schooling, but a great deal of bad

example, which happily did not corrupt him. He was early in life

set to labour with an uncle, a tavern-keeper in Clerkenwell, under

whom he bottled, corked, and binned wine for more than five years.

His health failing him, his uncle turned him adrift in the world,

with only two guineas, the fruits of his five years' service, in

his pocket. During the next seven years of his life he endured

many vicissitudes and hardships. Yet he says, in his

autobiography, "in my poor and obscure lodgings, at eighteenpence a

week, I indulged in study, and often read in bed during the winter

evenings, because I could not afford a fire." Travelling on foot

to Bath, he there obtained an engagement as a cellarman, but

shortly after we find him back in the metropolis again almost

penniless, shoeless, and shirtless. He succeeded, however, in

obtaining employment as a cellarman at the London Tavern, where it

was his duty to be in the cellar from seven in the morning until

eleven at night. His health broke down under this confinement in

the dark, added to the heavy work; and he then engaged himself, at

fifteen shillings a week, to an attorney,--for he had been

diligently cultivating the art of writing during the few spare

minutes that he could call his own. While in this employment, he

devoted his leisure principally to perambulating the bookstalls,

where he read books by snatches which he could not buy, and thus

picked up a good deal of odd knowledge. Then he shifted to another

office, at the advanced wages of twenty shillings a week, still

reading and studying. At twenty-eight he was able to write a book,

which he published under the title of 'The Enterprising Adventures

of Pizarro;' and from that time until his death, during a period of

about fifty-five years, Britton was occupied in laborious literary

occupation. The number of his published works is not fewer than

eighty-seven; the most important being 'The Cathedral Antiquities

of England,' in fourteen volumes, a truly magnificent work; itself

the best monument of John Britton's indefatigable industry.

London, the landscape gardener, was a man of somewhat similar

character, possessed of an extraordinary working power. The son of

a farmer near Edinburgh, he was early inured to work. His skill in

drawing plans and making sketches of scenery induced his father to

train him for a landscape gardener. During his apprenticeship he

sat up two whole nights every week to study; yet he worked harder

during the day than any labourer. In the course of his night

studies he learnt French, and before he was eighteen he translated

a life of Abelard for an Encyclopaedia. He was so eager to make

progress in life, that when only twenty, while working as a

gardener in England, he wrote down in his note-book, "I am now

twenty years of age, and perhaps a third part of my life has passed

away, and yet what have I done to benefit my fellow men?" an

unusual reflection for a youth of only twenty. From French he

proceeded to learn German, and rapidly mastered that language.

Having taken a large farm, for the purpose of introducing Scotch

improvements in the art of agriculture, he shortly succeeded in

realising a considerable income. The continent being thrown open

at the end of the war, he travelled abroad for the purpose of

inquiring into the system of gardening and agriculture in other

countries. He twice repeated his journeys, and the results were

published in his Encyclopaedias, which are among the most

remarkable works of their kind,--distinguished for the immense mass

of useful matter which they contain, collected by an amount of

industry and labour which has rarely been equalled.

The career of Samuel Drew is not less remarkable than any of those

which we have cited. His father was a hard-working labourer of the

parish of St. Austell, in Cornwall. Though poor, he contrived to

send his two sons to a penny-a-week school in the neighbourhood.

Jabez, the elder, took delight in learning, and made great progress

in his lessons; but Samuel, the younger, was a dunce, notoriously

given to mischief and playing truant. When about eight years old

he was put to manual labour, earning three-halfpence a day as a

buddle-boy at a tin mine. At ten he was apprenticed to a

shoemaker, and while in this employment he endured much hardship,--

living, as he used to say, "like a toad under a harrow." He often

thought of running away and becoming a pirate, or something of the

sort, and he seems to have grown in recklessness as he grew in

years. In robbing orchards he was usually a leader; and, as he

grew older, he delighted to take part in any poaching or smuggling

adventure. When about seventeen, before his apprenticeship was

out, he ran away, intending to enter on board a man-of-war; but,

sleeping in a hay-field at night cooled him a little, and he

returned to his trade.

Drew next removed to the neighbourhood of Plymouth to work at his

shoemaking business, and while at Cawsand he won a prize for

cudgel-playing, in which he seems to have been an adept. While

living there, he had nearly lost his life in a smuggling exploit

which he had joined, partly induced by the love of adventure, and

partly by the love of gain, for his regular wages were not more

than eight shillings a-week. One night, notice was given

throughout Crafthole, that a smuggler was off the coast, ready to

land her cargo; on which the male population of the place--nearly

all smugglers--made for the shore. One party remained on the rocks

to make signals and dispose of the goods as they were landed; and

another manned the boats, Drew being of the latter party. The

night was intensely dark, and very little of the cargo had been

landed, when the wind rose, with a heavy sea. The men in the

boats, however, determined to persevere, and several trips were

made between the smuggler, now standing farther out to sea, and the

shore. One of the men in the boat in which Drew was, had his hat

blown off by the wind, and in attempting to recover it, the boat

was upset. Three of the men were immediately drowned; the others

clung to the boat for a time, but finding it drifting out to sea,

they took to swimming. They were two miles from land, and the

night was intensely dark. After being about three hours in the

water, Drew reached a rock near the shore, with one or two others,

where he remained benumbed with cold till morning, when he and his

companions were discovered and taken off, more dead than alive. A

keg of brandy from the cargo just landed was brought, the head

knocked in with a hatchet, and a bowlfull of the liquid presented

to the survivors; and, shortly after, Drew was able to walk two

miles through deep snow, to his lodgings.

This was a very unpromising beginning of a life; and yet this same

Drew, scapegrace, orchard-robber, shoemaker, cudgel-player, and

smuggler, outlived the recklessness of his youth and became

distinguished as a minister of the Gospel and a writer of good

books. Happily, before it was too late, the energy which

characterised him was turned into a more healthy direction, and

rendered him as eminent in usefulness as he had before been in

wickedness. His father again took him back to St. Austell, and

found employment for him as a journeyman shoemaker. Perhaps his

recent escape from death had tended to make the young man serious,

as we shortly find him attracted by the forcible preaching of Dr.

Adam Clarke, a minister of the Wesleyan Methodists. His brother

having died about the same time, the impression of seriousness was

deepened; and thenceforward he was an altered man. He began anew

the work of education, for he had almost forgotten how to read and

write; and even after several years' practice, a friend compared

his writing to the traces of a spider dipped in ink set to crawl

upon paper. Speaking of himself, about that time, Drew afterwards

said, "The more I read, the more I felt my own ignorance; and the

more I felt my ignorance, the more invincible became my energy to

surmount it. Every leisure moment was now employed in reading one

thing or another. Having to support myself by manual labour, my

time for reading was but little, and to overcome this disadvantage,

my usual method was to place a book before me while at meat, and at

every repast I read five or six pages." The perusal of Locke's

'Essay on the Understanding' gave the first metaphysical turn to

his mind. "It awakened me from my stupor," said he, "and induced

me to form a resolution to abandon the grovelling views which I had

been accustomed to entertain."

Drew began business on his own account, with a capital of a few

shillings; but his character for steadiness was such that a

neighbouring miller offered him a loan, which was accepted, and,

success attending his industry, the debt was repaid at the end of a

year. He started with a determination to "owe no man anything,"

and he held to it in the midst of many privations. Often he went

to bed supperless, to avoid rising in debt. His ambition was to

achieve independence by industry and economy, and in this he

gradually succeeded. In the midst of incessant labour, he

sedulously strove to improve his mind, studying astronomy, history,

and metaphysics. He was induced to pursue the latter study chiefly

because it required fewer books to consult than either of the

others. "It appeared to be a thorny path," he said, "but I

determined, nevertheless, to enter, and accordingly began to tread

it."

Added to his labours in shoemaking and metaphysics, Drew became a

local preacher and a class leader. He took an eager interest in

politics, and his shop became a favourite resort with the village

politicians. And when they did not come to him, he went to them to

talk over public affairs. This so encroached upon his time that he

found it necessary sometimes to work until midnight to make up for

the hours lost during the day. His political fervour become the

talk of the village. While busy one night hammering away at a

shoe-sole, a little boy, seeing a light in the shop, put his mouth

to the keyhole of the door, and called out in a shrill pipe,

"Shoemaker! shoe-maker! work by night and run about by day!" A

friend, to whom Drew afterwards told the story, asked, "And did not

you run after the boy, and strap him?" "No, no," was the reply;

"had a pistol been fired off at my ear, I could not have been more

dismayed or confounded. I dropped my work, and said to myself,

'True, true! but you shall never have that to say of me again.' To

me that cry was as the voice of God, and it has been a word in

season throughout my life. I learnt from it not to leave till to-

morrow the work of to-day, or to idle when I ought to be working."

From that moment Drew dropped politics, and stuck to his work,

reading and studying in his spare hours: but he never allowed the

latter pursuit to interfere with his business, though it frequently

broke in upon his rest. He married, and thought of emigrating to

America; but he remained working on. His literary taste first took

the direction of poetical composition; and from some of the

fragments which have been preserved, it appears that his

speculations as to the immateriality and immortality of the soul

had their origin in these poetical musings. His study was the

kitchen, where his wife's bellows served him for a desk; and he

wrote amidst the cries and cradlings of his children. Paine's 'Age

of Reason' having appeared about this time and excited much

interest, he composed a pamphlet in refutation of its arguments,

which was published. He used afterwards to say that it was the

'Age of Reason' that made him an author. Various pamphlets from

his pen shortly appeared in rapid succession, and a few years

later, while still working at shoemaking, he wrote and published

his admirable 'Essay on the Immateriality and Immortality of the

Human Soul,' which he sold for twenty pounds, a great sum in his

estimation at the time. The book went through many editions, and

is still prized.

Drew was in no wise puffed up by his success, as many young authors

are, but, long after he had become celebrated as a writer, used to

be seen sweeping the street before his door, or helping his

apprentices to carry in the winter's coals. Nor could he, for some

time, bring himself to regard literature as a profession to live

by. His first care was, to secure an honest livelihood by his

business, and to put into the "lottery of literary success," as he

termed it, only the surplus of his time. At length, however, he

devoted himself wholly to literature, more particularly in

connection with the Wesleyan body; editing one of their magazines,

and superintending the publication of several of their

denominational works. He also wrote in the 'Eclectic Review,' and

compiled and published a valuable history of his native county,

Cornwall, with numerous other works. Towards the close of his

career, he said of himself,--"Raised from one of the lowest

stations in society, I have endeavoured through life to bring my

family into a state of respectability, by honest industry,

frugality, and a high regard for my moral character. Divine

providence has smiled on my exertions, and crowned my wishes with

success."

The late Joseph Hume pursued a very different career, but worked in

an equally persevering spirit. He was a man of moderate parts, but

of great industry and unimpeachable honesty of purpose. The motto

of his life was "Perseverance," and well, he acted up to it. His

father dying while he was a mere child, his mother opened a small

shop in Montrose, and toiled hard to maintain her family and bring

them up respectably. Joseph she put apprentice to a surgeon, and

educated for the medical profession. Having got his diploma, he

made several voyages to India as ship's surgeon, {19} and

afterwards obtained a cadetship in the Company's service. None

worked harder, or lived more temperately, than he did, and,

securing the confidence of his superiors, who found him a capable

man in the performance of his duty, they gradually promoted him to

higher offices. In 1803 he was with the division of the army under

General Powell, in the Mahratta war; and the interpreter having

died, Hume, who had meanwhile studied and mastered the native

languages, was appointed in his stead. He was next made chief of

the medical staff. But as if this were not enough to occupy his

full working power, he undertook in addition the offices of

paymaster and post-master, and filled them satisfactorily. He also

contracted to supply the commissariat, which he did with advantage

to the army and profit to himself. After about ten years'

unremitting labour, he returned to England with a competency; and

one of his first acts was to make provision for the poorer members

of his family.

But Joseph Hume was not a man to enjoy the fruits of his industry

in idleness. Work and occupation had become necessary for his

comfort and happiness. To make himself fully acquainted with the

actual state of his own country, and the condition of the people,

he visited every town in the kingdom which then enjoyed any degree

of manufacturing celebrity. He afterwards travelled abroad for the

purpose of obtaining a knowledge of foreign states. Returned to

England, he entered Parliament in 1812, and continued a member of

that assembly, with a short interruption, for a period of about

thirty-four years. His first recorded speech was on the subject of

public education, and throughout his long and honourable career he

took an active and earnest interest in that and all other questions

calculated to elevate and improve the condition of the people--

criminal reform, savings-banks, free trade, economy and

retrenchment, extended representation, and such like measures, all

of which he indefatigably promoted. Whatever subject he undertook,

he worked at with all his might. He was not a good speaker, but

what he said was believed to proceed from the lips of an honest,

single-minded, accurate man. If ridicule, as Shaftesbury says, be

the test of truth, Joseph Hume stood the test well. No man was

more laughed at, but there he stood perpetually, and literally, "at

his post." He was usually beaten on a division, but the influence

which he exercised was nevertheless felt, and many important

financial improvements were effected by him even with the vote

directly against him. The amount of hard work which he contrived

to get through was something extraordinary. He rose at six, wrote

letters and arranged his papers for parliament; then, after

breakfast, he received persons on business, sometimes as many as

twenty in a morning. The House rarely assembled without him, and

though the debate might be prolonged to two or three o'clock in the

morning, his name was seldom found absent from the division. In

short, to perform the work which he did, extending over so long a

period, in the face of so many Administrations, week after week,

year after year,--to be outvoted, beaten, laughed at, standing on

many occasions almost alone,--to persevere in the face of every

discouragement, preserving his temper unruffled, never relaxing in

his energy or his hope, and living to see the greater number of his

measures adopted with acclamation, must be regarded as one of the

most remarkable illustrations of the power of human perseverance

that biography can exhibit.

CHAPTER V--HELPS AND OPPORTUNITIES--SCIENTIFIC PURSUITS

"Neither the naked hand, nor the understanding, left to itself, can

do much; the work is accomplished by instruments and helps, of

which the need is not less for the understanding than the hand."--

Bacon.

"Opportunity has hair in front, behind she is bald; if you seize

her by the forelock you may hold her, but, if suffered to escape,

not Jupiter himself can catch her again."--From the Latin.

Accident does very little towards the production of any great

result in life. Though sometimes what is called "a happy hit" may

be made by a bold venture, the common highway of steady industry

and application is the only safe road to travel. It is said of the

landscape painter Wilson, that when he had nearly finished a

picture in a tame, correct manner, he would step back from it, his

pencil fixed at the end of a long stick, and after gazing earnestly

on the work, he would suddenly walk up and by a few bold touches

give a brilliant finish to the painting. But it will not do for

every one who would produce an effect, to throw his brush at the

canvas in the hope of producing a picture. The capability of

putting in these last vital touches is acquired only by the labour

of a life; and the probability is, that the artist who has not

carefully trained himself beforehand, in attempting to produce a

brilliant effect at a dash, will only produce a blotch.

Sedulous attention and painstaking industry always mark the true

worker. The greatest men are not those who "despise the day of

small things," but those who improve them the most carefully.

Michael Angelo was one day explaining to a visitor at his studio,

what he had been doing at a statue since his previous visit. "I

have retouched this part--polished that--softened this feature--

brought out that muscle--given some expression to this lip, and

more energy to that limb." "But these are trifles," remarked the

visitor. "It may be so," replied the sculptor, "but recollect that

trifles make perfection, and perfection is no trifle." So it was

said of Nicholas Poussin, the painter, that the rule of his conduct

was, that "whatever was worth doing at all was worth doing well;"

and when asked, late in life, by his friend Vigneul de Marville, by

what means he had gained so high a reputation among the painters of

Italy, Poussin emphatically answered, "Because I have neglected

nothing."

Although there are discoveries which are said to have been made by

accident, if carefully inquired into, it will be found that there

has really been very little that was accidental about them. For

the most part, these so-called accidents have only been

opportunities, carefully improved by genius. The fall of the apple

at Newton's feet has often been quoted in proof of the accidental

character of some discoveries. But Newton's whole mind had already

been devoted for years to the laborious and patient investigation

of the subject of gravitation; and the circumstance of the apple

falling before his eyes was suddenly apprehended only as genius

could apprehend it, and served to flash upon him the brilliant

discovery then opening to his sight. In like manner, the

brilliantly-coloured soap-bubbles blown from a common tobacco pipe-

-though "trifles light as air" in most eyes--suggested to Dr. Young

his beautiful theory of "interferences," and led to his discovery

relating to the diffraction of light. Although great men are

popularly supposed only to deal with great things, men such as

Newton and Young were ready to detect the significance of the most

familiar and simple facts; their greatness consisting mainly in

their wise interpretation of them.

The difference between men consists, in a great measure, in the

intelligence of their observation. The Russian proverb says of the

non-observant man, "He goes through the forest and sees no

firewood." "The wise man's eyes are in his head," says Solomon,

"but the fool walketh in darkness." "Sir," said Johnson, on one

occasion, to a fine gentleman just returned from Italy, "some men

will learn more in the Hampstead stage than others in the tour of

Europe." It is the mind that sees as well as the eye. Where

unthinking gazers observe nothing, men of intelligent vision

penetrate into the very fibre of the phenomena presented to them,

attentively noting differences, making comparisons, and recognizing

their underlying idea. Many before Galileo had seen a suspended

weight swing before their eyes with a measured beat; but he was the

first to detect the value of the fact. One of the vergers in the

cathedral at Pisa, after replenishing with oil a lamp which hung

from the roof, left it swinging to and fro; and Galileo, then a

youth of only eighteen, noting it attentively, conceived the idea

of applying it to the measurement of time. Fifty years of study

and labour, however, elapsed, before he completed the invention of

his Pendulum,--the importance of which, in the measurement of time

and in astronomical calculations, can scarcely be overrated. In

like manner, Galileo, having casually heard that one Lippershey, a

Dutch spectacle-maker, had presented to Count Maurice of Nassau an

instrument by means of which distant objects appeared nearer to the

beholder, addressed himself to the cause of such a phenomenon,

which led to the invention of the telescope, and proved the

beginning of the modern science of astronomy. Discoveries such as

these could never have been made by a negligent observer, or by a

mere passive listener.

While Captain (afterwards Sir Samuel) Brown was occupied in

studying the construction of bridges, with the view of contriving

one of a cheap description to be thrown across the Tweed, near

which he lived, he was walking in his garden one dewy autumn

morning, when he saw a tiny spider's net suspended across his path.

The idea immediately occurred to him, that a bridge of iron ropes

or chains might be constructed in like manner, and the result was

the invention of his Suspension Bridge. So James Watt, when

consulted about the mode of carrying water by pipes under the

Clyde, along the unequal bed of the river, turned his attention one

day to the shell of a lobster presented at table; and from that

model he invented an iron tube, which, when laid down, was found

effectually to answer the purpose. Sir Isambert Brunel took his

first lessons in forming the Thames Tunnel from the tiny shipworm:

he saw how the little creature perforated the wood with its well-

armed head, first in one direction and then in another, till the

archway was complete, and then daubed over the roof and sides with

a kind of varnish; and by copying this work exactly on a large

scale, Brunel was at length enabled to construct his shield and

accomplish his great engineering work.

It is the intelligent eye of the careful observer which gives these

apparently trivial phenomena their value. So trifling a matter as

the sight of seaweed floating past his ship, enabled Columbus to

quell the mutiny which arose amongst his sailors at not discovering

land, and to assure them that the eagerly sought New World was not

far off. There is nothing so small that it should remain

forgotten; and no fact, however trivial, but may prove useful in

some way or other if carefully interpreted. Who could have

imagined that the famous "chalk cliffs of Albion" had been built up

by tiny insects--detected only by the help of the microscope--of

the same order of creatures that have gemmed the sea with islands

of coral! And who that contemplates such extraordinary results,

arising from infinitely minute operations, will venture to question

the power of little things?

It is the close observation of little things which is the secret of

success in business, in art, in science, and in every pursuit in

life. Human knowledge is but an accumulation of small facts, made

by successive generations of men, the little bits of knowledge and

experience carefully treasured up by them growing at length into a

mighty pyramid. Though many of these facts and observations seemed

in the first instance to have but slight significance, they are all

found to have their eventual uses, and to fit into their proper

places. Even many speculations seemingly remote, turn out to be

the basis of results the most obviously practical. In the case of

the conic sections discovered by Apollonius Pergaeus, twenty

centuries elapsed before they were made the basis of astronomy--a

science which enables the modern navigator to steer his way through

unknown seas and traces for him in the heavens an unerring path to

his appointed haven. And had not mathematicians toiled for so

long, and, to uninstructed observers, apparently so fruitlessly,

over the abstract relations of lines and surfaces, it is probable

that but few of our mechanical inventions would have seen the

light.

When Franklin made his discovery of the identity of lightning and

electricity, it was sneered at, and people asked, "Of what use is

it?" To which his reply was, "What is the use of a child? It may

become a man!" When Galvani discovered that a frog's leg twitched

when placed in contact with different metals, it could scarcely

have been imagined that so apparently insignificant a fact could

have led to important results. Yet therein lay the germ of the

Electric Telegraph, which binds the intelligence of continents

together, and, probably before many years have elapsed, will "put a

girdle round the globe." So too, little bits of stone and fossil,

dug out of the earth, intelligently interpreted, have issued in the

science of geology and the practical operations of mining, in which

large capitals are invested and vast numbers of persons profitably

employed.

The gigantic machinery employed in pumping our mines, working our

mills and manufactures, and driving our steam-ships and

locomotives, in like manner depends for its supply of power upon so

slight an agency as little drops of water expanded by heat,--that

familiar agency called steam, which we see issuing from that common

tea-kettle spout, but which, when put up within an ingeniously

contrived mechanism, displays a force equal to that of millions of

horses, and contains a power to rebuke the waves and set even the

hurricane at defiance. The same power at work within the bowels of

the earth has been the cause of those volcanoes and earthquakes

which have played so mighty a part in the history of the globe.

It is said that the Marquis of Worcester's attention was first

accidentally directed to the subject of steam power, by the tight

cover of a vessel containing hot water having been blown off before

his eyes, when confined a prisoner in the Tower. He published the

result of his observations in his 'Century of Inventions,' which

formed a sort of text-book for inquirers into the powers of steam

for a time, until Savary, Newcomen, and others, applying it to

practical purposes, brought the steam-engine to the state in which

Watt found it when called upon to repair a model of Newcomen's

engine, which belonged to the University of Glasgow. This

accidental circumstance was an opportunity for Watt, which he was

not slow to improve; and it was the labour of his life to bring the

steam-engine to perfection.

This art of seizing opportunities and turning even accidents to

account, bending them to some purpose is a great secret of success.

Dr. Johnson has defined genius to be "a mind of large general

powers accidentally determined in some particular direction." Men

who are resolved to find a way for themselves, will always find

opportunities enough; and if they do not lie ready to their hand,

they will make them. It is not those who have enjoyed the

advantages of colleges, museums, and public galleries, that have

accomplished the most for science and art; nor have the greatest

mechanics and inventors been trained in mechanics' institutes.

Necessity, oftener than facility, has been the mother of invention;

and the most prolific school of all has been the school of

difficulty. Some of the very best workmen have had the most

indifferent tools to work with. But it is not tools that make the

workman, but the trained skill and perseverance of the man himself.

Indeed it is proverbial that the bad workman never yet had a good

tool. Some one asked Opie by what wonderful process he mixed his

colours. "I mix them with my brains, sir," was his reply. It is

the same with every workman who would excel. Ferguson made

marvellous things--such as his wooden clock, that accurately

measured the hours--by means of a common penknife, a tool in

everybody's hand; but then everybody is not a Ferguson. A pan of

water and two thermometers were the tools by which Dr. Black

discovered latent heat; and a prism, a lens, and a sheet of

pasteboard enabled Newton to unfold the composition of light and

the origin of colours. An eminent foreign savant once called upon

Dr. Wollaston, and requested to be shown over his laboratories in

which science had been enriched by so many important discoveries,

when the doctor took him into a little study, and, pointing to an

old tea-tray on the table, containing a few watch-glasses, test

papers, a small balance, and a blowpipe, said, "There is all the

laboratory that I have!"

Stothard learnt the art of combining colours by closely studying

butterflies' wings: he would often say that no one knew what he

owed to these tiny insects. A burnt stick and a barn door served

Wilkie in lieu of pencil and canvas. Bewick first practised

drawing on the cottage walls of his native village, which he

covered with his sketches in chalk; and Benjamin West made his

first brushes out of the cat's tail. Ferguson laid himself down in

the fields at night in a blanket, and made a map of the heavenly

bodies by means of a thread with small beads on it stretched

between his eye and the stars. Franklin first robbed the

thundercloud of its lightning by means of a kite made with two

cross sticks and a silk handkerchief. Watt made his first model of

the condensing steam-engine out of an old anatomist's syringe, used

to inject the arteries previous to dissection. Gifford worked his

first problems in mathematics, when a cobbler's apprentice, upon

small scraps of leather, which he beat smooth for the purpose;

whilst Rittenhouse, the astronomer, first calculated eclipses on

his plough handle.

The most ordinary occasions will furnish a man with opportunities

or suggestions for improvement, if he be but prompt to take

advantage of them. Professor Lee was attracted to the study of

Hebrew by finding a Bible in that tongue in a synagogue, while

working as a common carpenter at the repairs of the benches. He

became possessed with a desire to read the book in the original,

and, buying a cheap second-hand copy of a Hebrew grammar, he set to

work and learnt the language for himself. As Edmund Stone said to

the Duke of Argyle, in answer to his grace's inquiry how he, a poor

gardener's boy, had contrived to be able to read Newton's Principia

in Latin, "One needs only to know the twenty-four letters of the

alphabet in order to learn everything else that one wishes."

Application and perseverance, and the diligent improvement of

opportunities, will do the rest.

Sir Walter Scott found opportunities for self-improvement in every

pursuit, and turned even accidents to account. Thus it was in the

discharge of his functions as a writer's apprentice that he first

visited the Highlands, and formed those friendships among the

surviving heroes of 1745 which served to lay the foundation of a

large class of his works. Later in life, when employed as

quartermaster of the Edinburgh Light Cavalry, he was accidentally

disabled by the kick of a horse, and confined for some time to his

house; but Scott was a sworn enemy to idleness, and he forthwith

set his mind to work. In three days he had composed the first

canto of 'The Lay of the Last Minstrel,' which he shortly after

finished,--his first great original work.

The attention of Dr. Priestley, the discoverer of so many gases,

was accidentally drawn to the subject of chemistry through his

living in the neighbourhood of a brewery. When visiting the place

one day, he noted the peculiar appearances attending the extinction

of lighted chips in the gas floating over the fermented liquor. He

was forty years old at the time, and knew nothing of chemistry. He

consulted books to ascertain the cause, but they told him little,

for as yet nothing was known on the subject. Then he began to

experiment, with some rude apparatus of his own contrivance. The

curious results of his first experiments led to others, which in

his hands shortly became the science of pneumatic chemistry. About

the same time, Scheele was obscurely working in the same direction

in a remote Swedish village; and he discovered several new gases,

with no more effective apparatus at his command than a few

apothecaries' phials and pigs' bladders.

Sir Humphry Davy, when an apothecary's apprentice, performed his

first experiments with instruments of the rudest description. He

extemporised the greater part of them himself, out of the motley

materials which chance threw in his way,--the pots and pans of the

kitchen, and the phials and vessels of his master's surgery. It

happened that a French ship was wrecked off the Land's End, and the

surgeon escaped, bearing with him his case of instruments, amongst

which was an old-fashioned glyster apparatus; this article he

presented to Davy, with whom he had become acquainted. The

apothecary's apprentice received it with great exultation, and

forthwith employed it as a part of a pneumatic apparatus which he

contrived, afterwards using it to perform the duties of an air-pump

in one of his experiments on the nature and sources of heat.

In like manner Professor Faraday, Sir Humphry Davy's scientific

successor, made his first experiments in electricity by means of an

old bottle, white he was still a working bookbinder. And it is a

curious fact that Faraday was first attracted to the study of

chemistry by hearing one of Sir Humphry Davy's lectures on the

subject at the Royal Institution. A gentleman, who was a member,

calling one day at the shop where Faraday was employed in binding

books, found him poring over the article "Electricity" in an

Encyclopaedia placed in his hands to bind. The gentleman, having

made inquiries, found that the young bookbinder was curious about

such subjects, and gave him an order of admission to the Royal

Institution, where he attended a course of four lectures delivered

by Sir Humphry. He took notes of them, which he showed to the

lecturer, who acknowledged their scientific accuracy, and was

surprised when informed of the humble position of the reporter.

Faraday then expressed his desire to devote himself to the

prosecution of chemical studies, from which Sir Humphry at first

endeavoured to dissuade him: but the young man persisting, he was

at length taken into the Royal Institution as an assistant; and

eventually the mantle of the brilliant apothecary's boy fell upon

the worthy shoulders of the equally brilliant bookbinder's

apprentice.

The words which Davy entered in his note-book, when about twenty

years of age, working in Dr. Beddoes' laboratory at Bristol, were

eminently characteristic of him: "I have neither riches, nor

power, nor birth to recommend me; yet if I live, I trust I shall

not be of less service to mankind and my friends, than if I had

been born with all these advantages." Davy possessed the

capability, as Faraday does, of devoting the whole power of his

mind to the practical and experimental investigation of a subject

in all its bearings; and such a mind will rarely fail, by dint of

mere industry and patient thinking, in producing results of the

highest order. Coleridge said of Davy, "There is an energy and

elasticity in his mind, which enables him to seize on and analyze

all questions, pushing them to their legitimate consequences.

Every subject in Davy's mind has the principle of vitality. Living

thoughts spring up like turf under his feet." Davy, on his part,

said of Coleridge, whose abilities he greatly admired, "With the

most exalted genius, enlarged views, sensitive heart, and

enlightened mind, he will be the victim of a want of order,

precision, and regularity."

The great Cuvier was a singularly accurate, careful, and

industrious observer. When a boy, he was attracted to the subject

of natural history by the sight of a volume of Buffon which

accidentally fell in his way. He at once proceeded to copy the

drawings, and to colour them after the descriptions given in the

text. While still at school, one of his teachers made him a

present of 'Linnaeus's System of Nature;' and for more than ten

years this constituted his library of natural history. At eighteen

he was offered the situation of tutor in a family residing near

Fecamp, in Normandy. Living close to the sea-shore, he was brought

face to face with the wonders of marine life. Strolling along the

sands one day, he observed a stranded cuttlefish. He was attracted

by the curious object, took it home to dissect, and thus began the

study of the molluscae, in the pursuit of which he achieved so

distinguished a reputation. He had no books to refer to, excepting

only the great book of Nature which lay open before him. The study

of the novel and interesting objects which it daily presented to

his eyes made a much deeper impression on his mind than any written

or engraved descriptions could possibly have done. Three years

thus passed, during which he compared the living species of marine

animals with the fossil remains found in the neighbourhood,

dissected the specimens of marine life that came under his notice,

and, by careful observation, prepared the way for a complete reform

in the classification of the animal kingdom. About this time

Cuvier became known to the learned Abbe Teissier, who wrote to

Jussieu and other friends in Paris on the subject of the young

naturalist's inquiries, in terms of such high commendation, that

Cuvier was requested to send some of his papers to the Society of

Natural History; and he was shortly after appointed assistant-

superintendent at the Jardin des Plantes. In the letter written by

Teissier to Jussieu, introducing the young naturalist to his

notice, he said, "You remember that it was I who gave Delambre to

the Academy in another branch of science: this also will be a

Delambre." We need scarcely add that the prediction of Teissier

was more than fulfilled.

It is not accident, then, that helps a man in the world so much as

purpose and persistent industry. To the feeble, the sluggish and

purposeless, the happiest accidents avail nothing,--they pass them

by, seeing no meaning in them. But it is astonishing how much can

be accomplished if we are prompt to seize and improve the

opportunities for action and effort which are constantly presenting

themselves. Watt taught himself chemistry and mechanics while

working at his trade of a mathematical-instrument maker, at the

same time that he was learning German from a Swiss dyer.

Stephenson taught himself arithmetic and mensuration while working

as an engineman during the night shifts; and when he could snatch a

few moments in the intervals allowed for meals during the day, he

worked his sums with a bit of chalk upon the sides of the colliery

waggons. Dalton's industry was the habit of his life. He began

from his boyhood, for he taught a little village-school when he was

only about twelve years old,--keeping the school in winter, and

working upon his father's farm in summer. He would sometimes urge

himself and companions to study by the stimulus of a bet, though

bred a Quaker; and on one occasion, by his satisfactory solution of

a problem, he won as much as enabled him to buy a winter's store of

candles. He continued his meteorological observations until a day

or two before he died,--having made and recorded upwards of 200,000

in the course of his life.

With perseverance, the very odds and ends of time may be worked up

into results of the greatest value. An hour in every day withdrawn

from frivolous pursuits would, if profitably employed, enable a

person of ordinary capacity to go far towards mastering a science.

It would make an ignorant man a well-informed one in less than ten

years. Time should not be allowed to pass without yielding fruits,

in the form of something learnt worthy of being known, some good

principle cultivated, or some good habit strengthened. Dr. Mason

Good translated Lucretius while riding in his carriage in the

streets of London, going the round of his patients. Dr. Darwin

composed nearly all his works in the same way while driving about

in his "sulky" from house to house in the country,--writing down

his thoughts on little scraps of paper, which he carried about with

him for the purpose. Hale wrote his 'Contemplations' while

travelling on circuit. Dr. Burney learnt French and Italian while

travelling on horseback from one musical pupil to another in the

course of his profession. Kirke White learnt Greek while walking

to and from a lawyer's office; and we personally know a man of

eminent position who learnt Latin and French while going messages

as an errand-boy in the streets of Manchester.

Daguesseau, one of the great Chancellors of France, by carefully

working up his odd bits of time, wrote a bulky and able volume in

the successive intervals of waiting for dinner, and Madame de

Genlis composed several of her charming volumes while waiting for

the princess to whom she gave her daily lessons. Elihu Burritt

attributed his first success in self-improvement, not to genius,

which he disclaimed, but simply to the careful employment of those

invaluable fragments of time, called "odd moments." While working

and earning his living as a blacksmith, he mastered some eighteen

ancient and modern languages, and twenty-two European dialects.

What a solemn and striking admonition to youth is that inscribed on

the dial at All Souls, Oxford--"Pereunt et imputantur"--the hours

perish, and are laid to our charge. Time is the only little

fragment of Eternity that belongs to man; and, like life, it can

never be recalled. "In the dissipation of worldly treasure," says

Jackson of Exeter, "the frugality of the future may balance the

extravagance of the past; but who can say, 'I will take from

minutes to-morrow to compensate for those I have lost to-day'?"

Melancthon noted down the time lost by him, that he might thereby

reanimate his industry, and not lose an hour. An Italian scholar

put over his door an inscription intimating that whosoever remained

there should join in his labours. "We are afraid," said some

visitors to Baxter, "that we break in upon your time." "To be sure

you do," replied the disturbed and blunt divine. Time was the

estate out of which these great workers, and all other workers,

formed that rich treasury of thoughts and deeds which they have

left to their successors.

The mere drudgery undergone by some men in carrying on their

undertakings has been something extraordinary, but the drudgery

they regarded as the price of success. Addison amassed as much as

three folios of manuscript materials before he began his

'Spectator.' Newton wrote his 'Chronology' fifteen times over

before he was satisfied with it; and Gibbon wrote out his 'Memoir'

nine times. Hale studied for many years at the rate of sixteen

hours a day, and when wearied with the study of the law, he would

recreate himself with philosophy and the study of the mathematics.

Hume wrote thirteen hours a day while preparing his 'History of

England.' Montesquieu, speaking of one part of his writings, said

to a friend, "You will read it in a few hours; but I assure you it

has cost me so much labour that it has whitened my hair."

The practice of writing down thoughts and facts for the purpose of

holding them fast and preventing their escape into the dim region

of forgetfulness, has been much resorted to by thoughtful and

studious men. Lord Bacon left behind him many manuscripts entitled

"Sudden thoughts set down for use." Erskine made great extracts

from Burke; and Eldon copied Coke upon Littleton twice over with

his own hand, so that the book became, as it were, part of his own

mind. The late Dr. Pye Smith, when apprenticed to his father as a

bookbinder, was accustomed to make copious memoranda of all the

books he read, with extracts and criticisms. This indomitable

industry in collecting materials distinguished him through life,

his biographer describing him as "always at work, always in

advance, always accumulating." These note-books afterwards proved,

like Richter's "quarries," the great storehouse from which he drew

his illustrations.

The same practice characterized the eminent John Hunter, who

adopted it for the purpose of supplying the defects of memory; and

he was accustomed thus to illustrate the advantages which one

derives from putting one's thoughts in writing: "It resembles," he

said, "a tradesman taking stock, without which he never knows

either what he possesses or in what he is deficient." John Hunter-

-whose observation was so keen that Abernethy was accustomed to

speak of him as "the Argus-eyed"--furnished an illustrious example

of the power of patient industry. He received little or no

education till he was about twenty years of age, and it was with

difficulty that he acquired the arts of reading and writing. He

worked for some years as a common carpenter at Glasgow, after which

he joined his brother William, who had settled in London as a

lecturer and anatomical demonstrator. John entered his dissecting-

room as an assistant, but soon shot ahead of his brother, partly by

virtue of his great natural ability, but mainly by reason of his

patient application and indefatigable industry. He was one of the

first in this country to devote himself assiduously to the study of

comparative anatomy, and the objects he dissected and collected

took the eminent Professor Owen no less than ten years to arrange.

The collection contains some twenty thousand specimens, and is the

most precious treasure of the kind that has ever been accumulated

by the industry of one man. Hunter used to spend every morning

from sunrise until eight o'clock in his museum; and throughout the

day he carried on his extensive private practice, performed his

laborious duties as surgeon to St. George's Hospital and deputy

surgeon-general to the army; delivered lectures to students, and

superintended a school of practical anatomy at his own house;

finding leisure, amidst all, for elaborate experiments on the

animal economy, and the composition of various works of great

scientific importance. To find time for this gigantic amount of

work, he allowed himself only four hours of sleep at night, and an

hour after dinner. When once asked what method he had adopted to

insure success in his undertakings, he replied, "My rule is,

deliberately to consider, before I commence, whether the thing be

practicable. If it be not practicable, I do not attempt it. If it

be practicable, I can accomplish it if I give sufficient pains to

it; and having begun, I never stop till the thing is done. To this

rule I owe all my success."

Hunter occupied a great deal of his time in collecting definite

facts respecting matters which, before his day, were regarded as

exceedingly trivial. Thus it was supposed by many of his

contemporaries that he was only wasting his time and thought in

studying so carefully as he did the growth of a deer's horn. But

Hunter was impressed with the conviction that no accurate knowledge

of scientific facts is without its value. By the study referred

to, he learnt how arteries accommodate themselves to circumstances,

and enlarge as occasion requires; and the knowledge thus acquired

emboldened him, in a case of aneurism in a branch artery, to tie

the main trunk where no surgeon before him had dared to tie it, and

the life of his patient was saved. Like many original men, he

worked for a long time as it were underground, digging and laying

foundations. He was a solitary and self-reliant genius, holding on

his course without the solace of sympathy or approbation,--for but

few of his contemporaries perceived the ultimate object of his

pursuits. But like all true workers, he did not fail in securing

his best reward--that which depends less upon others than upon

one's self--the approval of conscience, which in a right-minded man

invariably follows the honest and energetic performance of duty.

Ambrose Pare, the great French surgeon, was another illustrious

instance of close observation, patient application, and

indefatigable perseverance. He was the son of a barber at Laval,

in Maine, where he was born in 1509. His parents were too poor to

send him to school, but they placed him as foot-boy with the cure

of the village, hoping that under that learned man he might pick up

an education for himself. But the cure kept him so busily employed

in grooming his mule and in other menial offices that the boy found

no time for learning. While in his service, it happened that the

celebrated lithotomist, Cotot, came to Laval to operate on one of

the cure's ecclesiastical brethren. Pare was present at the

operation, and was so much interested by it that he is said to have

from that time formed the determination of devoting himself to the

art of surgery.

Leaving the cure's household service, Pare apprenticed himself to a

barber-surgeon named Vialot, under whom he learnt to let blood,

draw teeth, and perform the minor operations. After four years'

experience of this kind, he went to Paris to study at the school of

anatomy and surgery, meanwhile maintaining himself by his trade of

a barber. He afterwards succeeded in obtaining an appointment as

assistant at the Hotel Dieu, where his conduct was so exemplary,

and his progress so marked, that the chief surgeon, Goupil,

entrusted him with the charge of the patients whom he could not

himself attend to. After the usual course of instruction, Pare was

admitted a master barber-surgeon, and shortly after was appointed

to a charge with the French army under Montmorenci in Piedmont.

Pare was not a man to follow in the ordinary ruts of his

profession, but brought the resources of an ardent and original

mind to bear upon his daily work, diligently thinking out for

himself the rationale of diseases and their befitting remedies.

Before his time the wounded suffered much more at the hands of

their surgeons than they did at those of their enemies. To stop

bleeding from gunshot wounds, the barbarous expedient was resorted

to of dressing them with boiling oil. Haemorrhage was also stopped

by searing the wounds with a red-hot iron; and when amputation was

necessary, it was performed with a red-hot knife. At first Pare

treated wounds according to the approved methods; but, fortunately,

on one occasion, running short of boiling oil, he substituted a

mild and emollient application. He was in great fear all night

lest he should have done wrong in adopting this treatment; but was

greatly relieved next morning on finding his patients comparatively

comfortable, while those whose wounds had been treated in the usual

way were writhing in torment. Such was the casual origin of one of

Pare's greatest improvements in the treatment of gun-shot wounds;

and he proceeded to adopt the emollient treatment in all future

cases. Another still more important improvement was his employment

of the ligature in tying arteries to stop haemorrhage, instead of

the actual cautery. Pare, however, met with the usual fate of

innovators and reformers. His practice was denounced by his

surgical brethren as dangerous, unprofessional, and empirical; and

the older surgeons banded themselves together to resist its

adoption. They reproached him for his want of education, more

especially for his ignorance of Latin and Greek; and they assailed

him with quotations from ancient writers, which he was unable

either to verify or refute. But the best answer to his assailants

was the success of his practice. The wounded soldiers called out

everywhere for Pare, and he was always at their service: he tended

them carefully and affectionately; and he usually took leave of

them with the words, "I have dressed you; may God cure you."

After three years' active service as army-surgeon, Pare returned to

Paris with such a reputation that he was at once appointed surgeon

in ordinary to the King. When Metz was besieged by the Spanish

army, under Charles V., the garrison suffered heavy loss, and the

number of wounded was very great. The surgeons were few and

incompetent, and probably slew more by their bad treatment than the

Spaniards did by the sword. The Duke of Guise, who commanded the

garrison, wrote to the King imploring him to send Pare to his help.

The courageous surgeon at once set out, and, after braving many

dangers (to use his own words, "d'estre pendu, estrangle ou mis en

pieces"), he succeeded in passing the enemy's lines, and entered

Metz in safety. The Duke, the generals, and the captains gave him

an affectionate welcome; while the soldiers, when they heard of his

arrival, cried, "We no longer fear dying of our wounds; our friend

is among us." In the following year Pare was in like manner with

the besieged in the town of Hesdin, which shortly fell before the

Duke of Savoy, and he was taken prisoner. But having succeeded in

curing one of the enemy's chief officers of a serious wound, he was

discharged without ransom, and returned in safety to Paris.

The rest of his life was occupied in study, in self-improvement, in

piety, and in good deeds. Urged by some of the most learned among

his contemporaries, he placed on record the results of his surgical

experience, in twenty-eight books, which were published by him at

different times. His writings are valuable and remarkable chiefly

on account of the great number of facts and cases contained in

them, and the care with which he avoids giving any directions

resting merely upon theory unsupported by observation. Pare

continued, though a Protestant, to hold the office of surgeon in

ordinary to the King; and during the Massacre of St. Bartholomew he

owed his life to the personal friendship of Charles IX., whom he

had on one occasion saved from the dangerous effects of a wound

inflicted by a clumsy surgeon in performing the operation of

venesection. Brantome, in his 'Memoires,' thus speaks of the

King's rescue of Pare on the night of Saint Bartholomew--"He sent

to fetch him, and to remain during the night in his chamber and

wardrobe-room, commanding him not to stir, and saying that it was

not reasonable that a man who had preserved the lives of so many

people should himself be massacred." Thus Pare escaped the horrors

of that fearful night, which he survived for many years, and was

permitted to die in peace, full of age and honours.

Harvey was as indefatigable a labourer as any we have named. He

spent not less than eight long years of investigation and research

before he published his views of the circulation of the blood. He

repeated and verified his experiments again and again, probably

anticipating the opposition he would have to encounter from the

profession on making known his discovery. The tract in which he at

length announced his views, was a most modest one,--but simple,

perspicuous, and conclusive. It was nevertheless received with

ridicule, as the utterance of a crack-brained impostor. For some

time, he did not make a single convert, and gained nothing but

contumely and abuse. He had called in question the revered

authority of the ancients; and it was even averred that his views

were calculated to subvert the authority of the Scriptures and

undermine the very foundations of morality and religion. His

little practice fell away, and he was left almost without a friend.

This lasted for some years, until the great truth, held fast by

Harvey amidst all his adversity, and which had dropped into many

thoughtful minds, gradually ripened by further observation, and

after a period of about twenty-five years, it became generally

recognised as an established scientific truth.

The difficulties encountered by Dr. Jenner in promulgating and

establishing his discovery of vaccination as a preventive of small-

pox, were even greater than those of Harvey. Many, before him, had

witnessed the cow-pox, and had heard of the report current among

the milkmaids in Gloucestershire, that whoever had taken that

disease was secure against small-pox. It was a trifling, vulgar

rumour, supposed to have no significance whatever; and no one had

thought it worthy of investigation, until it was accidentally

brought under the notice of Jenner. He was a youth, pursuing his

studies at Sodbury, when his attention was arrested by the casual

observation made by a country girl who came to his master's shop

for advice. The small-pox was mentioned, when the girl said, "I

can't take that disease, for I have had cow-pox." The observation

immediately riveted Jenner's attention, and he forthwith set about

inquiring and making observations on the subject. His professional

friends, to whom he mentioned his views as to the prophylactic

virtues of cow-pox, laughed at him, and even threatened to expel

him from their society, if he persisted in harassing them with the

subject. In London he was so fortunate as to study under John

Hunter, to whom he communicated his views. The advice of the great

anatomist was thoroughly characteristic: "Don't think, but TRY; be

patient, be accurate." Jenner's courage was supported by the

advice, which conveyed to him the true art of philosophical

investigation. He went back to the country to practise his

profession and make observations and experiments, which he

continued to pursue for a period of twenty years. His faith in his

discovery was so implicit that he vaccinated his own son on three

several occasions. At length he published his views in a quarto of

about seventy pages, in which he gave the details of twenty-three

cases of successful vaccination of individuals, to whom it was

found afterwards impossible to communicate the small-pox either by

contagion or inoculation. It was in 1798 that this treatise was

published; though he had been working out his ideas since the year

1775, when they had begun to assume a definite form.

How was the discovery received? First with indifference, then with

active hostility. Jenner proceeded to London to exhibit to the

profession the process of vaccination and its results; but not a

single medical man could be induced to make trial of it, and after

fruitlessly waiting for nearly three months, he returned to his

native village. He was even caricatured and abused for his attempt

to "bestialize" his species by the introduction into their systems

of diseased matter from the cow's udder. Vaccination was denounced

from the pulpit as "diabolical." It was averred that vaccinated

children became "ox-faced," that abscesses broke out to "indicate

sprouting horns," and that the countenance was gradually

"transmuted into the visage of a cow, the voice into the bellowing

of bulls." Vaccination, however, was a truth, and notwithstanding

the violence of the opposition, belief in it spread slowly. In one

village, where a gentleman tried to introduce the practice, the

first persons who permitted themselves to be vaccinated were

absolutely pelted and driven into their houses if they appeared out

of doors. Two ladies of title--Lady Ducie and the Countess of

Berkeley--to their honour be it remembered--had the courage to

vaccinate their children; and the prejudices of the day were at

once broken through. The medical profession gradually came round,

and there were several who even sought to rob Dr. Jenner of the

merit of the discovery, when its importance came to be recognised.

Jenner's cause at last triumphed, and he was publicly honoured and

rewarded. In his prosperity he was as modest as he had been in his

obscurity. He was invited to settle in London, and told that he

might command a practice of 10,000l. a year. But his answer was,

"No! In the morning of my days I have sought the sequestered and

lowly paths of life--the valley, and not the mountain,--and now, in

the evening of my days, it is not meet for me to hold myself up as

an object for fortune and for fame." During Jenner's own life-time

the practice of vaccination became adopted all over the civilized

world; and when he died, his title as a Benefactor of his kind was

recognised far and wide. Cuvier has said, "If vaccine were the

only discovery of the epoch, it would serve to render it

illustrious for ever; yet it knocked twenty times in vain at the

doors of the Academies."

Not less patient, resolute, and persevering was Sir Charles Bell in

the prosecution of his discoveries relating to the nervous system.

Previous to his time, the most confused notions prevailed as to the

functions of the nerves, and this branch of study was little more

advanced than it had been in the times of Democritus and Anaxagoras

three thousand years before. Sir Charles Bell, in the valuable

series of papers the publication of which was commenced in 1821,

took an entirely original view of the subject, based upon a long

series of careful, accurate, and oft-repeated experiments.

Elaborately tracing the development of the nervous system up from

the lowest order of animated being, to man--the lord of the animal

kingdom,--he displayed it, to use his own words, "as plainly as if

it were written in our mother-tongue." His discovery consisted in

the fact, that the spinal nerves are double in their function, and

arise by double roots from the spinal marrow,--volition being

conveyed by that part of the nerves springing from the one root,

and sensation by the other. The subject occupied the mind of Sir

Charles Bell for a period of forty years, when, in 1840, he laid

his last paper before the Royal Society. As in the cases of Harvey

and Jenner, when he had lived down the ridicule and opposition with

which his views were first received, and their truth came to be

recognised, numerous claims for priority in making the discovery

were set up at home and abroad. Like them, too, he lost practice

by the publication of his papers; and he left it on record that,

after every step in his discovery, he was obliged to work harder

than ever to preserve his reputation as a practitioner. The great

merits of Sir Charles Bell were, however, at length fully

recognised; and Cuvier himself, when on his death-bed, finding his

face distorted and drawn to one side, pointed out the symptom to

his attendants as a proof of the correctness of Sir Charles Bell's

theory.

An equally devoted pursuer of the same branch of science was the

late Dr. Marshall Hall, whose name posterity will rank with those

of Harvey, Hunter, Jenner, and Bell. During the whole course of

his long and useful life he was a most careful and minute observer;

and no fact, however apparently insignificant, escaped his

attention. His important discovery of the diastaltic nervous

system, by which his name will long be known amongst scientific

men, originated in an exceedingly simple circumstance. When

investigating the pneumonic circulation in the Triton, the

decapitated object lay upon the table; and on separating the tail

and accidentally pricking the external integument, he observed that

it moved with energy, and became contorted into various forms. He

had not touched a muscle or a muscular nerve; what then was the

nature of these movements? The same phenomena had probably been

often observed before, but Dr. Hall was the first to apply himself

perseveringly to the investigation of their causes; and he

exclaimed on the occasion, "I will never rest satisfied until I

have found all this out, and made it clear." His attention to the

subject was almost incessant; and it is estimated that in the

course of his life he devoted not less than 25,000 hours to its

experimental and chemical investigation. He was at the same time

carrying on an extensive private practice, and officiating as

lecturer at St. Thomas's Hospital and other Medical Schools. It

will scarcely be credited that the paper in which he embodied his

discovery was rejected by the Royal Society, and was only accepted

after the lapse of seventeen years, when the truth of his views had

become acknowledged by scientific men both at home and abroad.

The life of Sir William Herschel affords another remarkable

illustration of the force of perseverance in another branch of

science. His father was a poor German musician, who brought up his

four sons to the same calling. William came over to England to

seek his fortune, and he joined the band of the Durham Militia, in

which he played the oboe. The regiment was lying at Doncaster,

where Dr. Miller first became acquainted with Herschel, having

heard him perform a solo on the violin in a surprising manner. The

Doctor entered into conversation with the youth, and was so pleased

with him, that he urged him to leave the militia and take up his

residence at his house for a time. Herschel did so, and while at

Doncaster was principally occupied in violin-playing at concerts,

availing himself of the advantages of Dr. Miller's library to study

at his leisure hours. A new organ having been built for the parish

church of Halifax, an organist was advertised for, on which

Herschel applied for the office, and was selected. Leading the

wandering life of an artist, he was next attracted to Bath, where

he played in the Pump-room band, and also officiated as organist in

the Octagon chapel. Some recent discoveries in astronomy having

arrested his mind, and awakened in him a powerful spirit of

curiosity, he sought and obtained from a friend the loan of a two-

foot Gregorian telescope. So fascinated was the poor musician by

the science, that he even thought of purchasing a telescope, but

the price asked by the London optician was so alarming, that he

determined to make one. Those who know what a reflecting telescope

is, and the skill which is required to prepare the concave metallic

speculum which forms the most important part of the apparatus, will

be able to form some idea of the difficulty of this undertaking.

Nevertheless, Herschel succeeded, after long and painful labour, in

completing a five-foot reflector, with which he had the

gratification of observing the ring and satellites of Saturn. Not

satisfied with his triumph, he proceeded to make other instruments

in succession, of seven, ten, and even twenty feet. In

constructing the seven-foot reflector, he finished no fewer than

two hundred specula before he produced one that would bear any

power that was applied to it,--a striking instance of the

persevering laboriousness of the man. While gauging the heavens

with his instruments, he continued patiently to earn his bread by

piping to the fashionable frequenters of the Pump-room. So eager

was he in his astronomical observations, that he would steal away

from the room during an interval of the performance, give a little

turn at his telescope, and contentedly return to his oboe. Thus

working away, Herschel discovered the Georgium Sidus, the orbit and

rate of motion of which he carefully calculated, and sent the

result to the Royal Society; when the humble oboe player found

himself at once elevated from obscurity to fame. He was shortly

after appointed Astronomer Royal, and by the kindness of George

III. was placed in a position of honourable competency for life.

He bore his honours with the same meekness and humility which had

distinguished him in the days of his obscurity. So gentle and

patient, and withal so distinguished and successful a follower of

science under difficulties, perhaps cannot be found in the entire

history of biography.

The career of William Smith, the father of English geology, though

perhaps less known, is not less interesting and instructive as an

example of patient and laborious effort, and the diligent

cultivation of opportunities. He was born in 1769, the son of a

yeoman farmer at Churchill, in Oxfordshire. His father dying when

he was but a child, he received a very sparing education at the

village school, and even that was to a considerable extent

interfered with by his wandering and somewhat idle habits as a boy.

His mother having married a second time, he was taken in charge by

an uncle, also a farmer, by whom he was brought up. Though the

uncle was by no means pleased with the boy's love of wandering

about, collecting "poundstones," "pundips," and other stony

curiosities which lay scattered about the adjoining land, he yet

enabled him to purchase a few of the necessary books wherewith to

instruct himself in the rudiments of geometry and surveying; for

the boy was already destined for the business of a land-surveyor.

One of his marked characteristics, even as a youth, was the

accuracy and keenness of his observation; and what he once clearly

saw he never forgot. He began to draw, attempted to colour, and

practised the arts of mensuration and surveying, all without

regular instruction; and by his efforts in self-culture, he shortly

became so proficient, that he was taken on as assistant to a local

surveyor of ability in the neighbourhood. In carrying on his

business he was constantly under the necessity of traversing

Oxfordshire and the adjoining counties. One of the first things he

seriously pondered over, was the position of the various soils and

strata that came under his notice on the lands which he surveyed or

travelled over; more especially the position of the red earth in

regard to the lias and superincumbent rocks. The surveys of

numerous collieries which he was called upon to make, gave him

further experience; and already, when only twenty-three years of

age, he contemplated making a model of the strata of the earth.

While engaged in levelling for a proposed canal in Gloucestershire,

the idea of a general law occurred to him relating to the strata of

that district. He conceived that the strata lying above the coal

were not laid horizontally, but inclined, and in one direction,

towards the east; resembling, on a large scale, "the ordinary

appearance of superposed slices of bread and butter." The

correctness of this theory he shortly after confirmed by

observations of the strata in two parallel valleys, the "red

ground," "lias," and "freestone" or "oolite," being found to come

down in an eastern direction, and to sink below the level, yielding

place to the next in succession. He was shortly enabled to verify

the truth of his views on a larger scale, having been appointed to

examine personally into the management of canals in England and

Wales. During his journeys, which extended from Bath to Newcastle-

on-Tyne, returning by Shropshire and Wales, his keen eyes were

never idle for a moment. He rapidly noted the aspect and structure

of the country through which he passed with his companions,

treasuring up his observations for future use. His geologic vision

was so acute, that though the road along which he passed from York

to Newcastle in the post chaise was from five to fifteen miles

distant from the hills of chalk and oolite on the east, he was

satisfied as to their nature, by their contours and relative

position, and their ranges on the surface in relation to the lias

and "red ground" occasionally seen on the road.

The general results of his observation seem to have been these. He

noted that the rocky masses of country in the western parts of

England generally inclined to the east and south-east; that the red

sandstones and marls above the coal measures passed beneath the

lias, clay, and limestone, that these again passed beneath the

sands, yellow limestones and clays, forming the table-land of the

Cotswold Hills, while these in turn passed beneath the great chalk

deposits occupying the eastern parts of England. He further

observed, that each layer of clay, sand, and limestone held its own

peculiar classes of fossils; and pondering much on these things, he

at length came to the then unheard-of conclusion, that each

distinct deposit of marine animals, in these several strata,

indicated a distinct sea-bottom, and that each layer of clay, sand,

chalk, and stone, marked a distinct epoch of time in the history of

the earth.

This idea took firm possession of his mind, and he could talk and

think of nothing else. At canal boards, at sheep-shearings, at

county meetings, and at agricultural associations, 'Strata Smith,'

as he came to be called, was always running over with the subject

that possessed him. He had indeed made a great discovery, though

he was as yet a man utterly unknown in the scientific world. He

proceeded to project a map of the stratification of England; but

was for some time deterred from proceeding with it, being fully

occupied in carrying out the works of the Somersetshire coal canal,

which engaged him for a period of about six years. He continued,

nevertheless, to be unremitting in his observation of facts; and he

became so expert in apprehending the internal structure of a

district and detecting the lie of the strata from its external

configuration, that he was often consulted respecting the drainage

of extensive tracts of land, in which, guided by his geological

knowledge, he proved remarkably successful, and acquired an

extensive reputation.

