iWiiMiiillliiiiiiWi^s^^i^ 
 
 
Ht^aca. New ^nrh 
 
 WORDSWORTH COLLECTION 
 
 MADE BY 
 
 CYNTHIA MORGAN ST. JOHN 
 ITHACA. N. Y. 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 VICTOR EMANUEL 
 
 CLASS OF 1919 
 1925 
 
111 
 
WELL-SPENT LIVES. 
 
BRAVE MEN'S FOOTSTEPS. 
 
 A Book of Example and Anecdote in Peactical Life, 
 FOR Young People. 
 
 BY THE EDITOR OF 'MEN WHO HAVE RISEN.' 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY C. A. DOTLE. 
 
 Fifth edition, crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d. 
 
 ' One of the best books of its kind that have been pro- 
 duced for some years.' Standard. 
 
 ' A readable and instructive volume.' Examiner. 
 
 'No more welcome book for the schoolbo}' could be 
 imagined.' Birniinghani Daily Review. 
 
 C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., LONDON. 
 
WELL-SPENT LIVES: 
 
 A SERIES OF MODERN BIOGRAPHIES. 
 
 HERBERT EDMONDS. 
 
 ' He that is a good man is three-quarters of his way towards the being a good 
 Christian, wheresoever he lives or whatsoever he is called.' — South. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 
 
 1878. 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The origi-a^jpf this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924104096296 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In submitting this volume to the public, a word of 
 explanation may appropriately be offered concerning 
 the choice which has been made. 
 
 The principle by which the Author has been guided 
 has been chiefly a desire to map out — not with any 
 great precision, but in a rough and general way — the 
 different provinces in which the human mind has 
 exerted itself in recent years, and to take from each 
 an illustrious example of patient and successful toil. 
 In every case a fairly representative man has been 
 chosen, and one sufficiently modern to show something 
 of the progress which has been made in the particular 
 department of knowledge over which he has presided. 
 
 It will be observed that there is one character 
 common to all, and this is not an ' undesigned coinci- 
 dence.' All were distinctly religious men, and have 
 been selected because they were such. They made 
 religion the first concern of their lives, and found in it 
 
"vi Preface. 
 
 not only a comfort in times of distress, biit a help and 
 inspiration in their daily work. The faith which they 
 held penetrated into every part of their lives, and 
 gave evidence of its vitality in the faithful perform- 
 ance of duty and the earnest pursuit of knowledge. 
 
 The Author is not without hope that the brief 
 record of a few well-spent lives may offer some en- 
 couragement to others who are striving to live in ' the 
 
 light of high endeavours.' 
 
 H. E. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Poet : William Wordsworth . 
 The General : Sir Henry Havelock 
 The Philosopher : Michael Faraday 
 The Admiral : Sir Edward Parry . 
 The Statesman : William Wilberforce . 
 The Physician : Dr. James Hope 
 The Schoolmaster : Dr. Arnold 
 The Explorer : David Livingstone 
 The Geologist : Professor Sedgwick 
 The Surgeon : Sir Charles Bell . 
 The Lawyer : Sir Samuel Romilly 
 The Man of Business : George Moore 
 
 PAGE 
 
 3 
 33 
 
 65 
 91 
 127 
 163 
 193 
 229 
 265 
 299 
 333 
 369 
 
THE POET : 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 
 
 46 
 
' Some I do know, who did not call or think themselves " Prophets," 
 far enough from that ; but who were, in very truth, melodious Voices 
 from the eternal Heart of Nature once again ; souls for ever venerable 
 to all that have a soul.' Caelyle. 
 
THE POET : 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Poetry is the language in which the heart pours out 
 its tenderest feelings. It is the language of devotion, 
 of joy, and of sorrow. The earnest soul struggling 
 heavenward, yet oppressed with sin, held earthbound 
 while it spreads its wings for flight, turns for comfort 
 to the sweet Psalmist of Israel, and finds health and 
 life and spiritual strength as it drinks in the melody of 
 the song. It is the language of joy. ' 0, come, let ub 
 sing unto the Lord,' is the exclamation of the heart's 
 ecstatic delight ; and while it ministers to gladness it 
 is balm to sorrow : 
 
 ' For the unquiet heart and brain 
 A use in measui-ed language lies.' 
 
 We cannot easily imagine a grief which should be 
 quite insensible to its influence. Only a poet could fell 
 of a sadness like that of the Hebrew captives, who 
 
4 William Wordsworth. 
 
 hung their harps upon the willows and silently wept 
 by the waters of Babylon. 
 
 'Every great poet is a teacher. I wish either to be 
 considered as a teacher or as nothing.' So wrote Wil- 
 liam Wordsworth when the critics had almost per- 
 suaded the public to cast his poems aside unread. The 
 position of a teacher is one of considerable dignity ; 
 but as it generally means that he is to convey to man- 
 kind a message which the world at large knows nothing 
 about, it is usually his fate to be misunderstood, and 
 often to be abused, by those whom he is anxious to 
 teach. Such was the lot of Wordsworth. 
 
 In order to understand his teaching we must know 
 something of his own education. On April 7, 1770, 
 he first saw the light of day. It was at the town of 
 Cockermouth in Cimiberland, where his father, an 
 attorney, held the appointment of law-agent to the 
 Earl of Lonsdale. His mother died before he reached 
 his eighth year ; but her loving care dining this brief 
 time made an impression upon his young heart which 
 throughout his life was never effaced. 
 