One day, when looking over the cabinet collection of fossils

belonging to the Rev. Samuel Richardson, at Bath, Smith astonished

his friend by suddenly disarranging his classification, and re-

arranging the fossils in their stratigraphical order, saying--

"These came from the blue lias, these from the over-lying sand and

freestone, these from the fuller's earth, and these from the Bath

building stone." A new light flashed upon Mr. Richardson's mind,

and he shortly became a convert to and believer in William Smith's

doctrine. The geologists of the day were not, however, so easily

convinced; and it was scarcely to be tolerated that an unknown

land-surveyor should pretend to teach them the science of geology.

But William Smith had an eye and mind to penetrate deep beneath the

skin of the earth; he saw its very fibre and skeleton, and, as it

were, divined its organization. His knowledge of the strata in the

neighbourhood of Bath was so accurate, that one evening, when

dining at the house of the Rev. Joseph Townsend, he dictated to Mr.

Richardson the different strata according to their order of

succession in descending order, twenty-three in number, commencing

with the chalk and descending in continuous series down to the

coal, below which the strata were not then sufficiently determined.

To this was added a list of the more remarkable fossils which had

been gathered in the several layers of rock. This was printed and

extensively circulated in 1801.

He next determined to trace out the strata through districts as

remote from Bath as his means would enable him to reach. For years

he journeyed to and fro, sometimes on foot, sometimes on horseback,

riding on the tops of stage coaches, often making up by night-

travelling the time he had lost by day, so as not to fail in his

ordinary business engagements. When he was professionally called

away to any distance from home--as, for instance, when travelling

from Bath to Holkham, in Norfolk, to direct the irrigation and

drainage of Mr. Coke's land in that county--he rode on horseback,

making frequent detours from the road to note the geological

features of the country which he traversed.

For several years he was thus engaged in his journeys to distant

quarters in England and Ireland, to the extent of upwards of ten

thousand miles yearly; and it was amidst this incessant and

laborious travelling, that he contrived to commit to paper his

fast-growing generalizations on what he rightly regarded as a new

science. No observation, howsoever trivial it might appear, was

neglected, and no opportunity of collecting fresh facts was

overlooked. Whenever he could, he possessed himself of records of

borings, natural and artificial sections, drew them to a constant

scale of eight yards to the inch, and coloured them up. Of his

keenness of observation take the following illustration. When

making one of his geological excursions about the country near

Woburn, as he was drawing near to the foot of the Dunstable chalk

hills, he observed to his companion, "If there be any broken ground

about the foot of these hills, we may find SHARK'S TEETH;" and they

had not proceeded far, before they picked up six from the white

bank of a new fence-ditch. As he afterwards said of himself, "The

habit of observation crept on me, gained a settlement in my mind,

became a constant associate of my life, and started up in activity

at the first thought of a journey; so that I generally went off

well prepared with maps, and sometimes with contemplations on its

objects, or on those on the road, reduced to writing before it

commenced. My mind was, therefore, like the canvas of a painter,

well prepared for the first and best impressions."

Notwithstanding his courageous and indefatigable industry, many

circumstances contributed to prevent the promised publication of

William Smith's 'Map of the Strata of England and Wales,' and it

was not until 1814 that he was enabled, by the assistance of some

friends, to give to the world the fruits of his twenty years'

incessant labour. To prosecute his inquiries, and collect the

extensive series of facts and observations requisite for his

purpose, he had to expend the whole of the profits of his

professional labours during that period; and he even sold off his

small property to provide the means of visiting remoter parts of

the island. Meanwhile he had entered on a quarrying speculation

near Bath, which proved unsuccessful, and he was under the

necessity of selling his geological collection (which was purchased

by the British Museum), his furniture and library, reserving only

his papers, maps, and sections, which were useless save to himself.

He bore his losses and misfortunes with exemplary fortitude; and

amidst all, he went on working with cheerful courage and untiring

patience. He died at Northampton, in August, 1839, while on his

way to attend the meeting of the British Association at Birmingham.

It is difficult to speak in terms of too high praise of the first

geological map of England, which we owe to the industry of this

courageous man of science. An accomplished writer says of it, "It

was a work so masterly in conception and so correct in general

outline, that in principle it served as a basis not only for the

production of later maps of the British Islands, but for geological

maps of all other parts of the world, wherever they have been

undertaken. In the apartments of the Geological Society Smith's

map may yet be seen--a great historical document, old and worn,

calling for renewal of its faded tints. Let any one conversant

with the subject compare it with later works on a similar scale,

and he will find that in all essential features it will not suffer

by the comparison--the intricate anatomy of the Silurian rocks of

Wales and the north of England by Murchison and Sedgwick being the

chief additions made to his great generalizations." {20} The

genius of the Oxfordshire surveyor did not fail to be duly

recognised and honoured by men of science during his lifetime. In

1831 the Geological Society of London awarded to him the Wollaston

medal, "in consideration of his being a great original discoverer

in English geology, and especially for his being the first in this

country to discover and to teach the identification of strata, and

to determine their succession by means of their imbedded fossils."

William Smith, in his simple, earnest way, gained for himself a

name as lasting as the science he loved so well. To use the words

of the writer above quoted, "Till the manner as well as the fact of

the first appearance of successive forms of life shall be solved,

it is not easy to surmise how any discovery can be made in geology

equal in value to that which we owe to the genius of William

Smith."

Hugh Miller was a man of like observant faculties, who studied

literature as well as science with zeal and success. The book in

which he has told the story of his life, ('My Schools and

Schoolmasters'), is extremely interesting, and calculated to be

eminently useful. It is the history of the formation of a truly

noble character in the humblest condition of life; and inculcates

most powerfully the lessons of self-help, self-respect, and self-

dependence. While Hugh was but a child, his father, who was a

sailor, was drowned at sea, and he was brought up by his widowed

mother. He had a school training after a sort, but his best

teachers were the boys with whom he played, the men amongst whom he

worked, the friends and relatives with whom he lived. He read much

and miscellaneously, and picked up odd sorts of knowledge from many

quarters,--from workmen, carpenters, fishermen and sailors, and

above all, from the old boulders strewed along the shores of the

Cromarty Frith. With a big hammer which had belonged to his great-

grandfather, an old buccaneer, the boy went about chipping the

stones, and accumulating specimens of mica, porphyry, garnet, and

such like. Sometimes he had a day in the woods, and there, too,

the boy's attention was excited by the peculiar geological

curiosities which came in his way. While searching among the rocks

on the beach, he was sometimes asked, in irony, by the farm

servants who came to load their carts with sea-weed, whether he

"was gettin' siller in the stanes," but was so unlucky as never to

be able to answer in the affirmative. When of a suitable age he

was apprenticed to the trade of his choice--that of a working

stonemason; and he began his labouring career in a quarry looking

out upon the Cromarty Frith. This quarry proved one of his best

schools. The remarkable geological formations which it displayed

awakened his curiosity. The bar of deep-red stone beneath, and the

bar of pale-red clay above, were noted by the young quarryman, who

even in such unpromising subjects found matter for observation and

reflection. Where other men saw nothing, he detected analogies,

differences, and peculiarities, which set him a-thinking. He

simply kept his eyes and his mind open; was sober, diligent, and

persevering; and this was the secret of his intellectual growth.

His curiosity was excited and kept alive by the curious organic

remains, principally of old and extinct species of fishes, ferns,

and ammonites, which were revealed along the coast by the washings

of the waves, or were exposed by the stroke of his mason's hammer.

He never lost sight of the subject; but went on accumulating

observations and comparing formations, until at length, many years

afterwards, when no longer a working mason, he gave to the world

his highly interesting work on the Old Red Sandstone, which at once

established his reputation as a scientific geologist. But this

work was the fruit of long years of patient observation and

research. As he modestly states in his autobiography, "the only

merit to which I lay claim in the case is that of patient research-

-a merit in which whoever wills may rival or surpass me; and this

humble faculty of patience, when rightly developed, may lead to

more extraordinary developments of idea than even genius itself."

The late John Brown, the eminent English geologist, was, like

Miller, a stonemason in his early life, serving an apprenticeship

to the trade at Colchester, and afterwards working as a journeyman

mason at Norwich. He began business as a builder on his own

account at Colchester, where by frugality and industry he secured a

competency. It was while working at his trade that his attention

was first drawn to the study of fossils and shells; and he

proceeded to make a collection of them, which afterwards grew into

one of the finest in England. His researches along the coasts of

Essex, Kent, and Sussex brought to light some magnificent remains

of the elephant and rhinoceros, the most valuable of which were

presented by him to the British Museum. During the last few years

of his life he devoted considerable attention to the study of the

Foraminifera in chalk, respecting which he made several interesting

discoveries. His life was useful, happy, and honoured; and he died

at Stanway, in Essex, in November 1859, at the ripe age of eighty

years.

Not long ago, Sir Roderick Murchison discovered at Thurso, in the

far north of Scotland, a profound geologist, in the person of a

baker there, named Robert Dick. When Sir Roderick called upon him

at the bakehouse in which he baked and earned his bread, Robert

Dick delineated to him, by means of flour upon the board, the

geographical features and geological phenomena of his native

county, pointing out the imperfections in the existing maps, which

he had ascertained by travelling over the country in his leisure

hours. On further inquiry, Sir Roderick ascertained that the

humble individual before him was not only a capital baker and

geologist, but a first-rate botanist. "I found," said the

President of the Geographical Society, "to my great humiliation

that the baker knew infinitely more of botanical science, ay, ten

times more, than I did; and that there were only some twenty or

thirty specimens of flowers which he had not collected. Some he

had obtained as presents, some he had purchased, but the greater

portion had been accumulated by his industry, in his native county

of Caithness; and the specimens were all arranged in the most

beautiful order, with their scientific names affixed."

Sir Roderick Murchison himself is an illustrious follower of these

and kindred branches of science. A writer in the 'Quarterly

Review' cites him as a "singular instance of a man who, having

passed the early part of his life as a soldier, never having had

the advantage, or disadvantage as the case might have been, of a

scientific training, instead of remaining a fox-hunting country

gentleman, has succeeded by his own native vigour and sagacity,

untiring industry and zeal, in making for himself a scientific

reputation that is as wide as it is likely to be lasting. He took

first of all an unexplored and difficult district at home, and, by

the labour of many years, examined its rock-formations, classed

them in natural groups, assigned to each its characteristic

assemblage of fossils, and was the first to decipher two great

chapters in the world's geological history, which must always

henceforth carry his name on their title-page. Not only so, but he

applied the knowledge thus acquired to the dissection of large

districts, both at home and abroad, so as to become the geological

discoverer of great countries which had formerly been 'terrae

incognitae.'" But Sir Roderick Murchison is not merely a

geologist. His indefatigable labours in many branches of knowledge

have contributed to render him among the most accomplished and

complete of scientific men.

CHAPTER VI--WORKERS IN ART

"If what shone afar so grand,

Turn to nothing in thy hand,

On again; the virtue lies

In struggle, not the prize."--R. M. Milnes.

"Excelle, et tu vivras."--Joubert.

Excellence in art, as in everything else, can only be achieved by

dint of painstaking labour.

There is nothing less accidental than the painting of a fine

picture or the chiselling of a noble statue. Every skilled touch

of the artist's brush or chisel, though guided by genius, is the

product of unremitting study.

Sir Joshua Reynolds was such a believer in the force of industry,

that he held that artistic excellence, "however expressed by

genius, taste, or the gift of heaven, may be acquired." Writing to

Barry he said, "Whoever is resolved to excel in painting, or indeed

any other art, must bring all his mind to bear upon that one object

from the moment that he rises till he goes to bed." And on another

occasion he said, "Those who are resolved to excel must go to their

work, willing or unwilling, morning, noon, and night: they will

find it no play, but very hard labour." But although diligent

application is no doubt absolutely necessary for the achievement of

the highest distinction in art, it is equally true that without the

inborn genius, no amount of mere industry, however well applied,

will make an artist. The gift comes by nature, but is perfected by

self-culture, which is of more avail than all the imparted

education of the schools.

Some of the greatest artists have had to force their way upward in

the face of poverty and manifold obstructions. Illustrious

instances will at once flash upon the reader's mind. Claude

Lorraine, the pastrycook; Tintoretto, the dyer; the two

Caravaggios, the one a colour-grinder, the other a mortar-carrier

at the Vatican; Salvator Rosa, the associate of bandits; Giotto,

the peasant boy; Zingaro, the gipsy; Cavedone, turned out of doors

to beg by his father; Canova, the stone-cutter; these, and many

other well-known artists, succeeded in achieving distinction by

severe study and labour, under circumstances the most adverse.

Nor have the most distinguished artists of our own country been

born in a position of life more than ordinarily favourable to the

culture of artistic genius. Gainsborough and Bacon were the sons

of cloth-workers; Barry was an Irish sailor boy, and Maclise a

banker's apprentice at Cork; Opie and Romney, like Inigo Jones,

were carpenters; West was the son of a small Quaker farmer in

Pennsylvania; Northcote was a watchmaker, Jackson a tailor, and

Etty a printer; Reynolds, Wilson, and Wilkie, were the sons of

clergymen; Lawrence was the son of a publican, and Turner of a

barber. Several of our painters, it is true, originally had some

connection with art, though in a very humble way,--such as Flaxman,

whose father sold plaster casts; Bird, who ornamented tea-trays;

Martin, who was a coach-painter; Wright and Gilpin, who were ship-

painters; Chantrey, who was a carver and gilder; and David Cox,

Stanfield, and Roberts, who were scene-painters.

It was not by luck or accident that these men achieved distinction,

but by sheer industry and hard work. Though some achieved wealth,

yet this was rarely, if ever, the ruling motive. Indeed, no mere

love of money could sustain the efforts of the artist in his early

career of self-denial and application. The pleasure of the pursuit

has always been its best reward; the wealth which followed but an

accident. Many noble-minded artists have preferred following the

bent of their genius, to chaffering with the public for terms.

Spagnoletto verified in his life the beautiful fiction of Xenophon,

and after he had acquired the means of luxury, preferred

withdrawing himself from their influence, and voluntarily returned

to poverty and labour. When Michael Angelo was asked his opinion

respecting a work which a painter had taken great pains to exhibit

for profit, he said, "I think that he will be a poor fellow so long

as he shows such an extreme eagerness to become rich."

Like Sir Joshua Reynolds, Michael Angelo was a great believer in

the force of labour; and he held that there was nothing which the

imagination conceived, that could not be embodied in marble, if the

hand were made vigorously to obey the mind. He was himself one of

the most indefatigable of workers; and he attributed his power of

studying for a greater number of hours than most of his

contemporaries, to his spare habits of living. A little bread and

wine was all he required for the chief part of the day when

employed at his work; and very frequently he rose in the middle of

the night to resume his labours. On these occasions, it was his

practice to fix the candle, by the light of which he chiselled, on

the summit of a paste-board cap which he wore. Sometimes he was

too wearied to undress, and he slept in his clothes, ready to

spring to his work so soon as refreshed by sleep. He had a

favourite device of an old man in a go-cart, with an hour-glass

upon it bearing the inscription, Ancora imparo! Still I am

learning.

Titian, also, was an indefatigable worker. His celebrated "Pietro

Martire" was eight years in hand, and his "Last Supper" seven. In

his letter to Charles V. he said, "I send your Majesty the 'Last

Supper' after working at it almost daily for seven years--dopo

sette anni lavorandovi quasi continuamente." Few think of the

patient labour and long training involved in the greatest works of

the artist. They seem easy and quickly accomplished, yet with how

great difficulty has this ease been acquired. "You charge me fifty

sequins," said the Venetian nobleman to the sculptor, "for a bust

that cost you only ten days' labour." "You forget," said the

artist, "that I have been thirty years learning to make that bust

in ten days." Once when Domenichino was blamed for his slowness in

finishing a picture which was bespoken, he made answer, "I am

continually painting it within myself." It was eminently

characteristic of the industry of the late Sir Augustus Callcott,

that he made not fewer than forty separate sketches in the

composition of his famous picture of "Rochester." This constant

repetition is one of the main conditions of success in art, as in

life itself.

No matter how generous nature has been in bestowing the gift of

genius, the pursuit of art is nevertheless a long and continuous

labour. Many artists have been precocious, but without diligence

their precocity would have come to nothing. The anecdote related

of West is well known. When only seven years old, struck with the

beauty of the sleeping infant of his eldest sister whilst watching

by its cradle, he ran to seek some paper and forthwith drew its

portrait in red and black ink. The little incident revealed the

artist in him, and it was found impossible to draw him from his

bent. West might have been a greater painter, had he not been

injured by too early success: his fame, though great, was not

purchased by study, trials, and difficulties, and it has not been

enduring.

Richard Wilson, when a mere child, indulged himself with tracing

figures of men and animals on the walls of his father's house, with

a burnt stick. He first directed his attention to portrait

painting; but when in Italy, calling one day at the house of

Zucarelli, and growing weary with waiting, he began painting the

scene on which his friend's chamber window looked. When Zucarelli

arrived, he was so charmed with the picture, that he asked if

Wilson had not studied landscape, to which he replied that he had

not. "Then, I advise you," said the other, "to try; for you are

sure of great success." Wilson adopted the advice, studied and

worked hard, and became our first great English landscape painter.

Sir Joshua Reynolds, when a boy, forgot his lessons, and took

pleasure only in drawing, for which his father was accustomed to

rebuke him. The boy was destined for the profession of physic, but

his strong instinct for art could not be repressed, and he became a

painter. Gainsborough went sketching, when a schoolboy, in the

woods of Sudbury; and at twelve he was a confirmed artist: he was

a keen observer and a hard worker,--no picturesque feature of any

scene he had once looked upon, escaping his diligent pencil.

William Blake, a hosier's son, employed himself in drawing designs

on the backs of his father's shop-bills, and making sketches on the

counter. Edward Bird, when a child only three or four years old,

would mount a chair and draw figures on the walls, which he called

French and English soldiers. A box of colours was purchased for

him, and his father, desirous of turning his love of art to

account, put him apprentice to a maker of tea-trays! Out of this

trade he gradually raised himself, by study and labour, to the rank

of a Royal Academician.

Hogarth, though a very dull boy at his lessons, took pleasure in

making drawings of the letters of the alphabet, and his school

exercises were more remarkable for the ornaments with which he

embellished them, than for the matter of the exercises themselves.

In the latter respect he was beaten by all the blockheads of the

school, but in his adornments he stood alone. His father put him

apprentice to a silversmith, where he learnt to draw, and also to

engrave spoons and forks with crests and ciphers. From silver-

chasing, he went on to teach himself engraving on copper,

principally griffins and monsters of heraldry, in the course of

which practice he became ambitious to delineate the varieties of

human character. The singular excellence which he reached in this

art, was mainly the result of careful observation and study. He

had the gift, which he sedulously cultivated, of committing to

memory the precise features of any remarkable face, and afterwards

reproducing them on paper; but if any singularly fantastic form or

outre face came in his way, he would make a sketch of it on the

spot, upon his thumb-nail, and carry it home to expand at his

leisure. Everything fantastical and original had a powerful

attraction for him, and he wandered into many out-of-the-way places

for the purpose of meeting with character. By this careful storing

of his mind, he was afterwards enabled to crowd an immense amount

of thought and treasured observation into his works. Hence it is

that Hogarth's pictures are so truthful a memorial of the

character, the manners, and even the very thoughts of the times in

which he lived. True painting, he himself observed, can only be

learnt in one school, and that is kept by Nature. But he was not a

highly cultivated man, except in his own walk. His school

education had been of the slenderest kind, scarcely even perfecting

him in the art of spelling; his self-culture did the rest. For a

long time he was in very straitened circumstances, but nevertheless

worked on with a cheerful heart. Poor though he was, he contrived

to live within his small means, and he boasted, with becoming

pride, that he was "a punctual paymaster." When he had conquered

all his difficulties and become a famous and thriving man, he loved

to dwell upon his early labours and privations, and to fight over

again the battle which ended so honourably to him as a man and so

gloriously as an artist. "I remember the time," said he on one

occasion, "when I have gone moping into the city with scarce a

shilling, but as soon as I have received ten guineas there for a

plate, I have returned home, put on my sword, and sallied out with

all the confidence of a man who had thousands in his pockets."

"Industry and perseverance" was the motto of the sculptor Banks,

which he acted on himself, and strongly recommended to others. His

well-known kindness induced many aspiring youths to call upon him

and ask for his advice and assistance; and it is related that one

day a boy called at his door to see him with this object, but the

servant, angry at the loud knock he had given, scolded him, and was

about sending him away, when Banks overhearing her, himself went

out. The little boy stood at the door with some drawings in his

hand. "What do you want with me?" asked the sculptor. "I want,

sir, if you please, to be admitted to draw at the Academy." Banks

explained that he himself could not procure his admission, but he

asked to look at the boy's drawings. Examining them, he said,

"Time enough for the Academy, my little man! go home--mind your

schooling--try to make a better drawing of the Apollo--and in a

month come again and let me see it." The boy went home--sketched

and worked with redoubled diligence--and, at the end of the month,

called again on the sculptor. The drawing was better; but again

Banks sent him back, with good advice, to work and study. In a

week the boy was again at his door, his drawing much improved; and

Banks bid him be of good cheer, for if spared he would distinguish

himself. The boy was Mulready; and the sculptor's augury was amply

fulfilled.

The fame of Claude Lorraine is partly explained by his

indefatigable industry. Born at Champagne, in Lorraine, of poor

parents, he was first apprenticed to a pastrycook. His brother,

who was a wood-carver, afterwards took him into his shop to learn

that trade. Having there shown indications of artistic skill, a

travelling dealer persuaded the brother to allow Claude to

accompany him to Italy. He assented, and the young man reached

Rome, where he was shortly after engaged by Agostino Tassi, the

landscape painter, as his house-servant. In that capacity Claude

first learnt landscape painting, and in course of time he began to

produce pictures. We next find him making the tour of Italy,

France, and Germany, occasionally resting by the way to paint

landscapes, and thereby replenish his purse. On returning to Rome

he found an increasing demand for his works, and his reputation at

length became European. He was unwearied in the study of nature in

her various aspects. It was his practice to spend a great part of

his time in closely copying buildings, bits of ground, trees,

leaves, and such like, which he finished in detail, keeping the

drawings by him in store for the purpose of introducing them in his

studied landscapes. He also gave close attention to the sky,

watching it for whole days from morning till night, and noting the

various changes occasioned by the passing clouds and the increasing

and waning light. By this constant practice he acquired, although

it is said very slowly, such a mastery of hand and eye as

eventually secured for him the first rank among landscape painters.

Turner, who has been styled "the English Claude," pursued a career

of like laborious industry. He was destined by his father for his

own trade of a barber, which he carried on in London, until one day

the sketch which the boy had made of a coat of arms on a silver

salver having attracted the notice of a customer whom his father

was shaving, the latter was urged to allow his son to follow his

bias, and he was eventually permitted to follow art as a

profession. Like all young artists, Turner had many difficulties

to encounter, and they were all the greater that his circumstances

were so straitened. But he was always willing to work, and to take

pains with his work, no matter how humble it might be. He was glad

to hire himself out at half-a-crown a night to wash in skies in

Indian ink upon other people's drawings, getting his supper into

the bargain. Thus he earned money and acquired expertness. Then

he took to illustrating guide-books, almanacs, and any sort of

books that wanted cheap frontispieces. "What could I have done

better?" said he afterwards; "it was first-rate practice." He did

everything carefully and conscientiously, never slurring over his

work because he was ill-remunerated for it. He aimed at learning

as well as living; always doing his best, and never leaving a

drawing without having made a step in advance upon his previous

work. A man who thus laboured was sure to do much; and his growth

in power and grasp of thought was, to use Ruskin's words, "as

steady as the increasing light of sunrise." But Turner's genius

needs no panegyric; his best monument is the noble gallery of

pictures bequeathed by him to the nation, which will ever be the

most lasting memorial of his fame.

To reach Rome, the capital of the fine arts, is usually the highest

ambition of the art student. But the journey to Rome is costly,

and the student is often poor. With a will resolute to overcome

difficulties, Rome may however at last be reached. Thus Francois

Perrier, an early French painter, in his eager desire to visit the

Eternal City, consented to act as guide to a blind vagrant. After

long wanderings he reached the Vatican, studied and became famous.

Not less enthusiasm was displayed by Jacques Callot in his

determination to visit Rome. Though opposed by his father in his

wish to be an artist, the boy would not be baulked, but fled from

home to make his way to Italy. Having set out without means, he

was soon reduced to great straits; but falling in with a band of

gipsies, he joined their company, and wandered about with them from

one fair to another, sharing in their numerous adventures. During

this remarkable journey Callot picked up much of that extraordinary

knowledge of figure, feature, and character which he afterwards

reproduced, sometimes in such exaggerated forms, in his wonderful

engravings.

When Callot at length reached Florence, a gentleman, pleased with

his ingenious ardour, placed him with an artist to study; but he

was not satisfied to stop short of Rome, and we find him shortly on

his way thither. At Rome he made the acquaintance of Porigi and

Thomassin, who, on seeing his crayon sketches, predicted for him a

brilliant career as an artist. But a friend of Callot's family

having accidentally encountered him, took steps to compel the

fugitive to return home. By this time he had acquired such a love

of wandering that he could not rest; so he ran away a second time,

and a second time he was brought back by his elder brother, who

caught him at Turin. At last the father, seeing resistance was in

vain, gave his reluctant consent to Callot's prosecuting his

studies at Rome. Thither he went accordingly; and this time he

remained, diligently studying design and engraving for several

years, under competent masters. On his way back to France, he was

encouraged by Cosmo II. to remain at Florence, where he studied and

worked for several years more. On the death of his patron he

returned to his family at Nancy, where, by the use of his burin and

needle, he shortly acquired both wealth and fame. When Nancy was

taken by siege during the civil wars, Callot was requested by

Richelieu to make a design and engraving of the event, but the

artist would not commemorate the disaster which had befallen his

native place, and he refused point-blank. Richelieu could not

shake his resolution, and threw him into prison. There Callot met

with some of his old friends the gipsies, who had relieved his

wants on his first journey to Rome. When Louis XIII. heard of his

imprisonment, he not only released him, but offered to grant him

any favour he might ask. Callot immediately requested that his old

companions, the gipsies, might be set free and permitted to beg in

Paris without molestation. This odd request was granted on

condition that Callot should engrave their portraits, and hence his

curious book of engravings entitled "The Beggars." Louis is said

to have offered Callot a pension of 3000 livres provided he would

not leave Paris; but the artist was now too much of a Bohemian, and

prized his liberty too highly to permit him to accept it; and he

returned to Nancy, where he worked till his death. His industry

may be inferred from the number of his engravings and etchings, of

which he left not fewer than 1600. He was especially fond of

grotesque subjects, which he treated with great skill; his free

etchings, touched with the graver, being executed with especial

delicacy and wonderful minuteness.

Still more romantic and adventurous was the career of Benvenuto

Cellini, the marvellous gold worker, painter, sculptor, engraver,

engineer, and author. His life, as told by himself, is one of the

most extraordinary autobiographies ever written. Giovanni Cellini,

his father, was one of the Court musicians to Lorenzo de Medici at

Florence; and his highest ambition concerning his son Benvenuto was

that he should become an expert player on the flute. But Giovanni

having lost his appointment, found it necessary to send his son to

learn some trade, and he was apprenticed to a goldsmith. The boy

had already displayed a love of drawing and of art; and, applying

himself to his business, he soon became a dexterous workman.

Having got mixed up in a quarrel with some of the townspeople, he

was banished for six months, during which period he worked with a

goldsmith at Sienna, gaining further experience in jewellery and

gold-working.

His father still insisting on his becoming a flute-player,

Benvenuto continued to practise on the instrument, though he

detested it. His chief pleasure was in art, which he pursued with

enthusiasm. Returning to Florence, he carefully studied the

designs of Leonardo da Vinci and Michael Angelo; and, still further

to improve himself in gold-working, he went on foot to Rome, where

he met with a variety of adventures. He returned to Florence with

the reputation of being a most expert worker in the precious

metals, and his skill was soon in great request. But being of an

irascible temper, he was constantly getting into scrapes, and was

frequently under the necessity of flying for his life. Thus he

fled from Florence in the disguise of a friar, again taking refuge

at Sienna, and afterwards at Rome.

During his second residence in Rome, Cellini met with extensive

patronage, and he was taken into the Pope's service in the double

capacity of goldsmith and musician. He was constantly studying and

improving himself by acquaintance with the works of the best

masters. He mounted jewels, finished enamels, engraved seals, and

designed and executed works in gold, silver, and bronze, in such a

style as to excel all other artists. Whenever he heard of a

goldsmith who was famous in any particular branch, he immediately

determined to surpass him. Thus it was that he rivalled the medals

of one, the enamels of another, and the jewellery of a third; in

fact, there was not a branch of his business that he did not feel

impelled to excel in.

Working in this spirit, it is not so wonderful that Cellini should

have been able to accomplish so much. He was a man of

indefatigable activity, and was constantly on the move. At one

time we find him at Florence, at another at Rome; then he is at

Mantua, at Rome, at Naples, and back to Florence again; then at

Venice, and in Paris, making all his long journeys on horseback.

He could not carry much luggage with him; so, wherever he went, he

usually began by making his own tools. He not only designed his

works, but executed them himself,--hammered and carved, and cast

and shaped them with his own hands. Indeed, his works have the

impress of genius so clearly stamped upon them, that they could

never have been designed by one person, and executed by another.

The humblest article--a buckle for a lady's girdle, a seal, a

locket, a brooch, a ring, or a button--became in his hands a

beautiful work of art.

Cellini was remarkable for his readiness and dexterity in

handicraft. One day a surgeon entered the shop of Raffaello del

Moro, the goldsmith, to perform an operation on his daughter's

hand. On looking at the surgeon's instruments, Cellini, who was

present, found them rude and clumsy, as they usually were in those

days, and he asked the surgeon to proceed no further with the

operation for a quarter of an hour. He then ran to his shop, and

taking a piece of the finest steel, wrought out of it a beautifully

finished knife, with which the operation was successfully

performed.

Among the statues executed by Cellini, the most important are the

silver figure of Jupiter, executed at Paris for Francis I., and the

Perseus, executed in bronze for the Grand Duke Cosmo of Florence.

He also executed statues in marble of Apollo, Hyacinthus,

Narcissus, and Neptune. The extraordinary incidents connected with

the casting of the Perseus were peculiarly illustrative of the

remarkable character of the man.

The Grand Duke having expressed a decided opinion that the model,

when shown to him in wax, could not possibly be cast in bronze,

Cellini was immediately stimulated by the predicted impossibility,

not only to attempt, but to do it. He first made the clay model,

baked it, and covered it with wax, which he shaped into the perfect

form of a statue. Then coating the wax with a sort of earth, he

baked the second covering, during which the wax dissolved and

escaped, leaving the space between the two layers for the reception

of the metal. To avoid disturbance, the latter process was

conducted in a pit dug immediately under the furnace, from which

the liquid metal was to be introduced by pipes and apertures into

the mould prepared for it.

Cellini had purchased and laid in several loads of pine-wood, in

anticipation of the process of casting, which now began. The

furnace was filled with pieces of brass and bronze, and the fire

was lit. The resinous pine-wood was soon in such a furious blaze,

that the shop took fire, and part of the roof was burnt; while at

the same time the wind blowing and the rain filling on the furnace,

kept down the heat, and prevented the metals from melting. For

hours Cellini struggled to keep up the heat, continually throwing

in more wood, until at length he became so exhausted and ill, that

he feared he should die before the statue could be cast. He was

forced to leave to his assistants the pouring in of the metal when

melted, and betook himself to his bed. While those about him were

condoling with him in his distress, a workman suddenly entered the

room, lamenting that "Poor Benvenuto's work was irretrievably

spoiled!" On hearing this, Cellini immediately sprang from his bed

and rushed to the workshop, where he found the fire so much gone

down that the metal had again become hard.

Sending across to a neighbour for a load of young oak which had

been more than a year in drying, he soon had the fire blazing again

and the metal melting and glittering. The wind was, however, still

blowing with fury, and the rain falling heavily; so, to protect

himself, Cellini had some tables with pieces of tapestry and old

clothes brought to him, behind which he went on hurling the wood

into the furnace. A mass of pewter was thrown in upon the other

metal, and by stirring, sometimes with iron and sometimes with long

poles, the whole soon became completely melted. At this juncture,

when the trying moment was close at hand, a terrible noise as of a

thunderbolt was heard, and a glittering of fire flashed before

Cellini's eyes. The cover of the furnace had burst, and the metal

began to flow! Finding that it did not run with the proper

velocity, Cellini rushed into the kitchen, bore away every piece of

copper and pewter that it contained--some two hundred porringers,

dishes, and kettles of different kinds--and threw them into the

furnace. Then at length the metal flowed freely, and thus the

splendid statue of Perseus was cast.

The divine fury of genius in which Cellini rushed to his kitchen

and stripped it of its utensils for the purposes of his furnace,

will remind the reader of the like act of Pallissy in breaking up

his furniture for the purpose of baking his earthenware.

Excepting, however, in their enthusiasm, no two men could be less

alike in character. Cellini was an Ishmael against whom, according

to his own account, every man's hand was turned. But about his

extraordinary skill as a workman, and his genius as an artist,

there cannot be two opinions.

Much less turbulent was the career of Nicolas Poussin, a man as

pure and elevated in his ideas of art as he was in his daily life,

and distinguished alike for his vigour of intellect, his rectitude

of character, and his noble simplicity. He was born in a very

humble station, at Andeleys, near Rouen, where his father kept a

small school. The boy had the benefit of his parent's instruction,

such as it was, but of that he is said to have been somewhat

negligent, preferring to spend his time in covering his lesson-

books and his slate with drawings. A country painter, much pleased

with his sketches, besought his parents not to thwart him in his

tastes. The painter agreed to give Poussin lessons, and he soon

made such progress that his master had nothing more to teach him.

Becoming restless, and desirous of further improving himself,

Poussin, at the age of 18, set out for Paris, painting signboards

on his way for a maintenance.

At Paris a new world of art opened before him, exciting his wonder

and stimulating his emulation. He worked diligently in many

studios, drawing, copying, and painting pictures. After a time, he

resolved, if possible, to visit Rome, and set out on his journey;

but he only succeeded in getting as far as Florence, and again

returned to Paris. A second attempt which he made to reach Rome

was even less successful; for this time he only got as far as

Lyons. He was, nevertheless, careful to take advantage of all

opportunities for improvement which came in his way, and continued

as sedulous as before in studying and working.

Thus twelve years passed, years of obscurity and toil, of failures

and disappointments, and probably of privations. At length Poussin

succeeded in reaching Rome. There he diligently studied the old

masters, and especially the ancient statues, with whose perfection

he was greatly impressed. For some time he lived with the sculptor

Duquesnoi, as poor as himself, and assisted him in modelling

figures after the antique. With him he carefully measured some of

the most celebrated statues in Rome, more particularly the

'Antinous:' and it is supposed that this practice exercised

considerable influence on the formation of his future style. At

the same time he studied anatomy, practised drawing from the life,

and made a great store of sketches of postures and attitudes of

people whom he met, carefully reading at his leisure such standard

books on art as he could borrow from his friends.

During all this time he remained very poor, satisfied to be

continually improving himself. He was glad to sell his pictures

for whatever they would bring. One, of a prophet, he sold for

eight livres; and another, the 'Plague of the Philistines,' he sold

for 60 crowns--a picture afterwards bought by Cardinal de Richelieu

for a thousand. To add to his troubles, he was stricken by a cruel

malady, during the helplessness occasioned by which the Chevalier

del Posso assisted him with money. For this gentleman Poussin

afterwards painted the 'Rest in the Desert,' a fine picture, which

far more than repaid the advances made during his illness.

The brave man went on toiling and learning through suffering.

Still aiming at higher things, he went to Florence and Venice,

enlarging the range of his studies. The fruits of his

conscientious labour at length appeared in the series of great

pictures which he now began to produce,--his 'Death of Germanicus,'

followed by 'Extreme Unction,' the 'Testament of Eudamidas,' the

'Manna,' and the 'Abduction of the Sabines.'

The reputation of Poussin, however, grew but slowly. He was of a

retiring disposition and shunned society. People gave him credit

for being a thinker much more than a painter. When not actually

employed in painting, he took long solitary walks in the country,

meditating the designs of future pictures. One of his few friends

while at Rome was Claude Lorraine, with whom he spent many hours at

a time on the terrace of La Trinite-du-Mont, conversing about art

and antiquarianism. The monotony and the quiet of Rome were suited

to his taste, and, provided he could earn a moderate living by his

brush, he had no wish to leave it.

But his fame now extended beyond Rome, and repeated invitations

were sent him to return to Paris. He was offered the appointment

of principal painter to the King. At first he hesitated; quoted

the Italian proverb, Chi sta bene non si muove; said he had lived

fifteen years in Rome, married a wife there, and looked forward to

dying and being buried there. Urged again, he consented, and

returned to Paris. But his appearance there awakened much

professional jealousy, and he soon wished himself back in Rome

again. While in Paris he painted some of his greatest works--his

'Saint Xavier,' the 'Baptism,' and the 'Last Supper.' He was kept

constantly at work. At first he did whatever he was asked to do,

such as designing frontispieces for the royal books, more

particularly a Bible and a Virgil, cartoons for the Louvre, and

designs for tapestry; but at length he expostulated:- "It is

impossible for me," he said to M. de Chanteloup, "to work at the

same time at frontispieces for books, at a Virgin, at a picture of

the Congregation of St. Louis, at the various designs for the

gallery, and, finally, at designs for the royal tapestry. I have

only one pair of hands and a feeble head, and can neither be helped

nor can my labours be lightened by another."

Annoyed by the enemies his success had provoked and whom he was

unable to conciliate, he determined, at the end of less than two

years' labour in Paris, to return to Rome. Again settled there in

his humble dwelling on Mont Pincio, he employed himself diligently

in the practice of his art during the remaining years of his life,

living in great simplicity and privacy. Though suffering much from

the disease which afflicted him, he solaced himself by study,

always striving after excellence. "In growing old," he said, "I

feel myself becoming more and more inflamed with the desire of

surpassing myself and reaching the highest degree of perfection."

Thus toiling, struggling, and suffering, Poussin spent his later

years. He had no children; his wife died before him; all his

friends were gone: so that in his old age he was left absolutely

alone in Rome, so full of tombs, and died there in 1665,

bequeathing to his relatives at Andeleys the savings of his life,

amounting to about 1000 crowns; and leaving behind him, as a legacy

to his race, the great works of his genius.

The career of Ary Scheffer furnishes one of the best examples in

modern times of a like high-minded devotion to art. Born at

Dordrecht, the son of a German artist, he early manifested an

aptitude for drawing and painting, which his parents encouraged.

His father dying while he was still young, his mother resolved,

though her means were but small, to remove the family to Paris, in

order that her son might obtain the best opportunities for

instruction. There young Scheffer was placed with Guerin the

painter. But his mother's means were too limited to permit him to

devote himself exclusively to study. She had sold the few jewels

she possessed, and refused herself every indulgence, in order to

forward the instruction of her other children. Under such

circumstances, it was natural that Ary should wish to help her; and

by the time he was eighteen years of age he began to paint small

pictures of simple subjects, which met with a ready sale at

moderate prices. He also practised portrait painting, at the same

time gathering experience and earning honest money. He gradually

improved in drawing, colouring, and composition. The 'Baptism'

marked a new epoch in his career, and from that point he went on

advancing, until his fame culminated in his pictures illustrative

of 'Faust,' his 'Francisca de Rimini,' 'Christ the Consoler,' the

'Holy Women,' 'St. Monica and St. Augustin,' and many other noble

works.

"The amount of labour, thought, and attention," says Mrs. Grote,

"which Scheffer brought to the production of the 'Francisca,' must

have been enormous. In truth, his technical education having been

so imperfect, he was forced to climb the steep of art by drawing

upon his own resources, and thus, whilst his hand was at work, his

mind was engaged in meditation. He had to try various processes of

handling, and experiments in colouring; to paint and repaint, with

tedious and unremitting assiduity. But Nature had endowed him with

that which proved in some sort an equivalent for shortcomings of a

professional kind. His own elevation of character, and his

profound sensibility, aided him in acting upon the feelings of

others through the medium of the pencil." {21}

One of the artists whom Scheffer most admired was Flaxman; and he

once said to a friend, "If I have unconsciously borrowed from any

one in the design of the 'Francisca,' it must have been from

something I had seen among Flaxman's drawings." John Flaxman was

the son of a humble seller of plaster casts in New Street, Covent

Garden. When a child, he was such an invalid that it was his

custom to sit behind his father's shop counter propped by pillows,

amusing himself with drawing and reading. A benevolent clergyman,

the Rev. Mr. Matthews, calling at the shop one day, saw the boy

trying to read a book, and on inquiring what it was, found it to be

a Cornelius Nepos, which his father had picked up for a few pence

at a bookstall. The gentleman, after some conversation with the

boy, said that was not the proper book for him to read, but that he

would bring him one. The next day he called with translations of

Homer and 'Don Quixote,' which the boy proceeded to read with great

avidity. His mind was soon filled with the heroism which breathed

through the pages of the former, and, with the stucco Ajaxes and

Achilleses about him, ranged along the shop shelves, the ambition

took possession of him, that he too would design and embody in

poetic forms those majestic heroes.

Like all youthful efforts, his first designs were crude. The proud

father one day showed some of them to Roubilliac the sculptor, who

turned from them with a contemptuous "pshaw!" But the boy had the

right stuff in him; he had industry and patience; and he continued

to labour incessantly at his books and drawings. He then tried his

young powers in modelling figures in plaster of Paris, wax, and

clay. Some of these early works are still preserved, not because

of their merit, but because they are curious as the first healthy

efforts of patient genius. It was long before the boy could walk,

and he only learnt to do so by hobbling along upon crutches. At

length he became strong enough to walk without them.

The kind Mr. Matthews invited him to his house, where his wife

explained Homer and Milton to him. They helped him also in his

self-culture--giving him lessons in Greek and Latin, the study of

which he prosecuted at home. By dint of patience and perseverance,

his drawing improved so much that he obtained a commission from a

lady, to execute six original drawings in black chalk of subjects

in Homer. His first commission! What an event in the artist's

life! A surgeon's first fee, a lawyer's first retainer, a

legislator's first speech, a singer's first appearance behind the

foot-lights, an author's first book, are not any of them more full

of interest to the aspirant for fame than the artist's first

commission. The boy at once proceeded to execute the order, and he

was both well praised and well paid for his work.

At fifteen Flaxman entered a pupil at the Royal Academy.

Notwithstanding his retiring disposition, he soon became known

among the students, and great things were expected of him. Nor

were their expectations disappointed: in his fifteenth year he

gained the silver prize, and next year he became a candidate for

the gold one. Everybody prophesied that he would carry off the

medal, for there was none who surpassed him in ability and

industry. Yet he lost it, and the gold medal was adjudged to a

pupil who was not afterwards heard of. This failure on the part of

the youth was really of service to him; for defeats do not long

cast down the resolute-hearted, but only serve to call forth their

real powers. "Give me time," said he to his father, "and I will

yet produce works that the Academy will be proud to recognise." He

redoubled his efforts, spared no pains, designed and modelled

incessantly, and made steady if not rapid progress. But meanwhile

poverty threatened his father's household; the plaster-cast trade

yielded a very bare living; and young Flaxman, with resolute self-

denial, curtailed his hours of study, and devoted himself to

helping his father in the humble details of his business. He laid

aside his Homer to take up the plaster-trowel. He was willing to

work in the humblest department of the trade so that his father's

family might be supported, and the wolf kept from the door. To

this drudgery of his art he served a long apprenticeship; but it

did him good. It familiarised him with steady work, and cultivated

in him the spirit of patience. The discipline may have been hard,

but it was wholesome.

Happily, young Flaxman's skill in design had reached the knowledge

of Josiah Wedgwood, who sought him out for the purpose of employing

him to design improved patterns of china and earthenware. It may

seem a humble department of art for such a genius as Flaxman to

work in; but it really was not so. An artist may be labouring

truly in his vocation while designing a common teapot or water-jug.

Articles in daily use amongst the people, which are before their

eyes at every meal, may be made the vehicles of education to all,

and minister to their highest culture. The most ambitious artist

way thus confer a greater practical benefit on his countrymen than

by executing an elaborate work which he may sell for thousands of

pounds to be placed in some wealthy man's gallery where it is

hidden away from public sight. Before Wedgwood's time the designs

which figured upon our china and stoneware were hideous both in

drawing and execution, and he determined to improve both. Flaxman

did his best to carry out the manufacturer's views. He supplied

him from time to time with models and designs of various pieces of

earthenware, the subjects of which were principally from ancient

verse and history. Many of them are still in existence, and some

are equal in beauty and simplicity to his after designs for marble.

The celebrated Etruscan vases, specimens of which were to be found

in public museums and in the cabinets of the curious, furnished him

with the best examples of form, and these he embellished with his

own elegant devices. Stuart's 'Athens,' then recently published,

furnished him with specimens of the purest-shaped Greek utensils;

of these he adopted the best, and worked them into new shapes of

elegance and beauty. Flaxman then saw that he was labouring in a

great work--no less than the promotion of popular education; and he

was proud, in after life, to allude to his early labours in this

walk, by which he was enabled at the same time to cultivate his

love of the beautiful, to diffuse a taste for art among the people,

and to replenish his own purse, while he promoted the prosperity of

his friend and benefactor.

At length, in the year 1782, when twenty-seven years of age, he

quitted his father's roof and rented a small house and studio in

Wardour Street, Soho; and what was more, he married--Ann Denman was

the name of his wife--and a cheerful, bright-souled, noble woman

she was. He believed that in marrying her he should be able to

work with an intenser spirit; for, like him, she had a taste for

poetry and art; and besides was an enthusiastic admirer of her

husband's genius. Yet when Sir Joshua Reynolds--himself a

bachelor--met Flaxman shortly after his marriage, he said to him,

"So, Flaxman, I am told you are married; if so, sir, I tell you you

are ruined for an artist." Flaxman went straight home, sat down

beside his wife, took her hand in his, and said, "Ann, I am ruined

for an artist." "How so, John? How has it happened? and who has

done it?" "It happened," he replied, "in the church, and Ann

Denman has done it." He then told her of Sir Joshua's remark--

whose opinion was well known, and had often been expressed, that if

students would excel they must bring the whole powers of their mind

to bear upon their art, from the moment they rose until they went

to bed; and also, that no man could be a GREAT artist unless he

studied the grand works of Raffaelle, Michael Angelo, and others,

at Rome and Florence. "And I," said Flaxman, drawing up his little

figure to its full height, "_I_ would be a great artist." "And a

great artist you shall be," said his wife, "and visit Rome too, if

that be really necessary to make you great." "But how?" asked

Flaxman. "WORK AND ECONOMISE," rejoined the brave wife; "I will

never have it said that Ann Denman ruined John Flaxman for an

artist." And so it was determined by the pair that the journey to

Rome was to be made when their means would admit. "I will go to

Rome," said Flaxman, "and show the President that wedlock is for a

man's good rather than his harm; and you, Ann, shall accompany me."

Patiently and happily the affectionate couple plodded on during

five years in their humble little home in Wardour Street, always

with the long journey to Rome before them. It was never lost sight

of for a moment, and not a penny was uselessly spent that could be

saved towards the necessary expenses. They said no word to any one

about their project; solicited no aid from the Academy; but trusted

only to their own patient labour and love to pursue and achieve

their object. During this time Flaxman exhibited very few works.

He could not afford marble to experiment in original designs; but

he obtained frequent commissions for monuments, by the profits of

which he maintained himself. He still worked for Wedgwood, who was

a prompt paymaster; and, on the whole, he was thriving, happy, and

hopeful. His local respectability was even such as to bring local

honours and local work upon him; for he was elected by the

ratepayers to collect the watch-rate for the Parish of St. Anne,

when he might be seen going about with an ink-bottle suspended from

his button-hole, collecting the money.

At length Flaxman and his wife having accumulated a sufficient

store of savings, set out for Rome. Arrived there, he applied

himself diligently to study, maintaining himself, like other poor

artists, by making copies from the antique. English visitors

sought his studio, and gave him commissions; and it was then that

he composed his beautiful designs illustrative of Homer, AEschylus,

and Dante. The price paid for them was moderate--only fifteen

shillings a-piece; but Flaxman worked for art as well as money; and

the beauty of the designs brought him other friends and patrons.

He executed Cupid and Aurora for the munificent Thomas Hope, and

the Fury of Athamas for the Earl of Bristol. He then prepared to

return to England, his taste improved and cultivated by careful

study; but before he left Italy, the Academies of Florence and

Carrara recognised his merit by electing him a member.

His fame had preceded him to London, where he soon found abundant

employment. While at Rome he had been commissioned to execute his

famous monument in memory of Lord Mansfield, and it was erected in

the north transept of Westminster Abbey shortly after his return.

It stands there in majestic grandeur, a monument to the genius of

Flaxman himself--calm, simple, and severe. No wonder that Banks,

the sculptor, then in the heyday of his fame, exclaimed when he saw

it, "This little man cuts us all out!"

When the members of the Royal Academy heard of Flaxman's return,

and especially when they had an opportunity of seeing and admiring

his portrait-statue of Mansfield, they were eager to have him

enrolled among their number. He allowed his name to be proposed in

the candidates' list of associates, and was immediately elected.

Shortly after, he appeared in an entirely new character. The

little boy who had begun his studies behind the plaster-cast-

seller's shop-counter in New Street, Covent Garden, was now a man

of high intellect and recognised supremacy in art, to instruct

students, in the character of Professor of Sculpture to the Royal

Academy! And no man better deserved to fill that distinguished

office; for none is so able to instruct others as he who, for

himself and by his own efforts, has learnt to grapple with and

overcome difficulties.

After a long, peaceful, and happy life, Flaxman found himself

growing old. The loss which he sustained by the death of his

affectionate wife Ann, was a severe shock to him; but he survived

her several years, during which he executed his celebrated "Shield

of Achilles," and his noble "Archangel Michael vanquishing Satan,"-

-perhaps his two greatest works.

Chantrey was a more robust man;--somewhat rough, but hearty in his

demeanour; proud of his successful struggle with the difficulties

which beset him in early life; and, above all, proud of his

independence. He was born a poor man's child, at Norton, near

Sheffield. His father dying when he was a mere boy, his mother

married again. Young Chantrey used to drive an ass laden with

milk-cans across its back into the neighbouring town of Sheffield,

and there serve his mother's customers with milk. Such was the

humble beginning of his industrial career; and it was by his own

strength that he rose from that position, and achieved the highest

eminence as an artist. Not taking kindly to his step-father, the

boy was sent to trade, and was first placed with a grocer in

Sheffield. The business was very distasteful to him; but, passing

a carver's shop window one day, his eye was attracted by the

glittering articles it contained, and, charmed with the idea of

being a carver, he begged to be released from the grocery business

with that object. His friends consented, and he was bound

apprentice to the carver and gilder for seven years. His new

master, besides being a carver in wood, was also a dealer in prints

and plaster models; and Chantrey at once set about imitating both,

studying with great industry and energy. All his spare hours were

devoted to drawing, modelling, and self-improvement, and he often

carried his labours far into the night. Before his apprenticeship

was out--at the ace of twenty-one--he paid over to his master the

whole wealth which he was able to muster--a sum of 50l.--to cancel

his indentures, determined to devote himself to the career of an

artist. He then made the best of his way to London, and with

characteristic good sense, sought employment as an assistant

carver, studying painting and modelling at his bye-hours. Among

the jobs on which he was first employed as a journeyman carver, was

the decoration of the dining-room of Mr. Rogers, the poet--a room

in which he was in after years a welcome visitor; and he usually

took pleasure in pointing out his early handywork to the guests

whom he met at his friend's table.

Returning to Sheffield on a professional visit, he advertised

himself in the local papers as a painter of portraits in crayons

and miniatures, and also in oil. For his first crayon portrait he

was paid a guinea by a cutler; and for a portrait in oil, a

confectioner paid him as much as 5l. and a pair of top boots!

Chantrey was soon in London again to study at the Royal Academy;

and next time he returned to Sheffield he advertised himself as

ready to model plaster busts of his townsmen, as well as paint

portraits of them. He was even selected to design a monument to a

deceased vicar of the town, and executed it to the general

satisfaction. When in London he used a room over a stable as a

studio, and there he modelled his first original work for

exhibition. It was a gigantic head of Satan. Towards the close of

Chantrey's life, a friend passing through his studio was struck by

this model lying in a corner. "That head," said the sculptor, "was

the first thing that I did after I came to London. I worked at it

in a garret with a paper cap on my head; and as I could then afford

only one candle, I stuck that one in my cap that it might move

along with me, and give me light whichever way I turned." Flaxman

saw and admired this head at the Academy Exhibition, and

recommended Chantrey for the execution of the busts of four

admirals, required for the Naval Asylum at Greenwich. This

commission led to others, and painting was given up. But for eight

years before, he had not earned 5l. by his modelling. His famous

head of Horne Tooke was such a success that, according to his own

account, it brought him commissions amounting to 12,000l.

Chantrey had now succeeded, but he had worked hard, and fairly

earned his good fortune. He was selected from amongst sixteen

competitors to execute the statue of George III. for the city of

London. A few years later, he produced the exquisite monument of

the Sleeping Children, now in Lichfield Cathedral,--a work of great

tenderness and beauty; and thenceforward his career was one of

increasing honour, fame, and prosperity. His patience, industry,

and steady perseverance were the means by which he achieved his

greatness. Nature endowed him with genius, and his sound sense

enabled him to employ the precious gift as a blessing. He was

prudent and shrewd, like the men amongst whom he was born; the

pocket-book which accompanied him on his Italian tour containing

mingled notes on art, records of daily expenses, and the current

prices of marble. His tastes were simple, and he made his finest

subjects great by the mere force of simplicity. His statue of

Watt, in Handsworth church, seems to us the very consummation of

art; yet it is perfectly artless and simple. His generosity to

brother artists in need was splendid, but quiet and unostentatious.

He left the principal part of his fortune to the Royal Academy for

the promotion of British art.

The same honest and persistent industry was throughout distinctive

of the career of David Wilkie. The son of a Scotch minister, he

gave early indications of an artistic turn; and though he was a

negligent and inapt scholar, he was a sedulous drawer of faces and

figures. A silent boy, he already displayed that quiet

concentrated energy of character which distinguished him through

life. He was always on the look-out for an opportunity to draw,--

and the walls of the manse, or the smooth sand by the river side,

were alike convenient for his purpose. Any sort of tool would

serve him; like Giotto, he found a pencil in a burnt stick, a

prepared canvas in any smooth stone, and the subject for a picture

in every ragged mendicant he met. When he visited a house, he

generally left his mark on the walls as an indication of his

presence, sometimes to the disgust of cleanly housewives. In

short, notwithstanding the aversion of his father, the minister, to

the "sinful" profession of painting, Wilkie's strong propensity was

not to be thwarted, and he became an artist, working his way

manfully up the steep of difficulty. Though rejected on his first

application as a candidate for admission to the Scottish Academy,

at Edinburgh, on account of the rudeness and inaccuracy of his

introductory specimens, he persevered in producing better, until he

was admitted. But his progress was slow. He applied himself

diligently to the drawing of the human figure, and held on with the

determination to succeed, as if with a resolute confidence in the

result. He displayed none of the eccentric humour and fitful

application of many youths who conceive themselves geniuses, but

kept up the routine of steady application to such an extent that he

himself was afterwards accustomed to attribute his success to his

dogged perseverance rather than to any higher innate power. "The

single element," he said, "in all the progressive movements of my

pencil was persevering industry." At Edinburgh he gained a few

premiums, thought of turning his attention to portrait painting,

with a view to its higher and more certain remuneration, but

eventually went boldly into the line in which he earned his fame,--

and painted his Pitlessie Fair. What was bolder still, he

determined to proceed to London, on account of its presenting so

much wider a field for study and work; and the poor Scotch lad

arrived in town, and painted his Village Politicians while living

in a humble lodging on eighteen shillings a week.

Notwithstanding the success of this picture, and the commissions

which followed it, Wilkie long continued poor. The prices which

his works realized were not great, for he bestowed upon them so

much time and labour, that his earnings continued comparatively

small for many years. Every picture was carefully studied and

elaborated beforehand; nothing was struck off at a heat; many

occupied him for years--touching, retouching, and improving them

until they finally passed out of his hands. As with Reynolds, his

motto was "Work! work! work!" and, like him, he expressed great

dislike for talking artists. Talkers may sow, but the silent reap.

"Let us be DOING something," was his oblique mode of rebuking the

loquacious and admonishing the idle. He once related to his friend

Constable that when he studied at the Scottish Academy, Graham, the

master of it, was accustomed to say to the students, in the words

of Reynolds, "If you have genius, industry will improve it; if you

have none, industry will supply its place." "So," said Wilkie, "I

was determined to be very industrious, for I knew I had no genius."

He also told Constable that when Linnell and Burnett, his fellow-

students in London, were talking about art, he always contrived to

get as close to them as he could to hear all they said, "for," said

he, "they know a great deal, and I know very little." This was

said with perfect sincerity, for Wilkie was habitually modest. One

of the first things that he did with the sum of thirty pounds which

he obtained from Lord Mansfield for his Village Politicians, was to

buy a present--of bonnets, shawls, and dresses--for his mother and

sister at home, though but little able to afford it at the time.

Wilkie's early poverty had trained him in habits of strict economy,

which were, however, consistent with a noble liberality, as appears

from sundry passages in the Autobiography of Abraham Raimbach the

engraver.

William Etty was another notable instance of unflagging industry

and indomitable perseverance in art. His father was a ginger-bread

and spicemaker at York, and his mother--a woman of considerable

force and originality of character--was the daughter of a

ropemaker. The boy early displayed a love of drawing, covering

walls, floors, and tables with specimens of his skill; his first

crayon being a farthing's worth of chalk, and this giving place to

a piece of coal or a bit of charred stick. His mother, knowing

nothing of art, put the boy apprentice to a trade--that of a

printer. But in his leisure hours he went on with the practice of

drawing; and when his time was out he determined to follow his

bent--he would be a painter and nothing else. Fortunately his

uncle and elder brother were able and willing to help him on in his

new career, and they provided him with the means of entering as

pupil at the Royal Academy. We observe, from Leslie's

Autobiography, that Etty was looked upon by his fellow students as

a worthy but dull, plodding person, who would never distinguish

himself. But he had in him the divine faculty of work, and

diligently plodded his way upward to eminence in the highest walks

of art.

Many artists have had to encounter privations which have tried

their courage and endurance to the utmost before they succeeded.

What number may have sunk under them we can never know. Martin

encountered difficulties in the course of his career such as

perhaps fall to the lot of few. More than once he found himself on

the verge of starvation while engaged on his first great picture.

It is related of him that on one occasion he found himself reduced

to his last shilling--a BRIGHT shilling--which he had kept because

of its very brightness, but at length he found it necessary to

exchange it for bread. He went to a baker's shop, bought a loaf,

and was taking it away, when the baker snatched it from him, and

tossed back the shilling to the starving painter. The bright

shilling had failed him in his hour of need--it was a bad one!

Returning to his lodgings, he rummaged his trunk for some remaining

crust to satisfy his hunger. Upheld throughout by the victorious

power of enthusiasm, he pursued his design with unsubdued energy.

He had the courage to work on and to wait; and when, a few days

after, he found an opportunity to exhibit his picture, he was from

that time famous. Like many other great artists, his life proves

that, in despite of outward circumstances, genius, aided by

industry, will be its own protector, and that fame, though she

comes late, will never ultimately refuse her favours to real merit

The most careful discipline and training after academic methods

will fail in making an artist, unless he himself take an active

part in the work. Like every highly cultivated man, he must be

mainly self-educated. When Pugin, who was brought up in his

father's office, had learnt all that he could learn of architecture

according to the usual formulas, he still found that he had learned

but little; and that he must begin at the beginning, and pass

through the discipline of labour. Young Pugin accordingly hired

himself out as a common carpenter at Covent Garden Theatre--first

working under the stage, then behind the flys, then upon the stage

itself. He thus acquired a familiarity with work, and cultivated

an architectural taste, to which the diversity of the mechanical

employment about a large operatic establishment is peculiarly

favourable. When the theatre closed for the season, he worked a

sailing-ship between London and some of the French ports, carrying

on at the same time a profitable trade. At every opportunity he

would land and make drawings of any old building, and especially of

any ecclesiastical structure which fell in his way. Afterwards he

would make special journeys to the Continent for the same purpose,

and returned home laden with drawings. Thus he plodded and

laboured on, making sure of the excellence and distinction which he

eventually achieved.

A similar illustration of plodding industry in the same walk is

presented in the career of George Kemp, the architect of the

beautiful Scott Monument at Edinburgh. He was the son of a poor

shepherd, who pursued his calling on the southern slope of the

Pentland Hills. Amidst that pastoral solitude the boy had no

opportunity of enjoying the contemplation of works of art. It

happened, however, that in his tenth year he was sent on a message

to Roslin, by the farmer for whom his father herded sheep, and the

sight of the beautiful castle and chapel there seems to have made a

vivid and enduring impression on his mind. Probably to enable him

to indulge his love of architectural construction, the boy besought

his father to let him be a joiner; and he was accordingly put

apprentice to a neighbouring village carpenter. Having served his

time, he went to Galashiels to seek work. As he was plodding along

the valley of the Tweed with his tools upon his back, a carriage

overtook him near Elibank Tower; and the coachman, doubtless at the

suggestion of his master, who was seated inside, having asked the

youth how far he had to walk, and learning that he was on his way

to Galashiels, invited him to mount the box beside him, and thus to

ride thither. It turned out that the kindly gentleman inside was

no other than Sir Walter Scott, then travelling on his official

duty as Sheriff of Selkirkshire. Whilst working at Galashiels,

Kemp had frequent opportunities of visiting Melrose, Dryburgh, and

Jedburgh Abbeys, which he studied carefully. Inspired by his love

of architecture, he worked his way as a carpenter over the greater

part of the north of England, never omitting an opportunity of

inspecting and making sketches of any fine Gothic building. On one

occasion, when working in Lancashire, he walked fifty miles to

York, spent a week in carefully examining the Minster, and returned

in like manner on foot. We next find him in Glasgow, where he

remained four years, studying the fine cathedral there during his

spare time. He returned to England again, this time working his

way further south; studying Canterbury, Winchester, Tintern, and

other well-known structures. In 1824 he formed the design of

travelling over Europe with the same object, supporting himself by

his trade. Reaching Boulogne, he proceeded by Abbeville and

Beauvais to Paris, spending a few weeks making drawings and studies

at each place. His skill as a mechanic, and especially his

knowledge of mill-work, readily secured him employment wherever he

went; and he usually chose the site of his employment in the

neighbourhood of some fine old Gothic structure, in studying which

he occupied his leisure. After a year's working, travel, and study

abroad, he returned to Scotland. He continued his studies, and

became a proficient in drawing and perspective: Melrose was his

favourite ruin; and he produced several elaborate drawings of the

building, one of which, exhibiting it in a "restored" state, was

afterwards engraved. He also obtained employment as a modeller of

architectural designs; and made drawings for a work begun by an

Edinburgh engraver, after the plan of Britton's 'Cathedral

Antiquities.' This was a task congenial to his tastes, and he

laboured at it with an enthusiasm which ensured its rapid advance;

walking on foot for the purpose over half Scotland, and living as

an ordinary mechanic, whilst executing drawings which would have

done credit to the best masters in the art. The projector of the

work having died suddenly, the publication was however stopped, and

Kemp sought other employment. Few knew of the genius of this man--

for he was exceedingly taciturn and habitually modest--when the

Committee of the Scott Monument offered a prize for the best

design. The competitors were numerous--including some of the

greatest names in classical architecture; but the design

unanimously selected was that of George Kemp, who was working at

Kilwinning Abbey in Ayrshire, many miles off, when the letter

reached him intimating the decision of the committee. Poor Kemp!

Shortly after this event he met an untimely death, and did not live

to see the first result of his indefatigable industry and self-

culture embodied in stone,--one of the most beautiful and

appropriate memorials ever erected to literary genius.

John Gibson was another artist full of a genuine enthusiasm and

love for his art, which placed him high above those sordid

temptations which urge meaner natures to make time the measure of

profit. He was born at Gyffn, near Conway, in North Wales--the son

of a gardener. He early showed indications of his talent by the

carvings in wood which he made by means of a common pocket knife;

and his father, noting the direction of his talent, sent him to

Liverpool and bound him apprentice to a cabinet-maker and wood-

carver. He rapidly improved at his trade, and some of his carvings

were much admired. He was thus naturally led to sculpture, and

when eighteen years old he modelled a small figure of Time in wax,

which attracted considerable notice. The Messrs. Franceys,

sculptors, of Liverpool, having purchased the boy's indentures,

took him as their apprentice for six years, during which his genius

displayed itself in many original works. From thence he proceeded

to London, and afterwards to Rome; and his fame became European.

Robert Thorburn, the Royal Academician, like John Gibson, was born

of poor parents. His father was a shoe-maker at Dumfries. Besides

Robert there were two other sons; one of whom is a skilful carver

in wood. One day a lady called at the shoemaker's and found

Robert, then a mere boy, engaged in drawing upon a stool which

served him for a table. She examined his work, and observing his

abilities, interested herself in obtaining for him some employment

in drawing, and enlisted in his behalf the services of others who

could assist him in prosecuting the study of art. The boy was

diligent, pains-taking, staid, and silent, mixing little with his

companions, and forming but few intimacies. About the year 1830,

some gentlemen of the town provided him with the means of

proceeding to Edinburgh, where he was admitted a student at the

Scottish Academy. There he had the advantage of studying under

competent masters, and the progress which he made was rapid. From

Edinburgh he removed to London, where, we understand, he had the

advantage of being introduced to notice under the patronage of the

Duke of Buccleuch. We need scarcely say, however, that of whatever

use patronage may have been to Thorburn in giving him an

introduction to the best circles, patronage of no kind could have

made him the great artist that he unquestionably is, without native

genius and diligent application.

Noel Paton, the well-known painter, began his artistic career at

Dunfermline and Paisley, as a drawer of patterns for table-cloths

and muslin embroidered by hand; meanwhile working diligently at

higher subjects, including the drawing of the human figure. He

was, like Turner, ready to turn his hand to any kind of work, and

in 1840, when a mere youth, we find him engaged, among his other

labours, in illustrating the 'Renfrewshire Annual.' He worked his

way step by step, slowly yet surely; but he remained unknown until

the exhibition of the prize cartoons painted for the houses of

Parliament, when his picture of the Spirit of Religion (for which

he obtained one of the first prizes) revealed him to the world as a

genuine artist; and the works which he has since exhibited--such as

the 'Reconciliation of Oberon and Titania,' 'Home,' and 'The bluidy

Tryste'--have shown a steady advance in artistic power and culture.

Another striking exemplification of perseverance and industry in

the cultivation of art in humble life is presented in the career of

James Sharples, a working blacksmith at Blackburn. He was born at

Wakefield in Yorkshire, in 1825, one of a family of thirteen

children. His father was a working ironfounder, and removed to

Bury to follow his business. The boys received no school

education, but were all sent to work as soon as they were able; and

at about ten James was placed in a foundry, where he was employed

for about two years as smithy-boy. After that he was sent into the

engine-shop where his father worked as engine-smith. The boy's

employment was to heat and carry rivets for the boiler-makers.

Though his hours of labour were very long--often from six in the

morning until eight at night--his father contrived to give him some

little teaching after working hours; and it was thus that he

partially learned his letters. An incident occurred in the course

of his employment among the boiler-makers, which first awakened in

him the desire to learn drawing. He had occasionally been employed

by the foreman to hold the chalked line with which he made the

designs of boilers upon the floor of the workshop; and on such

occasions the foreman was accustomed to hold the line, and direct

the boy to make the necessary dimensions. James soon became so

expert at this as to be of considerable service to the foreman; and

at his leisure hours at home his great delight was to practise

drawing designs of boilers upon his mother's floor. On one

occasion, when a female relative was expected from Manchester to

pay the family a visit, and the house had been made as decent as

possible for her reception, the boy, on coming in from the foundry

in the evening, began his usual operations upon the floor. He had

proceeded some way with his design of a large boiler in chalk, when

his mother arrived with the visitor, and to her dismay found the

boy unwashed and the floor chalked all over. The relative,

however, professed to be pleased with the boy's industry, praised

his design, and recommended his mother to provide "the little

sweep," as she called him, with paper and pencils.

Encouraged by his elder brother, he began to practise figure and

landscape drawing, making copies of lithographs, but as yet without

any knowledge of the rules of perspective and the principles of

light and shade. He worked on, however, and gradually acquired

expertness in copying. At sixteen, he entered the Bury Mechanic's

Institution in order to attend the drawing class, taught by an

amateur who followed the trade of a barber. There he had a lesson

a week during three months. The teacher recommended him to obtain

from the library Burnet's 'Practical Treatise on Painting;' but as

he could not yet read with ease, he was under the necessity of

getting his mother, and sometimes his elder brother, to read

passages from the book for him while he sat by and listened.

Feeling hampered by his ignorance of the art of reading, and eager

to master the contents of Burnet's book, he ceased attending the

drawing class at the Institute after the first quarter, and devoted

himself to learning reading and writing at home. In this he soon

succeeded; and when he again entered the Institute and took out

'Burnet' a second time, he was not only able to read it, but to

make written extracts for further use. So ardently did he study

the volume, that he used to rise at four o'clock in the morning to

read it and copy out passages; after which he went to the foundry

at six, worked until six and sometimes eight in the evening; and

returned home to enter with fresh zest upon the study of Burnet,

which he continued often until a late hour. Parts of his nights

were also occupied in drawing and making copies of drawings. On

one of these--a copy of Leonardo da Vinci's "Last Supper"--he spent

an entire night. He went to bed indeed, but his mind was so

engrossed with the subject that he could not sleep, and rose again

to resume his pencil.

He next proceeded to try his hand at painting in oil, for which

purpose he procured some canvas from a draper, stretched it on a

frame, coated it over with white lead, and began painting on it

with colours bought from a house-painter. But his work proved a

total failure; for the canvas was rough and knotty, and the paint

would not dry. In his extremity he applied to his old teacher, the

barber, from whom he first learnt that prepared canvas was to be

had, and that there were colours and varnishes made for the special

purpose of oil-painting. As soon therefore, as his means would

allow, he bought a small stock of the necessary articles and began

afresh,--his amateur master showing him how to paint; and the pupil

succeeded so well that he excelled the master's copy. His first

picture was a copy from an engraving called "Sheep-shearing," and

was afterwards sold by him for half-a-crown. Aided by a shilling

Guide to Oil-painting, he went on working at his leisure hours, and

gradually acquired a better knowledge of his materials. He made

his own easel and palette, palette-knife, and paint-chest; he

bought his paint, brushes, and canvas, as he could raise the money

by working over-time. This was the slender fund which his parents

consented to allow him for the purpose; the burden of supporting a

very large family precluding them from doing more. Often he would

walk to Manchester and back in the evenings to buy two or three

shillings' worth of paint and canvas, returning almost at midnight,

after his eighteen miles' walk, sometimes wet through and

completely exhausted, but borne up throughout by his inexhaustible

hope and invincible determination. The further progress of the

self-taught artist is best narrated in his own words, as

communicated by him in a letter to the author:-

"The next pictures I painted," he says, "were a Landscape by

Moonlight, a Fruitpiece, and one or two others; after which I

conceived the idea of painting 'The Forge.' I had for some time

thought about it, but had not attempted to embody the conception in

a drawing. I now, however, made a sketch of the subject upon

paper, and then proceeded to paint it on canvas. The picture

simply represents the interior of a large workshop such as I have

been accustomed to work in, although not of any particular shop.

It is, therefore, to this extent, an original conception. Having

made an outline of the subject, I found that, before I could

proceed with it successfully, a knowledge of anatomy was

indispensable to enable me accurately to delineate the muscles of

the figures. My brother Peter came to my assistance at this

juncture, and kindly purchased for me Flaxman's 'Anatomical

studies,'--a work altogether beyond my means at the time, for it

cost twenty-four shillings. This book I looked upon as a great

treasure, and I studied it laboriously, rising at three o'clock in

the morning to draw after it, and occasionally getting my brother

Peter to stand for me as a model at that untimely hour. Although I

gradually improved myself by this practice, it was some time before

I felt sufficient confidence to go on with my picture. I also felt

hampered by my want of knowledge of perspective, which I

endeavoured to remedy by carefully studying Brook Taylor's

'Principles;' and shortly after I resumed my painting. While

engaged in the study of perspective at home, I used to apply for

and obtain leave to work at the heavier kinds of smith work at the

foundry, and for this reason--the time required for heating the

heaviest iron work is so much longer than that required for heating

the lighter, that it enabled me to secure a number of spare minutes

in the course of the day, which I carefully employed in making

diagrams in perspective upon the sheet iron casing in front of the

hearth at which I worked."

Thus assiduously working and studying, James Sharples steadily

advanced in his knowledge of the principles of art, and acquired

greater facility in its practice. Some eighteen months after the

expiry of his apprenticeship he painted a portrait of his father,

which attracted considerable notice in the town; as also did the

picture of "The Forge," which he finished soon after. His success

in portrait-painting obtained for him a commission from the foreman

of the shop to paint a family group, and Sharples executed it so

well that the foreman not only paid him the agreed price of

eighteen pounds, but thirty shillings to boot. While engaged on

this group he ceased to work at the foundry, and he had thoughts of

giving up his trade altogether and devoting himself exclusively to

painting. He proceeded to paint several pictures, amongst others a

head of Christ, an original conception, life-size, and a view of

Bury; but not obtaining sufficient employment at portraits to

occupy his time, or give him the prospect of a steady income, he

had the good sense to resume his leather apron, and go on working

at his honest trade of a blacksmith; employing his leisure hours in

engraving his picture of "The Forge," since published. He was

induced to commence the engraving by the following circumstance. A

Manchester picture-dealer, to whom he showed the painting, let drop

the observation, that in the hands of a skilful engraver it would

make a very good print. Sharples immediately conceived the idea of

engraving it himself, though altogether ignorant of the art. The

difficulties which he encountered and successfully overcame in

carrying out his project are thus described by himself:-

"I had seen an advertisement of a Sheffield steel-plate maker,

giving a list of the prices at which he supplied plates of various

sizes, and, fixing upon one of suitable dimensions, I remitted the

amount, together with a small additional sum for which I requested

him to send me a few engraving tools. I could not specify the

articles wanted, for I did not then know anything about the process

of engraving. However, there duly arrived with the plate three or

four gravers and an etching needle; the latter I spoiled before I

knew its use. While working at the plate, the Amalgamated Society

of Engineers offered a premium for the best design for an

emblematical picture, for which I determined to compete, and I was

so fortunate as to win the prize. Shortly after this I removed to

Blackburn, where I obtained employment at Messrs. Yates',

engineers, as an engine-smith; and continued to employ my leisure

time in drawing, painting, and engraving, as before. With the

engraving I made but very slow progress, owing to the difficulties

I experienced from not possessing proper tools. I then determined

to try to make some that would suit my purpose, and after several

failures I succeeded in making many that I have used in the course

of my engraving. I was also greatly at a loss for want of a proper

magnifying glass, and part of the plate was executed with no other

assistance of this sort than what my father's spectacles afforded,

though I afterwards succeeded in obtaining a proper magnifier,

which was of the utmost use to me. An incident occurred while I

was engraving the plate, which had almost caused me to abandon it

altogether. It sometimes happened that I was obliged to lay it

aside for a considerable time, when other work pressed; and in

order to guard it against rust, I was accustomed to rub over the

graven parts with oil. But on examining the plate after one of

such intervals, I found that the oil had become a dark sticky

substance extremely difficult to get out. I tried to pick it out

with a needle, but found that it would almost take as much time as

to engrave the parts afresh. I was in great despair at this, but

at length hit upon the expedient of boiling it in water containing

soda, and afterwards rubbing the engraved parts with a tooth-brush;

and to my delight found the plan succeeded perfectly. My greatest

difficulties now over, patience and perseverance were all that were

needed to bring my labours to a successful issue. I had neither

advice nor assistance from any one in finishing the plate. If,

therefore, the work possess any merit, I can claim it as my own;

and if in its accomplishment I have contributed to show what can be

done by persevering industry and determination, it is all the

honour I wish to lay claim to."

It would be beside our purpose to enter upon any criticism of "The

Forge" as an engraving; its merits having been already fully

recognised by the art journals. The execution of the work occupied

Sharples's leisure evening hours during a period of five years; and

it was only when he took the plate to the printer that he for the

first time saw an engraved plate produced by any other man. To

this unvarnished picture of industry and genius, we add one other

trait, and it is a domestic one. "I have been married seven

years," says he, "and during that time my greatest pleasure, after

I have finished my daily labour at the foundry, has been to resume

my pencil or graver, frequently until a late hour of the evening,

my wife meanwhile sitting by my side and reading to me from some

interesting book,"--a simple but beautiful testimony to the

thorough common sense as well as the genuine right-heartedness of

this most interesting and deserving workman.

The same industry and application which we have found to be

necessary in order to acquire excellence in painting and sculpture,

are equally required in the sister art of music--the one being the

poetry of form and colour, the other of the sounds of nature.

Handel was an indefatigable and constant worker; he was never cast

down by defeat, but his energy seemed to increase the more that

adversity struck him. When a prey to his mortifications as an

insolvent debtor, he did not give way for a moment, but in one year

produced his 'Saul,' 'Israel,' the music for Dryden's 'Ode,' his

'Twelve Grand Concertos,' and the opera of 'Jupiter in Argos,'

among the finest of his works. As his biographer says of him, "He

braved everything, and, by his unaided self, accomplished the work

of twelve men."

Haydn, speaking of his art, said, "It consists in taking up a

subject and pursuing it." "Work," said Mozart, "is my chief

pleasure." Beethoven's favourite maxim was, "The barriers are not

erected which can say to aspiring talents and industry, 'Thus far

and no farther.'" When Moscheles submitted his score of 'Fidelio'

for the pianoforte to Beethoven, the latter found written at the

bottom of the last page, "Finis, with God's help." Beethoven

immediately wrote underneath, "O man! help thyself!" This was the

motto of his artistic life. John Sebastian Bach said of himself,

"I was industrious; whoever is equally sedulous, will be equally

successful." But there is no doubt that Bach was born with a

passion for music, which formed the mainspring of his industry, and

was the true secret of his success. When a mere youth, his elder

brother, wishing to turn his abilities in another direction,

destroyed a collection of studies which the young Sebastian, being

denied candles, had copied by moonlight; proving the strong natural

bent of the boy's genius. Of Meyerbeer, Bayle thus wrote from

Milan in 1820:- "He is a man of some talent, but no genius; he

lives solitary, working fifteen hours a day at music." Years

passed, and Meyerbeer's hard work fully brought out his genius, as

displayed in his 'Roberto,' 'Huguenots,' 'Prophete,' and other

works, confessedly amongst the greatest operas which have been

produced in modern times.

Although musical composition is not an art in which Englishmen have

as yet greatly distinguished themselves, their energies having for

the most part taken other and more practical directions, we are not

without native illustrations of the power of perseverance in this

special pursuit. Arne was an upholsterer's son, intended by his

father for the legal profession; but his love of music was so

great, that he could not be withheld from pursuing it. While

engaged in an attorney's office, his means were very limited, but,

to gratify his tastes, he was accustomed to borrow a livery and go

into the gallery of the Opera, then appropriated to domestics.

Unknown to his father he made great progress with the violin, and

the first knowledge his father had of the circumstance was when

accidentally calling at the house of a neighbouring gentleman, to

his surprise and consternation he found his son playing the leading

instrument with a party of musicians. This incident decided the

fate of Arne. His father offered no further opposition to his

wishes; and the world thereby lost a lawyer, but gained a musician

of much taste and delicacy of feeling, who added many valuable

works to our stores of English music.

The career of the late William Jackson, author of 'The Deliverance

of Israel,' an oratorio which has been successfully performed in

the principal towns of his native county of York, furnishes an

interesting illustration of the triumph of perseverance over

difficulties in the pursuit of musical science. He was the son of

a miller at Masham, a little town situated in the valley of the

Yore, in the north-west corner of Yorkshire. Musical taste seems

to have been hereditary in the family, for his father played the

fife in the band of the Masham Volunteers, and was a singer in the

parish choir. His grandfather also was leading singer and ringer

at Masham Church; and one of the boy's earliest musical treats was

to be present at the bell pealing on Sunday mornings. During the

service, his wonder was still more excited by the organist's

performance on the barrel-organ, the doors of which were thrown

open behind to let the sound fully into the church, by which the

stops, pipes, barrels, staples, keyboard, and jacks, were fully

exposed, to the wonderment of the little boys sitting in the

gallery behind, and to none more than our young musician. At eight

years of age he began to play upon his father's old fife, which,

however, would not sound D; but his mother remedied the difficulty

by buying for him a one-keyed flute; and shortly after, a gentleman

of the neighbourhood presented him with a flute with four silver

keys. As the boy made no progress with his "book learning," being

fonder of cricket, fives, and boxing, than of his school lessons--

the village schoolmaster giving him up as "a bad job"--his parents

sent him off to a school at Pateley Bridge. While there he found

congenial society in a club of village choral singers at Brighouse

Gate, and with them he learnt the sol-fa-ing gamut on the old

English plan. He was thus well drilled in the reading of music, in

which he soon became a proficient. His progress astonished the

club, and he returned home full of musical ambition. He now learnt

to play upon his father's old piano, but with little melodious

result; and he became eager to possess a finger-organ, but had no

means of procuring one. About this time, a neighbouring parish

clerk had purchased, for an insignificant sum, a small disabled

barrel-organ, which had gone the circuit of the northern counties

with a show. The clerk tried to revive the tones of the

instrument, but failed; at last he bethought him that he would try

the skill of young Jackson, who had succeeded in making some

alterations and improvements in the hand-organ of the parish

church. He accordingly brought it to the lad's house in a donkey

cart, and in a short time the instrument was repaired, and played

over its old tunes again, greatly to the owner's satisfaction.

The thought now haunted the youth that he could make a barrel-

organ, and he determined to do so. His father and he set to work,

and though without practice in carpentering, yet, by dint of hard

labour and after many failures, they at last succeeded; and an

organ was constructed which played ten tunes very decently, and the

instrument was generally regarded as a marvel in the neighbourhood.

Young Jackson was now frequently sent for to repair old church

organs, and to put new music upon the barrels which he added to

them. All this he accomplished to the satisfaction of his

employers, after which he proceeded with the construction of a

four-stop finger-organ, adapting to it the keys of an old

harpsichord. This he learnt to play upon,--studying 'Callcott's

Thorough Bass' in the evening, and working at his trade of a miller

during the day; occasionally also tramping about the country as a

"cadger," with an ass and a cart. During summer he worked in the

fields, at turnip-time, hay-time, and harvest, but was never

without the solace of music in his leisure evening hours. He next

tried his hand at musical composition, and twelve of his anthems

were shown to the late Mr. Camidge, of York, as "the production of

a miller's lad of fourteen." Mr. Camidge was pleased with them,

marked the objectionable passages, and returned them with the

encouraging remark, that they did the youth great credit, and that

he must "go on writing."

A village band having been set on foot at Masham, young Jackson

joined it, and was ultimately appointed leader. He played all the

instruments by turns, and thus acquired a considerable practical

knowledge of his art: he also composed numerous tunes for the

band. A new finger-organ having been presented to the parish

church, he was appointed the organist. He now gave up his

employment as a journeyman miller, and commenced tallow-chandling,

still employing his spare hours in the study of music. In 1839 he

published his first anthem--'For joy let fertile valleys sing;' and

in the following year he gained the first prize from the

Huddersfield Glee Club, for his 'Sisters of the Lea.' His other

anthem 'God be merciful to us,' and the 103rd Psalm, written for a

double chorus and orchestra, are well known. In the midst of these

minor works, Jackson proceeded with the composition of his

oratorio,--'The Deliverance of Israel from Babylon.' His practice

was, to jot down a sketch of the ideas as they presented themselves

to his mind, and to write them out in score in the evenings, after

he had left his work in the candle-shop. His oratorio was

published in parts, in the course of 1844-5, and he published the

last chorus on his twenty-ninth birthday. The work was exceedingly

well received, and has been frequently performed with much success

in the northern towns. Mr. Jackson eventually settled as a

professor of music at Bradford, where he contributed in no small

degree to the cultivation of the musical taste of that town and its

neighbourhood. Some years since he had the honour of leading his

fine company of Bradford choral singers before Her Majesty at

Buckingham Palace; on which occasion, as well as at the Crystal

Palace, some choral pieces of his composition, were performed with

great effect. {22}

Such is a brief outline of the career of a self-taught musician,

whose life affords but another illustration of the power of self-

help, and the force of courage and industry in enabling a man to

surmount and overcome early difficulties and obstructions of no

ordinary kind.

CHAPTER VII--INDUSTRY AND THE PEERAGE

"He either fears his fate too much,

Or his deserts are small,

That dares not put it to the touch,

To gain or lose it all."--Marquis of Montrose.

"He hath put down the mighty from their seats; and exalted them of

low degree."--St. Luke.

We have already referred to some illustrious Commoners raised from

humble to elevated positions by the power of application and

industry; and we might point to even the Peerage itself as

affording equally instructive examples. One reason why the Peerage

of England has succeeded so well in holding its own, arises from

the fact that, unlike the peerages of other countries, it has been

fed, from time to time, by the best industrial blood of the

country--the very "liver, heart, and brain of Britain." Like the

fabled Antaeus, it has been invigorated and refreshed by touching

its mother earth, and mingling with that most ancient order of

nobility--the working order.

The blood of all men flows from equally remote sources; and though

some are unable to trace their line directly beyond their

grandfathers, all are nevertheless justified in placing at the head

of their pedigree the great progenitors of the race, as Lord

Chesterfield did when he wrote, "ADAM de Stanhope--EVE de

Stanhope." No class is ever long stationary. The mighty fall, and

the humble are exalted. New families take the place of the old,

who disappear among the ranks of the common people. Burke's

'Vicissitudes of Families' strikingly exhibit this rise and fall of

families, and show that the misfortunes which overtake the rich and

noble are greater in proportion than those which overwhelm the

poor. This author points out that of the twenty-five barons

selected to enforce the observance of Magna Charta, there is not

now in the House of Peers a single male descendant. Civil wars and

rebellions ruined many of the old nobility and dispersed their

families. Yet their descendants in many cases survive, and are to

be found among the ranks of the people. Fuller wrote in his

'Worthies,' that "some who justly hold the surnames of Bohuns,

Mortimers, and Plantagenets, are hid in the heap of common men."

Thus Burke shows that two of the lineal descendants of the Earl of

Kent, sixth son of Edward I., were discovered in a butcher and a

toll-gatherer; that the great grandson of Margaret Plantagenet,

daughter of the Duke of Clarance, sank to the condition of a

cobbler at Newport, in Shropshire; and that among the lineal

descendants of the Duke of Gloucester, son of Edward III., was the

late sexton of St George's, Hanover Square. It is understood that

the lineal descendant of Simon de Montfort, England's premier

baron, is a saddler in Tooley Street. One of the descendants of

the "Proud Percys," a claimant of the title of Duke of

Northumberland, was a Dublin trunk-maker; and not many years since

one of the claimants for the title of Earl of Perth presented

himself in the person of a labourer in a Northumberland coal-pit.

Hugh Miller, when working as a stone-mason near Edinburgh, was

served by a hodman, who was one of the numerous claimants for the

earldom of Crauford--all that was wanted to establish his claim

being a missing marriage certificate; and while the work was going

on, the cry resounded from the walls many times in the day, of--

"John, Yearl Crauford, bring us anither hod o'lime." One of Oliver

Cromwell's great grandsons was a grocer on Snow Hill, and others of

his descendants died in great poverty. Many barons of proud names

and titles have perished, like the sloth, upon their family tree,

after eating up all the leaves; while others have been overtaken by

adversities which they have been unable to retrieve, and sunk at

last into poverty and obscurity. Such are the mutabilities of rank

and fortune.

The great bulk of our peerage is comparatively modern, so far as

the titles go; but it is not the less noble that it has been

recruited to so large an extent from the ranks of honourable

industry. In olden times, the wealth and commerce of London,

conducted as it was by energetic and enterprising men, was a

prolific source of peerages. Thus, the earldom of Cornwallis was

founded by Thomas Cornwallis, the Cheapside merchant; that of Essex

by William Capel, the draper; and that of Craven by William Craven,

the merchant tailor. The modern Earl of Warwick is not descended

from the "King-maker," but from William Greville, the woolstapler;

whilst the modern dukes of Northumberland find their head, not in

the Percies, but in Hugh Smithson, a respectable London apothecary.

The founders of the families of Dartmouth, Radnor, Ducie, and

Pomfret, were respectively a skinner, a silk manufacturer, a

merchant tailor, and a Calais merchant; whilst the founders of the

peerages of Tankerville, Dormer, and Coventry, were mercers. The

ancestors of Earl Romney, and Lord Dudley and Ward, were goldsmiths

and jewellers; and Lord Dacres was a banker in the reign of Charles

I., as Lord Overstone is in that of Queen Victoria. Edward

Osborne, the founder of the Dukedom of Leeds, was apprentice to

William Hewet, a rich clothworker on London Bridge, whose only

daughter he courageously rescued from drowning, by leaping into the

Thames after her, and eventually married. Among other peerages

founded by trade are those of Fitzwilliam, Leigh, Petre, Cowper,

Darnley, Hill, and Carrington. The founders of the houses of Foley

and Normanby were remarkable men in many respects, and, as

furnishing striking examples of energy of character, the story of

their lives is worthy of preservation.

The father of Richard Foley, the founder of the family, was a small

yeoman living in the neighbourhood of Stourbridge in the time of

Charles I. That place was then the centre of the iron manufacture

of the midland districts, and Richard was brought up to work at one

of the branches of the trade--that of nail-making. He was thus a

daily observer of the great labour and loss of time caused by the

clumsy process then adopted for dividing the rods of iron in the

manufacture of nails. It appeared that the Stourbridge nailers

were gradually losing their trade in consequence of the importation

of nails from Sweden, by which they were undersold in the market.

It became known that the Swedes were enabled to make their nails so

much cheaper, by the use of splitting mills and machinery, which

had completely superseded the laborious process of preparing the

rods for nail-making then practised in England.

Richard Foley, having ascertained this much, determined to make

himself master of the new process. He suddenly disappeared from

the neighbourhood of Stourbridge, and was not heard of for several

years. No one knew whither he had gone, not even his own family;

for he had not informed them of his intention, lest he should fail.

He had little or no money in his pocket, but contrived to get to

Hull, where he engaged himself on board a ship bound for a Swedish

port, and worked his passage there. The only article of property

which he possessed was his fiddle, and on landing in Sweden he

begged and fiddled his way to the Dannemora mines, near Upsala. He

was a capital musician, as well as a pleasant fellow, and soon

ingratiated himself with the iron-workers. He was received into

the works, to every part of which he had access; and he seized the

opportunity thus afforded him of storing his mind with

observations, and mastering, as he thought, the mechanism of iron

splitting. After a continued stay for this purpose, he suddenly

disappeared from amongst his kind friends the miners--no one knew

whither.

Returned to England, he communicated the results of his voyage to

Mr. Knight and another person at Stourbridge, who had sufficient

confidence in him to advance the requisite funds for the purpose of

erecting buildings and machinery for splitting iron by the new

process. But when set to work, to the great vexation and

disappointment of all, and especially of Richard Foley, it was

found that the machinery would not act--at all events it would not

split the bars of iron. Again Foley disappeared. It was thought

that shame and mortification at his failure had driven him away for

ever. Not so! Foley had determined to master this secret of iron-

splitting, and he would yet do it. He had again set out for

Sweden, accompanied by his fiddle as before, and found his way to

the iron works, where he was joyfully welcomed by the miners; and,

to make sure of their fiddler, they this time lodged him in the

very splitting-mill itself. There was such an apparent absence of

intelligence about the man, except in fiddle-playing, that the

miners entertained no suspicions as to the object of their

minstrel, whom they thus enabled to attain the very end and aim of

his life. He now carefully examined the works, and soon discovered

the cause of his failure. He made drawings or tracings of the

machinery as well as he could, though this was a branch of art

quite new to him; and after remaining at the place long enough to

enable him to verify his observations, and to impress the

mechanical arrangements clearly and vividly on his mind, he again

left the miners, reached a Swedish port, and took ship for England.

A man of such purpose could not but succeed. Arrived amongst his

surprised friends, he now completed his arrangements, and the

results were entirely successful. By his skill and his industry he

soon laid the foundations of a large fortune, at the same time that

he restored the business of an extensive district. He himself

continued, during his life, to carry on his trade, aiding and

encouraging all works of benevolence in his neighbourhood. He

founded and endowed a school at Stourbridge; and his son Thomas (a

great benefactor of Kidderminster), who was High Sheriff of

Worcestershire in the time of "The Rump," founded and endowed an

hospital, still in existence, for the free education of children at

Old Swinford. All the early Foleys were Puritans. Richard Baxter

seems to have been on familiar and intimate terms with various

members of the family, and makes frequent mention of them in his

'Life and Times.' Thomas Foley, when appointed high sheriff of the

county, requested Baxter to preach the customary sermon before him;

and Baxter in his 'Life' speaks of him as "of so just and blameless

dealing, that all men he ever had to do with magnified his great

integrity and honesty, which were questioned by none." The family

was ennobled in the reign of Charles the Second.

William Phipps, the founder of the Mulgrave or Normanby family, was

a man quite as remarkable in his way as Richard Foley. His father

was a gunsmith--a robust Englishman settled at Woolwich, in Maine,

then forming part of our English colonies in America. He was born

in 1651, one of a family of not fewer than twenty-six children (of

whom twenty-one were sons), whose only fortune lay in their stout

hearts and strong arms. William seems to have had a dash of the

Danish-sea blood in his veins, and did not take kindly to the quiet

life of a shepherd in which he spent his early years. By nature

bold and adventurous, he longed to become a sailor and roam through

the world. He sought to join some ship; but not being able to find

one, he apprenticed himself to a shipbuilder, with whom he

thoroughly learnt his trade, acquiring the arts of reading and

writing during his leisure hours. Having completed his

apprenticeship and removed to Boston, he wooed and married a widow

of some means, after which he set up a little shipbuilding yard of

his own, built a ship, and, putting to sea in her, he engaged in

the lumber trade, which he carried on in a plodding and laborious

way for the space of about ten years.

It happened that one day, whilst passing through the crooked

streets of old Boston, he overheard some sailors talking to each

other of a wreck which had just taken place off the Bahamas; that

of a Spanish ship, supposed to have much money on board. His

adventurous spirit was at once kindled, and getting together a

likely crew without loss of time, he set sail for the Bahamas. The

wreck being well in-shore, he easily found it, and succeeded in

recovering a great deal of its cargo, but very little money; and

the result was, that he barely defrayed his expenses. His success

had been such, however, as to stimulate his enterprising spirit;

and when he was told of another and far more richly laden vessel

which had been wrecked near Port de la Plata more than half a

century before, he forthwith formed the resolution of raising the

wreck, or at all events of fishing up the treasure.

Being too poor, however, to undertake such an enterprise without

powerful help, he set sail for England in the hope that he might

there obtain it. The fame of his success in raising the wreck off

the Bahamas had already preceded him. He applied direct to the

Government. By his urgent enthusiasm, he succeeded in overcoming

the usual inertia of official minds; and Charles II. eventually

placed at his disposal the "Rose Algier," a ship of eighteen guns

and ninety-five men, appointing him to the chief command.

Phipps then set sail to find the Spanish ship and fish up the

treasure. He reached the coast of Hispaniola in safety; but how to

find the sunken ship was the great difficulty. The fact of the

wreck was more than fifty years old; and Phipps had only the

traditionary rumours of the event to work upon. There was a wide

coast to explore, and an outspread ocean without any trace whatever

of the argosy which lay somewhere at its bottom. But the man was

stout in heart and full of hope. He set his seamen to work to drag

along the coast, and for weeks they went on fishing up sea-weed,

shingle, and bits of rock. No occupation could be more trying to

seamen, and they began to grumble one to another, and to whisper

that the man in command had brought them on a fool's errand.

At length the murmurers gained head, and the men broke into open

mutiny. A body of them rushed one day on to the quarter-deck, and

demanded that the voyage should be relinquished. Phipps, however,

was not a man to be intimidated; he seized the ringleaders, and

sent the others back to their duty. It became necessary to bring

the ship to anchor close to a small island for the purpose of

repairs; and, to lighten her, the chief part of the stores was

landed. Discontent still increasing amongst the crew, a new plot

was laid amongst the men on shore to seize the ship, throw Phipps

overboard, and start on a piratical cruize against the Spaniards in

the South Seas. But it was necessary to secure the services of the

chief ship carpenter, who was consequently made privy to the pilot.

This man proved faithful, and at once told the captain of his

danger. Summoning about him those whom he knew to be loyal, Phipps

had the ship's guns loaded which commanded the shore, and ordered

the bridge communicating with the vessel to be drawn up. When the

mutineers made their appearance, the captain hailed them, and told

the men he would fire upon them if they approached the stores

(still on land),--when they drew back; on which Phipps had the

stores reshipped under cover of his guns. The mutineers, fearful

of being left upon the barren island, threw down their arms and

implored to be permitted to return to their duty. The request was

granted, and suitable precautions were taken against future

mischief. Phipps, however, took the first opportunity of landing

the mutinous part of the crew, and engaging other men in their

places; but, by the time that he could again proceed actively with

his explorations, he found it absolutely necessary to proceed to

England for the purpose of repairing the ship. He had now,

however, gained more precise information as to the spot where the

Spanish treasure ship had sunk; and, though as yet baffled, he was

more confident than ever of the eventual success of his enterprise.

Returned to London, Phipps reported the result of his voyage to the

Admiralty, who professed to be pleased with his exertions; but he

had been unsuccessful, and they would not entrust him with another

king's ship. James II. was now on the throne, and the Government

was in trouble; so Phipps and his golden project appealed to them

in vain. He next tried to raise the requisite means by a public

subscription. At first he was laughed at; but his ceaseless

importunity at length prevailed, and after four years' dinning of

his project into the ears of the great and influential--during

which time he lived in poverty--he at length succeeded. A company

was formed in twenty shares, the Duke of Albermarle, son of General

Monk, taking the chief interest in it, and subscribing the

principal part of the necessary fund for the prosecution of the

enterprise.

Like Foley, Phipps proved more fortunate in his second voyage than

in his first. The ship arrived without accident at Port de la

Plata, in the neighbourhood of the reef of rocks supposed to have

been the scene of the wreck. His first object was to build a stout

boat capable of carrying eight or ten oars, in constructing which

Phipps used the adze himself. It is also said that he constructed

a machine for the purpose of exploring the bottom of the sea

similar to what is now known as the Diving Bell. Such a machine

was found referred to in books, but Phipps knew little of books,

and may be said to have re-invented the apparatus for his own use.

He also engaged Indian divers, whose feats of diving for pearls,

and in submarine operations, were very remarkable. The tender and

boat having been taken to the reef, the men were set to work, the

diving bell was sunk, and the various modes of dragging the bottom

of the sea were employed continuously for many weeks, but without

any prospect of success. Phipps, however, held on valiantly,

hoping almost against hope. At length, one day, a sailor, looking

over the boat's side down into the clear water, observed a curious

sea-plant growing in what appeared to be a crevice of the rock; and

he called upon an Indian diver to go down and fetch it for him. On

the red man coming up with the weed, he reported that a number of

ships guns were lying in the same place. The intelligence was at

first received with incredulity, but on further investigation it

proved to be correct. Search was made, and presently a diver came

up with a solid bar of silver in his arms. When Phipps was shown

it, he exclaimed, "Thanks be to God! we are all made men." Diving

bell and divers now went to work with a will, and in a few days,

treasure was brought up to the value of about 300,000 pounds, with

which Phipps set sail for England. On his arrival, it was urged

upon the king that he should seize the ship and its cargo, under

the pretence that Phipps, when soliciting his Majesty's permission,

had not given accurate information respecting the business. But

the king replied, that he knew Phipps to be an honest man, and that

he and his friends should divide the whole treasure amongst them,

even though he had returned with double the value. Phipps's share

was about 20,000 pounds, and the king, to show his approval of his

energy and honesty in conducting the enterprise, conferred upon him

the honour of knighthood. He was also made High Sheriff of New

England; and during the time he held the office, he did valiant

service for the mother country and the colonists against the

French, by expeditions against Port Royal and Quebec. He also held

the post of Governor of Massachusetts, from which he returned to

England, and died in London in 1695.

Phipps throughout the latter part of his career, was not ashamed to

allude to the lowness of his origin, and it was matter of honest

pride to him that he had risen from the condition of common ship

carpenter to the honours of knighthood and the government of a

province. When perplexed with public business, he would often

declare that it would be easier for him to go back to his broad axe

again. He left behind him a character for probity, honesty,

patriotism, and courage, which is certainly not the least noble

inheritance of the house of Normanby.

William Petty, the founder of the house of Lansdowne, was a man of

like energy and public usefulness in his day. He was the son of a

clothier in humble circumstances, at Romsey, in Hampshire, where he

was born in 1623. In his boyhood he obtained a tolerable education

at the grammar school of his native town; after which he determined

to improve himself by study at the University of Caen, in Normandy.

Whilst there he contrived to support himself unassisted by his

father, carrying on a sort of small pedler's trade with "a little

stock of merchandise." Returning to England, he had himself bound

apprentice to a sea captain, who "drubbed him with a rope's end"

for the badness of his sight. He left the navy in disgust, taking

to the study of medicine. When at Paris he engaged in dissection,

during which time he also drew diagrams for Hobbes, who was then

writing his treatise on Optics. He was reduced to such poverty

that he subsisted for two or three weeks entirely on walnuts. But

again he began to trade in a small way, turning an honest penny,

and he was enabled shortly to return to England with money in his

pocket. Being of an ingenious mechanical turn, we find him taking

out a patent for a letter-copying machine. He began to write upon

the arts and sciences, and practised chemistry and physic with such

success that his reputation shortly became considerable.

Associating with men of science, the project of forming a Society

for its prosecution was discussed, and the first meetings of the

infant Royal Society were held at his lodgings. At Oxford he acted

for a time as deputy to the anatomical professor there, who had a

great repugnance to dissection. In 1652 his industry was rewarded

by the appointment of physician to the army in Ireland, whither he

went; and whilst there he was the medical attendant of three

successive lords-lieutenant, Lambert, Fleetwood, and Henry

Cromwell. Large grants of forfeited land having been awarded to

the Puritan soldiery, Petty observed that the lands were very

inaccurately measured; and in the midst of his many avocations he

undertook to do the work himself. His appointments became so

numerous and lucrative that he was charged by the envious with

corruption, and removed from them all; but he was again taken into

favour at the Restoration.

Petty was a most indefatigable contriver, inventor, and organizer

of industry. One of his inventions was a double-bottomed ship, to

sail against wind and tide. He published treatises on dyeing, on

naval philosophy, on woollen cloth manufacture, on political

arithmetic, and many other subjects. He founded iron works, opened

lead mines, and commenced a pilchard fishery and a timber trade; in

the midst of which he found time to take part in the discussions of

the Royal Society, to which he largely contributed. He left an

ample fortune to his sons, the eldest of whom was created Baron

Shelburne. His will was a curious document, singularly

illustrative of his character; containing a detail of the principal

events of his life, and the gradual advancement of his fortune.

His sentiments on pauperism are characteristic: "As for legacies

for the poor," said he, "I am at a stand; as for beggars by trade

and election, I give them nothing; as for impotents by the hand of

God, the public ought to maintain them; as for those who have been

bred to no calling nor estate, they should be put upon their

kindred;" . . . "wherefore I am contented that I have assisted all

my poor relations, and put many into a way of getting their own

bread; have laboured in public works; and by inventions have sought

out real objects of charity; and I do hereby conjure all who

partake of my estate, from time to time, to do the same at their

peril. Nevertheless to answer custom, and to take the surer side,

I give 20l. to the most wanting of the parish wherein I die." He

was interred in the fine old Norman church of Romsey--the town

wherein he was born a poor man's son--and on the south side of the

choir is still to be seen a plain slab, with the inscription, cut

by an illiterate workman, "Here Layes Sir William Petty."

Another family, ennobled by invention and trade in our own day, is

that of Strutt of Belper. Their patent of nobility was virtually

secured by Jedediah Strutt in 1758, when he invented his machine

for making ribbed stockings, and thereby laid the foundations of a

fortune which the subsequent bearers of the name have largely

increased and nobly employed. The father of Jedediah was a farmer

and malster, who did but little for the education of his children;

yet they all prospered. Jedediah was the second son, and when a

boy assisted his father in the work of the farm. At an early age

he exhibited a taste for mechanics, and introduced several

improvements in the rude agricultural implements of the period. On

the death of his uncle he succeeded to a farm at Blackwall, near

Normanton, long in the tenancy of the family, and shortly after he

married Miss Wollatt, the daughter of a Derby hosier. Having

learned from his wife's brother that various unsuccessful attempts

had been made to manufacture ribbed-stockings, he proceeded to

study the subject with a view to effect what others had failed in

accomplishing. He accordingly obtained a stocking-frame, and after

mastering its construction and mode of action, he proceeded to

introduce new combinations, by means of which he succeeded in

effecting a variation in the plain looped-work of the frame, and

was thereby enabled to turn out "ribbed" hosiery. Having secured a

patent for the improved machine, he removed to Derby, and there

entered largely on the manufacture of ribbed-stockings, in which he

was very successful. He afterwards joined Arkwright, of the merits

of whose invention he fully satisfied himself, and found the means

of securing his patent, as well as erecting a large cotton-mill at

Cranford, in Derbyshire. After the expiry of the partnership with

Arkwright, the Strutts erected extensive cotton-mills at Milford,

near Belper, which worthily gives its title to the present head of

the family. The sons of the founder were, like their father,

distinguished for their mechanical ability. Thus William Strutt,

the eldest, is said to have invented a self-acting mule, the

success of which was only prevented by the mechanical skill of that

day being unequal to its manufacture. Edward, the son of William,

was a man of eminent mechanical genius, having early discovered the

principle of suspension-wheels for carriages: he had a wheelbarrow

and two carts made on the principle, which were used on his farm

near Belper. It may be added that the Strutts have throughout been

distinguished for their noble employment of the wealth which their

industry and skill have brought them; that they have sought in all

ways to improve the moral and social condition of the work-people

in their employment; and that they have been liberal donors in

every good cause--of which the presentation, by Mr. Joseph Strutt,

of the beautiful park or Arboretum at Derby, as a gift to the

townspeople for ever, affords only one of many illustrations. The

concluding words of the short address which he delivered on

presenting this valuable gift are worthy of being quoted and

remembered:- "As the sun has shone brightly on me through life, it

would be ungrateful in me not to employ a portion of the fortune I

possess in promoting the welfare of those amongst whom I live, and

by whose industry I have been aided in its organisation."

No less industry and energy have been displayed by the many brave

men, both in present and past times, who have earned the peerage by

their valour on land and at sea. Not to mention the older feudal

lords, whose tenure depended upon military service, and who so

often led the van of the English armies in great national

encounters, we may point to Nelson, St. Vincent, and Lyons--to

Wellington, Hill, Hardinge, Clyde, and many more in recent times,

who have nobly earned their rank by their distinguished services.

But plodding industry has far oftener worked its way to the peerage

by the honourable pursuit of the legal profession, than by any

other. No fewer than seventy British peerages, including two

dukedoms, have been founded by successful lawyers. Mansfield and

Erskine were, it is true, of noble family; but the latter used to

thank God that out of his own family he did not know a lord. {23}

The others were, for the most part, the sons of attorneys, grocers,

clergymen, merchants, and hardworking members of the middle class.

Out of this profession have sprung the peerages of Howard and

Cavendish, the first peers of both families having been judges;

those of Aylesford, Ellenborough, Guildford, Shaftesbury,

Hardwicke, Cardigan, Clarendon, Camden, Ellesmere, Rosslyn; and

others nearer our own day, such as Tenterden, Eldon, Brougham,

Denman, Truro, Lyndhurst, St. Leonards, Cranworth, Campbell, and

Chelmsford.

Lord Lyndhurst's father was a portrait painter, and that of St.

Leonards a perfumer and hairdresser in Burlington Street. Young

Edward Sugden was originally an errand-boy in the office of the

late Mr. Groom, of Henrietta Street, Cavendish Square, a

certificated conveyancer; and it was there that the future Lord

Chancellor of Ireland obtained his first notions of law. The

origin of the late Lord Tenterden was perhaps the humblest of all,

nor was he ashamed of it; for he felt that the industry, study, and

application, by means of which he achieved his eminent position,

were entirely due to himself. It is related of him, that on one

occasion he took his son Charles to a little shed, then standing

opposite the western front of Canterbury Cathedral, and pointing it

out to him, said, "Charles, you see this little shop; I have

brought you here on purpose to show it you. In that shop your

grandfather used to shave for a penny: that is the proudest

reflection of my life." When a boy, Lord Tenterden was a singer in

the Cathedral, and it is a curious circumstance that his

destination in life was changed by a disappointment. When he and

Mr. Justice Richards were going the Home Circuit together, they

went to service in the cathedral; and on Richards commending the

voice of a singing man in the choir, Lord Tenterden said, "Ah! that

is the only man I ever envied! When at school in this town, we

were candidates for a chorister's place, and he obtained it."

Not less remarkable was the rise to the same distinguished office

of Lord Chief Justice, of the rugged Kenyon and the robust

Ellenborough; nor was he a less notable man who recently held the

same office--the astute Lord Campbell, late Lord Chancellor of

England, son of a parish minister in Fifeshire. For many years he

worked hard as a reporter for the press, while diligently preparing

himself for the practice of his profession. It is said of him,

that at the beginning of his career, he was accustomed to walk from

county town to county town when on circuit, being as yet too poor

to afford the luxury of posting. But step by step he rose slowly

but surely to that eminence and distinction which ever follow a

career of industry honourably and energetically pursued, in the

legal, as in every other profession.

There have been other illustrious instances of Lords Chancellors

who have plodded up the steep of fame and honour with equal energy

and success. The career of the late Lord Eldon is perhaps one of

the most remarkable examples. He was the son of a Newcastle coal-

fitter; a mischievous rather than a studious boy; a great

scapegrace at school, and the subject of many terrible thrashings,-

-for orchard-robbing was one of the favourite exploits of the

future Lord Chancellor. His father first thought of putting him

apprentice to a grocer, and afterwards had almost made up his mind

to bring him up to his own trade of a coal-fitter. But by this

time his eldest son William (afterwards Lord Stowell) who had

gained a scholarship at Oxford, wrote to his father, "Send Jack up

to me, I can do better for him." John was sent up to Oxford

accordingly, where, by his brother's influence and his own

application, he succeeded in obtaining a fellowship. But when at

home during the vacation, he was so unfortunate--or rather so

fortunate, as the issue proved--as to fall in love; and running

across the Border with his eloped bride, he married, and as his

friends thought, ruined himself for life. He had neither house nor

home when he married, and had not yet earned a penny. He lost his

fellowship, and at the same time shut himself out from preferment

in the Church, for which he had been destined. He accordingly

turned his attention to the study of the law. To a friend he

wrote, "I have married rashly; but it is my determination to work

hard to provide for the woman I love."

John Scott came up to London, and took a small house in Cursitor

Lane, where he settled down to the study of the law. He worked

with great diligence and resolution; rising at four every morning

and studying till late at night, binding a wet towel round his head

to keep himself awake. Too poor to study under a special pleader,

he copied out three folio volumes from a manuscript collection of

precedents. Long after, when Lord Chancellor, passing down

Cursitor Lane one day, he said to his secretary, "Here was my first

perch: many a time do I recollect coming down this street with

sixpence in my hand to buy sprats for supper." When at length

called to the bar, he waited long for employment. His first year's

earnings amounted to only nine shillings. For four years he

assiduously attended the London Courts and the Northern Circuit,

with little better success. Even in his native town, he seldom had

other than pauper cases to defend. The results were indeed so

discouraging, that he had almost determined to relinquish his

chance of London business, and settle down in some provincial town

as a country barrister. His brother William wrote home, "Business

is dull with poor Jack, very dull indeed!" But as he had escaped

being a grocer, a coal-fitter, and a country parson so did he also

escape being a country lawyer.

An opportunity at length occurred which enabled John Scott to

exhibit the large legal knowledge which he had so laboriously

acquired. In a case in which he was engaged, he urged a legal

point against the wishes both of the attorney and client who

employed him. The Master of the Rolls decided against him, but on

an appeal to the House of Lords, Lord Thurlow reversed the decision

on the very point that Scott had urged. On leaving the House that

day, a solicitor tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Young man,

your bread and butter's cut for life." And the prophecy proved a

true one. Lord Mansfield used to say that he knew no interval

between no business and 3000l. a-year, and Scott might have told

the same story; for so rapid was his progress, that in 1783, when

only thirty-two, he was appointed King's Counsel, was at the head

of the Northern Circuit, and sat in Parliament for the borough of

Weobley. It was in the dull but unflinching drudgery of the early

part of his career that he laid the foundation of his future

success. He won his spurs by perseverance, knowledge, and ability,

diligently cultivated. He was successively appointed to the

offices of solicitor and attorney-general, and rose steadily

upwards to the highest office that the Crown had to bestow--that of

Lord Chancellor of England, which he held for a quarter of a

century.

Henry Bickersteth was the son of a surgeon at Kirkby Lonsdale, in

Westmoreland, and was himself educated to that profession. As a

student at Edinburgh, he distinguished himself by the steadiness

with which he worked, and the application which he devoted to the

science of medicine. Returned to Kirkby Lonsdale, he took an

active part in his father's practice; but he had no liking for the

profession, and grew discontented with the obscurity of a country

town. He went on, nevertheless, diligently improving himself, and

engaged on speculations in the higher branches of physiology. In

conformity with his own wish, his father consented to send him to

Cambridge, where it was his intention to take a medical degree with

the view of practising in the metropolis. Close application to his

studies, however, threw him out of health, and with a view to re-

establishing his strength he accepted the appointment of travelling

physician to Lord Oxford. While abroad he mastered Italian, and

acquired a great admiration for Italian literature, but no greater

liking for medicine than before. On the contrary, he determined to

abandon it; but returning to Cambridge, he took his degree; and

that he worked hard may be inferred from the fact that he was

senior wrangler of his year. Disappointed in his desire to enter

the army, he turned to the bar, and entered a student of the Inner

Temple. He worked as hard at law as he had done at medicine.

Writing to his father, he said, "Everybody says to me, 'You are

certain of success in the end--only persevere;' and though I don't

well understand how this is to happen, I try to believe it as much

as I can, and I shall not fail to do everything in my power." At

twenty-eight he was called to the bar, and had every step in life

yet to make. His means were straitened, and he lived upon the

contributions of his friends. For years he studied and waited.

Still no business came. He stinted himself in recreation, in

clothes, and even in the necessaries of life; struggling on

indefatigably through all. Writing home, he "confessed that he

hardly knew how he should be able to struggle on till he had fair

time and opportunity to establish himself." After three years'

waiting, still without success, he wrote to his friends that rather

than be a burden upon them longer, he was willing to give the

matter up and return to Cambridge, "where he was sure of support

and some profit." The friends at home sent him another small

remittance, and he persevered. Business gradually came in.

Acquitting himself creditably in small matters, he was at length

entrusted with cases of greater importance. He was a man who never

missed an opportunity, nor allowed a legitimate chance of

improvement to escape him. His unflinching industry soon began to

tell upon his fortunes; a few more years and he was not only

enabled to do without assistance from home, but he was in a

position to pay back with interest the debts which he had incurred.

The clouds had dispersed, and the after career of Henry Bickersteth

was one of honour, of emolument, and of distinguished fame. He

ended his career as Master of the Rolls, sitting in the House of

Peers as Baron Langdale. His life affords only another

illustration of the power of patience, perseverance, and

conscientious working, in elevating the character of the

individual, and crowning his labours with the most complete

success.

Such are a few of the distinguished men who have honourably worked

their way to the highest position, and won the richest rewards of

their profession, by the diligent exercise of qualities in many

respects of an ordinary character, but made potent by the force of

application and industry.

CHAPTER VIII--ENERGY AND COURAGE

"A coeur vaillant rien d'impossible."--Jacques Coeur.

"Den Muthigen gehort die Welt."--German Proverb.

"In every work that he began . . . he did it with all his heart,

and prospered."--II. Chron. XXXI. 21.

There is a famous speech recorded of an old Norseman, thoroughly

characteristic of the Teuton. "I believe neither in idols nor

demons," said he, "I put my sole trust in my own strength of body

and soul." The ancient crest of a pickaxe with the motto of

"Either I will find a way or make one," was an expression of the

same sturdy independence which to this day distinguishes the

descendants of the Northmen. Indeed nothing could be more

characteristic of the Scandinavian mythology, than that it had a

god with a hammer. A man's character is seen in small matters; and

from even so slight a test as the mode in which a man wields a

hammer, his energy may in some measure be inferred. Thus an

eminent Frenchman hit off in a single phrase the characteristic

quality of the inhabitants of a particular district, in which a

friend of his proposed to settle and buy land. "Beware," said he,

"of making a purchase there; I know the men of that department; the

pupils who come from it to our veterinary school at Paris DO NOR

STRIKE HARD UPON THE ANVIL; they want energy; and you will not get

a satisfactory return on any capital you may invest there." A fine

and just appreciation of character, indicating the thoughtful

observer; and strikingly illustrative of the fact that it is the

energy of the individual men that gives strength to a State, and

confers a value even upon the very soil which they cultivate. As

the French proverb has it: "Tant vaut l'homme, tant vaut sa

terre."

The cultivation of this quality is of the greatest importance;

resolute determination in the pursuit of worthy objects being the

foundation of all true greatness of character. Energy enables a

man to force his way through irksome drudgery and dry details, and

carries him onward and upward in every station in life. It

accomplishes more than genius, with not one-half the disappointment

and peril. It is not eminent talent that is required to ensure

success in any pursuit, so much as purpose,--not merely the power

to achieve, but the will to labour energetically and perseveringly.

Hence energy of will may be defined to be the very central power of

character in a man--in a word, it is the Man himself. It gives

impulse to his every action, and soul to every effort. True hope

is based on it,--and it is hope that gives the real perfume to

life. There is a fine heraldic motto on a broken helmet in Battle

Abbey, "L'espoir est ma force," which might be the motto of every

man's life. "Woe unto him that is fainthearted," says the son of

Sirach. There is, indeed, no blessing equal to the possession of a

stout heart. Even if a man fail in his efforts, it will be a

satisfaction to him to enjoy the consciousness of having done his

best. In humble life nothing can be more cheering and beautiful

than to see a man combating suffering by patience, triumphing in

his integrity, and who, when his feet are bleeding and his limbs

failing him, still walks upon his courage.

Mere wishes and desires but engender a sort of green sickness in

young minds, unless they are promptly embodied in act and deed. It

will not avail merely to wait as so many do, "until Blucher comes

up," but they must struggle on and persevere in the mean time, as

Wellington did. The good purpose once formed must be carried out

with alacrity and without swerving. In most conditions of life,

drudgery and toil are to be cheerfully endured as the best and most

wholesome discipline. "In life," said Ary Scheffer, "nothing bears

fruit except by labour of mind or body. To strive and still

strive--such is life; and in this respect mine is fulfilled; but I

dare to say, with just pride, that nothing has ever shaken my

courage. With a strong soul, and a noble aim, one can do what one

wills, morally speaking."

Hugh Miller said the only school in which he was properly taught

was "that world-wide school in which toil and hardship are the

severe but noble teachers." He who allows his application to

falter, or shirks his work on frivolous pretexts, is on the sure

road to ultimate failure. Let any task be undertaken as a thing

not possible to be evaded, and it will soon come to be performed

with alacrity and cheerfulness. Charles IX. of Sweden was a firm

believer in the power of will, even in youth. Laying his hand on

the head of his youngest son when engaged on a difficult task, he

exclaimed, "He SHALL do it! he SHALL do it!" The habit of

application becomes easy in time, like every other habit. Thus

persons with comparatively moderate powers will accomplish much, if

they apply themselves wholly and indefatigably to one thing at a

time. Fowell Buxton placed his confidence in ordinary means and

extraordinary application; realizing the scriptural injunction,

"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might;" and

he attributed his own success in life to his practice of "being a

whole man to one thing at a time."

Nothing that is of real worth can be achieved without courageous

working. Man owes his growth chiefly to that active striving of

the will, that encounter with difficulty, which we call effort; and

it is astonishing to find how often results apparently

impracticable are thus made possible. An intense anticipation

itself transforms possibility into reality; our desires being often

but the precursors of the things which we are capable of

performing. On the contrary, the timid and hesitating find

everything impossible, chiefly because it seems so. It is related

of a young French officer, that he used to walk about his apartment

exclaiming, "I WILL be Marshal of France and a great general." His

ardent desire was the presentiment of his success; for the young

officer did become a distinguished commander, and he died a Marshal

of France.

Mr. Walker, author of the 'Original,' had so great a faith in the

power of will, that he says on one occasion he DETERMINED to be

well, and he was so. This may answer once; but, though safer to

follow than many prescriptions, it will not always succeed. The

power of mind over body is no doubt great, but it may be strained

until the physical power breaks down altogether. It is related of

Muley Moluc, the Moorish leader, that, when lying ill, almost worn

out by an incurable disease, a battle took place between his troops

and the Portuguese; when, starting from his litter at the great

crisis of the fight, he rallied his army, led them to victory, and

instantly afterwards sank exhausted and expired.

It is will,--force of purpose,--that enables a man to do or be

whatever he sets his mind on being or doing. A holy man was

accustomed to say, "Whatever you wish, that you are: for such is

the force of our will, joined to the Divine, that whatever we wish

to be, seriously, and with a true intention, that we become. No

one ardently wishes to be submissive, patient, modest, or liberal,

who does not become what he wishes." The story is told of a

working carpenter, who was observed one day planing a magistrate's

bench which he was repairing, with more than usual carefulness; and

when asked the reason, he replied, "Because I wish to make it easy

against the time when I come to sit upon it myself." And

singularly enough, the man actually lived to sit upon that very

bench as a magistrate.

Whatever theoretical conclusions logicians may have formed as to

the freedom of the will, each individual feels that practically he

is free to choose between good and evil--that he is not as a mere

straw thrown upon the water to mark the direction of the current,

but that he has within him the power of a strong swimmer, and is

capable of striking out for himself, of buffeting with the waves,

and directing to a great extent his own independent course. There

is no absolute constraint upon our volitions, and we feel and know

that we are not bound, as by a spell, with reference to our

actions. It would paralyze all desire of excellence were we to

think otherwise. The entire business and conduct of life, with its

domestic rules, its social arrangements, and its public

institutions, proceed upon the practical conviction that the will

is free. Without this where would be responsibility?--and what the

advantage of teaching, advising, preaching, reproof, and

correction? What were the use of laws, were it not the universal

belief, as it is the universal fact, that men obey them or not,

very much as they individually determine? In every moment of our

life, conscience is proclaiming that our will is free. It is the

only thing that is wholly ours, and it rests solely with ourselves

individually, whether we give it the right or the wrong direction.

Our habits or our temptations are not our masters, but we of them.

Even in yielding, conscience tells us we might resist; and that

were we determined to master them, there would not be required for

that purpose a stronger resolution than we know ourselves to be

capable of exercising.

"You are now at the age," said Lamennais once, addressing a gay

youth, "at which a decision must be formed by you; a little later,

and you may have to groan within the tomb which you yourself have

dug, without the power of rolling away the stone. That which the

easiest becomes a habit in us is the will. Learn then to will

strongly and decisively; thus fix your floating life, and leave it

no longer to be carried hither and thither, like a withered leaf,

by every wind that blows."

Buxton held the conviction that a young man might be very much what

he pleased, provided he formed a strong resolution and held to it.

Writing to one of his sons, he said to him, "You are now at that

period of life, in which you must make a turn to the right or the

left. You must now give proofs of principle, determination, and

strength of mind; or you must sink into idleness, and acquire the

habits and character of a desultory, ineffective young man; and if

once you fall to that point, you will find it no easy matter to

rise again. I am sure that a young man may be very much what he

pleases. In my own case it was so. . . . Much of my happiness, and

all my prosperity in life, have resulted from the change I made at

your age. If you seriously resolve to be energetic and

industrious, depend upon it that you will for your whole life have

reason to rejoice that you were wise enough to form and to act upon

that determination." As will, considered without regard to

direction, is simply constancy, firmness, perseverance, it will be

obvious that everything depends upon right direction and motives.

Directed towards the enjoyment of the senses, the strong will may

be a demon, and the intellect merely its debased slave; but

directed towards good, the strong will is a king, and the intellect

the minister of man's highest well-being.

"Where there is a will there is a way," is an old and true saying.

He who resolves upon doing a thing, by that very resolution often

scales the barriers to it, and secures its achievement. To think

we are able, is almost to be so--to determine upon attainment is

frequently attainment itself. Thus, earnest resolution has often

seemed to have about it almost a savour of omnipotence. The

strength of Suwarrow's character lay in his power of willing, and,

like most resolute persons, he preached it up as a system. "You

can only half will," he would say to people who failed. Like

Richelieu and Napoleon, he would have the word "impossible"

banished from the dictionary. "I don't know," "I can't," and

"impossible," were words which he detested above all others.

"Learn! Do! Try!" he would exclaim. His biographer has said of

him, that he furnished a remarkable illustration of what may be

effected by the energetic development and exercise of faculties,

the germs of which at least are in every human heart.

One of Napoleon's favourite maxims was, "The truest wisdom is a

resolute determination." His life, beyond most others, vividly

showed what a powerful and unscrupulous will could accomplish. He

threw his whole force of body and mind direct upon his work.

Imbecile rulers and the nations they governed went down before him

in succession. He was told that the Alps stood in the way of his

armies--"There shall be no Alps," he said, and the road across the

Simplon was constructed, through a district formerly almost

inaccessible. "Impossible," said he, "is a word only to be found

in the dictionary of fools." He was a man who toiled terribly;

sometimes employing and exhausting four secretaries at a time. He

spared no one, not even himself. His influence inspired other men,

and put a new life into them. "I made my generals out of mud," he

said. But all was of no avail; for Napoleon's intense selfishness

was his ruin, and the ruin of France, which he left a prey to

anarchy. His life taught the lesson that power, however

energetically wielded, without beneficence, is fatal to its

possessor and its subjects; and that knowledge, or knowingness,

without goodness, is but the incarnate principle of Evil.

Our own Wellington was a far greater man. Not less resolute, firm,

and persistent, but more self-denying, conscientious, and truly

patriotic. Napoleon's aim was "Glory;" Wellington's watchword,

like Nelson's, was "Duty." The former word, it is said, does not

once occur in his despatches; the latter often, but never

accompanied by any high-sounding professions. The greatest

difficulties could neither embarrass nor intimidate Wellington; his

energy invariably rising in proportion to the obstacles to be

surmounted. The patience, the firmness, the resolution, with which

he bore through the maddening vexations and gigantic difficulties

of the Peninsular campaigns, is, perhaps, one of the sublimest

things to be found in history. In Spain, Wellington not only

exhibited the genius of the general, but the comprehensive wisdom

of the statesman. Though his natural temper was irritable in the

extreme, his high sense of duty enabled him to restrain it; and to

those about him his patience seemed absolutely inexhaustible. His

great character stands untarnished by ambition, by avarice, or any

low passion. Though a man of powerful individuality, he yet

displayed a great variety of endowment. The equal of Napoleon in

generalship, he was as prompt, vigorous, and daring as Clive; as

wise a statesman as Cromwell; and as pure and high-minded as

Washington. The great Wellington left behind him an enduring

reputation, founded on toilsome campaigns won by skilful

combination, by fortitude which nothing could exhaust, by sublime

daring, and perhaps by still sublimer patience.

Energy usually displays itself in promptitude and decision. When

Ledyard the traveller was asked by the African Association when he

would be ready to set out for Africa, he immediately answered, "To-

morrow morning." Blucher's promptitude obtained for him the

cognomen of "Marshal Forwards" throughout the Prussian army. When

John Jervis, afterwards Earl St. Vincent, was asked when he would

be ready to join his ship, he replied, "Directly." And when Sir

Colin Campbell, appointed to the command of the Indian army, was

asked when he could set out, his answer was, "To-morrow,"--an

earnest of his subsequent success. For it is rapid decision, and a

similar promptitude in action, such as taking instant advantage of

an enemy's mistakes, that so often wins battles. "At Arcola," said

Napoleon, "I won the battle with twenty-five horsemen. I seized a

moment of lassitude, gave every man a trumpet, and gained the day

with this handful. Two armies are two bodies which meet and

endeavour to frighten each other: a moment of panic occurs, and

THAT MOMENT must be turned to advantage." "Every moment lost,"

said he at another time, "gives an opportunity for misfortune;" and

he declared that he beat the Austrians because they never knew the

value of time: while they dawdled, he overthrew them.

India has, during the last century, been a great field for the

display of British energy. From Clive to Havelock and Clyde there

is a long and honourable roll of distinguished names in Indian

legislation and warfare,--such as Wellesley, Metcalfe, Outram,

Edwardes, and the Lawrences. Another great but sullied name is

that of Warren Hastings--a man of dauntless will and indefatigable

industry. His family was ancient and illustrious; but their

vicissitudes of fortune and ill-requited loyalty in the cause of

the Stuarts, brought them to poverty, and the family estate at

Daylesford, of which they had been lords of the manor for hundreds

of years, at length passed from their hands. The last Hastings of

Daylesford had, however, presented the parish living to his second

son; and it was in his house, many years later, that Warren

Hastings, his grandson, was born. The boy learnt his letters at

the village school, on the same bench with the children of the

peasantry. He played in the fields which his fathers had owned;

and what the loyal and brave Hastings of Daylesford HAD been, was

ever in the boy's thoughts. His young ambition was fired, and it

is said that one summer's day, when only seven years old, as he

laid him down on the bank of the stream which flowed through the

domain, he formed in his mind the resolution that he would yet

recover possession of the family lands. It was the romantic vision

of a boy; yet he lived to realize it. The dream became a passion,

rooted in his very life; and he pursued his determination through

youth up to manhood, with that calm but indomitable force of will

which was the most striking peculiarity of his character. The

orphan boy became one of the most powerful men of his time; he

retrieved the fortunes of his line; bought back the old estate, and

rebuilt the family mansion. "When, under a tropical sun," says

Macaulay, "he ruled fifty millions of Asiatics, his hopes, amidst

all the cares of war, finance, and legislation, still pointed to

Daylesford. And when his long public life, so singularly chequered

with good and evil, with glory and obloquy, had at length closed

for ever, it was to Daylesford that he retired to die."

Sir Charles Napier was another Indian leader of extraordinary

courage and determination. He once said of the difficulties with

which he was surrounded in one of his campaigns, "They only make my

feet go deeper into the ground." His battle of Meeanee was one of

the most extraordinary feats in history. With 2000 men, of whom

only 400 were Europeans, he encountered an army of 35,000 hardy and

well-armed Beloochees. It was an act, apparently, of the most

daring temerity, but the general had faith in himself and in his

men. He charged the Belooch centre up a high bank which formed

their rampart in front, and for three mortal hours the battle

raged. Each man of that small force, inspired by the chief, became

for the time a hero. The Beloochees, though twenty to one, were

driven back, but with their faces to the foe. It is this sort of

pluck, tenacity, and determined perseverance which wins soldiers'

battles, and, indeed, every battle. It is the one neck nearer that

wins the race and shows the blood; it is the one march more that

wins the campaign; the five minutes' more persistent courage that

wins the fight. Though your force be less than another's, you

equal and outmaster your opponent if you continue it longer and

concentrate it more. The reply of the Spartan father, who said to

his son, when complaining that his sword was too short, "Add a step

to it," is applicable to everything in life.

Napier took the right method of inspiring his men with his own

heroic spirit. He worked as hard as any private in the ranks.

"The great art of commanding," he said, "is to take a fair share of

the work. The man who leads an army cannot succeed unless his

whole mind is thrown into his work. The more trouble, the more

labour must be given; the more danger, the more pluck must be

shown, till all is overpowered." A young officer who accompanied

him in his campaign in the Cutchee Hills, once said, "When I see

that old man incessantly on his horse, how can I be idle who am

young and strong? I would go into a loaded cannon's mouth if he

ordered me." This remark, when repeated to Napier, he said was

ample reward for his toils. The anecdote of his interview with the

Indian juggler strikingly illustrates his cool courage as well as

his remarkable simplicity and honesty of character. On one

occasion, after the Indian battles, a famous juggler visited the

camp and performed his feats before the General, his family, and

staff. Among other performances, this man cut in two with a stroke

of his sword a lime or lemon placed in the hand of his assistant.

Napier thought there was some collusion between the juggler and his

retainer. To divide by a sweep of the sword on a man's hand so

small an object without touching the flesh he believed to be

impossible, though a similar incident is related by Scott in his

romance of the 'Talisman.' To determine the point, the General

offered his own hand for the experiment, and he stretched out his

right arm. The juggler looked attentively at the hand, and said he

would not make the trial. "I thought I would find you out!"

exclaimed Napier. "But stop," added the other, "let me see your

left hand." The left hand was submitted, and the man then said

firmly, "If you will hold your arm steady I will perform the feat."

"But why the left hand and not the right?" "Because the right hand

is hollow in the centre, and there is a risk of cutting off the

thumb; the left is high, and the danger will be less." Napier was

startled. "I got frightened," he said; "I saw it was an actual

feat of delicate swordsmanship, and if I had not abused the man as

I did before my staff, and challenged him to the trial, I honestly

acknowledge I would have retired from the encounter. However, I

put the lime on my hand, and held out my arm steadily. The juggler

balanced himself, and, with a swift stroke cut the lime in two

pieces. I felt the edge of the sword on my hand as if a cold

thread had been drawn across it. So much (he added) for the brave

swordsmen of India, whom our fine fellows defeated at Meeanee."

The recent terrible struggle in India has served to bring out,

perhaps more prominently than any previous event in our history,

the determined energy and self-reliance of the national character.

Although English officialism may often drift stupidly into gigantic

blunders, the men of the nation generally contrive to work their

way out of them with a heroism almost approaching the sublime. In

May, 1857, when the revolt burst upon India like a thunder-clap,

the British forces had been allowed to dwindle to their extreme

minimum, and were scattered over a wide extent of country, many of

them in remote cantonments. The Bengal regiments, one after

another, rose against their officers, broke away, and rushed to

Delhi. Province after province was lapped in mutiny and rebellion;

and the cry for help rose from east to west. Everywhere the

English stood at bay in small detachments, beleaguered and

surrounded, apparently incapable of resistance. Their discomfiture

seemed so complete, and the utter ruin of the British cause in

India so certain, that it might be said of them then, as it had

been said before, "These English never know when they are beaten."

According to rule, they ought then and there to have succumbed to

inevitable fate.

While the issue of the mutiny still appeared uncertain, Holkar, one

of the native princes, consulted his astrologer for information.

The reply was, "If all the Europeans save one are slain, that one

will remain to fight and reconquer." In their very darkest moment-

-even where, as at Lucknow, a mere handful of British soldiers,

civilians, and women, held out amidst a city and province in arms

against them--there was no word of despair, no thought of

surrender. Though cut off from all communication with their

friends for months, and not knowing whether India was lost or held,

they never ceased to have perfect faith in the courage and

devotedness of their countrymen. They knew that while a body of

men of English race held together in India, they would not be left

unheeded to perish. They never dreamt of any other issue but

retrieval of their misfortune and ultimate triumph; and if the

worst came to the worst, they could but fall at their post, and die

in the performance of their duty. Need we remind the reader of the

names of Havelock, Inglis, Neill, and Outram--men of truly heroic

mould--of each of whom it might with truth be said that he had the

heart of a chevalier, the soul of a believer, and the temperament

of a martyr. Montalembert has said of them that "they do honour to

the human race." But throughout that terrible trial almost all

proved equally great--women, civilians and soldiers--from the

general down through all grades to the private and bugleman. The

men were not picked: they belonged to the same ordinary people

whom we daily meet at home--in the streets, in workshops, in the

fields, at clubs; yet when sudden disaster fell upon them, each and

all displayed a wealth of personal resources and energy, and became

as it were individually heroic. "Not one of them," says

Montalembert, "shrank or trembled--all, military and civilians,

young and old, generals and soldiers, resisted, fought, and

perished with a coolness and intrepidity which never faltered. It

is in this circumstance that shines out the immense value of public

education, which invites the Englishman from his youth to make use

of his strength and his liberty, to associate, resist, fear

nothing, to be astonished at nothing, and to save himself, by his

own sole exertions, from every sore strait in life."

It has been said that Delhi was taken and India saved by the

personal character of Sir John Lawrence. The very name of

"Lawrence" represented power in the North-West Provinces. His

standard of duty, zeal, and personal effort, was of the highest;

and every man who served under him seemed to be inspired by his

spirit. It was declared of him that his character alone was worth

an army. The same might be said of his brother Sir Henry, who

organised the Punjaub force that took so prominent a part in the

capture of Delhi. Both brothers inspired those who were about them

with perfect love and confidence. Both possessed that quality of

tenderness, which is one of the true elements of the heroic

character. Both lived amongst the people, and powerfully

influenced them for good. Above all as Col. Edwardes says, "they

drew models on young fellows' minds, which they went forth and

copied in their several administrations: they sketched a FAITH,

and begot a SCHOOL, which are both living things at this day." Sir

John Lawrence had by his side such men as Montgomery, Nicholson,

Cotton, and Edwardes, as prompt, decisive, and high-souled as

himself. John Nicholson was one of the finest, manliest, and

noblest of men--"every inch a hakim," the natives said of him--"a

tower of strength," as he was characterised by Lord Dalhousie. In

whatever capacity he acted he was great, because he acted with his

whole strength and soul. A brotherhood of fakeers--borne away by

their enthusiastic admiration of the man--even began the worship of

Nikkil Seyn: he had some of them punished for their folly, but

they continued their worship nevertheless. Of his sustained energy

and persistency an illustration may be cited in his pursuit of the

55th Sepoy mutineers, when he was in the saddle for twenty

consecutive hours, and travelled more than seventy miles. When the

enemy set up their standard at Delhi, Lawrence and Montgomery,

relying on the support of the people of the Punjaub, and compelling

their admiration and confidence, strained every nerve to keep their

own province in perfect order, whilst they hurled every available

soldier, European and Sikh, against that city. Sir John wrote to

the commander-in-chief to "hang on to the rebels' noses before

Delhi," while the troops pressed on by forced marches under

Nicholson, "the tramp of whose war-horse might be heard miles off,"

as was afterwards said of him by a rough Sikh who wept over his

grave.

The siege and storming of Delhi was the most illustrious event

which occurred in the course of that gigantic struggle, although

the leaguer of Lucknow, during which the merest skeleton of a

British regiment--the 32nd--held out, under the heroic Inglis, for

six months against two hundred thousand armed enemies, has perhaps

excited more intense interest. At Delhi, too, the British were

really the besieged, though ostensibly the besiegers; they were a

mere handful of men "in the open"--not more than 3,700 bayonets,

European and native--and they were assailed from day to day by an

army of rebels numbering at one time as many as 75,000 men, trained

to European discipline by English officers, and supplied with all

but exhaustless munitions of war. The heroic little band sat down

before the city under the burning rays of a tropical sun. Death,

wounds, and fever failed to turn them from their purpose. Thirty

times they were attacked by overwhelming numbers, and thirty times

did they drive back the enemy behind their defences. As Captain

Hodson--himself one of the bravest there--has said, "I venture to

aver that no other nation in the world would have remained here, or

avoided defeat if they had attempted to do so." Never for an

instant did these heroes falter at their work; with sublime

endurance they held on, fought on, and never relaxed until, dashing

through the "imminent deadly breach," the place was won, and the

British flag was again unfurled on the walls of Delhi. All were

great--privates, officers, and generals. Common soldiers who had

been inured to a life of hardship, and young officers who had been

nursed in luxurious homes, alike proved their manhood, and emerged

from that terrible trial with equal honour. The native strength

and soundness of the English race, and of manly English training

and discipline, were never more powerfully exhibited; and it was

there emphatically proved that the Men of England are, after all,

its greatest products. A terrible price was paid for this great

chapter in our history, but if those who survive, and those who

come after, profit by the lesson and example, it may not have been

purchased at too great a cost.

But not less energy and courage have been displayed in India and

the East by men of various nations, in other lines of action more

peaceful and beneficent than that of war. And while the heroes of

the sword are remembered, the heroes of the gospel ought not to be

forgotten. From Xavier to Martyn and Williams, there has been a

succession of illustrious missionary labourers, working in a spirit

of sublime self-sacrifice, without any thought of worldly honour,

inspired solely by the hope of seeking out and rescuing the lost

and fallen of their race. Borne up by invincible courage and

never-failing patience, these men have endured privations, braved

dangers, walked through pestilence, and borne all toils, fatigues,

and sufferings, yet held on their way rejoicing, glorying even in

martyrdom itself. Of these one of the first and most illustrious

was Francis Xavier. Born of noble lineage, and with pleasure,

power, and honour within his reach, he proved by his life that

there are higher objects in the world than rank, and nobler

aspirations than the accumulation of wealth. He was a true

gentleman in manners and sentiment; brave, honourable, generous;

easily led, yet capable of leading; easily persuaded, yet himself

persuasive; a most patient, resolute and energetic man. At the age

of twenty-two he was earning his living as a public teacher of

philosophy at the University of Paris. There Xavier became the

intimate friend and associate of Loyola, and shortly afterwards he

conducted the pilgrimage of the first little band of proselytes to

Rome.

When John III. of Portugal resolved to plant Christianity in the

Indian territories subject to his influence, Bobadilla was first

selected as his missionary; but being disabled by illness, it was

found necessary to make another selection, and Xavier was chosen.

Repairing his tattered cassock, and with no other baggage than his

breviary, he at once started for Lisbon and embarked for the East.

The ship in which he set sail for Goa had the Governor on board,

with a reinforcement of a thousand men for the garrison of the

place. Though a cabin was placed at his disposal, Xavier slept on

deck throughout the voyage with his head on a coil of ropes,

messing with the sailors. By ministering to their wants, inventing

innocent sports for their amusement, and attending them in their

sickness, he wholly won their hearts, and they regarded him with

veneration.

Arrived at Goa, Xavier was shocked at the depravity of the people,

settlers as well as natives; for the former had imported the vices

without the restraints of civilization, and the latter had only

been too apt to imitate their bad example. Passing along the

streets of the city, sounding his handbell as he went, he implored

the people to send him their children to be instructed. He shortly

succeeded in collecting a large number of scholars, whom he

carefully taught day by day, at the same time visiting the sick,

the lepers, and the wretched of all classes, with the object of

assuaging their miseries, and bringing them to the Truth. No cry

of human suffering which reached him was disregarded. Hearing of

the degradation and misery of the pearl fishers of Manaar, he set

out to visit them, and his bell again rang out the invitation of

mercy. He baptized and he taught, but the latter he could only do

through interpreters. His most eloquent teaching was his

ministration to the wants and the sufferings of the wretched.

On he went, his hand-bell sounding along the coast of Comorin,

among the towns and villages, the temples and the bazaars,

summoning the natives to gather about him and be instructed. He

had translations made of the Catechism, the Apostles' Creed, the

Commandments, the Lord's Prayer, and some of the devotional offices

of the Church. Committing these to memory in their own tongue he

recited them to the children, until they had them by heart; after

which he sent them forth to teach the words to their parents and

neighbours. At Cape Comorin, he appointed thirty teachers, who

under himself presided over thirty Christian Churches, though the

Churches were but humble, in most cases consisting only of a

cottage surmounted by a cross. Thence he passed to Travancore,

sounding his way from village to village, baptizing until his hands

dropped with weariness, and repeating his formulas until his voice

became almost inaudible. According to his own account, the success

of his mission surpassed his highest expectations. His pure,

earnest, and beautiful life, and the irresistible eloquence of his

deeds, made converts wherever he went; and by sheer force of

sympathy, those who saw him and listened to him insensibly caught a

portion of his ardour.

Burdened with the thought that "the harvest is great and the

labourers are few," Xavier next sailed to Malacca and Japan, where

he found himself amongst entirely new races speaking other tongues.

The most that he could do here was to weep and pray, to smooth the

pillow and watch by the sick-bed, sometimes soaking the sleeve of

his surplice in water, from which to squeeze out a few drops and

baptize the dying. Hoping all things, and fearing nothing, this

valiant soldier of the truth was borne onward throughout by faith

and energy. "Whatever form of death or torture," said he, "awaits

me, I am ready to suffer it ten thousand times for the salvation of

a single soul." He battled with hunger, thirst, privations and

dangers of all kinds, still pursuing his mission of love, unresting

and unwearying. At length, after eleven years' labour, this great

good man, while striving to find a way into China, was stricken

with fever in the Island of Sanchian, and there received his crown

of glory. A hero of nobler mould, more pure, self-denying, and

courageous, has probably never trod this earth.

Other missionaries have followed Xavier in the same field of work,

such as Schwartz, Carey, and Marshman in India; Gutzlaff and

Morrison in China; Williams in the South Seas; Campbell, Moffatt

and Livingstone in Africa. John Williams, the martyr of Erromanga,

was originally apprenticed to a furnishing ironmonger. Though

considered a dull boy, he was handy at his trade, in which he

acquired so much skill that his master usually entrusted him with

any blacksmiths work that required the exercise of more than

ordinary care. He was also fond of bell-hanging and other

employments which took him away from the shop. A casual sermon

which he heard gave his mind a serious bias, and he became a

Sunday-school teacher. The cause of missions having been brought

under his notice at some of his society's meetings, he determined

to devote himself to this work. His services were accepted by the

London Missionary Society; and his master allowed him to leave the

ironmonger's shop before the expiry of his indentures. The islands

of the Pacific Ocean were the principal scene of his labours--more

particularly Huahine in Tahiti, Raiatea, and Rarotonga. Like the

Apostles he worked with his hands,--at blacksmith work, gardening,

shipbuilding; and he endeavoured to teach the islanders the art of

civilised life, at the same time that he instructed them in the

truths of religion. It was in the course of his indefatigable

labours that he was massacred by savages on the shore of Erromanga-

-none worthier than he to wear the martyr's crown.

The career of Dr. Livingstone is one of the most interesting of

all. He has told the story of his life in that modest and

unassuming manner which is so characteristic of the man himself.

His ancestors were poor but honest Highlanders, and it is related

of one of them, renowned in his district for wisdom and prudence,

that when on his death-bed he called his children round him and

left them these words, the only legacy he had to bequeath--"In my

life-time," said he, "I have searched most carefully through all

the traditions I could find of our family, and I never could

discover that there was a dishonest man among our forefathers: if,

therefore, any of you or any of your children should take to

dishonest ways, it will not be because it runs in our blood; it

does not belong to you: I leave this precept with you--Be honest."

At the age of ten Livingstone was sent to work in a cotton factory

near Glasgow as a "piecer." With part of his first week's wages he

bought a Latin grammar, and began to learn that language, pursuing

the study for years at a night school. He would sit up conning his

lessons till twelve or later, when not sent to bed by his mother,

for he had to be up and at work in the factory every morning by

six. In this way he plodded through Virgil and Horace, also

reading extensively all books, excepting novels, that came in his

way, but more especially scientific works and books of travels. He

occupied his spare hours, which were but few, in the pursuit of

botany, scouring the neighbourhood to collect plants. He even

carried on his reading amidst the roar of the factory machinery, so

placing the book upon the spinning jenny which he worked that he

could catch sentence after sentence as he passed it. In this way

the persevering youth acquired much useful knowledge; and as he

grew older, the desire possessed him of becoming a missionary to

the heathen. With this object he set himself to obtain a medical

education, in order the better to be qualified for the work. He

accordingly economised his earnings, and saved as much money as

enabled him to support himself while attending the Medical and

Greek classes, as well as the Divinity Lectures, at Glasgow, for

several winters, working as a cotton spinner during the remainder

of each year. He thus supported himself, during his college

career, entirely by his own earnings as a factory workman, never

having received a farthing of help from any other source. "Looking

back now," he honestly says, "at that life of toil, I cannot but

feel thankful that it formed such a material part of my early

education; and, were it possible, I should like to begin life over

again in the same lowly style, and to pass through the same hardy

training." At length he finished his medical curriculum, wrote his

Latin thesis, passed his examinations, and was admitted a

licentiate of the Faculty of Physicians and Surgeons. At first he

thought of going to China, but the war then waging with that

country prevented his following out the idea; and having offered

his services to the London Missionary Society, he was by them sent

out to Africa, which he reached in 1840. He had intended to

proceed to China by his own efforts; and he says the only pang he

had in going to Africa at the charge of the London Missionary

Society was, because "it was not quite agreeable to one accustomed

to work his own way to become, in a manner, dependent upon others."

Arrived in Africa he set to work with great zeal. He could not

brook the idea of merely entering upon the labours of others, but

cut out a large sphere of independent work, preparing himself for

it by undertaking manual labour in building and other handicraft

employment, in addition to teaching, which, he says, "made me

generally as much exhausted and unfit for study in the evenings as

ever I had been when a cotton-spinner." Whilst labouring amongst

the Bechuanas, he dug canals, built houses, cultivated fields,

reared cattle, and taught the natives to work as well as worship.

When he first started with a party of them on foot upon a long

journey, he overheard their observations upon his appearance and

powers--"He is not strong," said they; "he is quite slim, and only

appears stout because he puts himself into those bags (trowsers):

he will soon knock up." This caused the missionary's Highland

blood to rise, and made him despise the fatigue of keeping them all

at the top of their speed for days together, until he heard them

expressing proper opinions of his pedestrian powers. What he did

in Africa, and how he worked, may be learnt from his own

'Missionary Travels,' one of the most fascinating books of its kind

that has ever been given to the public. One of his last known acts

is thoroughly characteristic of the man. The 'Birkenhead' steam

launch, which he took out with him to Africa, having proved a

failure, he sent home orders for the construction of another vessel

at an estimated cost of 2000l. This sum he proposed to defray out

of the means which he had set aside for his children arising from

the profits of his books of travels. "The children must make it up

themselves," was in effect his expression in sending home the order

for the appropriation of the money.

The career of John Howard was throughout a striking illustration of

the same power of patient purpose. His sublime life proved that

even physical weakness could remove mountains in the pursuit of an

end recommended by duty. The idea of ameliorating the condition of

prisoners engrossed his whole thoughts and possessed him like a

passion; and no toil, nor danger, nor bodily suffering could turn

him from that great object of his life. Though a man of no genius

and but moderate talent, his heart was pure and his will was

strong. Even in his own time he achieved a remarkable degree of

success; and his influence did not die with him, for it has

continued powerfully to affect not only the legislation of England,

but of all civilised nations, down to the present hour.

Jonas Hanway was another of the many patient and persevering men

who have made England what it is--content simply to do with energy

the work they have been appointed to do, and go to their rest

thankfully when it is done -

"Leaving no memorial but a world

Made better by their lives."

He was born in 1712, at Portsmouth, where his father, a storekeeper

in the dockyard, being killed by an accident, he was left an orphan

at an early age. His mother removed with her children to London,

where she had them put to school, and struggled hard to bring them

up respectably. At seventeen Jonas was sent to Lisbon to be

apprenticed to a merchant, where his close attention to business,

his punctuality, and his strict honour and integrity, gained for

him the respect and esteem of all who knew him. Returning to

London in 1743, he accepted the offer of a partnership in an

English mercantile house at St. Petersburg engaged in the Caspian

trade, then in its infancy. Hanway went to Russia for the purpose

of extending the business; and shortly after his arrival at the

capital he set out for Persia, with a caravan of English bales of

cloth making twenty carriage loads. At Astracan he sailed for

Astrabad, on the south-eastern shore of the Caspian; but he had

scarcely landed his bales, when an insurrection broke out, his

goods were seized, and though he afterwards recovered the principal

part of them, the fruits of his enterprise were in a great measure

lost. A plot was set on foot to seize himself and his party; so he

took to sea and, after encountering great perils, reached Ghilan in

safety. His escape on this occasion gave him the first idea of the

words which he afterwards adopted as the motto of his life--"NEVER

DESPAIR." He afterwards resided in St. Petersburg for five years,

carrying on a prosperous business. But a relative having left him

some property, and his own means being considerable, he left

Russia, and arrived in his native country in 1755. His object in

returning to England was, as he himself expressed it, "to consult

his own health (which was extremely delicate), and do as much good

to himself and others as he was able." The rest of his life was

spent in deeds of active benevolence and usefulness to his fellow

men. He lived in a quiet style, in order that he might employ a

larger share of his income in works of benevolence. One of the

first public improvements to which he devoted himself was that of

the highways of the metropolis, in which he succeeded to a large

extent. The rumour of a French invasion being prevalent in 1755,

Mr. Hanway turned his attention to the best mode of keeping up the

supply of seamen. He summoned a meeting of merchants and

shipowners at the Royal Exchange, and there proposed to them to

form themselves into a society for fitting out landsmen volunteers

and boys, to serve on board the king's ships. The proposal was

received with enthusiasm: a society was formed, and officers were

appointed, Mr. Hanway directing its entire operations. The result

was the establishment in 1756 of The Marine Society, an institution

which has proved of much national advantage, and is to this day of

great and substantial utility. Within six years from its

formation, 5451 boys and 4787 landsmen volunteers had been trained

and fitted out by the society and added to the navy, and to this

day it is in active operation, about 600 poor boys, after a careful

education, being annually apprenticed as sailors, principally in

the merchant service.

Mr. Hanway devoted the other portions of his spare time to

improving or establishing important public institutions in the

metropolis. From an early period he took an active interest in the

Foundling Hospital, which had been started by Thomas Coram many

years before, but which, by encouraging parents to abandon their

children to the charge of a charity, was threatening to do more

harm than good. He determined to take steps to stem the evil,

entering upon the work in the face of the fashionable philanthropy

of the time; but by holding to his purpose he eventually succeeded

in bringing the charity back to its proper objects; and time and

experience have proved that he was right. The Magdalen Hospital

was also established in a great measure through Mr. Hanway's

exertions. But his most laborious and persevering efforts were in

behalf of the infant parish poor. The misery and neglect amidst

which the children of the parish poor then grew up, and the

mortality which prevailed amongst them, were frightful; but there

was no fashionable movement on foot to abate the suffering, as in

the case of the foundlings. So Jonas Hanway summoned his energies

to the task. Alone and unassisted he first ascertained by personal

inquiry the extent of the evil. He explored the dwellings of the

poorest classes in London, and visited the poorhouse sick wards, by

which he ascertained the management in detail of every workhouse in

and near the metropolis. He next made a journey into France and

through Holland, visiting the houses for the reception of the poor,

and noting whatever he thought might be adopted at home with

advantage. He was thus employed for five years; and on his return

to England he published the results of his observations. The

consequence was that many of the workhouses were reformed and

improved. In 1761 he obtained an Act obliging every London parish

to keep an annual register of all the infants received, discharged,

and dead; and he took care that the Act should work, for he himself

superintended its working with indefatigable watchfulness. He went

about from workhouse to workhouse in the morning, and from one

member of parliament to another in the afternoon, for day after

day, and for year after year, enduring every rebuff, answering

every objection, and accommodating himself to every humour. At

length, after a perseverance hardly to be equalled, and after

nearly ten years' labour, he obtained another Act, at his sole

expense (7 Geo. III. c. 39), directing that all parish infants

belonging to the parishes within the bills of mortality should not

be nursed in the workhouses, but be sent to nurse a certain number

of miles out of town, until they were six years old, under the care

of guardians to be elected triennially. The poor people called

this "the Act for keeping children alive;" and the registers for

the years which followed its passing, as compared with those which

preceded it, showed that thousands of lives had been preserved

through the judicious interference of this good and sensible man.

Wherever a philanthropic work was to be done in London, be sure

that Jonas Hanway's hand was in it. One of the first Acts for the

protection of chimney-sweepers' boys was obtained through his

influence. A destructive fire at Montreal, and another at

Bridgetown, Barbadoes, afforded him the opportunity for raising a

timely subscription for the relief of the sufferers. His name

appeared in every list, and his disinterestedness and sincerity

were universally recognized. But he was not suffered to waste his

little fortune entirely in the service of others. Five leading

citizens of London, headed by Mr. Hoare, the banker, without Mr.

Hanway's knowledge, waited on Lord Bute, then prime minister, in a

body, and in the names of their fellow-citizens requested that some

notice might be taken of this good man's disinterested services to

his country. The result was, his appointment shortly after, as one

of the commissioners for victualling the navy.

Towards the close of his life Mr. Hanway's health became very

feeble, and although he found it necessary to resign his office at

the Victualling Board, he could not be idle; but laboured at the

establishment of Sunday Schools,--a movement then in its infancy,--

or in relieving poor blacks, many of whom wandered destitute about

the streets of the metropolis,--or, in alleviating the sufferings

of some neglected and destitute class of society. Notwithstanding

his familiarity with misery in all its shapes, he was one of the

most cheerful of beings; and, but for his cheerfulness he could

never, with so delicate a frame, have got through so vast an amount

of self-imposed work. He dreaded nothing so much as inactivity.

Though fragile, he was bold and indefatigable; and his moral

courage was of the first order. It may be regarded as a trivial

matter to mention that he was the first who ventured to walk the

streets of London with an umbrella over his head. But let any

modern London merchant venture to walk along Cornhill in a peaked

Chinese hat, and he will find it takes some degree of moral courage

to persevere in it. After carrying an umbrella for thirty years,

Mr. Hanway saw the article at length come into general use.

Hanway was a man of strict honour, truthfulness, and integrity; and

every word he said might be relied upon. He had so great a

respect, amounting almost to a reverence, for the character of the

honest merchant, that it was the only subject upon which he was

ever seduced into a eulogium. He strictly practised what he

professed, and both as a merchant, and afterwards as a commissioner

for victualling the navy, his conduct was without stain. He would

not accept the slightest favour of any sort from a contractor; and

when any present was sent to him whilst at the Victualling Office,

he would politely return it, with the intimation that "he had made

it a rule not to accept anything from any person engaged with the

office." When he found his powers failing, he prepared for death

with as much cheerfulness as he would have prepared himself for a

journey into the country. He sent round and paid all his

tradesmen, took leave of his friends, arranged his affairs, had his

person neatly disposed of, and parted with life serenely and

peacefully in his 74th year. The property which he left did not

amount to two thousand pounds, and, as he had no relatives who

wanted it, he divided it amongst sundry orphans and poor persons

whom he had befriended during his lifetime. Such, in brief, was

the beautiful life of Jonas Hanway,--as honest, energetic, hard-

working, and true-hearted a man as ever lived.

The life of Granville Sharp is another striking example of the same

power of individual energy--a power which was afterwards transfused

into the noble band of workers in the cause of Slavery Abolition,

prominent among whom were Clarkson, Wilberforce, Buxton, and

Brougham. But, giants though these men were in this cause,

Granville Sharp was the first, and perhaps the greatest of them

all, in point of perseverance, energy, and intrepidity. He began

life as apprentice to a linen-draper on Tower Hill; but, leaving

that business after his apprenticeship was out, he next entered as

a clerk in the Ordnance Office; and it was while engaged in that

humble occupation that he carried on in his spare hours the work of

Negro Emancipation. He was always, even when an apprentice, ready

to undertake any amount of volunteer labour where a useful purpose

was to be served. Thus, while learning the linen-drapery business,

a fellow apprentice who lodged in the same house, and was a

Unitarian, led him into frequent discussions on religious subjects.

The Unitarian youth insisted that Granville's Trinitarian

misconception of certain passages of Scripture arose from his want

of acquaintance with the Greek tongue; on which he immediately set

to work in his evening hours, and shortly acquired an intimate

knowledge of Greek. A similar controversy with another fellow-

apprentice, a Jew, as to the interpretation of the prophecies, led

him in like manner to undertake and overcome the difficulties of

Hebrew.

But the circumstance which gave the bias and direction to the main

labours of his life originated in his generosity and benevolence.

His brother William, a surgeon in Mincing Lane, gave gratuitous

advice to the poor, and amongst the numerous applicants for relief

at his surgery was a poor African named Jonathan Strong. It

appeared that the negro had been brutally treated by his master, a

Barbadoes lawyer then in London, and became lame, almost blind, and

unable to work; on which his owner, regarding him as of no further

value as a chattel, cruelly turned him adrift into the streets to

starve. This poor man, a mass of disease, supported himself by

begging for a time, until he found his way to William Sharp, who

gave him some medicine, and shortly after got him admitted to St.

Bartholomew's hospital, where he was cured. On coming out of the

hospital, the two brothers supported the negro in order to keep him

off the streets, but they had not the least suspicion at the time

that any one had a claim upon his person. They even succeeded in

obtaining a situation for Strong with an apothecary, in whose

service he remained for two years; and it was while he was

attending his mistress behind a hackney coach, that his former

owner, the Barbadoes lawyer, recognized him, and determined to

recover possession of the slave, again rendered valuable by the

restoration of his health. The lawyer employed two of the Lord

Mayor's officers to apprehend Strong, and he was lodged in the

Compter, until he could be shipped off to the West Indies. The

negro, bethinking him in his captivity of the kind services which

Granville Sharp had rendered him in his great distress some years

before, despatched a letter to him requesting his help. Sharp had

forgotten the name of Strong, but he sent a messenger to make

inquiries, who returned saying that the keepers denied having any

such person in their charge. His suspicions were roused, and he

went forthwith to the prison, and insisted upon seeing Jonathan

Strong. He was admitted, and recognized the poor negro, now in

custody as a recaptured slave. Mr. Sharp charged the master of the

prison at his own peril not to deliver up Strong to any person

whatever, until he had been carried before the Lord Mayor, to whom

Sharp immediately went, and obtained a summons against those

persons who had seized and imprisoned Strong without a warrant.

The parties appeared before the Lord Mayor accordingly, and it

appeared from the proceedings that Strong's former master had

already sold him to a new one, who produced the bill of sale and

claimed the negro as his property. As no charge of offence was

made against Strong, and as the Lord Mayor was incompetent to deal

with the legal question of Strong's liberty or otherwise, he

discharged him, and the slave followed his benefactor out of court,

no one daring to touch him. The man's owner immediately gave Sharp

notice of an action to recover possession of his negro slave, of

whom he declared he had been robbed.

About that time (1767), the personal liberty of the Englishman,

though cherished as a theory, was subject to grievous

infringements, and was almost daily violated. The impressment of

men for the sea service was constantly practised, and, besides the

press-gangs, there were regular bands of kidnappers employed in

London and all the large towns of the kingdom, to seize men for the

East India Company's service. And when the men were not wanted for

India, they were shipped off to the planters in the American

colonies. Negro slaves were openly advertised for sale in the

London and Liverpool newspapers. Rewards were offered for

recovering and securing fugitive slaves, and conveying them down to

certain specified ships in the river.

The position of the reputed slave in England was undefined and

doubtful. The judgments which had been given in the courts of law

were fluctuating and various, resting on no settled principle.

Although it was a popular belief that no slave could breathe in

England, there were legal men of eminence who expressed a directly

contrary opinion. The lawyers to whom Mr. Sharp resorted for

advice, in defending himself in the action raised against him in

the case of Jonathan Strong, generally concurred in this view, and

he was further told by Jonathan Strong's owner, that the eminent

Lord Chief Justice Mansfield, and all the leading counsel, were

decidedly of opinion that the slave, by coming into England, did

not become free, but might legally be compelled to return again to

the plantations. Such information would have caused despair in a

mind less courageous and earnest than that of Granville Sharp; but

it only served to stimulate his resolution to fight the battle of

the negroes' freedom, at least in England. "Forsaken," he said,

"by my professional defenders, I was compelled, through the want of

regular legal assistance, to make a hopeless attempt at self-

defence, though I was totally unacquainted either with the practice

of the law or the foundations of it, having never opened a law book

(except the Bible) in my life, until that time, when I most

reluctantly undertook to search the indexes of a law library, which

my bookseller had lately purchased."

The whole of his time during the day was occupied with the business

of the ordnance department, where he held the most laborious post

in the office; he was therefore under the necessity of conducting

his new studies late at night or early in the morning. He

confessed that he was himself becoming a sort of slave. Writing to

a clerical friend to excuse himself for delay in replying to a

letter, he said, "I profess myself entirely incapable of holding a

literary correspondence. What little time I have been able to save

from sleep at night, and early in the morning, has been necessarily

employed in the examination of some points of law, which admitted

of no delay, and yet required the most diligent researches and

examination in my study."

Mr. Sharp gave up every leisure moment that he could command during

the next two years, to the close study of the laws of England

affecting personal liberty,--wading through an immense mass of dry

and repulsive literature, and making extracts of all the most

important Acts of Parliament, decisions of the courts, and opinions

of eminent lawyers, as he went along. In this tedious and

protracted inquiry he had no instructor, nor assistant, nor

adviser. He could not find a single lawyer whose opinion was

favourable to his undertaking. The results of his inquiries were,

however, as gratifying to himself, as they were surprising to the

gentlemen of the law. "God be thanked," he wrote, "there is

nothing in any English law or statute--at least that I am able to

find out--that can justify the enslaving of others." He had

planted his foot firm, and now he doubted nothing. He drew up the

result of his studies in a summary form; it was a plain, clear, and

manly statement, entitled, 'On the Injustice of Tolerating Slavery

in England;' and numerous copies, made by himself, were circulated

by him amongst the most eminent lawyers of the time. Strong's

owner, finding the sort of man he had to deal with, invented

various pretexts for deferring the suit against Sharp, and at

length offered a compromise, which was rejected. Granville went on

circulating his manuscript tract among the lawyers, until at length

those employed against Jonathan Strong were deterred from

proceeding further, and the result was, that the plaintiff was

compelled to pay treble costs for not bringing forward his action.

The tract was then printed in 1769.

In the mean time other cases occurred of the kidnapping of negroes

in London, and their shipment to the West Indies for sale.

Wherever Sharp could lay hold of any such case, he at once took

proceedings to rescue the negro. Thus the wife of one Hylas, an

African, was seized, and despatched to Barbadoes; on which Sharp,

in the name of Hylas, instituted legal proceedings against the

aggressor, obtained a verdict with damages, and Hylas's wife was

brought back to England free.

Another forcible capture of a negro, attended with great cruelty,

having occurred in 1770, he immediately set himself on the track of

the aggressors. An African, named Lewis, was seized one dark night

by two watermen employed by the person who claimed the negro as his

property, dragged into the water, hoisted into a boat, where he was

gagged, and his limbs were tied; and then rowing down river, they

put him on board a ship bound for Jamaica, where he was to be sold

for a slave upon his arrival in the island. The cries of the poor

negro had, however, attracted the attention of some neighbours; one

of whom proceeded direct to Mr. Granville Sharp, now known as the

negro's friend, and informed him of the outrage. Sharp immediately

got a warrant to bring back Lewis, and he proceeded to Gravesend,

but on arrival there the ship had sailed for the Downs. A writ of

Habeas Corpus was obtained, sent down to Spithead, and before the

ship could leave the shores of England the writ was served. The

slave was found chained to the main-mast bathed in tears, casting

mournful looks on the land from which he was about to be torn. He

was immediately liberated, brought back to London, and a warrant

was issued against the author of the outrage. The promptitude of

head, heart, and hand, displayed by Mr. Sharp in this transaction

could scarcely have been surpassed, and yet he accused himself of

slowness. The case was tried before Lord Mansfield--whose opinion,

it will be remembered, had already been expressed as decidedly

opposed to that entertained by Granville Sharp. The judge,

however, avoided bringing the question to an issue, or offering any

opinion on the legal question as to the slave's personal liberty or

otherwise, but discharged the negro because the defendant could

bring no evidence that Lewis was even nominally his property.

The question of the personal liberty of the negro in England was

therefore still undecided; but in the mean time Mr. Sharp continued

steady in his benevolent course, and by his indefatigable exertions

and promptitude of action, many more were added to the list of the

rescued. At length the important case of James Somerset occurred;

a case which is said to have been selected, at the mutual desire of

Lord Mansfield and Mr. Sharp, in order to bring the great question

involved to a clear legal issue. Somerset had been brought to

England by his master, and left there. Afterwards his master

sought to apprehend him and send him off to Jamaica, for sale. Mr.

Sharp, as usual, at once took the negro's case in hand, and

employed counsel to defend him. Lord Mansfield intimated that the

case was of such general concern, that he should take the opinion

of all the judges upon it. Mr. Sharp now felt that he would have

to contend with all the force that could be brought against him,

but his resolution was in no wise shaken. Fortunately for him, in

this severe struggle, his exertions had already begun to tell:

increasing interest was taken in the question, and many eminent

legal gentlemen openly declared themselves to be upon his side.

The cause of personal liberty, now at stake, was fairly tried

before Lord Mansfield, assisted by the three justices,--and tried

on the broad principle of the essential and constitutional right of

every man in England to the liberty of his person, unless forfeited

by the law. It is unnecessary here to enter into any account of

this great trial; the arguments extended to a great length, the

cause being carried over to another term,--when it was adjourned

and re-adjourned,--but at length judgment was given by Lord

Mansfield, in whose powerful mind so gradual a change had been

worked by the arguments of counsel, based mainly on Granville

Sharp's tract, that he now declared the court to be so clearly of

one opinion, that there was no necessity for referring the case to

the twelve judges. He then declared that the claim of slavery

never can be supported; that the power claimed never was in use in

England, nor acknowledged by the law; therefore the man James

Somerset must be discharged. By securing this judgment Granville

Sharp effectually abolished the Slave Trade until then carried on

openly in the streets of Liverpool and London. But he also firmly

established the glorious axiom, that as soon as any slave sets his

foot on English ground, that moment he becomes free; and there can

be no doubt that this great decision of Lord Mansfield was mainly

owing to Mr. Sharp's firm, resolute, and intrepid prosecution of

the cause from the beginning to the end.

It is unnecessary further to follow the career of Granville Sharp.

He continued to labour indefatigably in all good works. He was

instrumental in founding the colony of Sierra Leone as an asylum

for rescued negroes. He laboured to ameliorate the condition of

the native Indians in the American colonies. He agitated the

enlargement and extension of the political rights of the English

people; and he endeavoured to effect the abolition of the

impressment of seamen. Granville held that the British seamen, as

well as the African negro, was entitled to the protection of the

law; and that the fact of his choosing a seafaring life did not in

any way cancel his rights and privileges as an Englishman--first

amongst which he ranked personal freedom. Mr. Sharp also laboured,

but ineffectually, to restore amity between England and her

colonies in America; and when the fratricidal war of the American

Revolution was entered on, his sense of integrity was so scrupulous

that, resolving not in any way to be concerned in so unnatural a

business, he resigned his situation at the Ordnance Office.

To the last he held to the great object of his life--the abolition

of slavery. To carry on this work, and organize the efforts of the

growing friends of the cause, the Society for the Abolition of

Slavery was founded, and new men, inspired by Sharp's example and

zeal, sprang forward to help him. His energy became theirs, and

the self-sacrificing zeal in which he had so long laboured single-

handed, became at length transfused into the nation itself. His

mantle fell upon Clarkson, upon Wilberforce, upon Brougham, and

upon Buxton, who laboured as he had done, with like energy and

stedfastness of purpose, until at length slavery was abolished

throughout the British dominions. But though the names last

mentioned may be more frequently identified with the triumph of

this great cause, the chief merit unquestionably belongs to

Granville Sharp. He was encouraged by none of the world's huzzas

when he entered upon his work. He stood alone, opposed to the

opinion of the ablest lawyers and the most rooted prejudices of the

times; and alone he fought out, by his single exertions, and at his

individual expense, the most memorable battle for the constitution

of this country and the liberties of British subjects, of which

modern times afford a record. What followed was mainly the

consequence of his indefatigable constancy. He lighted the torch

which kindled other minds, and it was handed on until the

illumination became complete.

Before the death of Granville Sharp, Clarkson had already turned

his attention to the question of Negro Slavery. He had even

selected it for the subject of a college Essay; and his mind became

so possessed by it that he could not shake it off. The spot is

pointed out near Wade's Mill, in Hertfordshire, where, alighting

from his horse one day, he sat down disconsolate on the turf by the

road side, and after long thinking, determined to devote himself

wholly to the work. He translated his Essay from Latin into

English, added fresh illustrations, and published it. Then fellow

labourers gathered round him. The Society for Abolishing the Slave

Trade, unknown to him, had already been formed, and when he heard

of it he joined it. He sacrificed all his prospects in life to

prosecute this cause. Wilberforce was selected to lead in

parliament; but upon Clarkson chiefly devolved the labour of

collecting and arranging the immense mass of evidence offered in

support of the abolition. A remarkable instance of Clarkson's

sleuth-hound sort of perseverance may be mentioned. The abettors

of slavery, in the course of their defence of the system,

maintained that only such negroes as were captured in battle were

sold as slaves, and if not so sold, then they were reserved for a

still more frightful doom in their own country. Clarkson knew of

the slave-hunts conducted by the slave-traders, but had no

witnesses to prove it. Where was one to be found? Accidentally, a

gentleman whom he met on one of his journeys informed him of a

young sailor, in whose company he had been about a year before, who

had been actually engaged in one of such slave-hunting expeditions.

The gentleman did not know his name, and could but indefinitely

describe his person. He did not know where he was, further than

that he belonged to a ship of war in ordinary, but at what port he

could not tell. With this mere glimmering of information, Clarkson

determined to produce this man as a witness. He visited personally

all the seaport towns where ships in ordinary lay; boarded and

examined every ship without success, until he came to the very LAST

port, and found the young man, his prize, in the very LAST ship

that remained to be visited. The young man proved to be one of his

most valuable and effective witnesses.

During several years Clarkson conducted a correspondence with

upwards of four hundred persons, travelling more than thirty-five

thousand miles during the same time in search of evidence. He was

at length disabled and exhausted by illness, brought on by his

continuous exertions; but he was not borne from the field until his

zeal had fully awakened the public mind, and excited the ardent

sympathies of all good men on behalf of the slave.

After years of protracted struggle, the slave trade was abolished.

But still another great achievement remained to be accomplished--

the abolition of slavery itself throughout the British dominions.

And here again determined energy won the day. Of the leaders in

the cause, none was more distinguished than Fowell Buxton, who took

the position formerly occupied by Wilberforce in the House of

Commons. Buxton was a dull, heavy boy, distinguished for his

strong self-will, which first exhibited itself in violent,

domineering, and headstrong obstinacy. His father died when he was

a child; but fortunately he had a wise mother, who trained his will

with great care, constraining him to obey, but encouraging the

habit of deciding and acting for himself in matters which might

safely be left to him. His mother believed that a strong will,

directed upon worthy objects, was a valuable manly quality if

properly guided, and she acted accordingly. When others about her

commented on the boy's self-will, she would merely say, "Never

mind--he is self-willed now--you will see it will turn out well in

the end." Fowell learnt very little at school, and was regarded as

a dunce and an idler. He got other boys to do his exercises for

him, while he romped and scrambled about. He returned home at

fifteen, a great, growing, awkward lad, fond only of boating,

shooting, riding, and field sports,--spending his time principally

with the gamekeeper, a man possessed of a good heart,--an

intelligent observer of life and nature, though he could neither

read nor write. Buxton had excellent raw material in him, but he

wanted culture, training, and development. At this juncture of his

life, when his habits were being formed for good or evil, he was

happily thrown into the society of the Gurney family, distinguished

for their fine social qualities not less than for their

intellectual culture and public-spirited philanthropy. This

intercourse with the Gurneys, he used afterwards to say, gave the

colouring to his life. They encouraged his efforts at self-

culture; and when he went to the University of Dublin and gained

high honours there, the animating passion in his mind, he said,

"was to carry back to them the prizes which they prompted and

enabled me to win." He married one of the daughters of the family,

and started in life, commencing as a clerk to his uncles Hanbury,

the London brewers. His power of will, which made him so difficult

to deal with as a boy, now formed the backbone of his character,

and made him most indefatigable and energetic in whatever he

undertook. He threw his whole strength and bulk right down upon

his work; and the great giant--"Elephant Buxton" they called him,

for he stood some six feet four in height--became one of the most

vigorous and practical of men. "I could brew," he said, "one

hour,--do mathematics the next,--and shoot the next,--and each with

my whole soul." There was invincible energy and determination in

whatever he did. Admitted a partner, he became the active manager

of the concern; and the vast business which he conducted felt his

influence through every fibre, and prospered far beyond its

previous success. Nor did he allow his mind to lie fallow, for he

gave his evenings diligently to self-culture, studying and

digesting Blackstone, Montesquieu, and solid commentaries on

English law. His maxims in reading were, "never to begin a book

without finishing it;" "never to consider a book finished until it

is mastered;" and "to study everything with the whole mind."

When only thirty-two, Buxton entered parliament, and at once

assumed that position of influence there, of which every honest,

earnest, well-informed man is secure, who enters that assembly of

the first gentlemen in the world. The principal question to which

he devoted himself was the complete emancipation of the slaves in

the British colonies. He himself used to attribute the interest

which he early felt in this question to the influence of Priscilla

Gurney, one of the Earlham family,--a woman of a fine intellect and

warm heart, abounding in illustrious virtues. When on her

deathbed, in 1821, she repeatedly sent for Buxton, and urged him

"to make the cause of the slaves the great object of his life."

Her last act was to attempt to reiterate the solemn charge, and she

expired in the ineffectual effort. Buxton never forgot her

counsel; he named one of his daughters after her; and on the day on

which she was married from his house, on the 1st of August, 1834,--

the day of Negro emancipation--after his Priscilla had been

manumitted from her filial service, and left her father's home in

the company of her husband, Buxton sat down and thus wrote to a

friend: "The bride is just gone; everything has passed off to

admiration; and THERE IS NOT A SLAVE IN THE BRITISH COLONIES!"

Buxton was no genius--not a great intellectual leader nor

discoverer, but mainly an earnest, straightforward, resolute,

energetic man. Indeed, his whole character is most forcibly

expressed in his own words, which every young man might well stamp

upon his soul: "The longer I live," said he, "the more I am

certain that the great difference between men, between the feeble

and the powerful, the great and the insignificant, is ENERGY--

INVINCIBLE DETERMINATION--a purpose once fixed, and then death or

victory! That quality will do anything that can be done in this

world; and no talents, no circumstances, no opportunities, will

make a two-legged creature a Man without it."

CHAPTER IX--MEN OF BUSINESS

"Seest thou a man diligent in his business? he shall stand before

kings."--Proverbs of Solomon.

"That man is but of the lower part of the world that is not brought

up to business and affairs."--Owen Feltham

Hazlitt, in one of his clever essays, represents the man of

business as a mean sort of person put in a go-cart, yoked to a

trade or profession; alleging that all he has to do is, not to go

out of the beaten track, but merely to let his affairs take their

own course. "The great requisite," he says, "for the prosperous

management of ordinary business is the want of imagination, or of

any ideas but those of custom and interest on the narrowest scale."

{24} But nothing could be more one-sided, and in effect untrue,

than such a definition. Of course, there are narrow-minded men of

business, as there are narrow-minded scientific men, literary men,

and legislators; but there are also business men of large and

comprehensive minds, capable of action on the very largest scale.

As Burke said in his speech on the India Bill, he knew statesmen

who were pedlers, and merchants who acted in the spirit of

statesmen.

If we take into account the qualities necessary for the successful

conduct of any important undertaking,--that it requires special

aptitude, promptitude of action on emergencies, capacity for

organizing the labours often of large numbers of men, great tact

and knowledge of human nature, constant self-culture, and growing

experience in the practical affairs of life,--it must, we think, be

obvious that the school of business is by no means so narrow as

some writers would have us believe. Mr. Helps had gone much nearer

the truth when he said that consummate men of business are as rare

almost as great poets,--rarer, perhaps, than veritable saints and

martyrs. Indeed, of no other pursuit can it so emphatically be

said, as of this, that "Business makes men."

It has, however, been a favourite fallacy with dunces in all times,

that men of genius are unfitted for business, as well as that

business occupations unfit men for the pursuits of genius. The

unhappy youth who committed suicide a few years since because he

had been "born to be a man and condemned to be a grocer," proved by

the act that his soul was not equal even to the dignity of grocery.

For it is not the calling that degrades the man, but the man that

degrades the calling. All work that brings honest gain is

honourable, whether it be of hand or mind. The fingers may be

soiled, yet the heart remain pure; for it is not material so much

as moral dirt that defiles--greed far more than grime, and vice

than verdigris.

The greatest have not disdained to labour honestly and usefully for

a living, though at the same time aiming after higher things.

Thales, the first of the seven sages, Solon, the second founder of

Athens, and Hyperates, the mathematician, were all traders. Plato,

called the Divine by reason of the excellence of his wisdom,

defrayed his travelling expenses in Egypt by the profits derived

from the oil which he sold during his journey. Spinoza maintained

himself by polishing glasses while he pursued his philosophical

investigations. Linnaeus, the great botanist, prosecuted his

studies while hammering leather and making shoes. Shakespeare was

a successful manager of a theatre--perhaps priding himself more

upon his practical qualities in that capacity than on his writing

of plays and poetry. Pope was of opinion that Shakespeare's

principal object in cultivating literature was to secure an honest

independence. Indeed he seems to have been altogether indifferent

to literary reputation. It is not known that he superintended the

publication of a single play, or even sanctioned the printing of

one; and the chronology of his writings is still a mystery. It is

certain, however, that he prospered in his business, and realized

sufficient to enable him to retire upon a competency to his native

town of Stratford-upon-Avon.

Chaucer was in early life a soldier, and afterwards an effective

Commissioner of Customs, and Inspector of Woods and Crown Lands.

Spencer was Secretary to the Lord Deputy of Ireland, was afterwards

Sheriff of Cork, and is said to have been shrewd and attentive in

matters of business. Milton, originally a schoolmaster, was

elevated to the post of Secretary to the Council of State during

the Commonwealth; and the extant Order-book of the Council, as well

as many of Milton's letters which are preserved, give abundant

evidence of his activity and usefulness in that office. Sir Isaac

Newton proved himself an efficient Master of the Mint; the new

coinage of 1694 having been carried on under his immediate personal

superintendence. Cowper prided himself upon his business

punctuality, though he confessed that he "never knew a poet, except

himself, who was punctual in anything." But against this we may

set the lives of Wordsworth and Scott--the former a distributor of

stamps, the latter a clerk to the Court of Session,--both of whom,

though great poets, were eminently punctual and practical men of

business. David Ricardo, amidst the occupations of his daily

business as a London stock-jobber, in conducting which he acquired

an ample fortune, was able to concentrate his mind upon his

favourite subject--on which he was enabled to throw great light--

the principles of political economy; for he united in himself the

sagacious commercial man and the profound philosopher. Baily, the

eminent astronomer, was another stockbroker; and Allen, the

chemist, was a silk manufacturer.

We have abundant illustrations, in our own day, of the fact that

the highest intellectual power is not incompatible with the active

and efficient performance of routine duties. Grote, the great

historian of Greece, was a London banker. And it is not long since

John Stuart Mill, one of our greatest living thinkers, retired from

the Examiner's department of the East India Company, carrying with

him the admiration and esteem of his fellow officers, not on

account of his high views of philosophy, but because of the high

standard of efficiency which he had established in his office, and

the thoroughly satisfactory manner in which he had conducted the

business of his department.

The path of success in business is usually the path of common

sense. Patient labour and application are as necessary here as in

the acquisition of knowledge or the pursuit of science. The old

Greeks said, "to become an able man in any profession, three things

are necessary--nature, study, and practice." In business,

practice, wisely and diligently improved, is the great secret of

success. Some may make what are called "lucky hits," but like

money earned by gambling, such "hits" may only serve to lure one to

ruin. Bacon was accustomed to say that it was in business as in

ways--the nearest way was commonly the foulest, and that if a man

would go the fairest way he must go somewhat about. The journey

may occupy a longer time, but the pleasure of the labour involved

by it, and the enjoyment of the results produced, will be more

genuine and unalloyed. To have a daily appointed task of even

common drudgery to do makes the rest of life feel all the sweeter.

The fable of the labours of Hercules is the type of all human doing

and success. Every youth should be made to feel that his happiness

and well-doing in life must necessarily rely mainly on himself and

the exercise of his own energies, rather than upon the help and

patronage of others. The late Lord Melbourne embodied a piece of

useful advice in a letter which he wrote to Lord John Russell, in

reply to an application for a provision for one of Moore the poet's

sons: "My dear John," he said, "I return you Moore's letter. I

shall be ready to do what you like about it when we have the means.

I think whatever is done should be done for Moore himself. This is

more distinct, direct, and intelligible. Making a small provision

for young men is hardly justifiable; and it is of all things the

most prejudicial to themselves. They think what they have much

larger than it really is; and they make no exertion. The young

should never hear any language but this: 'You have your own way to

make, and it depends upon your own exertions whether you starve or

not.' Believe me, &c., MELBOURNE."

Practical industry, wisely and vigorously applied, always produces

its due effects. It carries a man onward, brings out his

individual character, and stimulates the action of others. All may

not rise equally, yet each, on the whole, very much according to

his deserts. "Though all cannot live on the piazza," as the Tuscan

proverb has it, "every one may feel the sun."

On the whole, it is not good that human nature should have the road

of life made too easy. Better to be under the necessity of working

hard and faring meanly, than to have everything done ready to our

hand and a pillow of down to repose upon. Indeed, to start in life

with comparatively small means seems so necessary as a stimulus to

work, that it may almost be set down as one of the conditions

essential to success in life. Hence, an eminent judge, when asked

what contributed most to success at the bar, replied, "Some succeed

by great talent, some by high connexions, some by miracle, but the

majority by commencing without a shilling."

We have heard of an architect of considerable accomplishments,--a

man who had improved himself by long study, and travel in the

classical lands of the East,--who came home to commence the

practice of his profession. He determined to begin anywhere,

provided he could be employed; and he accordingly undertook a

business connected with dilapidations,--one of the lowest and least

remunerative departments of the architect's calling. But he had

the good sense not to be above his trade, and he had the resolution

to work his way upward, so that he only got a fair start. One hot

day in July a friend found him sitting astride of a house roof

occupied with his dilapidation business. Drawing his hand across

his perspiring countenance, he exclaimed, "Here's a pretty business

for a man who has been all over Greece!" However, he did his work,

such as it was, thoroughly and well; he persevered until he

advanced by degrees to more remunerative branches of employment,

and eventually he rose to the highest walks of his profession.

The necessity of labour may, indeed, be regarded as the main root

and spring of all that we call progress in individuals, and

civilization in nations; and it is doubtful whether any heavier

curse could be imposed on man than the complete gratification of

all his wishes without effort on his part, leaving nothing for his

hopes, desires or struggles. The feeling that life is destitute of

any motive or necessity for action, must be of all others the most

distressing and insupportable to a rational being. The Marquis de

Spinola asking Sir Horace Vere what his brother died of, Sir Horace

replied, "He died, Sir, of having nothing to do." "Alas!" said

Spinola, "that is enough to kill any general of us all."

Those who fail in life are however very apt to assume a tone of

injured innocence, and conclude too hastily that everybody

excepting themselves has had a hand in their personal misfortunes.

An eminent writer lately published a book, in which he described

his numerous failures in business, naively admitting, at the same

time, that he was ignorant of the multiplication table; and he came

to the conclusion that the real cause of his ill-success in life

was the money-worshipping spirit of the age. Lamartine also did

not hesitate to profess his contempt for arithmetic; but, had it

been less, probably we should not have witnessed the unseemly

spectacle of the admirers of that distinguished personage engaged

in collecting subscriptions for his support in his old age.

Again, some consider themselves born to ill luck, and make up their

minds that the world invariably goes against them without any fault

on their own part. We have heard of a person of this sort, who

went so far as to declare his belief that if he had been a hatter

people would have been born without heads! There is however a

Russian proverb which says that Misfortune is next door to

Stupidity; and it will often be found that men who are constantly

lamenting their luck, are in some way or other reaping the

consequences of their own neglect, mismanagement, improvidence, or

want of application. Dr. Johnson, who came up to London with a

single guinea in his pocket, and who once accurately described

himself in his signature to a letter addressed to a noble lord, as

Impransus, or Dinnerless, has honestly said, "All the complaints

which are made of the world are unjust; I never knew a man of merit

neglected; it was generally by his own fault that he failed of

success."

Washington Irying, the American author, held like views. "As for

the talk," said he, "about modest merit being neglected, it is too

often a cant, by which indolent and irresolute men seek to lay

their want of success at the door of the public. Modest merit is,

however, too apt to be inactive, or negligent, or uninstructed

merit. Well matured and well disciplined talent is always sure of

a market, provided it exerts itself; but it must not cower at home

and expect to be sought for. There is a good deal of cant too

about the success of forward and impudent men, while men of

retiring worth are passed over with neglect. But it usually

happens that those forward men have that valuable quality of

promptness and activity without which worth is a mere inoperative

property. A barking dog is often more useful than a sleeping

lion."

Attention, application, accuracy, method, punctuality, and

despatch, are the principal qualities required for the efficient

conduct of business of any sort. These, at first sight, may appear

to be small matters; and yet they are of essential importance to

human happiness, well-being, and usefulness. They are little

things, it is true; but human life is made up of comparative

trifles. It is the repetition of little acts which constitute not

only the sum of human character, but which determine the character

of nations. And where men or nations have broken down, it will

almost invariably be found that neglect of little things was the

rock on which they split. Every human being has duties to be

performed, and, therefore, has need of cultivating the capacity for

doing them; whether the sphere of action be the management of a

household, the conduct of a trade or profession, or the government

of a nation.

The examples we have already given of great workers in various

branches of industry, art, and science, render it unnecessary

further to enforce the importance of persevering application in any

department of life. It is the result of every-day experience that

steady attention to matters of detail lies at the root of human

progress; and that diligence, above all, is the mother of good

luck. Accuracy is also of much importance, and an invariable mark

of good training in a man. Accuracy in observation, accuracy in

speech, accuracy in the transaction of affairs. What is done in

business must be well done; for it is better to accomplish

perfectly a small amount of work, than to half-do ten times as

much. A wise man used to say, "Stay a little, that we may make an

end the sooner."

Too little attention, however, is paid to this highly important

quality of accuracy. As a man eminent in practical science lately

observed to us, "It is astonishing how few people I have met with

in the course of my experience, who can DEFINE A FACT accurately."

Yet in business affairs, it is the manner in which even small

matters are transacted, that often decides men for or against you.

With virtue, capacity, and good conduct in other respects, the

person who is habitually inaccurate cannot be trusted; his work has

to be gone over again; and he thus causes an infinity of annoyance,

vexation, and trouble.

It was one of the characteristic qualities of Charles James Fox,

that he was thoroughly pains-taking in all that he did. When

appointed Secretary of State, being piqued at some observation as

to his bad writing, he actually took a writing-master, and wrote

copies like a schoolboy until he had sufficiently improved himself.

Though a corpulent man, he was wonderfully active at picking up cut

tennis balls, and when asked how he contrived to do so, he

playfully replied, "Because I am a very pains-taking man." The

same accuracy in trifling matters was displayed by him in things of

greater importance; and he acquired his reputation, like the

painter, by "neglecting nothing."

Method is essential, and enables a larger amount of work to be got

through with satisfaction. "Method," said the Reverend Richard

Cecil, "is like packing things in a box; a good packer will get in

half as much again as a bad one." Cecil's despatch of business was

extraordinary, his maxim being, "The shortest way to do many things

is to do only one thing at once;" and he never left a thing undone

with a view of recurring to it at a period of more leisure. When

business pressed, he rather chose to encroach on his hours of meals

and rest than omit any part of his work. De Witt's maxim was like

Cecil's: "One thing at a time." "If," said he, "I have any

necessary despatches to make, I think of nothing else till they are

finished; if any domestic affairs require my attention, I give

myself wholly up to them till they are set in order."

A French minister, who was alike remarkable for his despatch of

business and his constant attendance at places of amusement, being

asked how he contrived to combine both objects, replied, "Simply by

never postponing till to-morrow what should be done to-day." Lord

Brougham has said that a certain English statesman reversed the

process, and that his maxim was, never to transact to-day what

could be postponed till to-morrow. Unhappily, such is the practice

of many besides that minister, already almost forgotten; the

practice is that of the indolent and the unsuccessful. Such men,

too, are apt to rely upon agents, who are not always to be relied

upon. Important affairs must be attended to in person. "If you

want your business done," says the proverb, "go and do it; if you

don't want it done, send some one else."

An indolent country gentleman had a freehold estate producing about

five hundred a-year. Becoming involved in debt, he sold half the

estate, and let the remainder to an industrious farmer for twenty

years. About the end of the term the farmer called to pay his

rent, and asked the owner whether he would sell the farm. "Will

YOU buy it?" asked the owner, surprised. "Yes, if we can agree

about the price." "That is exceedingly strange," observed the

gentleman; "pray, tell me how it happens that, while I could not

live upon twice as much land for which I paid no rent, you are

regularly paying me two hundred a-year for your farm, and are able,

in a few years, to purchase it." "The reason is plain," was the

reply; "you sat still and said GO, I got up and said COME; you laid

in bed and enjoyed your estate, I rose in the morning and minded my

business."

Sir Walter Scott, writing to a youth who had obtained a situation

and asked for his advice, gave him in reply this sound counsel:

"Beware of stumbling over a propensity which easily besets you from

not having your time fully employed--I mean what the women call

DAWDLING. Your motto must be, Hoc age. Do instantly whatever is

to be done, and take the hours of recreation after business, never

before it. When a regiment is under march, the rear is often

thrown into confusion because the front do not move steadily and

without interruption. It is the same with business. If that which

is first in hand is not instantly, steadily, and regularly

despatched, other things accumulate behind, till affairs begin to

press all at once, and no human brain can stand the confusion."

Promptitude in action may be stimulated by a due consideration of

the value of time. An Italian philosopher was accustomed to call

time his estate: an estate which produces nothing of value without

cultivation, but, duly improved, never fails to recompense the

labours of the diligent worker. Allowed to lie waste, the product

will be only noxious weeds and vicious growths of all kinds. One

of the minor uses of steady employment is, that it keeps one out of

mischief, for truly an idle brain is the devil's workshop, and a

lazy man the devil's bolster. To be occupied is to be possessed as

by a tenant, whereas to be idle is to be empty; and when the doors

of the imagination are opened, temptation finds a ready access, and

evil thoughts come trooping in. It is observed at sea, that men

are never so much disposed to grumble and mutiny as when least

employed. Hence an old captain, when there was nothing else to do,

would issue the order to "scour the anchor!"

Men of business are accustomed to quote the maxim that Time is

money; but it is more; the proper improvement of it is self-

culture, self-improvement, and growth of character. An hour wasted

daily on trifles or in indolence, would, if devoted to self-

improvement, make an ignorant man wise in a few years, and employed

in good works, would make his life fruitful, and death a harvest of

worthy deeds. Fifteen minutes a day devoted to self-improvement,

will be felt at the end of the year. Good thoughts and carefully

gathered experience take up no room, and may be carried about as

our companions everywhere, without cost or incumbrance. An

economical use of time is the true mode of securing leisure: it

enables us to get through business and carry it forward, instead of

being driven by it. On the other hand, the miscalculation of time

involves us in perpetual hurry, confusion, and difficulties; and

life becomes a mere shuffle of expedients, usually followed by

disaster. Nelson once said, "I owe all my success in life to

having been always a quarter of an hour before my time."

Some take no thought of the value of money until they have come to

an end of it, and many do the same with their time. The hours are

allowed to flow by unemployed, and then, when life is fast waning,

they bethink themselves of the duty of making a wiser use of it.

But the habit of listlessness and idleness may already have become

confirmed, and they are unable to break the bonds with which they

have permitted themselves to become bound. Lost wealth may be

replaced by industry, lost knowledge by study, lost health by

temperance or medicine, but lost time is gone for ever.

A proper consideration of the value of time, will also inspire

habits of punctuality. "Punctuality," said Louis XIV., "is the

politeness of kings." It is also the duty of gentlemen, and the

necessity of men of business. Nothing begets confidence in a man

sooner than the practice of this virtue, and nothing shakes

confidence sooner than the want of it. He who holds to his

appointment and does not keep you waiting for him, shows that he

has regard for your time as well as for his own. Thus punctuality

is one of the modes by which we testify our personal respect for

those whom we are called upon to meet in the business of life. It

is also conscientiousness in a measure; for an appointment is a

contract, express or implied, and he who does not keep it breaks

faith, as well as dishonestly uses other people's time, and thus

inevitably loses character. We naturally come to the conclusion

that the person who is careless about time will be careless about

business, and that he is not the one to be trusted with the

transaction of matters of importance. When Washington's secretary

excused himself for the lateness of his attendance and laid the

blame upon his watch, his master quietly said, "Then you must get

another watch, or I another secretary."

The person who is negligent of time and its employment is usually

found to be a general disturber of others' peace and serenity. It

was wittily said by Lord Chesterfield of the old Duke of Newcastle-

-"His Grace loses an hour in the morning, and is looking for it all

the rest of the day." Everybody with whom the unpunctual man has

to do is thrown from time to time into a state of fever: he is

systematically late; regular only in his irregularity. He conducts

his dawdling as if upon system; arrives at his appointment after

time; gets to the railway station after the train has started;

posts his letter when the box has closed. Thus business is thrown

into confusion, and everybody concerned is put out of temper. It

will generally be found that the men who are thus habitually behind

time are as habitually behind success; and the world generally

casts them aside to swell the ranks of the grumblers and the

railers against fortune.

In addition to the ordinary working qualities the business man of

the highest class requires quick perception and firmness in the

execution of his plans. Tact is also important; and though this is

partly the gift of nature, it is yet capable of being cultivated

and developed by observation and experience. Men of this quality

are quick to see the right mode of action, and if they have

decision of purpose, are prompt to carry out their undertakings to

a successful issue. These qualities are especially valuable, and

indeed indispensable, in those who direct the action of other men

on a large scale, as for instance, in the case of the commander of

an army in the field. It is not merely necessary that the general

should be great as a warrior but also as a man of business. He

must possess great tact, much knowledge of character, and ability

to organize the movements of a large mass of men, whom he has to

feed, clothe, and furnish with whatever may be necessary in order

that they may keep the field and win battles. In these respects

Napoleon and Wellington were both first-rate men of business.

Though Napoleon had an immense love for details, he had also a

vivid power of imagination, which enabled him to look along

extended lines of action, and deal with those details on a large

scale, with judgment and rapidity. He possessed such knowledge of

character as enabled him to select, almost unerringly, the best

agents for the execution of his designs. But he trusted as little

as possible to agents in matters of great moment, on which

important results depended. This feature in his character is

illustrated in a remarkable degree by the 'Napoleon

Correspondence,' now in course of publication, and particularly by

the contents of the 15th volume, {25} which include the letters,

orders, and despatches, written by the Emperor at Finkenstein, a

little chateau on the frontier of Poland in the year 1807, shortly

after the victory of Eylau.

The French army was then lying encamped along the river Passarge

with the Russians before them, the Austrians on their right flank,

and the conquered Prussians in their rear. A long line of

communications had to be maintained with France, through a hostile

country; but so carefully, and with such foresight was this

provided for, that it is said Napoleon never missed a post. The

movements of armies, the bringing up of reinforcements from remote

points in France, Spain, Italy, and Germany, the opening of canals

and the levelling of roads to enable the produce of Poland and

Prussia to be readily transported to his encampments, had his

unceasing attention, down to the minutest details. We find him

directing where horses were to be obtained, making arrangements for

an adequate supply of saddles, ordering shoes for the soldiers, and

specifying the number of rations of bread, biscuit, and spirits,

that were to be brought to camp, or stored in magazines for the use

of the troops. At the same time we find him writing to Paris

giving directions for the reorganization of the French College,

devising a scheme of public education, dictating bulletins and

articles for the 'Moniteur,' revising the details of the budgets,

giving instructions to architects as to alterations to be made at

the Tuileries and the Church of the Madelaine, throwing an

occasional sarcasm at Madame de Stael and the Parisian journals,

interfering to put down a squabble at the Grand Opera, carrying on

a correspondence with the Sultan of Turkey and the Schah of Persia,

so that while his body was at Finkenstein, his mind seemed to be

working at a hundred different places in Paris, in Europe, and

throughout the world.

We find him in one letter asking Ney if he has duly received the

muskets which have been sent him; in another he gives directions to

Prince Jerome as to the shirts, greatcoats, clothes, shoes, shakos,

and arms, to be served out to the Wurtemburg regiments; again he

presses Cambaceres to forward to the army a double stock of corn--

"The IFS and the BUTS," said he, "are at present out of season, and

above all it must be done with speed." Then he informs Daru that

the army want shirts, and that they don't come to hand. To Massena

he writes, "Let me know if your biscuit and bread arrangements are

yet completed." To the Grand due de Berg, he gives directions as

to the accoutrements of the cuirassiers--"They complain that the

men want sabres; send an officer to obtain them at Posen. It is

also said they want helmets; order that they be made at Ebling. . .

. It is not by sleeping that one can accomplish anything." Thus no

point of detail was neglected, and the energies of all were

stimulated into action with extraordinary power. Though many of

the Emperor's days were occupied by inspections of his troops,--in

the course of which he sometimes rode from thirty to forty leagues

a day,--and by reviews, receptions, and affairs of state, leaving

but little time for business matters, he neglected nothing on that

account; but devoted the greater part of his nights, when

necessary, to examining budgets, dictating dispatches, and

attending to the thousand matters of detail in the organization and

working of the Imperial Government; the machinery of which was for

the most part concentrated in his own head.

Like Napoleon, the Duke of Wellington was a first-rate man of

business; and it is not perhaps saying too much to aver that it was

in no small degree because of his possession of a business faculty

amounting to genius, that the Duke never lost a battle.

While a subaltern, he became dissatisfied with the slowness of his

promotion, and having passed from the infantry to the cavalry

twice, and back again, without advancement, he applied to Lord

Camden, then Viceroy of Ireland, for employment in the Revenue or

Treasury Board. Had he succeeded, no doubt he would have made a

first-rate head of a department, as he would have made a first-rate

merchant or manufacturer. But his application failed, and he

remained with the army to become the greatest of British generals.

The Duke began his active military career under the Duke of York

and General Walmoden, in Flanders and Holland, where he learnt,

amidst misfortunes and defeats, how bad business arrangements and

bad generalship serve to ruin the morale of an army. Ten years

after entering the army we find him a colonel in India, reported by

his superiors as an officer of indefatigable energy and

application. He entered into the minutest details of the service,

and sought to raise the discipline of his men to the highest

standard. "The regiment of Colonel Wellesley," wrote General

Harris in 1799, "is a model regiment; on the score of soldierly

bearing, discipline, instruction, and orderly behaviour it is above

all praise." Thus qualifying himself for posts of greater

confidence, he was shortly after nominated governor of the capital

of Mysore. In the war with the Mahrattas he was first called upon

to try his hand at generalship; and at thirty-four he won the

memorable battle of Assaye, with an army composed of 1500 British

and 5000 sepoys, over 20,000 Mahratta infantry and 30,000 cavalry.

But so brilliant a victory did not in the least disturb his

equanimity, or affect the perfect honesty of his character.

Shortly after this event the opportunity occurred for exhibiting

his admirable practical qualities as an administrator. Placed in

command of an important district immediately after the capture of

Seringapatam, his first object was to establish rigid order and

discipline among his own men. Flushed with victory, the troops

were found riotous and disorderly. "Send me the provost marshal,"

said he, "and put him under my orders: till some of the marauders

are hung, it is impossible to expect order or safety." This rigid

severity of Wellington in the field, though it was the dread,

proved the salvation of his troops in many campaigns. His next

step was to re-establish the markets and re-open the sources of

supply. General Harris wrote to the Governor-general, strongly

commending Colonel Wellesley for the perfect discipline he had

established, and for his "judicious and masterly arrangements in

respect to supplies, which opened an abundant free market, and

inspired confidence into dealers of every description." The same

close attention to, and mastery of details, characterized him

throughout his Indian career; and it is remarkable that one of his

ablest despatches to Lord Clive, full of practical information as

to the conduct of the campaign, was written whilst the column he

commanded was crossing the Toombuddra, in the face of the vastly

superior army of Dhoondiah, posted on the opposite bank, and while

a thousand matters of the deepest interest were pressing upon the

commander's mind. But it was one of his most remarkable

characteristics, thus to be able to withdraw himself temporarily

from the business immediately in hand, and to bend his full powers

upon the consideration of matters totally distinct; even the most

difficult circumstances on such occasions failing to embarrass or

intimidate him.

Returned to England with a reputation for generalship, Sir Arthur

Wellesley met with immediate employment. In 1808 a corps of 10,000

men destined to liberate Portugal was placed under his charge. He

landed, fought, and won two battles, and signed the Convention of

Cintra. After the death of Sir John Moore he was entrusted with

the command of a new expedition to Portugal. But Wellington was

fearfully overmatched throughout his Peninsular campaigns. From

1809 to 1813 he never had more than 30,000 British troops under his

command, at a time when there stood opposed to him in the Peninsula

some 350,000 French, mostly veterans, led by some of Napoleon's

ablest generals. How was he to contend against such immense forces

with any fair prospect of success? His clear discernment and

strong common sense soon taught him that he must adopt a different

policy from that of the Spanish generals, who were invariably

beaten and dispersed whenever they ventured to offer battle in the

open plains. He perceived he had yet to create the army that was

to contend against the French with any reasonable chance of

success. Accordingly, after the battle of Talavera in 1809, when

he found himself encompassed on all sides by superior forces of

French, he retired into Portugal, there to carry out the settled

policy on which he had by this time determined. It was, to

organise a Portuguese army under British officers, and teach them

to act in combination with his own troops, in the mean time

avoiding the peril of a defeat by declining all engagements. He

would thus, he conceived, destroy the morale of the French, who

could not exist without victories; and when his army was ripe for

action, and the enemy demoralized, he would then fall upon them

with all his might.

The extraordinary qualities displayed by Lord Wellington throughout

these immortal campaigns, can only be appreciated after a perusal

of his despatches, which contain the unvarnished tale of the

manifold ways and means by which he laid the foundations of his

success. Never was man more tried by difficulty and opposition,

arising not less from the imbecility, falsehoods and intrigues of

the British Government of the day, than from the selfishness,

cowardice, and vanity of the people he went to save. It may,

indeed, be said of him, that he sustained the war in Spain by his

individual firmness and self-reliance, which never failed him even

in the midst of his great discouragements. He had not only to

fight Napoleon's veterans, but also to hold in check the Spanish

juntas and the Portuguese regency. He had the utmost difficulty in

obtaining provisions and clothing for his troops; and it will

scarcely be credited that, while engaged with the enemy in the

battle of Talavera, the Spaniards, who ran away, fell upon the

baggage of the British army, and the ruffians actually plundered

it! These and other vexations the Duke bore with a sublime

patience and self-control, and held on his course, in the face of

ingratitude, treachery, and opposition, with indomitable firmness.

He neglected nothing, and attended to every important detail of

business himself. When he found that food for his troops was not

to be obtained from England, and that he must rely upon his own

resources for feeding them, he forthwith commenced business as a

corn merchant on a large scale, in copartnery with the British

Minister at Lisbon. Commissariat bills were created, with which

grain was bought in the ports of the Mediterranean and in South

America. When he had thus filled his magazines, the overplus was

sold to the Portuguese, who were greatly in want of provisions. He

left nothing whatever to chance, but provided for every

contingency. He gave his attention to the minutest details of the

service; and was accustomed to concentrate his whole energies, from

time to time, on such apparently ignominious matters as soldiers'

shoes, camp-kettles, biscuits and horse fodder. His magnificent

business qualities were everywhere felt, and there can be no doubt

that, by the care with which he provided for every contingency, and

the personal attention which he gave to every detail, he laid the

foundations of his great success. {26} By such means he

transformed an army of raw levies into the best soldiers in Europe,

with whom he declared it to be possible to go anywhere and do

anything.

We have already referred to his remarkable power of abstracting

himself from the work, no matter how engrossing, immediately in

hand, and concentrating his energies upon the details of some

entirely different business. Thus Napier relates that it was while

he was preparing to fight the battle of Salamanca that he had to

expose to the Ministers at home the futility of relying upon a

loan; it was on the heights of San Christoval, on the field of

battle itself, that he demonstrated the absurdity of attempting to

establish a Portuguese bank; it was in the trenches of Burgos that

he dissected Funchal's scheme of finance, and exposed the folly of

attempting the sale of church property; and on each occasion, he

showed himself as well acquainted with these subjects as with the

minutest detail in the mechanism of armies.

Another feature in his character, showing the upright man of

business, was his thorough honesty. Whilst Soult ransacked and

carried away with him from Spain numerous pictures of great value,

Wellington did not appropriate to himself a single farthing's worth

of property. Everywhere he paid his way, even when in the enemy's

country. When he had crossed the French frontier, followed by

40,000 Spaniards, who sought to "make fortunes" by pillage and

plunder, he first rebuked their officers, and then, finding his

efforts to restrain them unavailing, he sent them back into their

own country. It is a remarkable fact, that, even in France the

peasantry fled from their own countrymen, and carried their

valuables within the protection of the British lines! At the very

same time, Wellington was writing home to the British Ministry, "We

are overwhelmed with debts, and I can scarcely stir out of my house

on account of public creditors waiting to demand payment of what is

due to them." Jules Maurel, in his estimate of the Duke's

character, says, "Nothing can be grander or more nobly original

than this admission. This old soldier, after thirty years'

service, this iron man and victorious general, established in an

enemy's country at the head of an immense army, is afraid of his

creditors! This is a kind of fear that has seldom troubled the

mind of conquerors and invaders; and I doubt if the annals of war

could present anything comparable to this sublime simplicity." But

the Duke himself, had the matter been put to him, would most

probably have disclaimed any intention of acting even grandly or

nobly in the matter; merely regarding the punctual payment of his

debts as the best and most honourable mode of conducting his

business.

The truth of the good old maxim, that "Honesty is the best policy,"

is upheld by the daily experience of life; uprightness and

integrity being found as successful in business as in everything

else. As Hugh Miller's worthy uncle used to advise him, "In all

your dealings give your neighbour the cast of the bank--'good

measure, heaped up, and running over,'--and you will not lose by it

in the end." A well-known brewer of beer attributed his success to

the liberality with which he used his malt. Going up to the vat

and tasting it, he would say, "Still rather poor, my lads; give it

another cast of the malt." The brewer put his character into his

beer, and it proved generous accordingly, obtaining a reputation in

England, India, and the colonies, which laid the foundation of a

large fortune. Integrity of word and deed ought to be the very

cornerstone of all business transactions. To the tradesman, the

merchant, and manufacturer, it should be what honour is to the

soldier, and charity to the Christian. In the humblest calling

there will always be found scope for the exercise of this

uprightness of character. Hugh Miller speaks of the mason with

whom he served his apprenticeship, as one who "PUT HIS CONSCIENCE

INTO EVERY STONE THAT HE LAID." So the true mechanic will pride

himself upon the thoroughness and solidity of his work, and the

high-minded contractor upon the honesty of performance of his

contract in every particular. The upright manufacturer will find

not only honour and reputation, but substantial success, in the

genuineness of the article which he produces, and the merchant in

the honesty of what he sells, and that it really is what it seems

to be. Baron Dupin, speaking of the general probity of Englishmen,

which he held to be a principal cause of their success, observed,

"We may succeed for a time by fraud, by surprise, by violence; but

we can succeed permanently only by means directly opposite. It is

not alone the courage, the intelligence, the activity, of the

merchant and manufacturer which maintain the superiority of their

productions and the character of their country; it is far more

their wisdom, their economy, and, above all, their probity. If

ever in the British Islands the useful citizen should lose these

virtues, we may be sure that, for England, as for every other

country, the vessels of a degenerate commerce, repulsed from every

shore, would speedily disappear from those seas whose surface they

now cover with the treasures of the universe, bartered for the

treasures of the industry of the three kingdoms."

It must be admitted, that Trade tries character perhaps more

severely than any other pursuit in life. It puts to the severest

tests honesty, self-denial, justice, and truthfulness; and men of

business who pass through such trials unstained are perhaps worthy

of as great honour as soldiers who prove their courage amidst the

fire and perils of battle. And, to the credit of the multitudes of

men engaged in the various departments of trade, we think it must

be admitted that on the whole they pass through their trials nobly.

If we reflect but for a moment on the vast amount of wealth daily

entrusted even to subordinate persons, who themselves probably earn

but a bare competency--the loose cash which is constantly passing

through the hands of shopmen, agents, brokers, and clerks in

banking houses,--and note how comparatively few are the breaches of

trust which occur amidst all this temptation, it will probably be

admitted that this steady daily honesty of conduct is most

honourable to human nature, if it do not even tempt us to be proud

of it. The same trust and confidence reposed by men of business in

each other, as implied by the system of Credit, which is mainly

based upon the principle of honour, would be surprising if it were

not so much a matter of ordinary practice in business transactions.

Dr. Chalmers has well said, that the implicit trust with which

merchants are accustomed to confide in distant agents, separated

from them perhaps by half the globe--often consigning vast wealth

to persons, recommended only by their character, whom perhaps they

have never seen--is probably the finest act of homage which men can

render to one another.

Although common honesty is still happily in the ascendant amongst

common people, and the general business community of England is

still sound at heart, putting their honest character into their

respective callings,--there are unhappily, as there have been in

all times, but too many instances of flagrant dishonesty and fraud,

exhibited by the unscrupulous, the over-speculative, and the

intensely selfish in their haste to be rich. There are tradesmen

who adulterate, contractors who "scamp," manufacturers who give us

shoddy instead of wool, "dressing" instead of cotton, cast-iron

tools instead of steel, needles without eyes, razors made only "to

sell," and swindled fabrics in many shapes. But these we must hold

to be the exceptional cases, of low-minded and grasping men, who,

though they may gain wealth which they probably cannot enjoy, will

never gain an honest character, nor secure that without which

wealth is nothing--a heart at peace. "The rogue cozened not me,

but his own conscience," said Bishop Latimer of a cutler who made

him pay twopence for a knife not worth a penny. Money, earned by

screwing, cheating, and overreaching, may for a time dazzle the

eyes of the unthinking; but the bubbles blown by unscrupulous

rogues, when full-blown, usually glitter only to burst. The

Sadleirs, Dean Pauls, and Redpaths, for the most part, come to a

sad end even in this world; and though the successful swindles of

others may not be "found out," and the gains of their roguery may

remain with them, it will be as a curse and not as a blessing.

It is possible that the scrupulously honest man may not grow rich

so fast as the unscrupulous and dishonest one; but the success will

be of a truer kind, earned without fraud or injustice. And even

though a man should for a time be unsuccessful, still he must be

honest: better lose all and save character. For character is

itself a fortune; and if the high-principled man will but hold on

his way courageously, success will surely come,--nor will the

highest reward of all be withheld from him. Wordsworth well

describes the "Happy Warrior," as he

"Who comprehends his trust, and to the same

Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim;

And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait

For wealth, or honour, or for worldly state;

Whom they must follow, on whose head must fall,

Like showers of manna, if they come at all."

As an example of the high-minded mercantile man trained in upright

habits of business, and distinguished for justice, truthfulness,

and honesty of dealing in all things, the career of the well-known

David Barclay, grandson of Robert Barclay, of Ury, the author of

the celebrated 'Apology for the Quakers,' may be briefly referred

to. For many years he was the head of an extensive house in

Cheapside, chiefly engaged in the American trade; but like

Granville Sharp, he entertained so strong an opinion against the

war with our American colonies, that he determined to retire

altogether from the trade. Whilst a merchant, he was as much

distinguished for his talents, knowledge, integrity, and power, as

he afterwards was for his patriotism and munificent philanthropy.

He was a mirror of truthfulness and honesty; and, as became the

good Christian and true gentleman, his word was always held to be

as good as his bond. His position, and his high character, induced

the Ministers of the day on many occasions to seek his advice; and,

when examined before the House of Commons on the subject of the

American dispute, his views were so clearly expressed, and his

advice was so strongly justified by the reasons stated by him, that

Lord North publicly acknowledged that he had derived more

information from David Barclay than from all others east of Temple

Bar. On retiring from business, it was not to rest in luxurious

ease, but to enter upon new labours of usefulness for others. With

ample means, he felt that he still owed to society the duty of a

good example. He founded a house of industry near his residence at

Walthamstow, which he supported at a heavy outlay for several

years, until at length he succeeded in rendering it a source of

comfort as well as independence to the well-disposed families of

the poor in that neighbourhood. When an estate in Jamaica fell to

him, he determined, though at a cost of some 10,000l., at once to

give liberty to the whole of the slaves on the property. He sent

out an agent, who hired a ship, and he had the little slave

community transported to one of the free American states, where

they settled down and prospered. Mr. Barclay had been assured that

the negroes were too ignorant and too barbarous for freedom, and it

was thus that he determined practically to demonstrate the fallacy

of the assertion. In dealing with his accumulated savings, he made

himself the executor of his own will, and instead of leaving a

large fortune to be divided among his relatives at his death, he

extended to them his munificent aid during his life, watched and

aided them in their respective careers, and thus not only laid the

foundation, but lived to see the maturity, of some of the largest

and most prosperous business concerns in the metropolis. We

believe that to this day some of our most eminent merchants--such

as the Gurneys, Hanburys, and Buxtons--are proud to acknowledge

with gratitude the obligations they owe to David Barclay for the

means of their first introduction to life, and for the benefits of

his counsel and countenance in the early stages of their career.

Such a man stands as a mark of the mercantile honesty and integrity

of his country, and is a model and example for men of business in

all time to come.

CHAPTER X--MONEY--ITS USE AND ABUSE

"Not for to hide it in a hedge,

Nor for a train attendant,

But for the glorious privilege

Of being independent."--Burns.

"Neither a borrower nor a lender be:

For loan oft loses both itself and friend;

And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry."--Shakepeare.

Never treat money affairs with levity--Money is character.--Sir E.

L. Bulwer Lytton.

How a man uses money--makes it, saves it, and spends it--is perhaps

one of the best tests of practical wisdom. Although money ought by

no means to be regarded as a chief end of man's life, neither is it

a trifling matter, to be held in philosophic contempt, representing

as it does to so large an extent, the means of physical comfort and

social well-being. Indeed, some of the finest qualities of human

nature are intimately related to the right use of money; such as

generosity, honesty, justice, and self-sacrifice; as well as the

practical virtues of economy and providence. On the other hand,

there are their counterparts of avarice, fraud, injustice, and

selfishness, as displayed by the inordinate lovers of gain; and the

vices of thriftlessness, extravagance, and improvidence, on the

part of those who misuse and abuse the means entrusted to them.

"So that," as is wisely observed by Henry Taylor in his thoughtful

'Notes from Life,' "a right measure and manner in getting, saving,

spending, giving, taking, lending, borrowing, and bequeathing,

would almost argue a perfect man."

Comfort in worldly circumstances is a con ion which every man is

justified in striving to attain by all worthy means. It secures

that physical satisfaction, which is necessary for the culture of

the better part of his nature; and enables him to provide for those

of his own household, without which, says the Apostle, a man is

"worse than an infidel." Nor ought the duty to be any the less

indifferent to us, that the respect which our fellow-men entertain

for us in no slight degree depends upon the manner in which we

exercise the opportunities which present themselves for our

honourable advancement in life. The very effort required to be

made to succeed in life with this object, is of itself an

education; stimulating a man's sense of self-respect, bringing out

his practical qualities, and disciplining him in the exercise of

patience, perseverance, and such like virtues. The provident and

careful man must necessarily be a thoughtful man, for he lives not

merely for the present, but with provident forecast makes

arrangements for the future. He must also be a temperate man, and

exercise the virtue of self-denial, than which nothing is so much

calculated to give strength to the character. John Sterling says

truly, that "the worst education which teaches self denial, is

better than the best which teaches everything else, and not that."

The Romans rightly employed the same word (virtus) to designate

courage, which is in a physical sense what the other is in a moral;

the highest virtue of all being victory over ourselves.

Hence the lesson of self-denial--the sacrificing of a present

gratification for a future good--is one of the last that is learnt.

Those classes which work the hardest might naturally be expected to

value the most the money which they earn. Yet the readiness with

which so many are accustomed to eat up and drink up their earnings

as they go, renders them to a great extent helpless and dependent

upon the frugal. There are large numbers of persons among us who,

though enjoying sufficient means of comfort and independence, are

often found to be barely a day's march ahead of actual want when a

time of pressure occurs; and hence a great cause of social

helplessness and suffering. On one occasion a deputation waited on

Lord John Russell, respecting the taxation levied on the working

classes of the country, when the noble lord took the opportunity of

remarking, "You may rely upon it that the Government of this

country durst not tax the working classes to anything like the

extent to which they tax themselves in their expenditure upon

intoxicating drinks alone!" Of all great public questions, there

is perhaps none more important than this,--no great work of reform

calling more loudly for labourers. But it must be admitted that

"self-denial and self-help" would make a poor rallying cry for the

hustings; and it is to be feared that the patriotism of this day

has but little regard for such common things as individual economy

and providence, although it is by the practice of such virtues only

that the genuine independence of the industrial classes is to be

secured. "Prudence, frugality, and good management," said Samuel

Drew, the philosophical shoemaker, "are excellent artists for

mending bad times: they occupy but little room in any dwelling,

but would furnish a more effectual remedy for the evils of life

than any Reform Bill that ever passed the Houses of Parliament."

Socrates said, "Let him that would move the world move first

himself. " Or as the old rhyme runs -

"If every one would see

To his own reformation,

How very easily

You might reform a nation."

It is, however, generally felt to be a far easier thing to reform

the Church and the State than to reform the least of our own bad

habits; and in such matters it is usually found more agreeable to

our tastes, as it certainly is the common practice, to begin with

our neighbours rather than with ourselves.

Any class of men that lives from hand to mouth will ever be an

inferior class. They will necessarily remain impotent and

helpless, hanging on to the skirts of society, the sport of times

and seasons. Having no respect for themselves, they will fail in

securing the respect of others. In commercial crises, such men

must inevitably go to the wall. Wanting that husbanded power which

a store of savings, no matter how small, invariably gives them,

they will be at every man's mercy, and, if possessed of right

feelings, they cannot but regard with fear and trembling the future

possible fate of their wives and children. "The world," once said

Mr. Cobden to the working men of Huddersfield, "has always been

divided into two classes,--those who have saved, and those who have

spent--the thrifty and the extravagant. The building of all the

houses, the mills, the bridges, and the ships, and the

accomplishment of all other great works which have rendered man

civilized and happy, has been done by the savers, the thrifty; and

those who have wasted their resources have always been their

slaves. It has been the law of nature and of Providence that this

should be so; and I were an impostor if I promised any class that

they would advance themselves if they were improvident,

thoughtless, and idle."

Equally sound was the advice given by Mr. Bright to an assembly of

working men at Rochdale, in 1847, when, after expressing his belief

that, "so far as honesty was concerned, it was to be found in

pretty equal amount among all classes," he used the following

words:- "There is only one way that is safe for any man, or any

number of men, by which they can maintain their present position if

it be a good one, or raise themselves above it if it be a bad one,-

-that is, by the practice of the virtues of industry, frugality,

temperance, and honesty. There is no royal road by which men can

raise themselves from a position which they feel to be

uncomfortable and unsatisfactory, as regards their mental or

physical condition, except by the practice of those virtues by

which they find numbers amongst them are continually advancing and

bettering themselves."

There is no reason why the condition of the average workman should

not be a useful, honourable, respectable, and happy one. The whole

body of the working classes might, (with few exceptions) be as

frugal, virtuous, well-informed, and well-conditioned as many

individuals of the same class have already made themselves. What

some men are, all without difficulty might be. Employ the same

means, and the same results will follow. That there should be a

class of men who live by their daily labour in every state is the

ordinance of God, and doubtless is a wise and righteous one; but

that this class should be otherwise than frugal, contented,

intelligent, and happy, is not the design of Providence, but

springs solely from the weakness, self-indulgence, and perverseness

of man himself. The healthy spirit of self-help created amongst

working people would more than any other measure serve to raise

them as a class, and this, not by pulling down others, but by

levelling them up to a higher and still advancing standard of

religion, intelligence, and virtue. "All moral philosophy," says

Montaigne, "is as applicable to a common and private life as to the

most splendid. Every man carries the entire form of the human

condition within him."

When a man casts his glance forward, he will find that the three

chief temporal contingencies for which he has to provide are want

of employment, sickness, and death. The two first he may escape,

but the last is inevitable. It is, however, the duty of the

prudent man so to live, and so to arrange, that the pressure of

suffering, in event of either contingency occurring, shall be

mitigated to as great an extent as possible, not only to himself,

but also to those who are dependent upon him for their comfort and

subsistence. Viewed in this light the honest earning and the

frugal use of money are of the greatest importance. Rightly

earned, it is the representative of patient industry and untiring

effort, of temptation resisted, and hope rewarded; and rightly

used, it affords indications of prudence, forethought and self-

denial--the true basis of manly character. Though money represents

a crowd of objects without any real worth or utility, it also

represents many things of great value; not only food, clothing, and

household satisfaction, but personal self-respect and independence.

Thus a store of savings is to the working man as a barricade

against want; it secures him a footing, and enables him to wait, it

may be in cheerfulness and hope, until better days come round. The

very endeavour to gain a firmer position in the world has a certain

dignity in it, and tends to make a man stronger and better. At all

events it gives him greater freedom of action, and enables him to

husband his strength for future effort.

But the man who is always hovering on the verge of want is in a

state not far removed from that of slavery. He is in no sense his

own master, but is in constant peril of falling under the bondage

of others, and accepting the terms which they dictate to him. He

cannot help being, in a measure, servile, for he dares not look the

world boldly in the face; and in adverse times he must look either

to alms or the poor's rates. If work fails him altogether, he has

not the means of moving to another field of employment; he is fixed

to his parish like a limpet to its rock, and can neither migrate

nor emigrate.

To secure independence, the practice of simple economy is all that

is necessary. Economy requires neither superior courage nor

eminent virtue; it is satisfied with ordinary energy, and the

capacity of average minds. Economy, at bottom, is but the spirit

of order applied in the administration of domestic affairs: it

means management, regularity, prudence, and the avoidance of waste.

The spirit of economy was expressed by our Divine Master in the

words 'Gather up the fragments that remain, so that nothing may be

lost.' His omnipotence did not disdain the small things of life;

and even while revealing His infinite power to the multitude, he

taught the pregnant lesson of carefulness of which all stand so

much in need.

Economy also means the power of resisting present gratification for

the purpose of securing a future good, and in this light it

represents the ascendancy of reason over the animal instincts. It

is altogether different from penuriousness: for it is economy that

can always best afford to be generous. It does not make money an

idol, but regards it as a useful agent. As Dean Swift observes,

"we must carry money in the head, not in the heart." Economy may

be styled the daughter of Prudence, the sister of Temperance, and

the mother of Liberty. It is evidently conservative--conservative

of character, of domestic happiness, and social well-being. It is,

in short, the exhibition of self-help in one of its best forms.

Francis Horner's father gave him this advice on entering life:-

"Whilst I wish you to be comfortable in every respect, I cannot too

strongly inculcate economy. It is a necessary virtue to all; and

however the shallow part of mankind may despise it, it certainly

leads to independence, which is a grand object to every man of a

high spirit." Burns' lines, quoted at the head of this chapter,

contain the right idea; but unhappily his strain of song was higher

than his practice; his ideal better than his habit. When laid on

his death-bed he wrote to a friend, "Alas! Clarke, I begin to feel

the worst. Burns' poor widow, and half a dozen of his dear little

ones helpless orphans;--there I am weak as a woman's tear. Enough

of this;--'tis half my disease."

Every man ought so to contrive as to live within his means. This

practice is of the very essence of honesty. For if a man do not

manage honestly to live within his own means, he must necessarily

be living dishonestly upon the means of somebody else. Those who

are careless about personal expenditure, and consider merely their

own gratification, without regard for the comfort of others,

generally find out the real uses of money when it is too late.

Though by nature generous, these thriftless persons are often

driven in the end to do very shabby things. They waste their money

as they do their time; draw bills upon the future; anticipate their

earnings; and are thus under the necessity of dragging after them a

load of debts and obligations which seriously affect their action

as free and independent men.

It was a maxim of Lord Bacon, that when it was necessary to

economize, it was better to look after petty savings than to

descend to petty gettings. The loose cash which many persons throw

away uselessly, and worse, would often form a basis of fortune and

independence for life. These wasters are their own worst enemies,

though generally found amongst the ranks of those who rail at the

injustice of "the world." But if a man will not be his own friend,

how can he expect that others will? Orderly men of moderate means

have always something left in their pockets to help others; whereas

your prodigal and careless fellows who spend all never find an

opportunity for helping anybody. It is poor economy, however, to

be a scrub. Narrowmindedness in living and in dealing is generally

short-sighted, and leads to failure. The penny soul, it is said,

never came to twopence. Generosity and liberality, like honesty,

prove the best policy after all. Though Jenkinson, in the 'Vicar

of Wakefield,' cheated his kind-hearted neighbour Flamborough in

one way or another every year, "Flamborough," said he, "has been

regularly growing in riches, while I have come to poverty and a

gaol." And practical life abounds in cases of brilliant results

from a course of generous and honest policy.

The proverb says that "an empty bag cannot stand upright;" neither

can a man who is in debt. It is also difficult for a man who is in

debt to be truthful; hence it is said that lying rides on debt's

back. The debtor has to frame excuses to his creditor for

postponing payment of the money he owes him; and probably also to

contrive falsehoods. It is easy enough for a man who will exercise

a healthy resolution, to avoid incurring the first obligation; but

the facility with which that has been incurred often becomes a

temptation to a second; and very soon the unfortunate borrower

becomes so entangled that no late exertion of industry can set him

free. The first step in debt is like the first step in falsehood;

almost involving the necessity of proceeding in the same course,

debt following debt, as lie follows lie. Haydon, the painter,

dated his decline from the day on which he first borrowed money.

He realized the truth of the proverb, "Who goes a-borrowing, goes

a-sorrowing." The significant entry in his diary is: "Here began

debt and obligation, out of which I have never been and never shall

be extricated as long as I live." His Autobiography shows but too

painfully how embarrassment in money matters produces poignant

distress of mind, utter incapacity for work, and constantly

recurring humiliations. The written advice which he gave to a

youth when entering the navy was as follows: "Never purchase any

enjoyment if it cannot be procured without borrowing of others.

Never borrow money: it is degrading. I do not say never lend, but

never lend if by lending you render yourself unable to pay what you

owe; but under any circumstances never borrow." Fichte, the poor

student, refused to accept even presents from his still poorer

parents.

Dr. Johnson held that early debt is ruin. His words on the subject

are weighty, and worthy of being held in remembrance. "Do not,"

said he, "accustom yourself to consider debt only as an

inconvenience; you will find it a calamity. Poverty takes away so

many means of doing good, and produces so much inability to resist

evil, both natural and moral, that it is by all virtuous means to

be avoided. . . . Let it be your first care, then, not to be in any

man's debt. Resolve not to be poor; whatever you have spend less.

Poverty is a great enemy to human happiness; it certainly destroys

liberty, and it makes some virtues impracticable and others

extremely difficult. Frugality is not only the basis of quiet, but

of beneficence. No man can help others that wants help himself; we

must have enough before we have to spare."

It is the bounden duty of every man to look his affairs in the

face, and to keep an account of his incomings and outgoings in

money matters. The exercise of a little simple arithmetic in this

way will be found of great value. Prudence requires that we shall

pitch our scale of living a degree below our means, rather than up

to them; but this can only be done by carrying out faithfully a

plan of living by which both ends may be made to meet. John Locke

strongly advised this course: "Nothing," said he, "is likelier to

keep a man within compass than having constantly before his eyes

the state of his affairs in a regular course of account." The Duke

of Wellington kept an accurate detailed account of all the moneys

received and expended by him. "I make a point," said he to Mr.

Gleig, "of paying my own bills, and I advise every one to do the

same; formerly I used to trust a confidential servant to pay them,

but I was cured of that folly by receiving one morning, to my great

surprise, duns of a year or two's standing. The fellow had

speculated with my money, and left my bills unpaid." Talking of

debt his remark was, "It makes a slave of a man. I have often

known what it was to be in want of money, but I never got into

debt." Washington was as particular as Wellington was, in matters

of business detail; and it is a remarkable fact, that he did not

disdain to scrutinize the smallest outgoings of his household--

determined as he was to live honestly within his means--even while

holding the high office of President of the American Union.

Admiral Jervis, Earl St. Vincent, has told the story of his early

struggles, and, amongst other things, of his determination to keep

out of debt. "My father had a very large family," said he, "with

limited means. He gave me twenty pounds at starting, and that was

all he ever gave me. After I had been a considerable time at the

station [at sea], I drew for twenty more, but the bill came back

protested. I was mortified at this rebuke, and made a promise,

which I have ever kept, that I would never draw another bill

without a certainty of its being paid. I immediately changed my

mode of living, quitted my mess, lived alone, and took up the

ship's allowance, which I found quite sufficient; washed and mended

my own clothes; made a pair of trousers out of the ticking of my

bed; and having by these means saved as much money as would redeem

my honour, I took up my bill, and from that time to this I have

taken care to keep within my means." Jervis for six years endured

pinching privation, but preserved his integrity, studied his

profession with success, and gradually and steadily rose by merit

and bravery to the highest rank.

Mr. Hume hit the mark when he once stated in the House of Commons--

though his words were followed by "laughter"--that the tone of

living in England is altogether too high. Middle-class people are

too apt to live up to their incomes, if not beyond them: affecting

a degree of "style" which is most unhealthy in its effects upon

society at large. There is an ambition to bring up boys as

gentlemen, or rather "genteel" men; though the result frequently

is, only to make them gents. They acquire a taste for dress,

style, luxuries, and amusements, which can never form any solid

foundation for manly or gentlemanly character; and the result is,

that we have a vast number of gingerbread young gentry thrown upon

the world, who remind one of the abandoned hulls sometimes picked

up at sea, with only a monkey on board.

There is a dreadful ambition abroad for being "genteel." We keep

up appearances, too often at the expense of honesty; and, though we

may not be rich, yet we must seem to be so. We must be

"respectable," though only in the meanest sense--in mere vulgar

outward show. We have not the courage to go patiently onward in

the condition of life in which it has pleased God to call us; but

must needs live in some fashionable state to which we ridiculously

please to call ourselves, and all to gratify the vanity of that

unsubstantial genteel world of which we form a part. There is a

constant struggle and pressure for front seats in the social

amphitheatre; in the midst of which all noble self-denying resolve

is trodden down, and many fine natures are inevitably crushed to

death. What waste, what misery, what bankruptcy, come from all

this ambition to dazzle others with the glare of apparent worldly

success, we need not describe. The mischievous results show

themselves in a thousand ways--in the rank frauds committed by men

who dare to be dishonest, but do not dare to seem poor; and in the

desperate dashes at fortune, in which the pity is not so much for

those who fail, as for the hundreds of innocent families who are so

often involved in their ruin.

The late Sir Charles Napier, in taking leave of his command in

India, did a bold and honest thing in publishing his strong

protest, embodied in his last General Order to the officers of the

Indian army, against the "fast" life led by so many young officers

in that service, involving them in ignominious obligations. Sir

Charles strongly urged, in that famous document--what had almost

been lost sight of that "honesty is inseparable from the character

of a thorough-bred gentleman;" and that "to drink unpaid-for

champagne and unpaid-for beer, and to ride unpaid-for horses, is to

be a cheat, and not a gentleman." Men who lived beyond their means

and were summoned, often by their own servants, before Courts of

Requests for debts contracted in extravagant living, might be

officers by virtue of their commissions, but they were not

gentlemen. The habit of being constantly in debt, the Commander-

in-chief held, made men grow callous to the proper feelings of a

gentleman. It was not enough that an officer should be able to

fight: that any bull-dog could do. But did he hold his word

inviolate?--did he pay his debts? These were among the points of

honour which, he insisted, illuminated the true gentleman's and

soldier's career. As Bayard was of old, so would Sir Charles

Napier have all British officers to be. He knew them to be

"without fear," but he would also have them "without reproach."

There are, however, many gallant young fellows, both in India and

at home, capable of mounting a breach on an emergency amidst

belching fire, and of performing the most desperate deeds of

valour, who nevertheless cannot or will not exercise the moral

courage necessary to enable them to resist a petty temptation

presented to their senses. They cannot utter their valiant "No,"

or "I can't afford it," to the invitations of pleasure and self-

enjoyment; and they are found ready to brave death rather than the

ridicule of their companions.

The young man, as he passes through life, advances through a long

line of tempters ranged on either side of him; and the inevitable

effect of yielding, is degradation in a greater or a less degree.

Contact with them tends insensibly to draw away from him some

portion of the divine electric element with which his nature is

charged; and his only mode of resisting them is to utter and to act

out his "no" manfully and resolutely. He must decide at once, not

waiting to deliberate and balance reasons; for the youth, like "the

woman who deliberates, is lost." Many deliberate, without

deciding; but "not to resolve, IS to resolve." A perfect knowledge

of man is in the prayer, "Lead us not into temptation." But

temptation will come to try the young man's strength; and once

yielded to, the power to resist grows weaker and weaker. Yield

once, and a portion of virtue has gone. Resist manfully, and the

first decision will give strength for life; repeated, it will

become a habit. It is in the outworks of the habits formed in

early life that the real strength of the defence must lie; for it

has been wisely ordained, that the machinery of moral existence

should be carried on principally through the medium of the habits,

so as to save the wear and tear of the great principles within. It

is good habits, which insinuate themselves into the thousand

inconsiderable acts of life, that really constitute by far the

greater part of man's moral conduct.

Hugh Miller has told how, by an act of youthful decision, he saved

himself from one of the strong temptations so peculiar to a life of

toil. When employed as a mason, it was usual for his fellow-

workmen to have an occasional treat of drink, and one day two

glasses of whisky fell to his share, which he swallowed. When he

reached home, he found, on opening his favourite book--'Bacon's

Essays'--that the letters danced before his eyes, and that he could

no longer master the sense. "The condition," he says, "into which

I had brought myself was, I felt, one of degradation. I had sunk,

by my own act, for the time, to a lower level of intelligence than

that on which it was my privilege to be placed; and though the

state could have been no very favourable one for forming a

resolution, I in that hour determined that I should never again

sacrifice my capacity of intellectual enjoyment to a drinking

usage; and, with God's help, I was enabled to hold by the

determination." It is such decisions as this that often form the

turning-points in a man's life, and furnish the foundation of his

future character. And this rock, on which Hugh Miller might have

been wrecked, if he had not at the right moment put forth his moral

strength to strike away from it, is one that youth and manhood

alike need to be constantly on their guard against. It is about

one of the worst and most deadly, as well as extravagant,

temptations which lie in the way of youth. Sir Walter Scott used

to say that "of all vices drinking is the most incompatible with

greatness." Not only so, but it is incompatible with economy,

decency, health, and honest living. When a youth cannot restrain,

he must abstain. Dr. Johnson's case is the case of many. He said,

referring to his own habits, "Sir, I can abstain; but I can't be

moderate."

But to wrestle vigorously and successfully with any vicious habit,

we must not merely be satisfied with contending on the low ground

of worldly prudence, though that is of use, but take stand upon a

higher moral elevation. Mechanical aids, such as pledges, may be

of service to some, but the great thing is to set up a high

standard of thinking and acting, and endeavour to strengthen and

purify the principles as well as to reform the habits. For this

purpose a youth must study himself, watch his steps, and compare

his thoughts and acts with his rule. The more knowledge of himself

he gains, the more humble will he be, and perhaps the less

confident in his own strength. But the discipline will be always

found most valuable which is acquired by resisting small present

gratifications to secure a prospective greater and higher one. It

is the noblest work in self-education--for

"Real glory

Springs from the silent conquest of ourselves,

And without that the conqueror is nought

But the first slave."

Many popular books have been written for the purpose of

communicating to the public the grand secret of making money. But

there is no secret whatever about it, as the proverbs of every

nation abundantly testify. "Take care of the pennies and the

pounds will take care of themselves." "Diligence is the mother of

good luck." "No pains no gains." "No sweat no sweet." "Work and

thou shalt have." "The world is his who has patience and

industry." "Better go to bed supperless than rise in debt." Such

are specimens of the proverbial philosophy, embodying the hoarded

experience of many generations, as to the best means of thriving in

the world. They were current in people's mouths long before books

were invented; and like other popular proverbs they were the first

codes of popular morals. Moreover they have stood the test of

time, and the experience of every day still bears witness to their

accuracy, force, and soundness. The proverbs of Solomon are full

of wisdom as to the force of industry, and the use and abuse of

money:- "He that is slothful in work is brother to him that is a

great waster." "Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways,

and be wise." Poverty, says the preacher, shall come upon the

idler, "as one that travelleth, and want as an armed man;" but of

the industrious and upright, "the hand of the diligent maketh

rich." "The drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty; and

drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags." "Seest thou a man

diligent in his business? he shall stand before kings." But above

all, "It is better to get wisdom than gold; for wisdom is better

than rubies, and all the things that may be desired are not to be

compared to it."

Simple industry and thrift will go far towards making any person of

ordinary working faculty comparatively independent in his means.

Even a working man may be so, provided he will carefully husband

his resources, and watch the little outlets of useless expenditure.

A penny is a very small matter, yet the comfort of thousands of

families depends upon the proper spending and saving of pennies.

If a man allows the little pennies, the results of his hard work,

to slip out of his fingers--some to the beershop, some this way and

some that--he will find that his life is little raised above one of

mere animal drudgery. On the other hand, if he take care of the

pennies--putting some weekly into a benefit society or an insurance

fund, others into a savings' bank, and confiding the rest to his

wife to be carefully laid out, with a view to the comfortable

maintenance and education of his family--he will soon find that

this attention to small matters will abundantly repay him, in

increasing means, growing comfort at home, and a mind comparatively

free from fears as to the future. And if a working man have high

ambition and possess richness in spirit,--a kind of wealth which

far transcends all mere worldly possessions--he may not only help

himself, but be a profitable helper of others in his path through

life. That this is no impossible thing even for a common labourer

in a workshop, may be illustrated by the remarkable career of

Thomas Wright of Manchester, who not only attempted but succeeded

in the reclamation of many criminals while working for weekly wages

in a foundry.

Accident first directed Thomas Wright's attention to the difficulty

encountered by liberated convicts in returning to habits of honest

industry. His mind was shortly possessed by the subject; and to

remedy the evil became the purpose of his life. Though he worked

from six in the morning till six at night, still there were leisure

minutes that he could call his own--more especially his Sundays--

and these he employed in the service of convicted criminals; a

class then far more neglected than they are now. But a few minutes

a day, well employed, can effect a great deal; and it will scarcely

be credited, that in ten years this working man, by steadfastly

holding to his purpose, succeeded in rescuing not fewer than three

hundred felons from continuance in a life of villany! He came to

be regarded as the moral physician of the Manchester Old Bailey;

and where the Chaplain and all others failed, Thomas Wright often

succeeded. Children he thus restored reformed to their parents;

sons and daughters otherwise lost, to their homes; and many a

returned convict did he contrive to settle down to honest and

industrious pursuits. The task was by no means easy. It required

money, time, energy, prudence, and above all, character, and the

confidence which character invariably inspires. The most

remarkable circumstance was that Wright relieved many of these poor

outcasts out of the comparatively small wages earned by him at

foundry work. He did all this on an income which did not average,

during his working career, 100l. per annum; and yet, while he was

able to bestow substantial aid on criminals, to whom he owed no

more than the service of kindness which every human being owes to

another, he also maintained his family in comfort, and was, by

frugality and carefulness, enabled to lay by a store of savings

against his approaching old age. Every week he apportioned his

income with deliberate care; so much for the indispensable

necessaries of food and clothing, so much for the landlord, so much

for the schoolmaster, so much for the poor and needy; and the lines

of distribution were resolutely observed. By such means did this

humble workman pursue his great work, with the results we have so

briefly described. Indeed, his career affords one of the most

remarkable and striking illustrations of the force of purpose in a

man, of the might of small means carefully and sedulously applied,

and, above all, of the power which an energetic and upright

character invariably exercises upon the lives and conduct of

others.

There is no discredit, but honour, in every right walk of industry,

whether it be in tilling the ground, making tools, weaving fabrics,

or selling the products behind a counter. A youth may handle a

yard-stick, or measure a piece of ribbon; and there will be no

discredit in doing so, unless he allows his mind to have no higher

range than the stick and ribbon; to be as short as the one, and as

narrow as the other. "Let not those blush who HAVE," said Fuller,

"but those who HAVE NOT a lawful calling." And Bishop Hall said,

"Sweet is the destiny of all trades, whether of the brow or of the

mind." Men who have raised themselves from a humble calling, need

not be ashamed, but rather ought to be proud of the difficulties

they have surmounted. An American President, when asked what was

his coat-of-arms, remembering that he had been a hewer of wood in

his youth, replied, "A pair of shirt sleeves." A French doctor

once taunted Flechier, Bishop of Nismes, who had been a tallow-

chandler in his youth, with the meanness of his origin, to which

Flechier replied, "If you had been born in the same condition that

I was, you would still have been but a maker of candles."

Nothing is more common than energy in money-making, quite

independent of any higher object than its accumulation. A man who

devotes himself to this pursuit, body and soul, can scarcely fail

to become rich. Very little brains will do; spend less than you

earn; add guinea to guinea; scrape and save; and the pile of gold

will gradually rise. Osterwald, the Parisian banker, began life a

poor man. He was accustomed every evening to drink a pint of beer

for supper at a tavern which he visited, during which he collected

and pocketed all the corks that he could lay his hands on. In

eight years he had collected as many corks as sold for eight louis

d'ors. With that sum he laid the foundations of his fortune--

gained mostly by stock-jobbing; leaving at his death some three

millions of francs. John Foster has cited a striking illustration

of what this kind of determination will do in money-making. A

young man who ran through his patrimony, spending it in profligacy,

was at length reduced to utter want and despair. He rushed out of

his house intending to put an end to his life, and stopped on

arriving at an eminence overlooking what were once his estates. He

sat down, ruminated for a time, and rose with the determination

that he would recover them. He returned to the streets, saw a load

of coals which had been shot out of a cart on to the pavement

before a house, offered to carry them in, and was employed. He

thus earned a few pence, requested some meat and drink as a

gratuity, which was given him, and the pennies were laid by.

Pursuing this menial labour, he earned and saved more pennies;

accumulated sufficient to enable him to purchase some cattle, the

value of which he understood, and these he sold to advantage. He

proceeded by degrees to undertake larger transactions, until at

length he became rich. The result was, that he more than recovered

his possessions, and died an inveterate miser. When he was buried,

mere earth went to earth. With a nobler spirit, the same

determination might have enabled such a man to be a benefactor to

others as well as to himself. But the life and its end in this

case were alike sordid.

To provide for others and for our own comfort and independence in

old age, is honourable, and greatly to be commended; but to hoard

for mere wealth's sake is the characteristic of the narrow-souled

and the miserly. It is against the growth of this habit of

inordinate saving that the wise man needs most carefully to guard

himself: else, what in youth was simple economy, may in old age

grow into avarice, and what was a duty in the one case, may become

a vice in the other. It is the LOVE of money--not money itself--

which is "the root of evil,"--a love which narrows and contracts

the soul, and closes it against generous life and action. Hence,

Sir Walter Scott makes one of his characters declare that "the

penny siller slew more souls than the naked sword slew bodies." It

is one of the defects of business too exclusively followed, that it

insensibly tends to a mechanism of character. The business man

gets into a rut, and often does not look beyond it. If he lives

for himself only, he becomes apt to regard other human beings only

in so far as they minister to his ends. Take a leaf from such

men's ledger and you have their life.

Worldly success, measured by the accumulation of money, is no doubt

a very dazzling thing; and all men are naturally more or less the

admirers of worldly success. But though men of persevering, sharp,

dexterous, and unscrupulous habits, ever on the watch to push

opportunities, may and do "get on" in the world, yet it is quite

possible that they may not possess the slightest elevation of

character, nor a particle of real goodness. He who recognizes no

higher logic than that of the shilling, may become a very rich man,

and yet remain all the while an exceedingly poor creature. For

riches are no proof whatever of moral worth; and their glitter

often serves only to draw attention to the worthlessness of their

possessor, as the light of the glowworm reveals the grub.

The manner in which many allow themselves to be sacrificed to their

love of wealth reminds one of the cupidity of the monkey--that

caricature of our species. In Algiers, the Kabyle peasant attaches

a gourd, well fixed, to a tree, and places within it some rice.

The gourd has an opening merely sufficient to admit the monkey's

paw. The creature comes to the tree by night, inserts his paw, and

grasps his booty. He tries to draw it back, but it is clenched,

and he has not the wisdom to unclench it. So there he stands till

morning, when he is caught, looking as foolish as may be, though

with the prize in his grasp. The moral of this little story is

capable of a very extensive application in life.

The power of money is on the whole over-estimated. The greatest

things which have been done for the world have not been

accomplished by rich men, nor by subscription lists, but by men

generally of small pecuniary means. Christianity was propagated

over half the world by men of the poorest class; and the greatest

thinkers, discoverers, inventors, and artists, have been men of

moderate wealth, many of them little raised above the condition of

manual labourers in point of worldly circumstances. And it will

always be so. Riches are oftener an impediment than a stimulus to

action; and in many cases they are quite as much a misfortune as a

blessing. The youth who inherits wealth is apt to have life made

too easy for him, and he soon grows sated with it, because he has

nothing left to desire. Having no special object to struggle for,

he finds time hang heavy on his hands; he remains morally and

spiritually asleep; and his position in society is often no higher

than that of a polypus over which the tide floats.

"His only labour is to kill the time,

And labour dire it is, and weary woe."

Yet the rich man, inspired by a right spirit, will spurn idleness

as unmanly; and if he bethink himself of the responsibilities which

attach to the possession of wealth and property he will feel even a

higher call to work than men of humbler lot. This, however, must

be admitted to be by no means the practice of life. The golden

mean of Agur's perfect prayer is, perhaps, the best lot of all, did

we but know it: "Give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with

food convenient for me." The late Joseph Brotherton, M.P., left a

fine motto to be recorded upon his monument in the Peel Park at

Manchester,--the declaration in his case being strictly true: "My

richness consisted not in the greatness of my possessions, but in

the smallness of my wants." He rose from the humblest station,

that of a factory boy, to an eminent position of usefulness, by the

simple exercise of homely honesty, industry, punctuality, and self-

denial. Down to the close of his life, when not attending

Parliament, he did duty as minister in a small chapel in Manchester

to which he was attached; and in all things he made it appear, to

those who knew him in private life, that the glory he sought was

NOT "to be seen of men," or to excite their praise, but to earn the

consciousness of discharging the every-day duties of life, down to

the smallest and humblest of them, in an honest, upright, truthful,

and loving spirit.

"Respectability," in its best sense, is good. The respectable man

is one worthy of regard, literally worth turning to look at. But

the respectability that consists in merely keeping up appearances

is not worth looking at in any sense. Far better and more

respectable is the good poor man than the bad rich one--better the

humble silent man than the agreeable well-appointed rogue who keeps

his gig. A well balanced and well-stored mind, a life full of

useful purpose, whatever the position occupied in it may be, is of

far greater importance than average worldly respectability. The

highest object of life we take to be, to form a manly character,

and to work out the best development possible, of body and spirit--

of mind, conscience, heart, and soul. This is the end: all else

ought to be regarded but as the means. Accordingly, that is not

the most successful life in which a man gets the most pleasure, the

most money, the most power or place, honour or fame; but that in

which a man gets the most manhood, and performs the greatest amount

of useful work and of human duty. Money is power after its sort,

it is true; but intelligence, public spirit, and moral virtue, are

powers too, and far nobler ones. "Let others plead for pensions,"

wrote Lord Collingwood to a friend; "I can be rich without money,

by endeavouring to be superior to everything poor. I would have my

services to my country unstained by any interested motive; and old

Scott {27} and I can go on in our cabbage-garden without much

greater expense than formerly." On another occasion he said, "I

have motives for my conduct which I would not give in exchange for

a hundred pensions."

The making of a fortune may no doubt enable some people to "enter

society," as it is called; but to be esteemed there, they must

possess qualities of mind, manners, or heart, else they are merely

rich people, nothing more. There are men "in society" now, as rich

as Croesus, who have no consideration extended towards them, and

elicit no respect. For why? They are but as money-bags: their

only power is in their till. The men of mark in society--the

guides and rulers of opinion--the really successful and useful men-

-are not necessarily rich men; but men of sterling character, of

disciplined experience, and of moral excellence. Even the poor

man, like Thomas Wright, though he possess but little of this

world's goods, may, in the enjoyment of a cultivated nature, of

opportunities used and not abused, of a life spent to the best of

his means and ability, look down, without the slightest feeling of

envy, upon the person of mere worldly success, the man of money-

bags and acres.

CHAPTER XI--SELF-CULTURE--FACILITIES AND DIFFICULTIES

"Every person has two educations, one which he receives from

others, and one, more important, which he gives to himself."--

Gibbon.

"Is there one whom difficulties dishearten--who bends to the storm?

He will do little. Is there one who will conquer? That kind of

man never fails."--John Hunter.

"The wise and active conquer difficulties,

By daring to attempt them: sloth and folly

Shiver and shrink at sight of toil and danger,

And MAKE the impossibility they fear."--Rowe.

"The best part of every man's education," said Sir Walter Scott,

"is that which he gives to himself." The late Sir Benjamin Brodie

delighted to remember this saying, and he used to congratulate

himself on the fact that professionally he was self-taught. But

this is necessarily the case with all men who have acquired

distinction in letters, science, or art. The education received at

school or college is but a beginning, and is valuable mainly

inasmuch as it trains the mind and habituates it to continuous

application and study. That which is put into us by others is

always far less ours than that which we acquire by our own diligent

and persevering effort. Knowledge conquered by labour becomes a

possession--a property entirely our own. A greater vividness and

permanency of impression is secured; and facts thus acquired become

registered in the mind in a way that mere imparted information can

never effect. This kind of self-culture also calls forth power and

cultivates strength. The solution of one problem helps the mastery

of another; and thus knowledge is carried into faculty. Our own

active effort is the essential thing; and no facilities, no books,

no teachers, no amount of lessons learnt by rote will enable us to

dispense with it.

The best teachers have been the readiest to recognize the

importance of self-culture, and of stimulating the student to

acquire knowledge by the active exercise of his own faculties.

They have relied more upon TRAINING than upon telling, and sought

to make their pupils themselves active parties to the work in which

they were engaged; thus making teaching something far higher than

the mere passive reception of the scraps and details of knowledge.

This was the spirit in which the great Dr. Arnold worked; he strove

to teach his pupils to rely upon themselves, and develop their

powers by their own active efforts, himself merely guiding,

directing, stimulating, and encouraging them. "I would far

rather," he said, "send a boy to Van Diemen's Land, where he must

work for his bread, than send him to Oxford to live in luxury,

without any desire in his mind to avail himself of his advantages."

"If there be one thing on earth," he observed on another occasion,

"which is truly admirable, it is to see God's wisdom blessing an

inferiority of natural powers, when they have been honestly, truly,

and zealously cultivated." Speaking of a pupil of this character,

he said, "I would stand to that man hat in hand." Once at Laleham,

when teaching a rather dull boy, Arnold spoke somewhat sharply to

him, on which the pupil looked up in his face and said, "Why do you

speak angrily, sir? INDEED, I am doing the best I can." Years

afterwards, Arnold used to tell the story to his children, and

added, "I never felt so much in my life--that look and that speech

I have never forgotten."

From the numerous instances already cited of men of humble station

who have risen to distinction in science and literature, it will be

obvious that labour is by no means incompatible with the highest

intellectual culture. Work in moderation is healthy, as well as

agreeable to the human constitution. Work educates the body, as

study educates the mind; and that is the best state of society in

which there is some work for every man's leisure, and some leisure

for every man's work. Even the leisure classes are in a measure

compelled to work, sometimes as a relief from ennui, but in most

cases to gratify an instinct which they cannot resist. Some go

foxhunting in the English counties, others grouse-shooting on the

Scotch hills, while many wander away every summer to climb

mountains in Switzerland. Hence the boating, running, cricketing,

and athletic sports of the public schools, in which our young men

at the same time so healthfully cultivate their strength both of

mind and body. It is said that the Duke of Wellington, when once

looking on at the boys engaged in their sports in the play-ground

at Eton, where he had spent many of his own younger days, made the

remark, "It was there that the battle of Waterloo was won!"

Daniel Malthus urged his son when at college to be most diligent in

the cultivation of knowledge, but he also enjoined him to pursue

manly sports as the best means of keeping up the full working power

of his mind, as well as of enjoying the pleasures of intellect.

"Every kind of knowledge," said he, "every acquaintance with nature

and art, will amuse and strengthen your mind, and I am perfectly

pleased that cricket should do the same by your arms and legs; I

love to see you excel in exercises of the body, and I think myself

that the better half, and much the most agreeable part, of the

pleasures of the mind is best enjoyed while one is upon one's

legs." But a still more important use of active employment is that

referred to by the great divine, Jeremy Taylor. "Avoid idleness,"

he says, "and fill up all the spaces of thy time with severe and

useful employment; for lust easily creeps in at those emptinesses

where the soul is unemployed and the body is at ease; for no easy,

healthful, idle person was ever chaste if he could be tempted; but

of all employments bodily labour is the most useful, and of the

greatest benefit for driving away the devil."

Practical success in life depends more upon physical health than is

generally imagined. Hodson, of Hodson's Horse, writing home to a

friend in England, said, "I believe, if I get on well in India, it

will be owing, physically speaking, to a sound digestion." The

capacity for continuous working in any calling must necessarily

depend in a great measure upon this; and hence the necessity for

attending to health, even as a means of intellectual labour. It is

perhaps to the neglect of physical exercise that we find amongst

students so frequent a tendency towards discontent, unhappiness,

inaction, and reverie,--displaying itself in contempt for real life

and disgust at the beaten tracks of men,--a tendency which in

England has been called Byronism, and in Germany Wertherism. Dr.

Channing noted the same growth in America, which led him to make

the remark, that "too many of our young men grow up in a school of

despair." The only remedy for this green-sickness in youth is

physical exercise--action, work, and bodily occupation.

The use of early labour in self-imposed mechanical employments may

be illustrated by the boyhood of Sir Isaac Newton. Though a

comparatively dull scholar, he was very assiduous in the use of his

saw, hammer, and hatchet--"knocking and hammering in his lodging

room"--making models of windmills, carriages, and machines of all

sorts; and as he grew older, he took delight in making little

tables and cupboards for his friends. Smeaton, Watt, and

Stephenson, were equally handy with tools when mere boys; and but

for such kind of self-culture in their youth, it is doubtful

whether they would have accomplished so much in their manhood.

Such was also the early training of the great inventors and

mechanics described in the preceding pages, whose contrivance and

intelligence were practically trained by the constant use of their

hands in early life. Even where men belonging to the manual labour

class have risen above it, and become more purely intellectual

labourers, they have found the advantages of their early training

in their later pursuits. Elihu Burritt says he found hard labour

NECESSARY to enable him to study with effect; and more than once he

gave up school-teaching and study, and, taking to his leather-apron

again, went back to his blacksmith's forge and anvil for his health

of body and mind's sake.

The training of young men in the use of tools would, at the same

time that it educated them in "common things," teach them the use

of their hands and arms, familiarize them with healthy work,

exercise their faculties upon things tangible and actual, give them

some practical acquaintance with mechanics, impart to them the

ability of being useful, and implant in them the habit of

persevering physical effort. This is an advantage which the

working classes, strictly so called, certainly possess over the

leisure classes,--that they are in early life under the necessity

of applying themselves laboriously to some mechanical pursuit or

other,--thus acquiring manual dexterity and the use of their

physical powers. The chief disadvantage attached to the calling of

the laborious classes is, not that they are employed in physical

work, but that they are too exclusively so employed, often to the

neglect of their moral and intellectual faculties. While the

youths of the leisure classes, having been taught to associate

labour with servility, have shunned it, and been allowed to grow up

practically ignorant, the poorer classes, confining themselves

within the circle of their laborious callings, have been allowed to

grow up in a large proportion of cases absolutely illiterate. It

seems possible, however, to avoid both these evils by combining

physical training or physical work with intellectual culture: and

there are various signs abroad which seem to mark the gradual

adoption of this healthier system of education.

The success of even professional men depends in no slight degree on

their physical health; and a public writer has gone so far as to

say that "the greatness of our great men is quite as much a bodily

affair as a mental one." {28} A healthy breathing apparatus is as

indispensable to the successful lawyer or politician as a well-

cultured intellect. The thorough aeration of the blood by free

exposure to a large breathing surface in the lungs, is necessary to

maintain that full vital power on which the vigorous working of the

brain in so large a measure depends. The lawyer has to climb the

heights of his profession through close and heated courts, and the

political leader has to bear the fatigue and excitement of long and

anxious debates in a crowded House. Hence the lawyer in full

practice and the parliamentary leader in full work are called upon

to display powers of physical endurance and activity even more

extraordinary than those of the intellect,--such powers as have

been exhibited in so remarkable a degree by Brougham, Lyndhurst,

and Campbell; by Peel, Graham, and Palmerston--all full-chested

men.

Though Sir Walter Scott, when at Edinburgh College, went by the

name of "The Greek Blockhead," he was, notwithstanding his

lameness, a remarkably healthy youth: he could spear a salmon with

the best fisher on the Tweed, and ride a wild horse with any hunter

in Yarrow. When devoting himself in after life to literary

pursuits, Sir Walter never lost his taste for field sports; but

while writing 'Waverley' in the morning, he would in the afternoon

course hares. Professor Wilson was a very athlete, as great at

throwing the hammer as in his flights of eloquence and poetry; and

Burns, when a youth, was remarkable chiefly for his leaping,

putting, and wrestling. Some of our greatest divines were

distinguished in their youth for their physical energies. Isaac

Barrow, when at the Charterhouse School, was notorious for his

pugilistic encounters, in which he got many a bloody nose; Andrew

Fuller, when working as a farmer's lad at Soham, was chiefly famous

for his skill in boxing; and Adam Clarke, when a boy, was only

remarkable for the strength displayed by him in "rolling large

stones about,"--the secret, possibly, of some of the power which he

subsequently displayed in rolling forth large thoughts in his

manhood.

While it is necessary, then, in the first place to secure this

solid foundation of physical health, it must also be observed that

the cultivation of the habit of mental application is quite

indispensable for the education of the student. The maxim that

"Labour conquers all things" holds especially true in the case of

the conquest of knowledge. The road into learning is alike free to

all who will give the labour and the study requisite to gather it;

nor are there any difficulties so great that the student of

resolute purpose may not surmount and overcome them. It was one of

the characteristic expressions of Chatterton, that God had sent his

creatures into the world with arms long enough to reach anything if

they chose to be at the trouble. In study, as in business, energy

is the great thing. There must be the "fervet opus": we must not

only strike the iron while it is hot, but strike it till it is made

hot. It is astonishing how much may be accomplished in self-

culture by the energetic and the persevering, who are careful to

avail themselves of opportunities, and use up the fragments of

spare time which the idle permit to run to waste. Thus Ferguson

learnt astronomy from the heavens, while wrapt in a sheep-skin on

the highland hills. Thus Stone learnt mathematics while working as

a journeyman gardener; thus Drew studied the highest philosophy in

the intervals of cobbling shoes; and thus Miller taught himself

geology while working as a day labourer in a quarry.

Sir Joshua Reynolds, as we have already observed, was so earnest a

believer in the force of industry that he held that all men might

achieve excellence if they would but exercise the power of

assiduous and patient working. He held that drudgery lay on the

road to genius, and that there was no limit to the proficiency of

an artist except the limit of his own painstaking. He would not

believe in what is called inspiration, but only in study and

labour. "Excellence," he said, "is never granted to man but as the

reward of labour." "If you have great talents, industry will

improve them; if you have but moderate abilities, industry will

supply their deficiency. Nothing is denied to well-directed

labour; nothing is to be obtained without it." Sir Fowell Buxton

was an equal believer in the power of study; and he entertained the

modest idea that he could do as well as other men if he devoted to

the pursuit double the time and labour that they did. He placed

his great confidence in ordinary means and extraordinary

application.

"I have known several men in my life," says Dr. Ross, "who may be

recognized in days to come as men of genius, and they were all

plodders, hard-working, INTENT men. Genius is known by its works;

genius without works is a blind faith, a dumb oracle. But

meritorious works are the result of time and labour, and cannot be

accomplished by intention or by a wish. . . . Every great work is

the result of vast preparatory training. Facility comes by labour.

Nothing seems easy, not even walking, that was not difficult at

first. The orator whose eye flashes instantaneous fire, and whose

lips pour out a flood of noble thoughts, startling by their

unexpectedness, and elevating by their wisdom and truth, has

learned his secret by patient repetition, and after many bitter

disappointments." {29}

Thoroughness and accuracy are two principal points to be aimed at

in study. Francis Horner, in laying down rules for the cultivation

of his mind, placed great stress upon the habit of continuous

application to one subject for the sake of mastering it thoroughly;

he confined himself, with this object, to only a few books, and

resisted with the greatest firmness "every approach to a habit of

desultory reading." The value of knowledge to any man consists not

in its quantity, but mainly in the good uses to which he can apply

it. Hence a little knowledge, of an exact and perfect character,

is always found more valuable for practical purposes than any

extent of superficial learning.

One of Ignatius Loyola's maxims was, "He who does well one work at

a time, does more than all." By spreading our efforts over too

large a surface we inevitably weaken our force, hinder our

progress, and acquire a habit of fitfulness and ineffective

working. Lord St. Leonards once communicated to Sir Fowell Buxton

the mode in which he had conducted his studies, and thus explained

the secret of his success. "I resolved," said he, "when beginning

to read law, to make everything I acquired perfectly my own, and

never to go to a second thing till I had entirely accomplished the

first. Many of my competitors read as much in a day as I read in a

week; but, at the end of twelve months, my knowledge was as fresh

as the day it was acquired, while theirs had glided away from

recollection."

It is not the quantity of study that one gets through, or the

amount of reading, that makes a wise man; but the appositeness of

the study to the purpose for which it is pursued; the concentration

of the mind for the time being on the subject under consideration;

and the habitual discipline by which the whole system of mental

application is regulated. Abernethy was even of opinion that there

was a point of saturation in his own mind, and that if he took into

it something more than it could hold, it only had the effect of

pushing something else out. Speaking of the study of medicine, he

said, "If a man has a clear idea of what he desires to do, he will

seldom fail in selecting the proper means of accomplishing it."

The most profitable study is that which is conducted with a

definite aim and object. By thoroughly mastering any given branch

of knowledge we render it more available for use at any moment.

Hence it is not enough merely to have books, or to know where to

read for information as we want it. Practical wisdom, for the

purposes of life, must be carried about with us, and be ready for

use at call. It is not sufficient that we have a fund laid up at

home, but not a farthing in the pocket: we must carry about with

us a store of the current coin of knowledge ready for exchange on

all occasions, else we are comparatively helpless when the

opportunity for using it occurs.

Decision and promptitude are as requisite in self-culture as in

business. The growth of these qualities may be encouraged by

accustoming young people to rely upon their own resources, leaving

them to enjoy as much freedom of action in early life as is

practicable. Too much guidance and restraint hinder the formation

of habits of self-help. They are like bladders tied under the arms

of one who has not taught himself to swim. Want of confidence is

perhaps a greater obstacle to improvement than is generally

imagined. It has been said that half the failures in life arise

from pulling in one's horse while he is leaping. Dr. Johnson was

accustomed to attribute his success to confidence in his own

powers. True modesty is quite compatible with a due estimate of

one's own merits, and does not demand the abnegation of all merit.

Though there are those who deceive themselves by putting a false

figure before their ciphers, the want of confidence, the want of

faith in one's self, and consequently the want of promptitude in

action, is a defect of character which is found to stand very much

in the way of individual progress; and the reason why so little is

done, is generally because so little is attempted.

There is usually no want of desire on the part of most persons to

arrive at the results of self-culture, but there is a great

aversion to pay the inevitable price for it, of hard work. Dr.

Johnson held that "impatience of study was the mental disease of

the present generation;" and the remark is still applicable. We

may not believe that there is a royal road to learning, but we seem

to believe very firmly in a "popular" one. In education, we invent

labour-saving processes, seek short cuts to science, learn French

and Latin "in twelve lessons," or "without a master." We resemble

the lady of fashion, who engaged a master to teach her on condition

that he did not plague her with verbs and participles. We get our

smattering of science in the same way; we learn chemistry by

listening to a short course of lectures enlivened by experiments,

and when we have inhaled laughing gas, seen green water turned to

red, and phosphorus burnt in oxygen, we have got our smattering, of

which the most that can be said is, that though it may be better

than nothing, it is yet good for nothing. Thus we often imagine we

are being educated while we are only being amused.

The facility with which young people are thus induced to acquire

knowledge, without study and labour, is not education. It occupies

but does not enrich the mind. It imparts a stimulus for the time,

and produces a sort of intellectual keenness and cleverness; but,

without an implanted purpose and a higher object than mere

pleasure, it will bring with it no solid advantage. In such cases

knowledge produces but a passing impression; a sensation, but no

more; it is, in fact, the merest epicurism of intelligence--

sensuous, but certainly not intellectual. Thus the best qualities

of many minds, those which are evoked by vigorous effort and

independent action, sleep a deep sleep, and are often never called

to life, except by the rough awakening of sudden calamity or

suffering, which, in such cases, comes as a blessing, if it serves

to rouse up a courageous spirit that, but for it, would have slept

on.

Accustomed to acquire information under the guise of amusement,

young people will soon reject that which is presented to them under

the aspect of study and labour. Learning their knowledge and

science in sport, they will be too apt to make sport of both; while

the habit of intellectual dissipation, thus engendered, cannot

fail, in course of time, to produce a thoroughly emasculating

effect both upon their mind and character. "Multifarious reading,"

said Robertson of Brighton, "weakens the mind like smoking, and is

an excuse for its lying dormant. It is the idlest of all

idlenesses, and leaves more of impotency than any other."

The evil is a growing one, and operates in various ways. Its least

mischief is shallowness; its greatest, the aversion to steady

labour which it induces, and the low and feeble tone of mind which

it encourages. If we would be really wise, we must diligently

apply ourselves, and confront the same continuous application which

our forefathers did; for labour is still, and ever will be, the

inevitable price set upon everything which is valuable. We must be

satisfied to work with a purpose, and wait the results with

patience. All progress, of the best kind, is slow; but to him who

works faithfully and zealously the reward will, doubtless, be

vouchsafed in good time. The spirit of industry, embodied in a

man's daily life, will gradually lead him to exercise his powers on

objects outside himself, of greater dignity and more extended

usefulness. And still we must labour on; for the work of self-

culture is never finished. "To be employed," said the poet Gray,

"is to be happy." "It is better to wear out than rust out," said

Bishop Cumberland. "Have we not all eternity to rest in?"

exclaimed Arnauld. "Repos ailleurs" was the motto of Marnix de St.

Aldegonde, the energetic and ever-working friend of William the

Silent.

It is the use we make of the powers entrusted to us, which

constitutes our only just claim to respect. He who employs his one

talent aright is as much to be honoured as he to whom ten talents

have been given. There is really no more personal merit attaching

to the possession of superior intellectual powers than there is in

the succession to a large estate. How are those powers used--how

is that estate employed? The mind may accumulate large stores of

knowledge without any useful purpose; but the knowledge must be

allied to goodness and wisdom, and embodied in upright character,

else it is naught. Pestalozzi even held intellectual training by

itself to be pernicious; insisting that the roots of all knowledge

must strike and feed in the soil of the rightly-governed will. The

acquisition of knowledge may, it is true, protect a man against the

meaner felonies of life; but not in any degree against its selfish

vices, unless fortified by sound principles and habits. Hence do

we find in daily life so many instances of men who are well-

informed in intellect, but utterly deformed in character; filled

with the learning of the schools, yet possessing little practical

wisdom, and offering examples for warning rather than imitation.

An often quoted expression at this day is that "Knowledge is

power;" but so also are fanaticism, despotism, and ambition.

Knowledge of itself, unless wisely directed, might merely make bad

men more dangerous, and the society in which it was regarded as the

highest good, little better than a pandemonium.

It is possible that at this day we may even exaggerate the

importance of literary culture. We are apt to imagine that because

we possess many libraries, institutes, and museums, we are making

great progress. But such facilities may as often be a hindrance as

a help to individual self-culture of the highest kind. The

possession of a library, or the free use of it, no more constitutes

learning, than the possession of wealth constitutes generosity.

Though we undoubtedly possess great facilities it is nevertheless

true, as of old, that wisdom and understanding can only become the

possession of individual men by travelling the old road of

observation, attention, perseverance, and industry. The possession

of the mere materials of knowledge is something very different from

wisdom and understanding, which are reached through a higher kind

of discipline than that of reading,--which is often but a mere

passive reception of other men's thoughts; there being little or no

active effort of mind in the transaction. Then how much of our

reading is but the indulgence of a sort of intellectual dram-

drinking, imparting a grateful excitement for the moment, without

the slightest effect in improving and enriching the mind or

building up the character. Thus many indulge themselves in the

conceit that they are cultivating their minds, when they are only

employed in the humbler occupation of killing time, of which

perhaps the best that can be said is that it keeps them from doing

worse things.

It is also to be borne in mind that the experience gathered from

books, though often valuable, is but of the nature of LEARNING;

whereas the experience gained from actual life is of the nature of

WISDOM; and a small store of the latter is worth vastly more than

any stock of the former. Lord Bolingbroke truly said that

"Whatever study tends neither directly nor indirectly to make us

better men and citizens, is at best but a specious and ingenious

sort of idleness, and the knowledge we acquire by it, only a

creditable kind of ignorance--nothing more."

Useful and instructive though good reading may be, it is yet only

one mode of cultivating the mind; and is much less influential than

practical experience and good example in the formation of

character. There were wise, valiant, and true-hearted men bred in

England, long before the existence of a reading public. Magna

Charta was secured by men who signed the deed with their marks.

Though altogether unskilled in the art of deciphering the literary

signs by which principles were denominated upon paper, they yet

understood and appreciated, and boldly contended for, the things

themselves. Thus the foundations of English liberty were laid by

men, who, though illiterate, were nevertheless of the very highest

stamp of character. And it must be admitted that the chief object

of culture is, not merely to fill the mind with other men's

thoughts, and to be the passive recipient of their impressions of

things, but to enlarge our individual intelligence, and render us

more useful and efficient workers in the sphere of life to which we

may be called. Many of our most energetic and useful workers have

been but sparing readers. Brindley and Stephenson did not learn to

read and write until they reached manhood, and yet they did great

works and lived manly lives; John Hunter could barely read or write

when he was twenty years old, though he could make tables and

chairs with any carpenter in the trade. "I never read," said the

great physiologist when lecturing before his class; "this"--

pointing to some part of the subject before him--"this is the work

that you must study if you wish to become eminent in your

profession." When told that one of his contemporaries had charged

him with being ignorant of the dead languages, he said, "I would

undertake to teach him that on the dead body which he never knew in

any language, dead or living."

It is not then how much a man may know, that is of importance, but

the end and purpose for which he knows it. The object of knowledge

should be to mature wisdom and improve character, to render us

better, happier, and more useful; more benevolent, more energetic,

and more efficient in the pursuit of every high purpose in life.

"When people once fall into the habit of admiring and encouraging

ability as such, without reference to moral character--and

religious and political opinions are the concrete form of moral

character--they are on the highway to all sorts of degradation."

{30} We must ourselves BE and DO, and not rest satisfied merely

with reading and meditating over what other men have been and done.

Our best light must be made life, and our best thought action. At

least we ought to be able to say, as Richter did, "I have made as

much out of myself as could be made of the stuff, and no man should

require more;" for it is every man's duty to discipline and guide

himself, with God's help, according to his responsibilities and the

faculties with which he has been endowed.

Self-discipline and self-control are the beginnings of practical

wisdom; and these must have their root in self-respect. Hope

springs from it--hope, which is the companion of power, and the

mother of success; for whoso hopes strongly has within him the gift

of miracles. The humblest may say, "To respect myself, to develop

myself--this is my true duty in life. An integral and responsible

part of the great system of society, I owe it to society and to its

Author not to degrade or destroy either my body, mind, or

instincts. On the contrary, I am bound to the best of my power to

give to those parts of my constitution the highest degree of

perfection possible. I am not only to suppress the evil, but to

evoke the good elements in my nature. And as I respect myself, so

am I equally bound to respect others, as they on their part are

bound to respect me." Hence mutual respect, justice, and order, of

which law becomes the written record and guarantee.

Self-respect is the noblest garment with which a man may clothe

himself--the most elevating feeling with which the mind can be

inspired. One of Pythagoras's wisest maxims, in his 'Golden

Verses,' is that with which he enjoins the pupil to "reverence

himself." Borne up by this high idea, he will not defile his body

by sensuality, nor his mind by servile thoughts. This sentiment,

carried into daily life, will be found at the root of all the

virtues--cleanliness, sobriety, chastity, morality, and religion.

"The pious and just honouring of ourselves," said Milton, may be

thought the radical moisture and fountain-head from whence every

laudable and worthy enterprise issues forth." To think meanly of

one's self, is to sink in one's own estimation as well as in the

estimation of others. And as the thoughts are, so will the acts

be. Man cannot aspire if he look down; if he will rise, he must

look up. The very humblest may be sustained by the proper

indulgence of this feeling. Poverty itself may be lifted and

lighted up by self-respect; and it is truly a noble sight to see a

poor man hold himself upright amidst his temptations, and refuse to

demean himself by low actions.

One way in which self-culture may be degraded is by regarding it

too exclusively as a means of "getting on." Viewed in this light,

it is unquestionable that education is one of the best investments

of time and labour. In any line of life, intelligence will enable

a man to adapt himself more readily to circumstances, suggest

improved methods of working, and render him more apt, skilled and

effective in all respects. He who works with his head as well as

his hands, will come to look at his business with a clearer eye;

and he will become conscious of increasing power--perhaps the most

cheering consciousness the human mind can cherish. The power of

self-help will gradually grow; and in proportion to a man's self-

respect, will he be armed against the temptation of low

indulgences. Society and its action will be regarded with quite a

new interest, his sympathies will widen and enlarge, and he will

thus be attracted to work for others as well as for himself.

Self-culture may not, however, end in eminence, as in the numerous

instances above cited. The great majority of men, in all times,

however enlightened, must necessarily be engaged in the ordinary

avocations of industry; and no degree of culture which can be

conferred upon the community at large will ever enable them--even

were it desirable, which it is not--to get rid of the daily work of

society, which must be done. But this, we think, may also be

accomplished. We can elevate the condition of labour by allying it

to noble thoughts, which confer a grace upon the lowliest as well

as the highest rank. For no matter how poor or humble a man may

be, the great thinker of this and other days may come in and sit

down with him, and be his companion for the time, though his

dwelling be the meanest hut. It is thus that the habit of well-

directed reading may become a source of the greatest pleasure and

self-improvement, and exercise a gentle coercion, with the most

beneficial results, over the whole tenour of a man's character and

conduct. And even though self-culture may not bring wealth, it

will at all events give one the companionship of elevated thoughts.

A nobleman once contemptuously asked of a sage, "What have you got

by all your philosophy?" "At least I have got society in myself,"

was the wise man's reply.

But many are apt to feel despondent, and become discouraged in the

work of self-culture, because they do not "get on" in the world so

fast as they think they deserve to do. Having planted their acorn,

they expect to see it grow into an oak at once. They have perhaps

looked upon knowledge in the light of a marketable commodity, and

are consequently mortified because it does not sell as they

expected it would do. Mr. Tremenheere, in one of his 'Education

Reports' (for 1840-1), states that a schoolmaster in Norfolk,

finding his school rapidly falling off, made inquiry into the

cause, and ascertained that the reason given by the majority of the

parents for withdrawing their children was, that they had expected

"education was to make them better off than they were before," but

that having found it had "done them no good," they had taken their

children from school, and would give themselves no further trouble

about education!

The same low idea of self-culture is but too prevalent in other

classes, and is encouraged by the false views of life which are

always more or less current in society. But to regard self-culture

either as a means of getting past others in the world, or of

intellectual dissipation and amusement, rather than as a power to

elevate the character and expand the spiritual nature, is to place

it on a very low level. To use the words of Bacon, "Knowledge is

not a shop for profit or sale, but a rich storehouse for the glory

of the Creator and the relief of man's estate." It is doubtless

most honourable for a man to labour to elevate himself, and to

better his condition in society, but this is not to be done at the

sacrifice of himself. To make the mind the mere drudge of the

body, is putting it to a very servile use; and to go about whining

and bemoaning our pitiful lot because we fail in achieving that

success in life which, after all, depends rather upon habits of

industry and attention to business details than upon knowledge, is

the mark of a small, and often of a sour mind. Such a temper

cannot better be reproved than in the words of Robert Southey, who

thus wrote to a friend who sought his counsel: "I would give you

advice if it could be of use; but there is no curing those who

choose to be diseased. A good man and a wise man may at times be

angry with the world, at times grieved for it; but be sure no man

was ever discontented with the world if he did his duty in it. If

a man of education, who has health, eyes, hands, and leisure, wants

an object, it is only because God Almighty has bestowed all those

blessings upon a man who does not deserve them."

Another way in which education may be prostituted is by employing

it as a mere means of intellectual dissipation and amusement. Many

are the ministers to this taste in our time. There is almost a

mania for frivolity and excitement, which exhibits itself in many

forms in our popular literature. To meet the public taste, our

books and periodicals must now be highly spiced, amusing, and

comic, not disdaining slang, and illustrative of breaches of all

laws, human and divine. Douglas Jerrold once observed of this

tendency, "I am convinced the world will get tired (at least I hope

so) of this eternal guffaw about all things. After all, life has

something serious in it. It cannot be all a comic history of

humanity. Some men would, I believe, write a Comic Sermon on the

Mount. Think of a Comic History of England, the drollery of

Alfred, the fun of Sir Thomas More, the farce of his daughter

begging the dead head and clasping it in her coffin on her bosom.

Surely the world will be sick of this blasphemy." John Sterling,

in a like spirit, said:- "Periodicals and novels are to all in this

generation, but more especially to those whose minds are still

unformed and in the process of formation, a new and more effectual

substitute for the plagues of Egypt, vermin that corrupt the

wholesome waters and infest our chambers."

As a rest from toil and a relaxation from graver pursuits, the

perusal of a well-written story, by a writer of genius, is a high

intellectual pleasure; and it is a description of literature to

which all classes of readers, old and young, are attracted as by a

powerful instinct; nor would we have any of them debarred from its

enjoyment in a reasonable degree. But to make it the exclusive

literary diet, as some do,--to devour the garbage with which the

shelves of circulating libraries are filled,--and to occupy the

greater portion of the leisure hours in studying the preposterous

pictures of human life which so many of them present, is worse than

waste of time: it is positively pernicious. The habitual novel-

reader indulges in fictitious feelings so much, that there is great

risk of sound and healthy feeling becoming perverted or benumbed.

"I never go to hear a tragedy," said a gay man once to the

Archbishop of York, "it wears my heart out." The literary pity

evoked by fiction leads to no corresponding action; the

susceptibilities which it excites involve neither inconvenience nor

self-sacrifice; so that the heart that is touched too often by the

fiction may at length become insensible to the reality. The steel

is gradually rubbed out of the character, and it insensibly loses

its vital spring. "Drawing fine pictures of virtue in one's mind,"

said Bishop Butler, "is so far from necessarily or certainly

conducive to form a HABIT of it in him who thus employs himself,

that it may even harden the mind in a contrary course, and render

it gradually more insensible."

Amusement in moderation is wholesome, and to be commended; but

amusement in excess vitiates the whole nature, and is a thing to be

carefully guarded against. The maxim is often quoted of "All work

and no play makes Jack a dull boy;" but all play and no work makes

him something greatly worse. Nothing can be more hurtful to a

youth than to have his soul sodden with pleasure. The best

qualities of his mind are impaired; common enjoyments become

tasteless; his appetite for the higher kind of pleasures is

vitiated; and when he comes to face the work and the duties of

life, the result is usually aversion and disgust. "Fast" men waste

and exhaust the powers of life, and dry up the sources of true

happiness. Having forestalled their spring, they can produce no

healthy growth of either character or intellect. A child without

simplicity, a maiden without innocence, a boy without truthfulness,

are not more piteous sights than the man who has wasted and thrown

away his youth in self-indulgence. Mirabeau said of himself, "My

early years have already in a great measure disinherited the

succeeding ones, and dissipated a great part of my vital powers."

As the wrong done to another to-day returns upon ourselves to-

morrow, so the sins of our youth rise up in our age to scourge us.

When Lord Bacon says that "strength of nature in youth passeth over

many excesses which are owing a man until he is old," he exposes a

physical as well as a moral fact which cannot be too well weighed

in the conduct of life. "I assure you," wrote Giusti the Italian

to a friend, "I pay a heavy price for existence. It is true that

our lives are not at our own disposal. Nature pretends to give

them gratis at the beginning, and then sends in her account." The

worst of youthful indiscretions is, not that they destroy health,

so much as that they sully manhood. The dissipated youth becomes a

tainted man; and often he cannot be pure, even if he would. If

cure there be, it is only to be found in inoculating the mind with

a fervent spirit of duty, and in energetic application to useful

work.

One of the most gifted of Frenchmen, in point of great intellectual

endowments, was Benjamin Constant; but, blase at twenty, his life

was only a prolonged wail, instead of a harvest of the great deeds

which he was capable of accomplishing with ordinary diligence and

self-control. He resolved upon doing so many things, which he

never did, that people came to speak of him as Constant the

Inconstant. He was a fluent and brilliant writer, and cherished

the ambition of writing works, "which the world would not willingly

let die." But whilst Constant affected the highest thinking,

unhappily he practised the lowest living; nor did the

transcendentalism of his books atone for the meanness of his life.

He frequented the gaming-tables while engaged in preparing his work

upon religion, and carried on a disreputable intrigue while writing

his 'Adolphe.' With all his powers of intellect, he was powerless,

because he had no faith in virtue. "Bah!" said he, "what are

honour and dignity? The longer I live, the more clearly I see

there is nothing in them." It was the howl of a miserable man. He

described himself as but "ashes and dust." "I pass," said he,

"like a shadow over the earth, accompanied by misery and ennui."

He wished for Voltaire's energy, which he would rather have

possessed than his genius. But he had no strength of purpose--

nothing but wishes: his life, prematurely exhausted, had become

but a heap of broken links. He spoke of himself as a person with

one foot in the air. He admitted that he had no principles, and no

moral consistency. Hence, with his splendid talents, he contrived

to do nothing; and, after living many years miserable, he died worn

out and wretched.

The career of Augustin Thierry, the author of the 'History of the

Norman Conquest,' affords an admirable contrast to that of

Constant. His entire life presented a striking example of

perseverance, diligence, self culture, and untiring devotion to

knowledge. In the pursuit he lost his eyesight, lost his health,

but never lost his love of truth. When so feeble that he was

carried from room to room, like a helpless infant, in the arms of a

nurse, his brave spirit never failed him; and blind and helpless

though he was, he concluded his literary career in the following

noble words:- "If, as I think, the interest of science is counted

in the number of great national interests, I have given my country

all that the soldier, mutilated on the field of battle, gives her.

Whatever may be the fate of my labours, this example, I hope, will

not be lost. I would wish it to serve to combat the species of

moral weakness which is THE DISEASE of our present generation; to

bring back into the straight road of life some of those enervated

souls that complain of wanting faith, that know not what to do, and

seek everywhere, without finding it, an object of worship and

admiration. Why say, with so much bitterness, that in the world,

constituted as it is, there is no air for all lungs--no employment

for all minds? Is not calm and serious study there? and is not

that a refuge, a hope, a field within the reach of all of us? With

it, evil days are passed over without their weight being felt.

Every one can make his own destiny--every one employ his life

nobly. This is what I have done, and would do again if I had to

recommence my career; I would choose that which has brought me

where I am. Blind, and suffering without hope, and almost without

intermission, I may give this testimony, which from me will not

appear suspicious. There is something in the world better than

sensual enjoyments, better than fortune, better than health itself-

-it is devotion to knowledge."

Coleridge, in many respects, resembled Constant. He possessed

equally brilliant powers, but was similarly infirm of purpose.

With all his great intellectual gifts, he wanted the gift of

industry, and was averse to continuous labour. He wanted also the

sense of independence, and thought it no degradation to leave his

wife and children to be maintained by the brain-work of the noble

Southey, while he himself retired to Highgate Grove to discourse

transcendentalism to his disciples, looking down contemptuously

upon the honest work going forward beneath him amidst the din and

smoke of London. With remunerative employment at his command he

stooped to accept the charity of friends; and, notwithstanding his

lofty ideas of philosophy, he condescended to humiliations from

which many a day-labourer would have shrunk. How different in

spirit was Southey! labouring not merely at work of his own choice,

and at taskwork often tedious and distasteful, but also

unremittingly and with the utmost eagerness seeking and storing

knowledge purely for the love of it. Every day, every hour had its

allotted employment: engagements to publishers requiring punctual

fulfilment; the current expenses of a large household duty to

provide: for Southey had no crop growing while his pen was idle.

"My ways," he used to say, "are as broad as the king's high-road,

and my means lie in an inkstand."

Robert Nicoll wrote to a friend, after reading the 'Recollections

of Coleridge,' "What a mighty intellect was lost in that man for

want of a little energy--a little determination!" Nicoll himself

was a true and brave spirit, who died young, but not before he had

encountered and overcome great difficulties in life. At his

outset, while carrying on a small business as a bookseller, he

found himself weighed down with a debt of only twenty pounds, which

he said he felt "weighing like a millstone round his neck," and

that, "if he had it paid he never would borrow again from mortal

man." Writing to his mother at the time he said, "Fear not for me,

dear mother, for I feel myself daily growing firmer and more

hopeful in spirit. The more I think and reflect--and thinking, not

reading, is now my occupation--I feel that, whether I be growing

richer or not, I am growing a wiser man, which is far better.

Pain, poverty, and all the other wild beasts of life which so

affrighten others, I am so bold as to think I could look in the

face without shrinking, without losing respect for myself, faith in

man's high destinies, or trust in God. There is a point which it

costs much mental toil and struggling to gain, but which, when once

gained, a man can look down from, as a traveller from a lofty

mountain, on storms raging below, while he is walking in sunshine.

That I have yet gained this point in life I will not say, but I

feel myself daily nearer to it."

It is not ease, but effort--not facility, but difficulty, that

makes men. There is, perhaps, no station in life, in which

difficulties have not to be encountered and overcome before any

decided measure of success can be achieved. Those difficulties

are, however, our best instructors, as our mistakes often form our

best experience. Charles James Fox was accustomed to say that he

hoped more from a man who failed, and yet went on in spite of his

failure, than from the buoyant career of the successful. "It is

all very well," said he, "to tell me that a young man has

distinguished himself by a brilliant first speech. He may go on,

or he may be satisfied with his first triumph; but show me a young

man who has NOT succeeded at first, and nevertheless has gone on,

and I will back that young man to do better than most of those who

have succeeded at the first trial."

We learn wisdom from failure much more than from success. We often

discover what WILL do, by finding out what will not do; and

probably he who never made a mistake never made a discovery. It

was the failure in the attempt to make a sucking-pump act, when the

working bucket was more than thirty-three feet above the surface of

the water to be raised, that led observant men to study the law of

atmospheric pressure, and opened a new field of research to the

genius of Galileo, Torrecelli, and Boyle. John Hunter used to

remark that the art of surgery would not advance until professional

men had the courage to publish their failures as well as their

successes. Watt the engineer said, of all things most wanted in

mechanical engineering was a history of failures: "We want," he

said, "a book of blots." When Sir Humphry Davy was once shown a

dexterously manipulated experiment, he said--"I thank God I was not

made a dexterous manipulator, for the most important of my

discoveries have been suggested to me by failures." Another

distinguished investigator in physical science has left it on

record that, whenever in the course of his researches he

encountered an apparently insuperable obstacle, he generally found

himself on the brink of some discovery. The very greatest things--

great thoughts, discoveries, inventions--have usually been nurtured

in hardship, often pondered over in sorrow, and at length

established with difficulty.

Beethoven said of Rossini, that he had in him the stuff to have

made a good musician if he had only, when a boy, been well flogged;

but that he had been spoilt by the facility with which he produced.

Men who feel their strength within them need not fear to encounter

adverse opinions; they have far greater reason to fear undue praise

and too friendly criticism. When Mendelssohn was about to enter

the orchestra at Birmingham, on the first performance of his

'Elijah,' he said laughingly to one of his friends and critics,

"Stick your claws into me! Don't tell me what you like, but what

you don't like!"

It has been said, and truly, that it is the defeat that tries the

general more than the victory. Washington lost more battles than

he gained; but he succeeded in the end. The Romans, in their most

victorious campaigns, almost invariably began with defeats. Moreau

used to be compared by his companions to a drum, which nobody hears

of except it be beaten. Wellington's military genius was perfected

by encounter with difficulties of apparently the most overwhelming

character, but which only served to nerve his resolution, and bring

out more prominently his great qualities as a man and a general.

So the skilful mariner obtains his best experience amidst storms

and tempests, which train him to self-reliance, courage, and the

highest discipline; and we probably own to rough seas and wintry

nights the best training of our race of British seamen, who are,

certainly, not surpassed by any in the world.

Necessity may be a hard schoolmistress, but she is generally found

the best. Though the ordeal of adversity is one from which we

naturally shrink, yet, when it comes, we must bravely and manfully

encounter it. Burns says truly,

"Though losses and crosses

Be lessons right severe,

There's wit there, you'll get there,

You'll find no other where."

"Sweet indeed are the uses of adversity." They reveal to us our

powers, and call forth our energies. If there be real worth in the

character, like sweet herbs, it will give forth its finest

fragrance when pressed. "Crosses," says the old proverb, "are the

ladders that lead to heaven." "What is even poverty itself," asks

Richter, "that a man should murmur under it? It is but as the pain

of piercing a maiden's ear, and you hang precious jewels in the

wound." In the experience of life it is found that the wholesome

discipline of adversity in strong natures usually carries with it a

self-preserving influence. Many are found capable of bravely

bearing up under privations, and cheerfully encountering

obstructions, who are afterwards found unable to withstand the more

dangerous influences of prosperity. It is only a weak man whom the

wind deprives of his cloak: a man of average strength is more in

danger of losing it when assailed by the beams of a too genial sun.

Thus it often needs a higher discipline and a stronger character to

bear up under good fortune than under adverse. Some generous

natures kindle and warm with prosperity, but there are many on whom

wealth has no such influence. Base hearts it only hardens, making

those who were mean and servile, mean and proud. But while

prosperity is apt to harden the heart to pride, adversity in a man

of resolution will serve to ripen it into fortitude. To use the

words of Burke, "Difficulty is a severe instructor, set over us by

the supreme ordinance of a parental guardian and instructor, who

knows us better than we know ourselves, as He loves us better too.

He that wrestles with us strengthens our nerves, and sharpens our

skill: our antagonist is thus our helper." Without the necessity

of encountering difficulty, life might be easier, but men would be

worth less. For trials, wisely improved, train the character, and

teach self-help; thus hardship itself may often prove the

wholesomest discipline for us, though we recognise it not. When

the gallant young Hodson, unjustly removed from his Indian command,

felt himself sore pressed down by unmerited calumny and reproach,

he yet preserved the courage to say to a friend, "I strive to look

the worst boldly in the face, as I would an enemy in the field, and

to do my appointed work resolutely and to the best of my ability,

satisfied that there is a reason for all; and that even irksome

duties well done bring their own reward, and that, if not, still

they ARE duties."

The battle of life is, in most cases, fought up-hill; and to win it

without a struggle were perhaps to win it without honour. If there

were no difficulties there would be no success; if there were

nothing to struggle for, there would be nothing to be achieved.

Difficulties may intimidate the weak, but they act only as a

wholesome stimulus to men of resolution and valour. All experience

of life indeed serves to prove that the impediments thrown in the

way of human advancement may for the most part be overcome by

steady good conduct, honest zeal, activity, perseverance, and above

all by a determined resolution to surmount difficulties, and stand

up manfully against misfortune.

The school of Difficulty is the best school of moral discipline,

for nations as for individuals. Indeed, the history of difficulty

would be but a history of all the great and good things that have

yet been accomplished by men. It is hard to say how much northern

nations owe to their encounter with a comparatively rude and

changeable climate and an originally sterile soil, which is one of

the necessities of their condition,--involving a perennial struggle

with difficulties such as the natives of sunnier climes know

nothing of. And thus it may be, that though our finest products

are exotic, the skill and industry which have been necessary to

rear them, have issued in the production of a native growth of men

not surpassed on the globe.

Wherever there is difficulty, the individual man must come out for

better for worse. Encounter with it will train his strength, and

discipline his skill; heartening him for future effort, as the

racer, by being trained to run against the hill, at length courses

with facility. The road to success may be steep to climb, and it

puts to the proof the energies of him who would reach the summit.

But by experience a man soon learns that obstacles are to be

overcome by grappling with them,--that the nettle feels as soft as

silk when it is boldly grasped,--and that the most effective help

towards realizing the object proposed is the moral conviction that

we can and will accomplish it. Thus difficulties often fall away

of themselves before the determination to overcome them.

Much will be done if we do but try. Nobody knows what he can do

till he has tried; and few try their best till they have been

forced to do it. "IF I could do such and such a thing," sighs the

desponding youth. But nothing will be done if he only wishes. The

desire must ripen into purpose and effort; and one energetic

attempt is worth a thousand aspirations. It is these thorny "ifs"-

-the mutterings of impotence and despair--which so often hedge

round the field of possibility, and prevent anything being done or

even attempted. "A difficulty," said Lord Lyndhurst, "is a thing

to be overcome;" grapple with it at once; facility will come with

practice, and strength and fortitude with repeated effort. Thus

the mind and character may be trained to an almost perfect

discipline, and enabled to act with a grace, spirit, and liberty,

almost incomprehensible to those who have not passed through a

similar experience.

Everything that we learn is the mastery of a difficulty; and the

mastery of one helps to the mastery of others. Things which may at

first sight appear comparatively valueless in education--such as

the study of the dead languages, and the relations of lines and

surfaces which we call mathematics--are really of the greatest

practical value, not so much because of the information which they

yield, as because of the development which they compel. The

mastery of these studies evokes effort, and cultivates powers of

application, which otherwise might have lain dormant, Thus one

thing leads to another, and so the work goes on through life--

encounter with difficulty ending only when life and culture end.

But indulging in the feeling of discouragement never helped any one

over a difficulty, and never will. D'Alembert's advice to the

student who complained to him about his want of success in

mastering the first elements of mathematics was the right one--"Go

on, sir, and faith and strength will come to you."

The danseuse who turns a pirouette, the violinist who plays a

sonata, have acquired their dexterity by patient repetition and

after many failures. Carissimi, when praised for the ease and

grace of his melodies, exclaimed, "Ah! you little know with what

difficulty this ease has been acquired." Sir Joshua Reynolds, when

once asked how long it had taken him to paint a certain picture,

replied, "All my life." Henry Clay, the American orator, when

giving advice to young men, thus described to them the secret of

his success in the cultivation of his art: "I owe my success in

life," said he, "chiefly to one circumstance--that at the age of

twenty-seven I commenced, and continued for years, the process of

daily reading and speaking upon the contents of some historical or

scientific book. These off-hand efforts were made, sometimes in a

cornfield, at others in the forest, and not unfrequently in some

distant barn, with the horse and the ox for my auditors. It is to

this early practice of the art of all arts that I am indebted for

the primary and leading impulses that stimulated me onward and have

shaped and moulded my whole subsequent destiny."

Curran, the Irish orator, when a youth, had a strong defect in his

articulation, and at school he was known as "stuttering Jack

Curran." While he was engaged in the study of the law, and still

struggling to overcome his defect, he was stung into eloquence by

the sarcasms of a member of a debating club, who characterised him

as "Orator Mum;" for, like Cowper, when he stood up to speak on a

previous occasion, Curran had not been able to utter a word. The

taunt stung him and he replied in a triumphant speech. This

accidental discovery in himself of the gift of eloquence encouraged

him to proceed in his studies with renewed energy. He corrected

his enunciation by reading aloud, emphatically and distinctly, the

best passages in literature, for several hours every day, studying

his features before a mirror, and adopting a method of

gesticulation suited to his rather awkward and ungraceful figure.

He also proposed cases to himself, which he argued with as much

care as if he had been addressing a jury. Curran began business

with the qualification which Lord Eldon stated to be the first

requisite for distinction, that is, "to be not worth a shilling."

While working his way laboriously at the bar, still oppressed by

the diffidence which had overcome him in his debating club, he was

on one occasion provoked by the Judge (Robinson) into making a very

severe retort. In the case under discussion, Curran observed "that

he had never met the law as laid down by his lordship in any book

in his library." "That may be, sir," said the judge, in a

contemptuous tone, "but I suspect that YOUR library is very small."

His lordship was notoriously a furious political partisan, the

author of several anonymous pamphlets characterised by unusual

violence and dogmatism. Curran, roused by the allusion to his

straitened circumstances, replied thus; "It is very true, my lord,

that I am poor, and the circumstance has certainly curtailed my

library; my books are not numerous, but they are select, and I hope

they have been perused with proper dispositions. I have prepared

myself for this high profession by the study of a few good works,

rather than by the composition of a great many bad ones. I am not

ashamed of my poverty; but I should be ashamed of my wealth, could

I have stooped to acquire it by servility and corruption. If I

rise not to rank, I shall at least be honest; and should I ever

cease to be so, many an example shows me that an ill-gained

elevation, by making me the more conspicuous, would only make me

the more universally and the more notoriously contemptible."

The extremest poverty has been no obstacle in the way of men

devoted to the duty of self-culture. Professor Alexander Murray,

the linguist, learnt to write by scribbling his letters on an old

wool-card with the end of a burnt heather stem. The only book

which his father, who was a poor shepherd, possessed, was a penny

Shorter Catechism; but that, being thought too valuable for common

use, was carefully preserved in a cupboard for the Sunday

catechisings. Professor Moor, when a young man, being too poor to

purchase Newton's 'Principia,' borrowed the book, and copied the

whole of it with his own hand. Many poor students, while labouring

daily for their living, have only been able to snatch an atom of

knowledge here and there at intervals, as birds do their food in

winter time when the fields are covered with snow. They have

struggled on, and faith and hope have come to them. A well-known

author and publisher, William Chambers, of Edinburgh, speaking

before an assemblage of young men in that city, thus briefly

described to them his humble beginnings, for their encouragement:

"I stand before you," he said, "a self-educated man. My education

was that which is supplied at the humble parish schools of

Scotland; and it was only when I went to Edinburgh, a poor boy,

that I devoted my evenings, after the labours of the day, to the

cultivation of that intellect which the Almighty has given me.

From seven or eight in the morning till nine or ten at night was I

at my business as a bookseller's apprentice, and it was only during

hours after these, stolen from sleep, that I could devote myself to

study. I did not read novels: my attention was devoted to

physical science, and other useful matters. I also taught myself

French. I look back to those times with great pleasure, and am

almost sorry I have not to go through the same experience again;

for I reaped more pleasure when I had not a sixpence in my pocket,

studying in a garret in Edinburgh, then I now find when sitting

amidst all the elegancies and comforts of a parlour."

William Cobbett's account of how he learnt English Grammar is full

of interest and instruction for all students labouring under

difficulties. "I learned grammar," said he, "when I was a private

soldier on the pay of sixpence a day. The edge of my berth, or

that of my guard-bed, was my seat to study in; my knapsack was my

book-case; a bit of board lying on my lap was my writing-table; and

the task did not demand anything like a year of my life. I had no

money to purchase candle or oil; in winter time it was rarely that

I could get any evening light but that of the fire, and only my

turn even of that. And if I, under such circumstances, and without

parent or friend to advise or encourage me, accomplished this

undertaking, what excuse can there be for any youth, however poor,

however pressed with business, or however circumstanced as to room

or other conveniences? To buy a pen or a sheet of paper I was

compelled to forego some portion of food, though in a state of

half-starvation: I had no moment of time that I could call my own;

and I had to read and to write amidst the talking, laughing,

singing, whistling, and brawling of at least half a score of the

most thoughtless of men, and that, too, in the hours of their

freedom from all control. Think not lightly of the farthing that I

had to give, now and then, for ink, pen, or paper! That farthing

was, alas! a great sum to me! I was as tall as I am now; I had

great health and great exercise. The whole of the money, not

expended for us at market, was two-pence a week for each man. I

remember, and well I may! that on one occasion I, after all

necessary expenses, had, on a Friday, made shifts to have a

halfpenny in reserve, which I had destined for the purchase of a

redherring in the morning; but, when I pulled off my clothes at

night, so hungry then as to be hardly able to endure life, I found

that I had lost my halfpenny! I buried my head under the miserable

sheet and rug, and cried like a child! And again I say, if, I,

under circumstances like these, could encounter and overcome this

task, is there, can there be, in the whole world, a youth to find

an excuse for the non-performance?"

We have been informed of an equally striking instance of

perseverance and application in learning on the part of a French

political exile in London. His original occupation was that of a

stonemason, at which he found employment for some time; but work

becoming slack, he lost his place, and poverty stared him in the

face. In his dilemma he called upon a fellow exile profitably

engaged in teaching French, and consulted him what he ought to do

to earn a living. The answer was, "Become a professor!" "A

professor?" answered the mason--"I, who am only a workman, speaking

but a patois! Surely you are jesting?" "On the contrary, I am

quite serious," said the other, "and again I advise you--become a

professor; place yourself under me, and I will undertake to teach

you how to teach others." "No, no!" replied the mason, "it is

impossible; I am too old to learn; I am too little of a scholar; I

cannot be a professor." He went away, and again he tried to obtain

employment at his trade. From London he went into the provinces,

and travelled several hundred miles in vain; he could not find a

master. Returning to London, he went direct to his former adviser,

and said, "I have tried everywhere for work, and failed; I will now

try to be a professor!" He immediately placed himself under

instruction; and being a man of close application, of quick

apprehension, and vigorous intelligence, he speedily mastered the

elements of grammar, the rules of construction and composition, and

(what he had still in a great measure to learn) the correct

pronunciation of classical French. When his friend and instructor

thought him sufficiently competent to undertake the teaching of

others, an appointment, advertised as vacant, was applied for and

obtained; and behold our artisan at length become professor! It so

happened, that the seminary to which he was appointed was situated

in a suburb of London where he had formerly worked as a stonemason;

and every morning the first thing which met his eyes on looking out

of his dressing-room window was a stack of cottage chimneys which

he had himself built! He feared for a time lest he should be

recognised in the village as the quondam workman, and thus bring

discredit on his seminary, which was of high standing. But he need

have been under no such apprehension, as he proved a most efficient

teacher, and his pupils were on more than one occasion publicly

complimented for their knowledge of French. Meanwhile, he secured

the respect and friendship of all who knew him--fellow-professors

as well as pupils; and when the story of his struggles, his

difficulties, and his past history, became known to them, they

admired him more than ever.

Sir Samuel Romilly was not less indefatigable as a self-cultivator.

The son of a jeweller, descended from a French refugee, he received

little education in his early years, but overcame all his

disadvantages by unwearied application, and by efforts constantly

directed towards the same end. "I determined," he says, in his

autobiography, "when I was between fifteen and sixteen years of

age, to apply myself seriously to learning Latin, of which I, at

that time, knew little more than some of the most familiar rules of

grammar. In the course of three or four years, during which I thus

applied myself, I had read almost every prose writer of the age of

pure Latinity, except those who have treated merely of technical

subjects, such as Varro, Columella, and Celsus. I had gone three

times through the whole of Livy, Sallust, and Tacitus. I had

studied the most celebrated orations of Cicero, and translated a

great deal of Homer. Terence, Virgil, Horace, Ovid, and Juvenal, I

had read over and over again." He also studied geography, natural

history, and natural philosophy, and obtained a considerable

acquaintance with general knowledge. At sixteen he was articled to

a clerk in Chancery; worked hard; was admitted to the bar; and his

industry and perseverance ensured success. He became Solicitor-

General under the Fox administration in 1806, and steadily worked

his way to the highest celebrity in his profession. Yet he was

always haunted by a painful and almost oppressive sense of his own

disqualifications, and never ceased labouring to remedy them. His

autobiography is a lesson of instructive facts, worth volumes of

sentiment, and well deserves a careful perusal.

Sir Walter Scott was accustomed to cite the case of his young

friend John Leyden as one of the most remarkable illustrations of

the power of perseverance which he had ever known. The son of a

shepherd in one of the wildest valleys of Roxburghshire, he was

almost entirely self educated. Like many Scotch shepherds' sons--

like Hogg, who taught himself to write by copying the letters of a

printed book as he lay watching his flock on the hill-side--like

Cairns, who from tending sheep on the Lammermoors, raised himself

by dint of application and industry to the professor's chair which

he now so worthily holds--like Murray, Ferguson, and many more,

Leyden was early inspired by a thirst for knowledge. When a poor

barefooted boy, he walked six or eight miles across the moors daily

to learn reading at the little village schoolhouse of Kirkton; and

this was all the education he received; the rest he acquired for

himself. He found his way to Edinburgh to attend the college

there, setting the extremest penury at defiance. He was first

discovered as a frequenter of a small bookseller's shop kept by

Archibald Constable, afterwards so well known as a publisher. He

would pass hour after hour perched on a ladder in mid-air, with

some great folio in his hand, forgetful of the scanty meal of bread

and water which awaited him at his miserable lodging. Access to

books and lectures comprised all within the bounds of his wishes.

Thus he toiled and battled at the gates of science until his

unconquerable perseverance carried everything before it. Before he

had attained his nineteenth year he had astonished all the

professors in Edinburgh by his profound knowledge of Greek and

Latin, and the general mass of information he had acquired. Having

turned his views to India, he sought employment in the civil

service, but failed. He was however informed that a surgeon's

assistant's commission was open to him. But he was no surgeon, and

knew no more of the profession than a child. He could however

learn. Then he was told that he must be ready to pass in six

months! Nothing daunted, he set to work, to acquire in six months

what usually required three years. At the end of six months he

took his degree with honour. Scott and a few friends helped to fit

him out; and he sailed for India, after publishing his beautiful

poem 'The Scenes of Infancy.' In India he promised to become one

of the greatest of oriental scholars, but was unhappily cut off by

fever caught by exposure, and died at an early age.

The life of the late Dr. Lee, Professor of Hebrew at Cambridge,

furnishes one of the most remarkable instances in modern times of

the power of patient perseverance and resolute purpose in working

out an honourable career in literature. He received his education

at a charity school at Lognor, near Shrewsbury, but so little

distinguished himself there, that his master pronounced him one of

the dullest boys that ever passed through his hands. He was put

apprentice to a carpenter, and worked at that trade until he

arrived at manhood. To occupy his leisure hours he took to

reading; and, some of the books containing Latin quotations, he

became desirous of ascertaining what they meant. He bought a Latin

grammar, and proceeded to learn Latin. As Stone, the Duke of

Argyle's gardener, said, long before, "Does one need to know

anything more than the twenty-four letters in order to learn

everything else that one wishes?" Lee rose early and sat up late,

and he succeeded in mastering the Latin before his apprenticeship

was out. Whilst working one day in some place of worship, a copy

of a Greek Testament fell in his way, and he was immediately filled

with the desire to learn that language. He accordingly sold some

of his Latin books, and purchased a Greek Grammar and Lexicon.

Taking pleasure in learning, he soon mastered the language. Then

he sold his Greek books, and bought Hebrew ones, and learnt that

language, unassisted by any instructor, without any hope of fame or

reward, but simply following the bent of his genius. He next

proceeded to learn the Chaldee, Syriac, and Samaritan dialects.

But his studies began to tell upon his health, and brought on

disease in his eyes through his long night watchings with his

books. Having laid them aside for a time and recovered his health,

he went on with his daily work. His character as a tradesman being

excellent, his business improved, and his means enabled him to

marry, which he did when twenty-eight years old. He determined now

to devote himself to the maintenance of his family, and to renounce

the luxury of literature; accordingly he sold all his books. He

might have continued a working carpenter all his life, had not the

chest of tools upon which he depended for subsistence been

destroyed by fire, and destitution stared him in the face. He was

too poor to buy new tools, so he bethought him of teaching children

their letters,--a profession requiring the least possible capital.

But though he had mastered many languages, he was so defective in

the common branches of knowledge, that at first he could not teach

them. Resolute of purpose, however, he assiduously set to work,

and taught himself arithmetic and writing to such a degree as to be

able to impart the knowledge of these branches to little children.

His unaffected, simple, and beautiful character gradually attracted

friends, and the acquirements of the "learned carpenter" became

bruited abroad. Dr. Scott, a neighbouring clergyman, obtained for

him the appointment of master of a charity school in Shrewsbury,

and introduced him to a distinguished Oriental scholar. These

friends supplied him with books, and Lee successively mastered

Arabic, Persic, and Hindostanee. He continued to pursue his

studies while on duty as a private in the local militia of the

county; gradually acquiring greater proficiency in languages. At

length his kind patron, Dr. Scott, enabled Lee to enter Queen's

College, Cambridge; and after a course of study, in which he

distinguished himself by his mathematical acquirements, a vacancy

occurring in the professorship of Arabic and Hebrew, he was

worthily elected to fill the honourable office. Besides ably

performing his duties as a professor, he voluntarily gave much of

his time to the instruction of missionaries going forth to preach

the Gospel to eastern tribes in their own tongue. He also made

translations of the Bible into several Asiatic dialects; and having

mastered the New Zealand language, he arranged a grammar and

vocabulary for two New Zealand chiefs who were then in England,

which books are now in daily use in the New Zealand schools. Such,

in brief, is the remarkable history of Dr. Samuel Lee; and it is

but the counterpart of numerous similarly instructive examples of

the power of perseverance in self-culture, as displayed in the

lives of many of the most distinguished of our literary and

scientific men.

There are many other illustrious names which might be cited to

prove the truth of the common saying that "it is never too late to

learn." Even at advanced years men can do much, if they will

determine on making a beginning. Sir Henry Spelman did not begin

the study of science until he was between fifty and sixty years of

age. Franklin was fifty before he fully entered upon the study of

Natural Philosophy. Dryden and Scott were not known as authors

until each was in his fortieth year. Boccaccio was thirty-five

when he commenced his literary career, and Alfieri was forty-six

when he began the study of Greek. Dr. Arnold learnt German at an

advanced age, for the purpose of reading Niebuhr in the original;

and in like manner James Watt, when about forty, while working at

his trade of an instrument maker in Glasgow, learnt French, German,

and Italian, to enable himself to peruse the valuable works on

mechanical philosophy which existed in those languages. Thomas

Scott was fifty-six before he began to learn Hebrew. Robert Hall

was once found lying upon the floor, racked by pain, learning

Italian in his old age, to enable him to judge of the parallel

drawn by Macaulay between Milton and Dante. Handel was forty-eight

before he published any of his great works. Indeed hundreds of

instances might be given of men who struck out an entirely new

path, and successfully entered on new studies, at a comparatively

advanced time of life. None but the frivolous or the indolent will

say, "I am too old to learn." {31}

And here we would repeat what we have said before, that it is not

men of genius who move the world and take the lead in it, so much

as men of steadfastness, purpose, and indefatigable industry.

Notwithstanding the many undeniable instances of the precocity of

men of genius, it is nevertheless true that early cleverness gives

no indication of the height to which the grown man will reach.

Precocity is sometimes a symptom of disease rather than of

intellectual vigour. What becomes of all the "remarkably clever

children?" Where are the duxes and prize boys? Trace them through

life, and it will frequently be found that the dull boys, who were

beaten at school, have shot ahead of them. The clever boys are

rewarded, but the prizes which they gain by their greater quickness

and facility do not always prove of use to them. What ought rather

to be rewarded is the endeavour, the struggle, and the obedience;

for it is the youth who does his best, though endowed with an

inferiority of natural powers, that ought above all others to be

encouraged.

An interesting chapter might be written on the subject of

illustrious dunces--dull boys, but brilliant men. We have room,

however, for only a few instances. Pietro di Cortona, the painter,

was thought so stupid that he was nicknamed "Ass's Head" when a

boy; and Tomaso Guidi was generally known as "Heavy Tom" (Massaccio

Tomasaccio), though by diligence he afterwards raised himself to

the highest eminence. Newton, when at school, stood at the bottom

of the lowest form but one. The boy above Newton having kicked

him, the dunce showed his pluck by challenging him to a fight, and

beat him. Then he set to work with a will, and determined also to

vanquish his antagonist as a scholar, which he did, rising to the

top of his class. Many of our greatest divines have been anything

but precocious. Isaac Barrow, when a boy at the Charterhouse

School, was notorious chiefly for his strong temper, pugnacious

habits, and proverbial idleness as a scholar; and he caused such

grief to his parents that his father used to say that, if it

pleased God to take from him any of his children, he hoped it might

be Isaac, the least promising of them all. Adam Clarke, when a

boy, was proclaimed by his father to be "a grievous dunce;" though

he could roll large stones about. Dean Swift was "plucked" at

Dublin University, and only obtained his recommendation to Oxford

"speciali gratia." The well-known Dr. Chalmers and Dr. Cook {32}

were boys together at the parish school of St. Andrew's; and they

were found so stupid and mischievous, that the master, irritated

beyond measure, dismissed them both as incorrigible dunces.

The brilliant Sheridan showed so little capacity as a boy, that he

was presented to a tutor by his mother with the complimentary

accompaniment that he was an incorrigible dunce. Walter Scott was

all but a dunce when a boy, always much readier for a "bicker,"

than apt at his lessons. At the Edinburgh University, Professor

Dalzell pronounced upon him the sentence that "Dunce he was, and

dunce he would remain." Chatterton was returned on his mother's

hands as "a fool, of whom nothing could be made." Burns was a dull

boy, good only at athletic exercises. Goldsmith spoke of himself,

as a plant that flowered late. Alfieri left college no wiser than

he entered it, and did not begin the studies by which he

distinguished himself, until he had run half over Europe. Robert

Clive was a dunce, if not a reprobate, when a youth; but always

full of energy, even in badness. His family, glad to get rid of

him, shipped him off to Madras; and he lived to lay the foundations

of the British power in India. Napoleon and Wellington were both

dull boys, not distinguishing themselves in any way at school. {33}

Of the former the Duchess d'Abrantes says, "he had good health, but

was in other respects like other boys."

Ulysses Grant, the Commander-in-Chief of the United States, was

called "Useless Grant" by his mother--he was so dull and unhandy

when a boy; and Stonewall Jackson, Lee's greatest lieutenant, was,

in his youth, chiefly noted for his slowness. While a pupil at

West Point Military Academy he was, however, equally remarkable for

his indefatigable application and perseverance. When a task was

set him, he never left it until he had mastered it; nor did he ever

feign to possess knowledge which he had not entirely acquired.

"Again and again," wrote one who knew him, "when called upon to

answer questions in the recitation of the day, he would reply, 'I

have not yet looked at it; I have been engaged in mastering the

recitation of yesterday or the day before.' The result was that he

graduated seventeenth in a class of seventy. There was probably in

the whole class not a boy to whom Jackson at the outset was not

inferior in knowledge and attainments; but at the end of the race

he had only sixteen before him, and had outstripped no fewer than

fifty-three. It used to be said of him by his contemporaries, that

if the course had been for ten years instead of four, Jackson would

have graduated at the head of his class." {34}

John Howard, the philanthropist, was another illustrious dunce,

learning next to nothing during the seven years that he was at

school. Stephenson, as a youth, was distinguished chiefly for his

skill at putting and wrestling, and attention to his work. The

brilliant Sir Humphry Davy was no cleverer than other boys: his

teacher, Dr. Cardew, once said of him, "While he was with me I

could not discern the faculties by which he was so much

distinguished." Indeed, Davy himself in after life considered it

fortunate that he had been left to "enjoy so much idleness" at

school. Watt was a dull scholar, notwithstanding the stories told

about his precocity; but he was, what was better, patient and

perseverant, and it was by such qualities, and by his carefully

cultivated inventiveness, that he was enabled to perfect his steam-

engine.

What Dr. Arnold said of boys is equally true of men--that the

difference between one boy and another consists not so much in

talent as in energy. Given perseverance and energy soon becomes

habitual. Provided the dunce has persistency and application he

will inevitably head the cleverer fellow without those qualities.

Slow but sure wins the race. It is perseverance that explains how

the position of boys at school is so often reversed in real life;

and it is curious to note how some who were then so clever have

since become so commonplace; whilst others, dull boys, of whom

nothing was expected, slow in their faculties but sure in their

pace, have assumed the position of leaders of men. The author of

this book, when a boy, stood in the same class with one of the

greatest of dunces. One teacher after another had tried his skill

upon him and failed. Corporal punishment, the fool's cap, coaxing,

and earnest entreaty, proved alike fruitless. Sometimes the

experiment was tried of putting him at the top of his class, and it

was curious to note the rapidity with which he gravitated to the

inevitable bottom. The youth was given up by his teachers as an

incorrigible dunce--one of them pronouncing him to be a "stupendous

booby." Yet, slow though he was, this dunce had a sort of dull

energy of purpose in him, which grew with his muscles and his

manhood; and, strange to say, when he at length came to take part

in the practical business of life, he was found heading most of his

school companions, and eventually left the greater number of them

far behind. The last time the author heard of him, he was chief

magistrate of his native town.

The tortoise in the right road will beat a racer in the wrong. It

matters not though a youth be slow, if he be but diligent.

Quickness of parts may even prove a defect, inasmuch as the boy who

learns readily will often forget as readily; and also because he

finds no need of cultivating that quality of application and

perseverance which the slower youth is compelled to exercise, and

which proves so valuable an element in the formation of every

character. Davy said "What I am I have made myself;" and the same

holds true universally.

To conclude: the best culture is not obtained from teachers when

at school or college, so much as by our own diligent self-education

when we have become men. Hence parents need not be in too great

haste to see their children's talents forced into bloom. Let them

watch and wait patiently, letting good example and quiet training

do their work, and leave the rest to Providence. Let them see to

it that the youth is provided, by free exercise of his bodily

powers, with a full stock of physical health; set him fairly on the

road of self-culture; carefully train his habits of application and

perseverance; and as he grows older, if the right stuff be in him,

he will be enabled vigorously and effectively to cultivate himself.

CHAPTER XII--EXAMPLE--MODELS

"Ever their phantoms rise before us,

Our loftier brothers, but one in blood;

By bed and table they lord it o'er us,

With looks of beauty and words of good."--John Sterling.

"Children may be strangled, but Deeds never; they have an

indestructible life, both in and out of our consciousness."--George

Eliot.

"There is no action of man in this life, which is not the beginning

of so long a chain of consequences, as that no human providence is

high enough to give us a prospect to the end."--Thomas of

Malmesbury.

Example is one of the most potent of instructors, though it teaches

without a tongue. It is the practical school of mankind, working

by action, which is always more forcible than words. Precept may

point to us the way, but it is silent continuous example, conveyed

to us by habits, and living with us in fact, that carries us along.

Good advice has its weight: but without the accompaniment of a

good example it is of comparatively small influence; and it will be

found that the common saying of "Do as I say, not as I do," is

usually reversed in the actual experience of life.

All persons are more or less apt to learn through the eye rather

than the ear; and, whatever is seen in fact, makes a far deeper

impression than anything that is merely read or heard. This is

especially the case in early youth, when the eye is the chief inlet

of knowledge. Whatever children see they unconsciously imitate.

They insensibly come to resemble those who are about them--as

insects take the colour of the leaves they feed on. Hence the vast

importance of domestic training. For whatever may be the

efficiency of schools, the examples set in our Homes must always be

of vastly greater influence in forming the characters of our future

men and women. The Home is the crystal of society--the nucleus of

national character; and from that source, be it pure or tainted,

issue the habits, principles and maxims, which govern public as

well as private life. The nation comes from the nursery. Public

opinion itself is for the most part the outgrowth of the home; and

the best philanthropy comes from the fireside. "To love the little

platoon we belong to in society," says Burke, "is the germ of all

public affections." From this little central spot, the human

sympathies may extend in an ever widening circle, until the world

is embraced; for, though true philanthropy, like charity, begins at

home, assuredly it does not end there.

Example in conduct, therefore, even in apparently trivial matters,

is of no light moment, inasmuch as it is constantly becoming

inwoven with the lives of others, and contributing to form their

natures for better or for worse. The characters of parents are

thus constantly repeated in their children; and the acts of

affection, discipline, industry, and self-control, which they daily

exemplify, live and act when all else which may have been learned

through the ear has long been forgotten. Hence a wise man was

accustomed to speak of his children as his "future state." Even

the mute action and unconscious look of a parent may give a stamp

to the character which is never effaced; and who can tell how much

evil act has been stayed by the thought of some good parent, whose

memory their children may not sully by the commission of an

unworthy deed, or the indulgence of an impure thought? The veriest

trifles thus become of importance in influencing the characters of

men. "A kiss from my mother," said West, "made me a painter." It

is on the direction of such seeming trifles when children that the

future happiness and success of men mainly depend. Fowell Buxton,

when occupying an eminent and influential station in life, wrote to

his mother, "I constantly feel, especially in action and exertion

for others, the effects of principles early implanted by you in my

mind." Buxton was also accustomed to remember with gratitude the

obligations which he owed to an illiterate man, a gamekeeper, named

Abraham Plastow, with whom he played, and rode, and sported--a man

who could neither read nor write, but was full of natural good

sense and mother-wit. "What made him particularly valuable," says

Buxton, "were his principles of integrity and honour. He never

said or did a thing in the absence of my mother of which she would

have disapproved. He always held up the highest standard of

integrity, and filled our youthful minds with sentiments as pure

and as generous as could be found in the writings of Seneca or

Cicero. Such was my first instructor, and, I must add, my best."

Lord Langdale, looking back upon the admirable example set him by

his mother, declared, "If the whole world were put into one scale,

and my mother into the other, the world would kick the beam." Mrs.

Schimmel Penninck, in her old age, was accustomed to call to mind

the personal influence exercised by her mother upon the society

amidst which she moved. When she entered a room it had the effect

of immediately raising the tone of the conversation, and as if

purifying the moral atmosphere--all seeming to breathe more freely,

and stand more erectly. "In her presence," says the daughter, "I

became for the time transformed into another person." So much does

she moral health depend upon the moral atmosphere that is breathed,

and so great is the influence daily exercised by parents over their

children by living a life before their eyes, that perhaps the best

system of parental instruction might be summed up in these two

words: "Improve thyself."

There is something solemn and awful in the thought that there is

not an act done or a word uttered by a human being but carries with

it a train of consequences, the end of which we may never trace.

Not one but, to a certain extent, gives a colour to our life, and

insensibly influences the lives of those about us. The good deed

or word will live, even though we may not see it fructify, but so

will the bad; and no person is so insignificant as to be sure that

his example will not do good on the one hand, or evil on the other.

The spirits of men do not die: they still live and walk abroad

among us. It was a fine and a true thought uttered by Mr. Disraeli

in the House of Commons on the death of Richard Cobden, that "he

was one of those men who, though not present, were still members of

that House, who were independent of dissolutions, of the caprices

of constituencies, and even of the course of time."

There is, indeed, an essence of immortality in the life of man,

even in this world. No individual in the universe stands alone; he

is a component part of a system of mutual dependencies; and by his

several acts he either increases or diminishes the sum of human

good now and for ever. As the present is rooted in the past, and

the lives and examples of our forefathers still to a great extent

influence us, so are we by our daily acts contributing to form the

condition and character of the future. Man is a fruit formed and

ripened by the culture of all the foregoing centuries; and the

living generation continues the magnetic current of action and

example destined to bind the remotest past with the most distant

future. No man's acts die utterly; and though his body may resolve

into dust and air, his good or his bad deeds will still be bringing

forth fruit after their kind, and influencing future generations

for all time to come. It is in this momentous and solemn fact that

the great peril and responsibility of human existence lies.

Mr. Babbage has so powerfully expressed this idea in a noble

passage in one of his writings that we here venture to quote his

words: "Every atom," he says, "impressed with good or ill, retains

at once the motions which philosophers and sages have imparted to

it, mixed and combined in ten thousand ways with all that is

worthless and base; the air itself is one vast library, on whose

pages are written FOR EVER all that man has ever said or whispered.

There, in their immutable but unerring characters, mixed with the

earliest as well as the latest sighs of mortality, stand for ever

recorded vows unredeemed, promises unfulfilled; perpetuating, in

the united movements of each particle, the testimony of man's

changeful will. But, if the air we breathe is the never-failing

historian of the sentiments we have uttered, earth, air, and ocean,

are, in like manner, the eternal witnesses of the acts we have

done; the same principle of the equality of action and reaction

applies to them. No motion impressed by natural causes, or by

human agency, is ever obliterated. . . . If the Almighty stamped on

the brow of the first murderer the indelible and visible mark of

his guilt, He has also established laws by which every succeeding

criminal is not less irrevocably chained to the testimony of his

crime; for every atom of his mortal frame, through whatever changes

its severed particles may migrate, will still retain adhering to

it, through every combination, some movement derived from that very

muscular effort by which the crime itself was perpetrated."

Thus, every act we do or word we utter, as well as every act we

witness or word we hear, carries with it an influence which extends

over, and gives a colour, not only to the whole of our future life,

but makes itself felt upon the whole frame of society. We may not,

and indeed cannot, possibly, trace the influence working itself

into action in its various ramifications amongst our children, our

friends, or associates; yet there it is assuredly, working on for

ever. And herein lies the great significance of setting forth a

good example,--a silent teaching which even the poorest and least

significant person can practise in his daily life. There is no one

so humble, but that he owes to others this simple but priceless

instruction. Even the meanest condition may thus be made useful;

for the light set in a low place shines as faithfully as that set

upon a hill. Everywhere, and under almost all circumstances,

however externally adverse--in moorland shielings, in cottage

hamlets, in the close alleys of great towns--the true man may grow.

He who tills a space of earth scarce bigger than is needed for his

grave, may work as faithfully, and to as good purpose, as the heir

to thousands. The commonest workshop may thus be a school of

industry, science, and good morals, on the one hand; or of

idleness, folly, and depravity, on the other. It all depends on

the individual men, and the use they make of the opportunities for

good which offer themselves.

A life well spent, a character uprightly sustained, is no slight

legacy to leave to one's children, and to the world; for it is the

most eloquent lesson of virtue and the severest reproof of vice,

while it continues an enduring source of the best kind of riches.

Well for those who can say, as Pope did, in rejoinder to the

sarcasm of Lord Hervey, "I think it enough that my parents, such as

they were, never cost me a blush, and that their son, such as he

is, never cost them a tear."

It is not enough to tell others what they are to do, but to exhibit

the actual example of doing. What Mrs. Chisholm described to Mrs.

Stowe as the secret of her success, applies to all life. "I

found," she said, "that if we want anything DONE, we must go to

work and DO: it is of no use merely to talk--none whatever." It

is poor eloquence that only shows how a person can talk. Had Mrs.

Chisholm rested satisfied with lecturing, her project, she was

persuaded, would never have got beyond the region of talk; but when

people saw what she was doing and had actually accomplished, they

fell in with her views and came forward to help her. Hence the

most beneficent worker is not he who says the most eloquent things,

or even who thinks the most loftily, but he who does the most

eloquent acts.

True-hearted persons, even in the humblest station in life, who are

energetic doers, may thus give an impulse to good works out of all

proportion, apparently, to their actual station in society. Thomas

Wright might have talked about the reclamation of criminals, and

John Pounds about the necessity for Ragged Schools, and yet done

nothing; instead of which they simply set to work without any other

idea in their minds than that of doing, not talking. And how the

example of even the poorest man may tell upon society, hear what

Dr. Guthrie, the apostle of the Ragged School movement, says of the

influence which the example of John Pounds, the humble Portsmouth

cobbler, exercised upon his own working career:-

"The interest I have been led to take in this cause is an example

of how, in Providence, a man's destiny--his course of life, like

that of a river--may be determined and affected by very trivial

circumstances. It is rather curious--at least it is interesting to

me to remember--that it was by a picture I was first led to take an

interest in ragged schools--by a picture in an old, obscure,

decaying burgh that stands on the shores of the Frith of Forth, the

birthplace of Thomas Chalmers. I went to see this place many years

ago; and, going into an inn for refreshment, I found the room

covered with pictures of shepherdesses with their crooks, and

sailors in holiday attire, not particularly interesting. But above

the chimney-piece there was a large print, more respectable than

its neighbours, which represented a cobbler's room. The cobbler

was there himself, spectacles on nose, an old shoe between his

knees--the massive forehead and firm mouth indicating great

determination of character, and, beneath his bushy eyebrows,

benevolence gleamed out on a number of poor ragged boys and girls

who stood at their lessons round the busy cobbler. My curiosity

was awakened; and in the inscription I read how this man, John

Pounds, a cobbler in Portsmouth, taking pity on the multitude of

poor ragged children left by ministers and magistrates, and ladies

and gentlemen, to go to ruin on the streets--how, like a good

shepherd, he gathered in these wretched outcasts--how he had

trained them to God and to the world--and how, while earning his

daily bread by the sweat of his brow, he had rescued from misery

and saved to society not less than five hundred of these children.

I felt ashamed of myself. I felt reproved for the little I had

done. My feelings were touched. I was astonished at this man's

achievements; and I well remember, in the enthusiasm of the moment,

saying to my companion (and I have seen in my cooler and calmer

moments no reason for unsaying the saying)--'That man is an honour

to humanity, and deserves the tallest monument ever raised within

the shores of Britain.' I took up that man's history, and I found

it animated by the spirit of Him who 'had compassion on the

multitude.' John Pounds was a clever man besides; and, like Paul,

if he could not win a poor boy any other way, he won him by art.

He would be seen chasing a ragged boy along the quays, and

compelling him to come to school, not by the power of a policeman,

but by the power of a hot potato. He knew the love an Irishman had

for a potato; and John Pounds might be seen running holding under

the boy's nose a potato, like an Irishman, very hot, and with a

coat as ragged as himself. When the day comes when honour will be

done to whom honour is due, I can fancy the crowd of those whose

fame poets have sung, and to whose memory monuments have been

raised, dividing like the wave, and, passing the great, and the

noble, and the mighty of the land, this poor, obscure old man

stepping forward and receiving the especial notice of Him who said

'Inasmuch as ye did it to one of the least of these, ye did it also

to Me.'"

The education of character is very much a question of models; we

mould ourselves so unconsciously after the characters, manners,

habits, and opinions of those who are about us. Good rules may do

much, but good models far more; for in the latter we have

instruction in action--wisdom at work. Good admonition and bad

example only build with one hand to pull down with the other.

Hence the vast importance of exercising great care in the selection

of companions, especially in youth. There is a magnetic affinity

in young persons which insensibly tends to assimilate them to each

other's likeness. Mr. Edgeworth was so strongly convinced that

from sympathy they involuntarily imitated or caught the tone of the

company they frequented, that he held it to be of the most

essential importance that they should be taught to select the very

best models. "No company, or good company," was his motto. Lord

Collingwood, writing to a young friend, said, "Hold it as a maxim

that you had better be alone than in mean company. Let your

companions be such as yourself, or superior; for the worth of a man

will always be ruled by that of his company." It was a remark of

the famous Dr. Sydenham that everybody some time or other would be

the better or the worse for having but spoken to a good or a bad

man. As Sir Peter Lely made it a rule never to look at a bad

picture if he could help it, believing that whenever he did so his

pencil caught a taint from it, so, whoever chooses to gaze often

upon a debased specimen of humanity and to frequent his society,

cannot help gradually assimilating himself to that sort of model.

It is therefore advisable for young men to seek the fellowship of

the good, and always to aim at a higher standard than themselves.

Francis Horner, speaking of the advantages to himself of direct

personal intercourse with high-minded, intelligent men, said, "I

cannot hesitate to decide that I have derived more intellectual

improvement from them than from all the books I have turned over."

Lord Shelburne (afterwards Marquis of Lansdowne), when a young man,

paid a visit to the venerable Malesherbes, and was so much

impressed by it, that he said,--"I have travelled much, but I have

never been so influenced by personal contact with any man; and if I

ever accomplish any good in the course of my life, I am certain

that the recollection of M. de Malesherbes will animate my soul."

So Fowell Buxton was always ready to acknowledge the powerful

influence exercised upon the formation of his character in early

life by the example of the Gurney family: "It has given a colour

to my life," he used to say. Speaking of his success at the Dublin

University, he confessed, "I can ascribe it to nothing but my

Earlham visits." It was from the Gurneys he "caught the infection"

of self-improvement.

Contact with the good never fails to impart good, and we carry away

with us some of the blessing, as travellers' garments retain the

odour of the flowers and shrubs through which they have passed.

Those who knew the late John Sterling intimately, have spoken of

the beneficial influence which he exercised on all with whom he

came into personal contact. Many owed to him their first awakening

to a higher being; from him they learnt what they were, and what

they ought to be. Mr. Trench says of him:- "It was impossible to

come in contact with his noble nature without feeling one's self in

some measure ENNOBLED and LIFTED UP, as I ever felt when I left

him, into a higher region of objects and aims than that in which

one is tempted habitually to dwell." It is thus that the noble

character always acts; we become insensibly elevated by him, and

cannot help feeling as he does and acquiring the habit of looking

at things in the same light. Such is the magical action and

reaction of minds upon each other.

Artists, also, feel themselves elevated by contact with artists

greater than themselves. Thus Haydn's genius was first fired by

Handel. Hearing him play, Haydn's ardour for musical composition

was at once excited, and but for this circumstance, he himself

believed that he would never have written the 'Creation.' Speaking

of Handel, he said, "When he chooses, he strikes like the

thunderbolt;" and at another time, "There is not a note of him but

draws blood." Scarlatti was another of Handel's ardent admirers,

following him all over Italy; afterwards, when speaking of the

great master, he would cross himself in token of admiration. True

artists never fail generously to recognise each other's greatness.

Thus Beethoven's admiration for Cherubini was regal: and he

ardently hailed the genius of Schubert: "Truly," said he, "in

Schubert dwells a divine fire." When Northcote was a mere youth he

had such an admiration for Reynolds that, when the great painter

was once attending a public meeting down in Devonshire, the boy

pushed through the crowd, and got so near Reynolds as to touch the

skirt of his coat, "which I did," says Northcote, "with great

satisfaction to my mind,"--a true touch of youthful enthusiasm in

its admiration of genius.

The example of the brave is an inspiration to the timid, their

presence thrilling through every fibre. Hence the miracles of

valour so often performed by ordinary men under the leadership of

the heroic. The very recollection of the deeds of the valiant

stirs men's blood like the sound of a trumpet. Ziska bequeathed

his skin to be used as a drum to inspire the valour of the

Bohemians. When Scanderbeg, prince of Epirus, was dead, the Turks

wished to possess his bones, that each might wear a piece next his

heart, hoping thus to secure some portion of the courage he had

displayed while living, and which they had so often experienced in

battle. When the gallant Douglas, bearing the heart of Bruce to

the Holy Land, saw one of his knights surrounded and sorely pressed

by the Saracens, he took from his neck the silver case containing

the hero's bequest, and throwing it amidst the thickest press of

his foes, cried, "Pass first in fight, as thou wert wont to do, and

Douglas will follow thee, or die;" and so saying, he rushed forward

to the place where it fell, and was there slain.

The chief use of biography consists in the noble models of

character in which it abounds. Our great forefathers still live

among us in the records of their lives, as well as in the acts they

have done, which live also; still sit by us at table, and hold us

by the hand; furnishing examples for our benefit, which we may

still study, admire and imitate. Indeed, whoever has left behind

him the record of a noble life, has bequeathed to posterity an

enduring source of good, for it serves as a model for others to

form themselves by in all time to come; still breathing fresh life

into men, helping them to reproduce his life anew, and to

illustrate his character in other forms. Hence a book containing

the life of a true man is full of precious seed. It is a still

living voice; it is an intellect. To use Milton's words, "it is

the precious life-blood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured

up on purpose to a life beyond life." Such a book never ceases to

exercise an elevating and ennobling influence. But, above all,

there is the Book containing the very highest Example set before us

to shape our lives by in this world--the most suitable for all the

necessities of our mind and heart--an example which we can only

follow afar off and feel after,

"Like plants or vines which never saw the sun,

But dream of him and guess where he may be,

And do their best to climb and get to him."

Again, no young man can rise from the perusal of such lives as

those of Buxton and Arnold, without feeling his mind and heart made

better, and his best resolves invigorated. Such biographies

increase a man's self-reliance by demonstrating what men can be,

and what they can do; fortifying his hopes and elevating his aims

in life. Sometimes a young man discovers himself in a biography,

as Correggio felt within him the risings of genius on contemplating

the works of Michael Angelo: "And I too, am a painter," he

exclaimed. Sir Samuel Romilly, in his autobiography, confessed

himself to have been powerfully influenced by the life of the great

and noble-minded French Chancellor Daguesseau:- "The works of

Thomas," says he, "had fallen into my hands, and I had read with

admiration his 'Eloge of Daguesseau;' and the career of honour

which he represented that illustrious magistrate to have run,

excited to a great degree my ardour and ambition, and opened to my

imagination new paths of glory."

Franklin was accustomed to attribute his usefulness and eminence to

his having early read Cotton Mather's 'Essays to do Good'--a book

which grew out of Mather's own life. And see how good example

draws other men after it, and propagates itself through future

generations in all lands. For Samuel Drew avers that he framed his

own life, and especially his business habits, after the model left

on record by Benjamin Franklin. Thus it is impossible to say where

a good example may not reach, or where it will end, if indeed it

have an end. Hence the advantage, in literature as in life, of

keeping the best society, reading the best books, and wisely

admiring and imitating the best things we find in them. "In

literature," said Lord Dudley, "I am fond of confining myself to

the best company, which consists chiefly of my old acquaintance,

with whom I am desirous of becoming more intimate; and I suspect

that nine times out of ten it is more profitable, if not more

agreeable, to read an old book over again, than to read a new one

for the first time."

Sometimes a book containing a noble exemplar of life, taken up at

random, merely with the object of reading it as a pastime, has been

known to call forth energies whose existence had not before been

suspected. Alfieri was first drawn with passion to literature by

reading 'Plutarch's Lives.' Loyola, when a soldier serving at the

siege of Pampeluna, and laid up by a dangerous wound in his leg,

asked for a book to divert his thoughts: the 'Lives of the Saints'

was brought to him, and its perusal so inflamed his mind, that he

determined thenceforth to devote himself to the founding of a

religious order. Luther, in like manner, was inspired to undertake

the great labours of his life by a perusal of the 'Life and

Writings of John Huss.' Dr. Wolff was stimulated to enter upon his

missionary career by reading the 'Life of Francis Xavier;' and the

book fired his youthful bosom with a passion the most sincere and

ardent to devote himself to the enterprise of his life. William

Carey, also, got the first idea of entering upon his sublime

labours as a missionary from a perusal of the Voyages of Captain

Cook.

Francis Horner was accustomed to note in his diary and letters the

books by which he was most improved and influenced. Amongst these

were Condorcet's 'Eloge of Haller,' Sir Joshua Reynolds'

'Discourses,' the writings of Bacon, and 'Burnet's Account of Sir

Matthew Hale.' The perusal of the last-mentioned book--the

portrait of a prodigy of labour--Horner says, filled him with

enthusiasm. Of Condorcet's 'Eloge of Haller,' he said: "I never

rise from the account of such men without a sort of thrilling

palpitation about me, which I know not whether I should call

admiration, ambition, or despair." And speaking of the

'Discourses' of Sir Joshua Reynolds, he said: "Next to the

writings of Bacon, there is no book which has more powerfully

impelled me to self-culture. He is one of the first men of genius

who has condescended to inform the world of the steps by which

greatness is attained. The confidence with which he asserts the

omnipotence of human labour has the effect of familiarising his

reader with the idea that genius is an acquisition rather than a

gift; whilst with all there is blended so naturally and eloquently

the most elevated and passionate admiration of excellence, that

upon the whole there is no book of a more INFLAMMATORY effect." It

is remarkable that Reynolds himself attributed his first passionate

impulse towards the study of art, to reading Richardson's account

of a great painter; and Haydon was in like manner afterwards

inflamed to follow the same pursuit by reading of the career of

Reynolds. Thus the brave and aspiring life of one man lights a

flame in the minds of others of like faculties and impulse; and

where there is equally vigorous efforts like distinction and

success will almost surely follow. Thus the chain of example is

carried down through time in an endless succession of links,--

admiration exciting imitation, and perpetuating the true

aristocracy of genius.

One of the most valuable, and one of the most infectious examples

which can be set before the young, is that of cheerful working.

Cheerfulness gives elasticity to the spirit. Spectres fly before

it; difficulties cause no despair, for they are encountered with

hope, and the mind acquires that happy disposition to improve

opportunities which rarely fails of success. The fervent spirit is

always a healthy and happy spirit; working cheerfully itself, and

stimulating others to work. It confers a dignity on even the most

ordinary occupations. The most effective work, also, is usually

the full-hearted work--that which passes through the hands or the

head of him whose heart is glad. Hume was accustomed to say that

he would rather possess a cheerful disposition--inclined always to

look at the bright side of things--than with a gloomy mind to be

the master of an estate of ten thousand a year. Granville Sharp,

amidst his indefatigable labours on behalf of the slave, solaced

himself in the evenings by taking part in glees and instrumental

concerts at his brother's house, singing, or playing on the flute,

the clarionet or the oboe; and, at the Sunday evening oratorios,

when Handel was played, he beat the kettle-drums. He also

indulged, though sparingly, in caricature drawing. Fowell Buxton

also was an eminently cheerful man; taking special pleasure in

field sports, in riding about the country with his children, and in

mixing in all their domestic amusements.

In another sphere of action, Dr. Arnold was a noble and a cheerful

worker, throwing himself into the great business of his life, the

training and teaching of young men, with his whole heart and soul.

It is stated in his admirable biography, that "the most remarkable

thing in the Laleham circle was the wonderful healthiness of tone

which prevailed there. It was a place where a new comer at once

felt that a great and earnest work was going forward. Every pupil

was made to feel that there was a work for him to do; that his

happiness, as well as his duty, lay in doing that work well. Hence

an indescribable zest was communicated to a young man's feeling

about life; a strange joy came over him on discerning that he had

the means of being useful, and thus of being happy; and a deep

respect and ardent attachment sprang up towards him who had taught

him thus to value life and his own self, and his work and mission

in the world. All this was founded on the breadth and

comprehensiveness of Arnold's character, as well as its striking

truth and reality; on the unfeigned regard he had for work of all

kinds, and the sense he had of its value, both for the complex

aggregate of society and the growth and protection of the

individual. In all this there was no excitement; no predilection

for one class of work above another; no enthusiasm for any one-

sided object: but a humble, profound, and most religious

consciousness that work is the appointed calling of man on earth;

the end for which his various faculties were given; the element in

which his nature is ordained to develop itself, and in which his

progressive advance towards heaven is to lie." Among the many

valuable men trained for public life and usefulness by Arnold, was

the gallant Hodson, of Hodson's Horse, who, writing home from

India, many years after, thus spoke of his revered master: "The

influence he produced has been most lasting and striking in its

effects. It is felt even in India; I cannot say more than THAT."

The useful influence which a right-hearted man of energy and

industry may exercise amongst his neighbours and dependants, and

accomplish for his country, cannot, perhaps, be better illustrated

than by the career of Sir John Sinclair; characterized by the Abbe

Gregoire as "the most indefatigable man in Europe." He was

originally a country laird, born to a considerable estate situated

near John o' Groat's House, almost beyond the beat of civilization,

in a bare wild country fronting the stormy North Sea. His father

dying while he was a youth of sixteen, the management of the family

property thus early devolved upon him; and at eighteen he began a

course of vigorous improvement in the county of Caithness, which

eventually spread all over Scotland. Agriculture then was in a

most backward state; the fields were unenclosed, the lands

undrained; the small farmers of Caithness were so poor that they

could scarcely afford to keep a horse or shelty; the hard work was

chiefly done, and the burdens borne, by the women; and if a cottier

lost a horse it was not unusual for him to marry a wife as the

cheapest substitute. The country was without roads or bridges; and

drovers driving their cattle south had to swim the rivers along

with their beasts. The chief track leading into Caithness lay

along a high shelf on a mountain side, the road being some hundred

feet of clear perpendicular height above the sea which dashed

below. Sir John, though a mere youth, determined to make a new

road over the hill of Ben Cheilt, the old let-alone proprietors,

however, regarding his scheme with incredulity and derision. But

he himself laid out the road, assembled some twelve hundred workmen

early one summer's morning, set them simultaneously to work,

superintending their labours, and stimulating them by his presence

and example; and before night, what had been a dangerous sheep

track, six miles in length, hardly passable for led horses, was

made practicable for wheel-carriages as if by the power of magic.

It was an admirable example of energy and well-directed labour,

which could not fail to have a most salutary influence upon the

surrounding population. He then proceeded to make more roads, to

erect mills, to build bridges, and to enclose and cultivate the

waste lands. He introduced improved methods of culture, and

regular rotation of crops, distributing small premiums to encourage

industry; and he thus soon quickened the whole frame of society

within reach of his influence, and infused an entirely new spirit

into the cultivators of the soil. From being one of the most

inaccessible districts of the north--the very ultima Thule of

civilization--Caithness became a pattern county for its roads, its

agriculture, and its fisheries. In Sinclair's youth, the post was

carried by a runner only once a week, and the young baronet then

declared that he would never rest till a coach drove daily to

Thurso. The people of the neighbourhood could not believe in any

such thing, and it became a proverb in the county to say of an

utterly impossible scheme, "Ou, ay, that will come to pass when Sir

John sees the daily mail at Thurso!" But Sir John lived to see his

dream realized, and the daily mail established to Thurso.

The circle of his benevolent operation gradually widened.

Observing the serious deterioration which had taken place in the

quality of British wool,--one of the staple commodities of the

country,--he forthwith, though but a private and little-known

country gentleman, devoted himself to its improvement. By his

personal exertions he established the British Wool Society for the

purpose, and himself led the way to practical improvement by

importing 800 sheep from all countries, at his own expense. The

result was, the introduction into Scotland of the celebrated

Cheviot breed. Sheep farmers scouted the idea of south country

flocks being able to thrive in the far north. But Sir John

persevered; and in a few years there were not fewer than 300,000

Cheviots diffused over the four northern counties alone. The value

of all grazing land was thus enormously increased; and Scotch

estates, which before were comparatively worthless, began to yield

large rentals.

Returned by Caithness to Parliament, in which he remained for

thirty years, rarely missing a division, his position gave him

farther opportunities of usefulness, which he did not neglect to

employ. Mr. Pitt, observing his persevering energy in all useful

public projects, sent for him to Downing Street, and voluntarily

proposed his assistance in any object he might have in view.

Another man might have thought of himself and his own promotion;

but Sir John characteristically replied, that he desired no favour

for himself, but intimated that the reward most gratifying to his

feelings would be Mr. Pitt's assistance in the establishment of a

National Board of Agriculture. Arthur Young laid a bet with the

baronet that his scheme would never be established, adding, "Your

Board of Agriculture will be in the moon!" But vigorously setting

to work, he roused public attention to the subject, enlisted a

majority of Parliament on his side, and eventually established the

Board, of which he was appointed President. The result of its

action need not be described, but the stimulus which it gave to

agriculture and stock-raising was shortly felt throughout the whole

United Kingdom, and tens of thousands of acres were redeemed from

barrenness by its operation. He was equally indefatigable in

encouraging the establishment of fisheries; and the successful

founding of these great branches of British industry at Thurso and

Wick was mainly due to his exertions. He urged for long years, and

at length succeeded in obtaining the enclosure of a harbour for the

latter place, which is perhaps the greatest and most prosperous

fishing town in the world.

Sir John threw his personal energy into every work in which he

engaged, rousing the inert, stimulating the idle, encouraging the

hopeful, and working with all. When a French invasion was

threatened, he offered to Mr. Pitt to raise a regiment on his own

estate, and he was as good as his word. He went down to the north,

and raised a battalion of 600 men, afterwards increased to 1000;

and it was admitted to be one of the finest volunteer regiments

ever raised, inspired throughout by his own noble and patriotic

spirit. While commanding officer of the camp at Aberdeen he held

the offices of a Director of the Bank of Scotland, Chairman of the

British Wool Society, Provost of Wick, Director of the British

Fishery Society, Commissioner for issuing Exchequer Bills, Member

of Parliament for Caithness, and President of the Board of

Agriculture. Amidst all this multifarious and self-imposed work,

he even found time to write books, enough of themselves to

establish a reputation. When Mr. Rush, the American Ambassador,

arrived in England, he relates that he inquired of Mr. Coke of

Holkham, what was the best work on Agriculture, and was referred to

Sir John Sinclair's; and when he further asked of Mr. Vansittart,

Chancellor of the Exchequer, what was the best work on British

Finance, he was again referred to a work by Sir John Sinclair, his

'History of the Public Revenue.' But the great monument of his

indefatigable industry, a work that would have appalled other men,

but only served to rouse and sustain his energy, was his

'Statistical Account of Scotland,' in twenty-one volumes, one of

the most valuable practical works ever published in any age or

country. Amid a host of other pursuits it occupied him nearly

eight years of hard labour, during which he received, and attended

to, upwards of 20,000 letters on the subject. It was a thoroughly

patriotic undertaking, from which he derived no personal advantage

whatever, beyond the honour of having completed it. The whole of

the profits were assigned by him to the Society for the Sons of the

Clergy in Scotland. The publication of the book led to great

public improvements; it was followed by the immediate abolition of

several oppressive feudal rights, to which it called attention; the

salaries of schoolmasters and clergymen in many parishes were

increased; and an increased stimulus was given to agriculture

throughout Scotland. Sir John then publicly offered to undertake

the much greater labour of collecting and publishing a similar

Statistical Account of England; but unhappily the then Archbishop

of Canterbury refused to sanction it, lest it should interfere with

the tithes of the clergy, and the idea was abandoned.

A remarkable illustration of his energetic promptitude was the

manner in which he once provided, on a great emergency, for the

relief of the manufacturing districts. In 1793 the stagnation

produced by the war led to an unusual number of bankruptcies, and

many of the first houses in Manchester and Glasgow were tottering,

not so much from want of property, but because the usual sources of

trade and credit were for the time closed up. A period of intense

distress amongst the labouring classes seemed imminent, when Sir

John urged, in Parliament, that Exchequer notes to the amount of

five millions should be issued immediately as a loan to such

merchants as could give security. This suggestion was adopted, and

his offer to carry out his plan, in conjunction with certain

members named by him, was also accepted. The vote was passed late

at night, and early next morning Sir John, anticipating the delays

of officialism and red tape, proceeded to bankers in the city, and

borrowed of them, on his own personal security, the sum of

70,000l., which he despatched the same evening to those merchants

who were in the most urgent need of assistance. Pitt meeting Sir

John in the House, expressed his great regret that the pressing

wants of Manchester and Glasgow could not be supplied so soon as

was desirable, adding, "The money cannot be raised for some days."

"It is already gone! it left London by to-night's mail!" was Sir

John's triumphant reply; and in afterwards relating the anecdote he

added, with a smile of pleasure, "Pitt was as much startled as if I

had stabbed him." To the last this great, good man worked on

usefully and cheerfully, setting a great example for his family and

for his country. In so laboriously seeking others' good, it might

be said that he found his own--not wealth, for his generosity

seriously impaired his private fortune, but happiness, and self-

satisfaction, and the peace that passes knowledge. A great

patriot, with magnificent powers of work, he nobly did his duty to

his country; yet he was not neglectful of his own household and

home. His sons and daughters grew up to honour and usefulness; and

it was one of the proudest things Sir John could say, when verging

on his eightieth year, that he had lived to see seven sons grown

up, not one of whom had incurred a debt he could not pay, or caused

him a sorrow that could have been avoided.

CHAPTER XIII--CHARACTER--THE TRUE GENTLEMAN

"For who can always act? but he,

To whom a thousand memories call,

Not being less but more than all

The gentleness he seemed to be,

But seemed the thing he was, and joined

Each office of the social hour

To noble manners, as the flower

And native growth of noble mind;

And thus he bore without abuse

The grand old name of Gentleman."--Tennyson.

"Es bildet ein Talent sich in der Stille,

Sich ein Charakter in dem Strom der Welt."--Goethe.

"That which raises a country, that which strengthens a country, and

that which dignifies a country,--that which spreads her power,

creates her moral influence, and makes her respected and submitted

to, bends the hearts of millions, and bows down the pride of

nations to her--the instrument of obedience, the fountain of

supremacy, the true throne, crown, and sceptre of a nation;--this

aristocracy is not an aristocracy of blood, not an aristocracy of

fashion, not an aristocracy of talent only; it is an aristocracy of

Character. That is the true heraldry of man."--The Times.

The crown and glory of life is Character. It is the noblest

possession of a man, constituting a rank in itself, and an estate

in the general goodwill; dignifying every station, and exalting

every position in society. It exercises a greater power than

wealth, and secures all the honour without the jealousies of fame.

It carries with it an influence which always tells; for it is the

result of proved honour, rectitude, and consistency--qualities

which, perhaps more than any other, command the general confidence

and respect of mankind.

Character is human nature in its best form. It is moral order

embodied in the individual. Men of character are not only the

conscience of society, but in every well-governed State they are

its best motive power; for it is moral qualities in the main which

rule the world. Even in war, Napoleon said the moral is to the

physical as ten to one. The strength, the industry, and the

civilisation of nations--all depend upon individual character; and

the very foundations of civil security rest upon it. Laws and

institutions are but its outgrowth. In the just balance of nature,

individuals, nations, and races, will obtain just so much as they

deserve, and no more. And as effect finds its cause, so surely

does quality of character amongst a people produce its befitting

results.

Though a man have comparatively little culture, slender abilities,

and but small wealth, yet, if his character be of sterling worth,

he will always command an influence, whether it be in the workshop,

the counting-house, the mart, or the senate. Canning wisely wrote

in 1801, "My road must be through Character to power; I will try no

other course; and I am sanguine enough to believe that this course,

though not perhaps the quickest, is the surest." You may admire

men of intellect; but something more is necessary before you will

trust them. Hence Lord John Russell once observed in a sentence

full of truth, "It is the nature of party in England to ask the

assistance of men of genius, but to follow the guidance of men of

character." This was strikingly illustrated in the career of the

late Francis Horner--a man of whom Sydney Smith said that the Ten

Commandments were stamped upon his countenance. "The valuable and

peculiar light," says Lord Cockburn, "in which his history is

calculated to inspire every right-minded youth, is this. He died

at the age of thirty-eight; possessed of greater public influence

than any other private man; and admired, beloved, trusted, and

deplored by all, except the heartless or the base. No greater

homage was ever paid in Parliament to any deceased member. Now let

every young man ask--how was this attained? By rank? He was the

son of an Edinburgh merchant. By wealth? Neither he, nor any of

his relations, ever had a superfluous sixpence. By office? He

held but one, and only for a few years, of no influence, and with

very little pay. By talents? His were not splendid, and he had no

genius. Cautious and slow, his only ambition was to be right. By

eloquence? He spoke in calm, good taste, without any of the

oratory that either terrifies or seduces. By any fascination of

manner? His was only correct and agreeable. By what, then, was

it? Merely by sense, industry, good principles, and a good heart--

qualities which no well-constituted mind need ever despair of

attaining. It was the force of his character that raised him; and

this character not impressed upon him by nature, but formed, out of

no peculiarly fine elements, by himself. There were many in the

House of Commons of far greater ability and eloquence. But no one

surpassed him in the combination of an adequate portion of these

with moral worth. Horner was born to show what moderate powers,

unaided by anything whatever except culture and goodness, may

achieve, even when these powers are displayed amidst the

competition and jealousy of public life."

Franklin, also, attributed his success as a public man, not to his

talents or his powers of speaking--for these were but moderate--but

to his known integrity of character. Hence it was, he says, "that

I had so much weight with my fellow citizens. I was but a bad

speaker, never eloquent, subject to much hesitation in my choice of

words, hardly correct in language, and yet I generally carried my

point." Character creates confidence in men in high station as

well as in humble life. It was said of the first Emperor Alexander

of Russia, that his personal character was equivalent to a

constitution. During the wars of the Fronde, Montaigne was the

only man amongst the French gentry who kept his castle gates

unbarred; and it was said of him, that his personal character was a

better protection for him than a regiment of horse would have been.

That character is power, is true in a much higher sense than that

knowledge is power. Mind without heart, intelligence without

conduct, cleverness without goodness, are powers in their way, but

they may be powers only for mischief. We may be instructed or

amused by them; but it is sometimes as difficult to admire them as

it would be to admire the dexterity of a pickpocket or the

horsemanship of a highwayman.

Truthfulness, integrity, and goodness--qualities that hang not on

any man's breath--form the essence of manly character, or, as one

of our old writers has it, "that inbred loyalty unto Virtue which

can serve her without a livery." He who possesses these qualities,

united with strength of purpose, carries with him a power which is

irresistible. He is strong to do good, strong to resist evil, and

strong to bear up under difficulty and misfortune. When Stephen of

Colonna fell into the hands of his base assailants, and they asked

him in derision, "Where is now your fortress?" "Here," was his

bold reply, placing his hand upon his heart. It is in misfortune

that the character of the upright man shines forth with the

greatest lustre; and when all else fails, he takes stand upon his

integrity and his courage.

The rules of conduct followed by Lord Erskine--a man of sterling

independence of principle and scrupulous adherence to truth--are

worthy of being engraven on every young man's heart. "It was a

first command and counsel of my earliest youth," he said, "always

to do what my conscience told me to be a duty, and to leave the

consequence to God. I shall carry with me the memory, and I trust

the practice, of this parental lesson to the grave. I have

hitherto followed it, and I have no reason to complain that my

obedience to it has been a temporal sacrifice. I have found it, on

the contrary, the road to prosperity and wealth, and I shall point

out the same path to my children for their pursuit."

Every man is bound to aim at the possession of a good character as

one of the highest objects of life. The very effort to secure it

by worthy means will furnish him with a motive for exertion; and

his idea of manhood, in proportion as it is elevated, will steady

and animate his motive. It is well to have a high standard of

life, even though we may not be able altogether to realize it.

"The youth," says Mr. Disraeli, "who does not look up will look

down; and the spirit that does not soar is destined perhaps to

grovel." George Herbert wisely writes,

"Pitch thy behaviour low, thy projects high,

So shall thou humble and magnanimous be.

Sink not in spirit; who aimeth at the sky

Shoots higher much than he that means a tree."

He who has a high standard of living and thinking will certainly do

better than he who has none at all. "Pluck at a gown of gold,"

says the Scotch proverb, "and you may get a sleeve o't." Whoever

tries for the highest results cannot fail to reach a point far in

advance of that from which he started; and though the end attained

may fall short of that proposed, still, the very effort to rise, of

itself cannot fail to prove permanently beneficial.

There are many counterfeits of character, but the genuine article

is difficult to be mistaken. Some, knowing its money value, would

assume its disguise for the purpose of imposing upon the unwary.

Colonel Charteris said to a man distinguished for his honesty, "I

would give a thousand pounds for your good name." "Why?" "Because

I could make ten thousand by it," was the knave's reply.

Integrity in word and deed is the backbone of character; and loyal

adherence to veracity its most prominent characteristic. One of

the finest testimonies to the character of the late Sir Robert Peel

was that borne by the Duke of Wellington in the House of Lords, a

few days after the great statesman's death. "Your lordships," he

said, "must all feel the high and honourable character of the late

Sir Robert Peel. I was long connected with him in public life. We

were both in the councils of our Sovereign together, and I had long

the honour to enjoy his private friendship. In all the course of

my acquaintance with him I never knew a man in whose truth and

justice I had greater confidence, or in whom I saw a more

invariable desire to promote the public service. In the whole

course of my communication with him, I never knew an instance in

which he did not show the strongest attachment to truth; and I

never saw in the whole course of my life the smallest reason for

suspecting that he stated anything which he did not firmly believe

to be the fact." And this high-minded truthfulness of the

statesman was no doubt the secret of no small part of his influence

and power.

There is a truthfulness in action as well as in words, which is

essential to uprightness of character. A man must really be what

he seems or purposes to be. When an American gentleman wrote to

Granville Sharp, that from respect for his great virtues he had

named one of his sons after him, Sharp replied: "I must request

you to teach him a favourite maxim of the family whose name you

have given him--ALWAYS ENDEAVOUR TO BE REALLY WHAT YOU WOULD WISH

TO APPEAR. This maxim, as my father informed me, was carefully and

humbly practised by HIS father, whose sincerity, as a plain and

honest man, thereby became the principal feature of his character,

both in public and private life." Every man who respects himself,

and values the respect of others, will carry out the maxim in act--

doing honestly what he proposes to do--putting the highest

character into his work, scamping nothing, but priding himself upon

his integrity and conscientiousness. Once Cromwell said to

Bernard,--a clever but somewhat unscrupulous lawyer, "I understand

that you have lately been vastly wary in your conduct; do not be

too confident of this; subtlety may deceive you, integrity never

will." Men whose acts are at direct variance with their words,

command no respect, and what they say has but little weight; even

truths, when uttered by them, seem to come blasted from their lips.

The true character acts rightly, whether in secret or in the sight

of men. That boy was well trained who, when asked why he did not

pocket some pears, for nobody was there to see, replied, "Yes,

there was: I was there to see myself; and I don't intend ever to

see myself do a dishonest thing."--This is a simple but not

inappropriate illustration of principle, or conscience, dominating

in the character, and exercising a noble protectorate over it; not

merely a passive influence, but an active power regulating the

life. Such a principle goes on moulding the character hourly and

daily, growing with a force that operates every moment. Without

this dominating influence, character has no protection, but is

constantly liable to fall away before temptation; and every such

temptation succumbed to, every act of meanness or dishonesty,

however slight, causes self-degradation. It matters not whether

the act be successful or not, discovered or concealed; the culprit

is no longer the same, but another person; and he is pursued by a

secret uneasiness, by self-reproach, or the workings of what we

call conscience, which is the inevitable doom of the guilty.

And here it may be observed how greatly the character may be

strengthened and supported by the cultivation of good habits. Man,

it has been said, is a bundle of habits; and habit is second

nature. Metastasio entertained so strong an opinion as to the

power of repetition in act and thought, that he said, "All is habit

in mankind, even virtue itself." Butler, in his 'Analogy,'

impresses the importance of careful self-discipline and firm

resistance to temptation, as tending to make virtue habitual, so

that at length it may become more easy to be good than to give way

to sin. "As habits belonging to the body," he says, "are produced

by external acts, so habits of the mind are produced by the

execution of inward practical purposes, i.e., carrying them into

act, or acting upon them--the principles of obedience, veracity,

justice, and charity." And again, Lord Brougham says, when

enforcing the immense importance of training and example in youth,

"I trust everything under God to habit, on which, in all ages, the

lawgiver, as well as the schoolmaster, has mainly placed his

reliance; habit, which makes everything easy, and casts the

difficulties upon the deviation from a wonted course." Thus, make

sobriety a habit, and intemperance will be hateful; make prudence a

habit, and reckless profligacy will become revolting to every

principle of conduct which regulates the life of the individual.

Hence the necessity for the greatest care and watchfulness against

the inroad of any evil habit; for the character is always weakest

at that point at which it has once given way; and it is long before

a principle restored can become so firm as one that has never been

moved. It is a fine remark of a Russian writer, that "Habits are a

necklace of pearls: untie the knot, and the whole unthreads."

Wherever formed, habit acts involuntarily, and without effort; and,

it is only when you oppose it, that you find how powerful it has

become. What is done once and again, soon gives facility and

proneness. The habit at first may seem to have no more strength

than a spider's web; but, once formed, it binds as with a chain of

iron. The small events of life, taken singly, may seem exceedingly

unimportant, like snow that falls silently, flake by flake; yet

accumulated, these snow-flakes form the avalanche.

Self-respect, self-help, application, industry, integrity--all are

of the nature of habits, not beliefs. Principles, in fact, are but

the names which we assign to habits; for the principles are words,

but the habits are the things themselves: benefactors or tyrants,

according as they are good or evil. It thus happens that as we

grow older, a portion of our free activity and individuality

becomes suspended in habit; our actions become of the nature of

fate; and we are bound by the chains which we have woven around

ourselves.

It is indeed scarcely possible to over-estimate the importance of

training the young to virtuous habits. In them they are the

easiest formed, and when formed they last for life; like letters

cut on the bark of a tree they grow and widen with age. "Train up

a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not

depart from it." The beginning holds within it the end; the first

start on the road of life determines the direction and the

destination of the journey; ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute.

"Remember," said Lord Collingwood to a young man whom he loved,

"before you are five-and-twenty you must establish a character that

will serve you all your life." As habit strengthens with age, and

character becomes formed, any turning into a new path becomes more

and more difficult. Hence, it is often harder to unlearn than to

learn; and for this reason the Grecian flute-player was justified

who charged double fees to those pupils who had been taught by an

inferior master. To uproot an old habit is sometimes a more

painful thing, and vastly more difficult, than to wrench out a

tooth. Try and reform a habitually indolent, or improvident, or

drunken person, and in a large majority of cases you will fail.

For the habit in each case has wound itself in and through the life

until it has become an integral part of it, and cannot be uprooted.

Hence, as Mr. Lynch observes, "the wisest habit of all is the habit

of care in the formation of good habits."

Even happiness itself may become habitual. There is a habit of

looking at the bright side of things, and also of looking at the

dark side. Dr. Johnson has said that the habit of looking at the

best side of a thing is worth more to a man than a thousand pounds

a year. And we possess the power, to a great extent, of so

exercising the will as to direct the thoughts upon objects

calculated to yield happiness and improvement rather than their

opposites. In this way the habit of happy thought may be made to

spring up like any other habit. And to bring up men or women with

a genial nature of this sort, a good temper, and a happy frame of

mind, is perhaps of even more importance, in many cases, than to

perfect them in much knowledge and many accomplishments.

As daylight can be seen through very small holes, so little things

will illustrate a person's character. Indeed character consists in

little acts, well and honourably performed; daily life being the

quarry from which we build it up, and rough-hew the habits which

form it. One of the most marked tests of character is the manner

in which we conduct ourselves towards others. A graceful behaviour

towards superiors, inferiors, and equals, is a constant source of

pleasure. It pleases others because it indicates respect for their

personality; but it gives tenfold more pleasure to ourselves.

Every man may to a large extent be a self-educator in good

behaviour, as in everything else; he can be civil and kind, if he

will, though he have not a penny in his purse. Gentleness in

society is like the silent influence of light, which gives colour

to all nature; it is far more powerful than loudness or force, and

far more fruitful. It pushes its way quietly and persistently,

like the tiniest daffodil in spring, which raises the clod and

thrusts it aside by the simple persistency of growing.

Even a kind look will give pleasure and confer happiness. In one

of Robertson of Brighton's letters, he tells of a lady who related

to him "the delight, the tears of gratitude, which she had

witnessed in a poor girl to whom, in passing, I gave a kind look on

going out of church on Sunday. What a lesson! How cheaply

happiness can be given! What opportunities we miss of doing an

angel's work! I remember doing it, full of sad feelings, passing

on, and thinking no more about it; and it gave an hour's sunshine

to a human life, and lightened the load of life to a human heart

for a time!" {35}

Morals and manners, which give colour to life, are of much greater

importance than laws, which are but their manifestations. The law

touches us here and there, but manners are about us everywhere,

pervading society like the air we breathe. Good manners, as we

call them, are neither more nor less than good behaviour;

consisting of courtesy and kindness; benevolence being the

preponderating element in all kinds of mutually beneficial and

pleasant intercourse amongst human beings. "Civility," said Lady

Montague, "costs nothing and buys everything." The cheapest of all

things is kindness, its exercise requiring the least possible

trouble and self-sacrifice. "Win hearts," said Burleigh to Queen

Elizabeth, "and you have all men's hearts and purses." If we would

only let nature act kindly, free from affectation and artifice, the

results on social good humour and happiness would be incalculable.

The little courtesies which form the small change of life, may

separately appear of little intrinsic value, but they acquire their

importance from repetition and accumulation. They are like the

spare minutes, or the groat a day, which proverbially produce such

momentous results in the course of a twelvemonth, or in a lifetime.

Manners are the ornament of action; and there is a way of speaking

a kind word, or of doing a kind thing, which greatly enhances their

value. What seems to be done with a grudge, or as an act of

condescension, is scarcely accepted as a favour. Yet there are men

who pride themselves upon their gruffness; and though they may

possess virtue and capacity, their manner is often such as to

render them almost insupportable. It is difficult to like a man

who, though he may not pull your nose, habitually wounds your self-

respect, and takes a pride in saying disagreeable things to you.

There are others who are dreadfully condescending, and cannot avoid

seizing upon every small opportunity of making their greatness

felt. When Abernethy was canvassing for the office of surgeon to

St. Bartholomew Hospital, he called upon such a person--a rich

grocer, one of the governors. The great man behind the counter

seeing the great surgeon enter, immediately assumed the grand air

towards the supposed suppliant for his vote. "I presume, Sir, you

want my vote and interest at this momentous epoch of your life?"

Abernethy, who hated humbugs, and felt nettled at the tone,

replied: "No, I don't: I want a pennyworth of figs; come, look

sharp and wrap them up; I want to be off!"

The cultivation of manner--though in excess it is foppish and

foolish--is highly necessary in a person who has occasion to

negociate with others in matters of business. Affability and good

breeding may even be regarded as essential to the success of a man

in any eminent station and enlarged sphere of life; for the want of

it has not unfrequently been found in a great measure to neutralise

the results of much industry, integrity, and honesty of character.

There are, no doubt, a few strong tolerant minds which can bear

with defects and angularities of manner, and look only to the more

genuine qualities; but the world at large is not so forbearant, and

cannot help forming its judgments and likings mainly according to

outward conduct.

Another mode of displaying true politeness is consideration for the

opinions of others. It has been said of dogmatism, that it is only

puppyism come to its full growth; and certainly the worst form this

quality can assume, is that of opinionativeness and arrogance. Let

men agree to differ, and, when they do differ, bear and forbear.

Principles and opinions may be maintained with perfect suavity,

without coming to blows or uttering hard words; and there are

circumstances in which words are blows, and inflict wounds far less

easy to heal. As bearing upon this point, we quote an instructive

little parable spoken some time since by an itinerant preacher of

the Evangelical Alliance on the borders of Wales:- "As I was going

to the hills," said he, "early one misty morning, I saw something

moving on a mountain side, so strange looking that I took it for a

monster. When I came nearer to it I found it was a man. When I

came up to him I found he was my brother."

The inbred politeness which springs from right-heartedness and

kindly feelings, is of no exclusive rank or station. The mechanic

who works at the bench may possess it, as well as the clergyman or

the peer. It is by no means a necessary condition of labour that

it should, in any respect, be either rough or coarse. The

politeness and refinement which distinguish all classes of the

people in many continental countries show that those qualities

might become ours too--as doubtless they will become with increased

culture and more general social intercourse--without sacrificing

any of our more genuine qualities as men. From the highest to the

lowest, the richest to the poorest, to no rank or condition in life

has nature denied her highest boon--the great heart. There never

yet existed a gentleman but was lord of a great heart. And this

may exhibit itself under the hodden grey of the peasant as well as

under the laced coat of the noble. Robert Burns was once taken to

task by a young Edinburgh blood, with whom he was walking, for

recognising an honest farmer in the open street. "Why you

fantastic gomeral," exclaimed Burns, "it was not the great coat,

the scone bonnet, and the saunders-boot hose that I spoke to, but

THE MAN that was in them; and the man, sir, for true worth, would

weigh down you and me, and ten more such, any day." There may be a

homeliness in externals, which may seem vulgar to those who cannot

discern the heart beneath; but, to the right-minded, character will

always have its clear insignia.

William and Charles Grant were the sons of a farmer in Inverness-

shire, whom a sudden flood stripped of everything, even to the very

soil which he tilled. The farmer and his sons, with the world

before them where to choose, made their way southward in search of

employment until they arrived in the neighbourhood of Bury in

Lancashire. From the crown of the hill near Walmesley they

surveyed the wide extent of country which lay before them, the

river Irwell making its circuitous course through the valley. They

were utter strangers in the neighbourhood, and knew not which way

to turn. To decide their course they put up a stick, and agreed to

pursue the direction in which it fell. Thus their decision was

made, and they journeyed on accordingly until they reached the

village of Ramsbotham, not far distant. They found employment in a

print-work, in which William served his apprenticeship; and they

commanded themselves to their employers by their diligence,

sobriety, and strict integrity. They plodded on, rising from one

station to another, until at length the two men themselves became

employers, and after many long years of industry, enterprise, and

benevolence, they became rich, honoured, and respected by all who

knew them. Their cotton-mills and print-works gave employment to a

large population. Their well-directed diligence made the valley

teem with activity, joy, health, and opulence. Out of their

abundant wealth they gave liberally to all worthy objects, erecting

churches, founding schools, and in all ways promoting the well-

being of the class of working-men from which they had sprung. They

afterwards erected, on the top of the hill above Walmesley, a lofty

tower in commemoration of the early event in their history which

had determined the place of their settlement. The brothers Grant

became widely celebrated for their benevolence and their various

goodness, and it is said that Mr. Dickens had them in his mind's

eye when delineating the character of the brothers Cheeryble. One

amongst many anecdotes of a similar kind may be cited to show that

the character was by no means exaggerated. A Manchester

warehouseman published an exceedingly scurrilous pamphlet against

the firm of Grant Brothers, holding up the elder partner to

ridicule as "Billy Button." William was informed by some one of

the nature of the pamphlet, and his observation was that the man

would live to repent of it. "Oh!" said the libeller, when informed

of the remark, "he thinks that some time or other I shall be in his

debt; but I will take good care of that." It happens, however,

that men in business do not always foresee who shall be their

creditor, and it so turned out that the Grants' libeller became a

bankrupt, and could not complete his certificate and begin business

again without obtaining their signature. It seemed to him a

hopeless case to call upon that firm for any favour, but the

pressing claims of his family forced him to make the application.

He appeared before the man whom he had ridiculed as "Billy Button"

accordingly. He told his tale and produced his certificate. "You

wrote a pamphlet against us once?" said Mr. Grant. The supplicant

expected to see his document thrown into the fire; instead of which

Grant signed the name of the firm, and thus completed the necessary

certificate. "We make it a rule," said he, handing it back, "never

to refuse signing the certificate of an honest tradesman, and we

have never heard that you were anything else." The tears started

into the man's eyes. "Ah," continued Mr. Grant, "you see my saying

was true, that you would live to repent writing that pamphlet. I

did not mean it as a threat--I only meant that some day you would

know us better, and repent having tried to injure us." "I do, I

do, indeed, repent it." "Well, well, you know us now. But how do

you get on--what are you going to do?" The poor man stated that he

had friends who would assist him when his certificate was obtained.

"But how are you off in the mean time?" The answer was, that,

having given up every farthing to his creditors, he had been

compelled to stint his family in even the common necessaries of

life, that he might be enabled to pay for his certificate. "My

good fellow, this will never do; your wife and family must not

suffer in this way; be kind enough to take this ten-pound note to

your wife from me: there, there, now--don't cry, it will be all

well with you yet; keep up your spirits, set to work like a man,

and you will raise your head among the best of us yet." The

overpowered man endeavoured with choking utterance to express his

gratitude, but in vain; and putting his hand to his face, he went

out of the room sobbing like a child.

The True Gentleman is one whose nature has been fashioned after the

highest models. It is a grand old name, that of Gentleman, and has

been recognized as a rank and power in all stages of society. "The

Gentleman is always the Gentleman," said the old French General to

his regiment of Scottish gentry at Rousillon, "and invariably

proves himself such in need and in danger." To possess this

character is a dignity of itself, commanding the instinctive homage

of every generous mind, and those who will not bow to titular rank,

will yet do homage to the gentleman. His qualities depend not upon

fashion or manners, but upon moral worth--not on personal

possessions, but on personal qualities. The Psalmist briefly

describes him as one "that walketh uprightly, and worketh

righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart."

The gentleman is eminently distinguished for his self-respect. He

values his character,--not so much of it only as can be seen of

others, but as he sees it himself; having regard for the approval

of his inward monitor. And, as he respects himself, so, by the

same law, does he respect others. Humanity is sacred in his eyes:

and thence proceed politeness and forbearance, kindness and

charity. It is related of Lord Edward Fitzgerald that, while

travelling in Canada, in company with the Indians, he was shocked

by the sight of a poor squaw trudging along laden with her

husband's trappings, while the chief himself walked on

unencumbered. Lord Edward at once relieved the squaw of her pack

by placing it upon his own shoulders,--a beautiful instance of what

the French call politesse de coeur--the inbred politeness of the

true gentleman.

The true gentleman has a keen sense of honour,--scrupulously

avoiding mean actions. His standard of probity in word and action

is high. He does not shuffle or prevaricate, dodge or skulk; but

is honest, upright, and straightforward. His law is rectitude--

action in right lines. When he says YES, it is a law: and he

dares to say the valiant NO at the fitting season. The gentleman

will not be bribed; only the low-minded and unprincipled will sell

themselves to those who are interested in buying them. When the

upright Jonas Hanway officiated as commissioner in the victualling

department, he declined to receive a present of any kind from a

contractor; refusing thus to be biassed in the performance of his

public duty. A fine trait of the same kind is to be noted in the

life of the Duke of Wellington. Shortly after the battle of

Assaye, one morning the Prime Minister of the Court of Hyderabad

waited upon him for the purpose of privately ascertaining what

territory and what advantages had been reserved for his master in

the treaty of peace between the Mahratta princes and the Nizam. To

obtain this information the minister offered the general a very

large sum--considerably above 100,000l. Looking at him quietly for

a few seconds, Sir Arthur said, "It appears, then, that you are

capable of keeping a secret?" "Yes, certainly," replied the

minister. "THEN SO AM I," said the English general, smiling, and

bowed the minister out. It was to Wellington's great honour, that

though uniformly successful in India, and with the power of earning

in such modes as this enormous wealth, he did not add a farthing to

his fortune, and returned to England a comparatively poor man.

A similar sensitiveness and high-mindedness characterised his noble

relative, the Marquis of Wellesley, who, on one occasion,

positively refused a present of 100,000l. proposed to be given him

by the Directors of the East India Company on the conquest of

Mysore. "It is not necessary," said he, "for me to allude to the

independence of my character, and the proper dignity attaching to

my office; other reasons besides these important considerations

lead me to decline this testimony, which is not suitable to me. I

THINK OF NOTHING BUT OUR ARMY. I should be much distressed to

curtail the share of those brave soldiers." And the Marquis's

resolution to refuse the present remained unalterable.

Sir Charles Napier exhibited the same noble self-denial in the

course of his Indian career. He rejected all the costly gifts

which barbaric princes were ready to lay at his feet, and said with

truth, "Certainly I could have got 30,000l. since my coming to

Scinde, but my hands do not want washing yet. Our dear father's

sword which I wore in both battles (Meanee and Hyderabad) is

unstained."

Riches and rank have no necessary connexion with genuine

gentlemanly qualities. The poor man may be a true gentleman,--in

spirit and in daily life. He may be honest, truthful, upright,

polite, temperate, courageous, self-respecting, and self-helping,--

that is, be a true gentleman. The poor man with a rich spirit is

in all ways superior to the rich man with a poor spirit. To borrow

St. Paul's words, the former is as "having nothing, yet possessing

all things," while the other, though possessing all things, has

nothing. The first hopes everything, and fears nothing; the last

hopes nothing, and fears everything. Only the poor in spirit are

really poor. He who has lost all, but retains his courage,

cheerfulness, hope, virtue, and self-respect, is still rich. For

such a man, the world is, as it were, held in trust; his spirit

dominating over its grosser cares, he can still walk erect, a true

gentleman.

Occasionally, the brave and gentle character may be found under the

humblest garb. Here is an old illustration, but a fine one. Once

on a time, when the Adige suddenly overflowed its banks, the bridge

of Verona was carried away, with the exception of the centre arch,

on which stood a house, whose inhabitants supplicated help from the

windows, while the foundations were visibly giving way. "I will

give a hundred French louis," said the Count Spolverini, who stood

by, "to any person who will venture to deliver these unfortunate

people." A young peasant came forth from the crowd, seized a boat,

and pushed into the stream. He gained the pier, received the whole

family into the boat, and made for the shore, where he landed them

in safety. "Here is your money, my brave young fellow," said the

count. "No," was the answer of the young man, "I do not sell my

life; give the money to this poor family, who have need of it."

Here spoke the true spirit of the gentleman, though he was but in

the garb of a peasant.

Not less touching was the heroic conduct of a party of Deal boatmen

in rescuing the crew of a collier-brig in the Downs but a short

time ago. {36} A sudden storm which set in from the north-east

drove several ships from their anchors, and it being low water, one

of them struck the ground at a considerable distance from the

shore, when the sea made a clean breach over her. There was not a

vestige of hope for the vessel, such was the fury of the wind and

the violence of the waves. There was nothing to tempt the boatmen

on shore to risk their lives in saving either ship or crew, for not

a farthing of salvage was to be looked for. But the daring

intrepidity of the Deal boatmen was not wanting at this critical

moment. No sooner had the brig grounded than Simon Pritchard, one

of the many persons assembled along the beach, threw off his coat

and called out, "Who will come with me and try to save that crew?"

Instantly twenty men sprang forward, with "I will," "and I." But

seven only were wanted; and running down a galley punt into the

surf, they leaped in and dashed through the breakers, amidst the

cheers of those on shore. How the boat lived in such a sea seemed

a miracle; but in a few minutes, impelled by the strong arms of

these gallant men, she flew on and reached the stranded ship,

"catching her on the top of a wave"; and in less than a quarter of

an hour from the time the boat left the shore, the six men who

composed the crew of the collier were landed safe on Walmer Beach.

A nobler instance of indomitable courage and disinterested heroism

on the part of the Deal boatmen--brave though they are always known

to be--perhaps cannot be cited; and we have pleasure in here

placing it on record.

Mr. Turnbull, in his work on 'Austria,' relates an anecdote of the

late Emperor Francis, in illustration of the manner in which the

Government of that country has been indebted, for its hold upon the

people, to the personal qualities of its princes. "At the time

when the cholera was raging at Vienna, the emperor, with an aide-

de-camp, was strolling about the streets of the city and suburbs,

when a corpse was dragged past on a litter unaccompanied by a

single mourner. The unusual circumstance attracted his attention,

and he learnt, on inquiry, that the deceased was a poor person who

had died of cholera, and that the relatives had not ventured on

what was then considered the very dangerous office of attending the

body to the grave. 'Then,' said Francis, 'we will supply their

place, for none of my poor people should go to the grave without

that last mark of respect;' and he followed the body to the distant

place of interment, and, bare-headed, stood to see every rite and

observance respectfully performed."

Fine though this illustration may be of the qualities of the

gentleman, we can match it by another equally good, of two English

navvies in Paris, as related in a morning paper a few years ago.

"One day a hearse was observed ascending the steep Rue de Clichy on

its way to Montmartre, bearing a coffin of poplar wood with its

cold corpse. Not a soul followed--not even the living dog of the

dead man, if he had one. The day was rainy and dismal; passers by

lifted the hat as is usual when a funeral passes, and that was all.

At length it passed two English navvies, who found themselves in

Paris on their way from Spain. A right feeling spoke from beneath

their serge jackets. 'Poor wretch!' said the one to the other, 'no

one follows him; let us two follow!' And the two took off their

hats, and walked bare-headed after the corpse of a stranger to the

cemetery of Montmartre."

Above all, the gentleman is truthful. He feels that truth is the

"summit of being," and the soul of rectitude in human affairs.

Lord Chesterfield declared that Truth made the success of a

gentleman. The Duke of Wellington, writing to Kellerman, on the

subject of prisoners on parole, when opposed to that general in the

peninsula, told him that if there was one thing on which an English

officer prided himself more than another, excepting his courage, it

was his truthfulness. "When English officers," said he, "have

given their parole of honour not to escape, be sure they will not

break it. Believe me--trust to their word; the word of an English

officer is a surer guarantee than the vigilance of sentinels."

True courage and gentleness go hand in hand. The brave man is

generous and forbearant, never unforgiving and cruel. It was

finely said of Sir John Franklin by his friend Parry, that "he was

a man who never turned his back upon a danger, yet of that

tenderness that he would not brush away a mosquito." A fine trait

of character--truly gentle, and worthy of the spirit of Bayard--was

displayed by a French officer in the cavalry combat of El Bodon in

Spain. He had raised his sword to strike Sir Felton Harvey, but

perceiving his antagonist had only one arm, he instantly stopped,

brought down his sword before Sir Felton in the usual salute, and

rode past. To this may be added a noble and gentle deed of Ney

during the same Peninsular War. Charles Napier was taken prisoner

at Corunna, desperately wounded; and his friends at home did not

know whether he was alive or dead. A special messenger was sent

out from England with a frigate to ascertain his fate. Baron

Clouet received the flag, and informed Ney of the arrival. "Let

the prisoner see his friends," said Ney, "and tell them he is well,

and well treated." Clouet lingered, and Ney asked, smiling, "what

more he wanted"? "He has an old mother, a widow, and blind." "Has

he? then let him go himself and tell her he is alive." As the

exchange of prisoners between the countries was not then allowed,

Ney knew that he risked the displeasure of the Emperor by setting

the young officer at liberty; but Napoleon approved the generous

act.

Notwithstanding the wail which we occasionally hear for the

chivalry that is gone, our own age has witnessed deeds of bravery

and gentleness--of heroic self-denial and manly tenderness--which

are unsurpassed in history. The events of the last few years have

shown that our countrymen are as yet an undegenerate race. On the

bleak plateau of Sebastopol, in the dripping perilous trenches of

that twelvemonth's leaguer, men of all classes proved themselves

worthy of the noble inheritance of character which their

forefathers have bequeathed to them. But it was in the hour of the

great trial in India that the qualities of our countrymen shone

forth the brightest. The march of Neill on Cawnpore, of Havelock

on Lucknow--officers and men alike urged on by the hope of rescuing

the women and the children--are events which the whole history of

chivalry cannot equal. Outram's conduct to Havelock, in resigning

to him, though his inferior officer, the honour of leading the

attack on Lucknow, was a trait worthy of Sydney, and alone

justifies the title which has been awarded to him of, "the Bayard

of India." The death of Henry Lawrence--that brave and gentle

spirit--his last words before dying, "Let there be no fuss about

me; let me be buried WITH THE MEN,"--the anxious solicitude of Sir

Colin Campbell to rescue the beleaguered of Lucknow, and to conduct

his long train of women and children by night from thence to

Cawnpore, which he reached amidst the all but overpowering assault

of the enemy,--the care with which he led them across the perilous

bridge, never ceasing his charge over them until he had seen the

precious convoy safe on the road to Allahabad, and then burst upon

the Gwalior contingent like a thunder-clap;--such things make us

feel proud of our countrymen and inspire the conviction that the

best and purest glow of chivalry is not dead, but vigorously lives

among us yet.

Even the common soldiers proved themselves gentlemen under their

trials. At Agra, where so many poor fellows had been scorched and

wounded in their encounter with the enemy, they were brought into

the fort, and tenderly nursed by the ladies; and the rough, gallant

fellows proved gentle as any children. During the weeks that the

ladies watched over their charge, never a word was said by any

soldier that could shock the ear of the gentlest. And when all was

over--when the mortally-wounded had died, and the sick and maimed

who survived were able to demonstrate their gratitude--they invited

their nurses and the chief people of Agra to an entertainment in

the beautiful gardens of the Taj, where, amidst flowers and music,

the rough veterans, all scarred and mutilated as they were, stood

up to thank their gentle countrywomen who had clothed and fed them,

and ministered to their wants during their time of sore distress.

In the hospitals at Scutari, too, many wounded and sick blessed the

kind English ladies who nursed them; and nothing can be finer than

the thought of the poor sufferers, unable to rest through pain,

blessing the shadow of Florence Nightingale as it fell upon their

pillow in the night watches.

The wreck of the Birkenhead off the coast of Africa on the 27th of

February, 1852, affords another memorable illustration of the

chivalrous spirit of common men acting in this nineteenth century,

of which any age might be proud. The vessel was steaming along the

African coast with 472 men and 166 women and children on board.

The men belonged to several regiments then serving at the Cape, and

consisted principally of recruits who had been only a short time in

the service. At two o'clock in the morning, while all were asleep

below, the ship struck with violence upon a hidden rock which

penetrated her bottom; and it was at once felt that she must go

down. The roll of the drums called the soldiers to arms on the

upper deck, and the men mustered as if on parade. The word was

passed to SAVE THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN; and the helpless creatures

were brought from below, mostly undressed, and handed silently into

the boats. When they had all left the ship's side, the commander

of the vessel thoughtlessly called out, "All those that can swim,

jump overboard and make for the boats." But Captain Wright, of the

91st Highlanders, said, "No! if you do that, THE BOATS WITH THE

WOMEN MUST BE SWAMPED;" and the brave men stood motionless. There

was no boat remaining, and no hope of safety; but not a heart

quailed; no one flinched from his duty in that trying moment.

"There was not a murmur nor a cry amongst them," said Captain

Wright, a survivor, "until the vessel made her final plunge." Down

went the ship, and down went the heroic band, firing a feu de joie

as they sank beneath the waves. Glory and honour to the gentle and

the brave! The examples of such men never die, but, like their

memories, are immortal.

There are many tests by which a gentleman may be known; but there

is one that never fails--How does he EXERCISE POWER over those

subordinate to him? How does he conduct himself towards women and

children? How does the officer treat his men, the employer his

servants, the master his pupils, and man in every station those who

are weaker than himself? The discretion, forbearance, and

kindliness, with which power in such cases is used, may indeed be

regarded as the crucial test of gentlemanly character. When La

Motte was one day passing through a crowd, he accidentally trod

upon the foot of a young fellow, who forthwith struck him on the

face: "Ah, sire," said La Motte, "you will surely be sorry for

what you have done, when you know that I AM BLIND." He who bullies

those who are not in a position to resist may be a snob, but cannot

be a gentleman. He who tyrannizes over the weak and helpless may

be a coward, but no true man. The tyrant, it has been said, is but

a slave turned inside out. Strength, and the consciousness of

strength, in a right-hearted man, imparts a nobleness to his

character; but he will be most careful how he uses it; for

"It is excellent

To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous

To use it like a giant."

Gentleness is indeed the best test of gentlemanliness. A

consideration for the feelings of others, for his inferiors and

dependants as well as his equals, and respect for their self-

respect, will pervade the true gentleman's whole conduct. He will

rather himself suffer a small injury, than by an uncharitable

construction of another's behaviour, incur the risk of committing a

great wrong. He will be forbearant of the weaknesses, the

failings, and the errors, of those whose advantages in life have

not been equal to his own. He will be merciful even to his beast.

He will not boast of his wealth, or his strength, or his gifts. He

will not be puffed up by success, or unduly depressed by failure.

He will not obtrude his views on others, but speak his mind freely

when occasion calls for it. He will not confer favours with a

patronizing air. Sir Walter Scott once said of Lord Lothian, "He

is a man from whom one may receive a favour, and that's saying a

great deal in these days."

Lord Chatham has said that the gentleman is characterised by his

sacrifice of self and preference of others to himself in the little

daily occurrences of life. In illustration of this ruling spirit

of considerateness in a noble character, we may cite the anecdote

of the gallant Sir Ralph Abercromby, of whom it is related, that

when mortally wounded in the battle of Aboukir, he was carried in a

litter on board the 'Foudroyant;' and, to ease his pain, a

soldier's blanket was placed under his head, from which he

experienced considerable relief. He asked what it was. "It's only

a soldier's blanket," was the reply. "WHOSE blanket is it?" said

he, half lifting himself up. "Only one of the men's." "I wish to

know the name of the man whose blanket this is." "It is Duncan

Roy's, of the 42nd, Sir Ralph." "Then see that Duncan Roy gets his

blanket this very night." {37} Even to ease his dying agony the

general would not deprive the private soldier of his blanket for

one night. The incident is as good in its way as that of the dying

Sydney handing his cup of water to the private soldier on the field

of Zutphen.

The quaint old Fuller sums up in a few words the character of the

true gentleman and man of action in describing that of the great

admiral, Sir Francis Drake: "Chaste in his life, just in his

dealings, true of his word; merciful to those that were under him,

and hating nothing so much as idlenesse; in matters especially of

moment, he was never wont to rely on other men's care, how trusty

or skilful soever they might seem to be, but, always contemning

danger, and refusing no toyl, he was wont himself to be one

(whoever was a second) at every turn, where courage, skill, or

industry, was to be employed."

Footnotes:

{1} Napoleon III., 'Life of Caesar.'

{2} Soult received but little education in his youth, and learnt

next to no geography until he became foreign minister of France,

when the study of this branch of knowledge is said to have given

him the greatest pleasure.--'OEuvres, &c., d'Alexis de Tocqueville.

Par G. de Beaumont.' Paris, 1861. I. 52

{3} 'OEuvres et Correspondance inedite d'Alexis de Tocqueville.

Par Gustave de Beaumont.' I. 398.

{4} "I have seen," said he, "a hundred times in the course of my

life, a weak man exhibit genuine public virtue, because supported

by a wife who sustained hint in his course, not so much by advising

him to such and such acts, as by exercising a strengthening

influence over the manner in which duty or even ambition was to be

regarded. Much oftener, however, it must be confessed, have I seen

private and domestic life gradually transform a man to whom nature

had given generosity, disinterestedness, and even some capacity for

greatness, into an ambitious, mean-spirited, vulgar, and selfish

creature who, in matters relating to his country, ended by

considering them only in so far as they rendered his own particular

condition more comfortable and easy."--'OEuvres de Tocqueville.'

II. 349.

{5} Since the original publication of this book, the author has in

another work, 'The Lives of Boulton and Watt,' endeavoured to

portray in greater detail the character and achievements of these

two remarkable men.

{6} The following entry, which occurs in the account of monies

disbursed by the burgesses of Sheffield in 1573 [?] is supposed by

some to refer to the inventor of the stocking frame:- "Item gyven

to Willm-Lee, a poore scholler in Sheafield, towards the settyng

him to the Universitie of Chambrydge, and buying him bookes and

other furnyture [which money was afterwards returned] xiii iiii

[13s. 4d.]."--Hunter, 'History of Hallamshire,' 141.

{7} 'History of the Framework Knitters.'

{8} There are, however, other and different accounts. One is to

the effect that Lee set about studying the contrivance of the

stocking-loom for the purpose of lessening the labour of a young

country-girl to whom he was attached, whose occupation was

knitting; another, that being married and poor, his wife was under

the necessity of contributing to their joint support by knitting;

and that Lee, while watching the motion of his wife's fingers,

conceived the idea of imitating their movements by a machine. The

latter story seems to have been invented by Aaron Hill, Esq., in

his 'Account of the Rise and Progress of the Beech Oil

manufacture,' London, 1715; but his statement is altogether

unreliable. Thus he makes Lee to have been a Fellow of a college

at Oxford, from which he was expelled for marrying an innkeeper's

daughter; whilst Lee neither studied at Oxford, nor married there,

nor was a Fellow of any college; and he concludes by alleging that

the result of his invention was to "make Lee and his family happy;"

whereas the invention brought him only a heritage of misery, and he

died abroad destitute.

{9} Blackner, 'History of Nottingham.' The author adds, "We have

information, handed down in direct succession from father to son,

that it was not till late in the seventeenth century that one man

could manage the working of a frame. The man who was considered

the workman employed a labourer, who stood behind the frame to work

the slur and pressing motions; but the application of traddles and

of the feet eventually rendered the labour unnecessary."

{10} Palissy's own words are:- "Le bois m'ayant failli, je fus

contraint brusler les estapes (etaies) qui soustenoyent les tailles

de mon jardin, lesquelles estant bruslees, je fus constraint

brusler les tables et plancher de la maison, afin de faire fondre

la seconde composition. J'estois en une telle angoisse que je ne

scaurois dire: car j'estois tout tari et deseche a cause du labeur

et de la chaleur du fourneau; il y avoit plus d'un mois que ma

chemise n'avoit seiche sur moy, encores pour me consoler on se

moquoit de moy, et mesme ceux qui me devoient secourir alloient

crier par la ville que je faisois brusler le plancher: et par tel

moyen l'on me faisoit perdre mon credit et m'estimoit-on estre fol.

Les autres disoient que je cherchois a faire la fausse monnoye, qui

estoit un mal qui me faisoit seicher sur les pieds; et m'en allois

par les rues tout baisse comme un homme honteux: . . . personne ne

me secouroit: Mais au contraire ils se mocquoyent de moy, en

disant: Il luy appartient bien de mourir de faim, par ce qu'il

delaisse son mestier. Toutes ces nouvelles venoyent a mes

aureilles quand je passois par la rue." 'OEuvres Completes de

Palissy. Paris, 1844;' De l'Art de Terre, p. 315.

{11} "Toutes ces fautes m'ont cause un tel lasseur et tristesse

d'esprit, qu'auparavant que j'aye rendu mes emaux fusible a un

mesme degre de feu, j'ay cuide entrer jusques a la porte du

sepulchre: aussi en me travaillant a tels affaires je me suis

trouve l'espace de plus se dix ans si fort escoule en ma personne,

qu'il n'y avoit aucune forme ny apparence de bosse aux bras ny aux

jambes: ains estoyent mes dites jambes toutes d'une venue: de

sorte que les liens de quoy j'attachois mes bas de chausses

estoyent, soudain que je cheminois, sur les talons avec le residu

de mes chausses."--'OEuvres, 319-20.

{12} At the sale of Mr. Bernal's articles of vertu in London a few

years since, one of Palissy's small dishes, 12 inches in diameter,

with a lizard in the centre, sold for 162l.

{13} Within the last few months, Mr. Charles Read, a gentleman

curious in matters of Protestant antiquarianism in France, has

discovered one of the ovens in which Palissy baked his chefs-

d'oeuvre. Several moulds of faces, plants, animals, &c., were dug

up in a good state of preservation, bearing his well-known stamp.

It is situated under the gallery of the Louvre, in the Place du

Carrousel.

{14} D'Aubigne, 'Histoire Universelle.' The historian adds,

"Voyez l'impudence de ce bilistre! vous diriez qu'il auroit lu ce

vers de Seneque: 'On ne peut contraindre celui qui sait mourir:

Qui mori scit, cogi nescit.'"

{15} The subject of Palissy's life and labours has been ably and

elaborately treated by Professor Morley in his well-known work. In

the above brief narrative we have for the most part followed

Palissy's own account of his experiments as given in his 'Art de

Terre.'

{16} "Almighty God, the great Creator,

Has changed a goldmaker to a potter."

{17} The whole of the Chinese and Japanese porcelain was formerly

known as Indian porcelain--probably because it was first brought by

the Portuguese from India to Europe, after the discovery of the

Cape of Good Hope by Vasco da Gama.

{18} 'Wedgwood: an Address delivered at Burslem, Oct. 26th,

1863.' By the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone, M.P.

{19} It was characteristic of Mr. Hume, that, during his

professional voyages between England and India, he should

diligently apply his spare time to the study of navigation and

seamanship; and many years after, it proved of use to him in a

remarkable manner. In 1825, when on his passage from London to

Leith by a sailing smack, the vessel had scarcely cleared the mouth

of the Thames when a sudden storm came on, she was driven out of

her course, and, in the darkness of the night, she struck on the

Goodwin Sands. The captain, losing his presence of mind, seemed

incapable of giving coherent orders, and it is probable that the

vessel would have become a total wreck, had not one of the

passengers suddenly taken the command and directed the working of

the ship, himself taking the helm while the danger lasted. The

vessel was saved, and the stranger was Mr. Hume.

{20} 'Saturday Review,' July 3rd, 1858.

{21} Mrs. Grote's 'Memoir of the Life of Ary Scheffer,' p. 67.

{22} While the sheets of this revised edition are passing through

the press, the announcement appears in the local papers of the

death of Mr. Jackson at the age of fifty. His last work, completed

shortly before his death, was a cantata, entitled 'The Praise of

Music.' The above particulars of his early life were communicated

by himself to the author several years since, while he was still

carrying on his business of a tallow-chandler at Masham.

{23} Mansfield owed nothing to his noble relations, who were poor

and uninfluential. His success was the legitimate and logical

result of the means which he sedulously employed to secure it.

When a boy he rode up from Scotland to London on a pony--taking two

months to make the journey. After a course of school and college,

he entered upon the profession of the law, and he closed a career

of patient and ceaseless labour as Lord Chief Justice of England--

the functions of which he is universally admitted to have performed

with unsurpassed ability, justice, and honour.

{24} On 'Thought and Action.'

{25} 'Correspondance de Napoleon Ier.,' publiee par ordre de

l'Empereur Napoleon III, Paris, 1864.

{26} The recently published correspondence of Napoleon with his

brother Joseph, and the Memoirs of the Duke of Ragusa, abundantly

confirm this view. The Duke overthrew Napoleon's generals by the

superiority of his routine. He used to say that, if he knew

anything at all, he knew how to feed an army.

{27} His old gardener. Collingwood's favourite amusement was

gardening. Shortly after the battle of Trafalgar a brother admiral

called upon him, and, after searching for his lordship all over the

garden, he at last discovered him, with old Scott, in the bottom of

a deep trench which they were busily employed in digging.

{28} Article in the 'Times.'

{29} 'Self-Development: an Address to Students,' by George Ross,

M.D., pp. 1-20, reprinted from the 'Medical Circular.' This

address, to which we acknowledge our obligations, contains many

admirable thoughts on self-culture, is thoroughly healthy in its

tone, and well deserves republication in an enlarged form.

{30} 'Saturday Review.'

{31} See the admirable and well-known book, 'The Pursuit of

Knowledge under Difficulties.'

{32} Late Professor of Moral Philosophy at St. Andrew's.

{33} A writer in the 'Edinburgh Review' (July, 1859) observes that

"the Duke's talents seem never to have developed themselves until

some active and practical field for their display was placed

immediately before him. He was long described by his Spartan

mother, who thought him a dunce, as only 'food for powder.' He

gained no sort of distinction, either at Eton or at the French

Military College of Angers." It is not improbable that a

competitive examination, at this day, might have excluded him from

the army.

{34} Correspondent of 'The Times,' 11th June, 1863.

{35} Robertson's 'Life and Letters,' i. 258.

{36} On the 11th January, 1866.

{37} Brown's 'Horae Subsecivae.'

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