 As a child he was sometimes moody and petulant. 
 Once he tells us that he went into a room in his 
 grandfather's house at Penrith, where he knew that 
 some foils were kept, and took one in his hand with 
 the intention of destroying himself, but his heart failed 
 him, and he returned the weapon to its place. The 
 cause of this sti'ange act was simply that some indig- 
 nity had been put upon him against which he rebelled. 
 It is not surprising that his mother, knowing the pecu- 
 
William IVordsworik. ^ 
 
 liarities of his disposition, should feel rather anxious 
 about him ; and she is said to have expressed the 
 opinion that the boy would probably distinguish him- 
 self either for good or bad. 
 
 His first introduction to school-life took place at 
 Penrith, where he occasionally went to reside with his 
 mother's parents. The school which he attended was 
 presided over by a dame, and amongst his schoolfellows 
 was a little girl, a few months younger than himself, 
 named Mary Hutchinson. We shall have occasion to 
 allude to her again later on. 
 
 When at home he went to a school in his own 
 town, and in 1778 was removed to Hawkshead Gram- 
 mar School in Lancashire. Here he remained, receiving 
 the education which books afford, until he was fourteen 
 years of age. But books did not contain all the lore 
 he yearned for. Outside his school and beyond the 
 town he loved to roam in solitude. Nature was his 
 companion and teacher. From earliest infancy he had 
 felt the soothing influence of Nature's calm. In his 
 autobiographical poem, the Prelude, he tells us that, 
 when a babe in arms, the gentle murmuring of the 
 Derwent was 
 
 ' Ceaseless music that composed my thouglits 
 To more than infant softness.' 
 
 And as he grew he felt more and more the fascinating 
 influence of hills and trees and babbling brooks. They 
 were his familiar friends, and when he wandered astray 
 would seem to reproach him with the fault. The 
 solemn silence of the mountain-tops filled him with 
 
6 William Wordsworth. 
 
 awe and reverence. When less than ten years old he 
 
 would go out upon the hills alone to snare woodcocks. 
 
 Nature's stillness, in these rambles, would hush him 
 
 into thoughtfulness : 
 
 ' I was alone, 
 And seem'd to be a trouble to the peace 
 That dwelt among them. Sometimes it befell 
 In these night wanderings that a strong desu-e 
 O'erpower'd my better reason, and the bii'd 
 Which was the captive of another's toil 
 Became my prey ; and when the deed was done, 
 I heard among the solitary hills 
 Low breathings coming after me, and sounds 
 Of undistingiiishable motion, steps 
 Almost as silent as the turf they trod.' 
 
 Prelude, book i. 
 
 In the half-holidays of his school-days it was his chief 
 delight to join a party of his friends, and 
 
 ' Sweep along the plain of Windermere 
 With rival oars,' 
 
 always in the direction of some romantic spot — a lonely 
 island, where stood the ruins of a sacred shrine, or 
 where the overarching trees threw a solemn shade and 
 the lilies of the valley bloomed, or perhaps a brighter 
 spot — 
 
 ' An island musical with bii'ds 
 That sang and ceased not' — 
 
 and the victory or defeat in the contest was forgotten 
 amid the associations of the 'selected bourn.' 
 
 ' In such a race 
 So ended disappointment could be none, 
 Uneasiness, or pain, or jealousy : 
 We rested in the plain, all pleased alike, 
 
William Wordsworth. 7 
 
 Conquer'd and conqueror. Thus the pride of strength, 
 
 And the vainglory of superior skill, 
 
 Were temper'd ; thus was gradually produced 
 
 A quiet independence of the heart ; 
 
 And to my Friend who knows me I may add, 
 
 Fearless of hlame, that hence for future days 
 
 Ensued a diffidence and modesty. 
 
 And I was taught to feel, perhaps too much, 
 
 The self-sufficing power of solitude.' 
 
 Prelude, book ii. 
 
 So long as the boy could indulge in this innocent 
 enjoyment of Nature's beauty he was happy. Every- 
 thing around him was instinct with life, and seemed to 
 hold converse with his soul. The placid lakes and 
 frowning peaks, the lowering thunder-cloud and the 
 soft zephyrs of a summer's evening, the hardiest oak 
 and the tenderest blossom, had each its message to 
 him. They were his counsellors and friends. In after- 
 years, looking back upon this period of his life, he 
 exclaimed: 
 
 ' If in my youth I have been pure in heart ; 
 If, mingling with the world, I am content 
 With my own modest pleasures, and have lived 
 With God and Nature communing, removed 
 From little enmities and low desires, 
 The gift is yours. 
 
 The gift is yours. 
 Ye winds and sounding cataracts ! 'tis yours. 
 Ye mountains ! thine, Nature ! Thou hast fed 
 My lofty speculations ; and in thee. 
 For this uneasy heart of ours, I find 
 A never-failing principle of joy 
 And purest passion.' 
 
 Prelude, book ii. 
 
8 William Wordsworth. 
 
 In 1783 his father died, and the young poet— for 
 he had ah^eady commenced to write — was placed under 
 the charge of his nncle. Fom- years later, having com- 
 pleted his seventeenth year, he went to Cambridge, 
 and was entered at St. John's College. To a noble 
 and exalted mind like Wordsworth's we might sup- 
 pose that the association of this home of learning 
 would be a delight and inspiration, but it was not so. 
 He pined for the freedom of his native hills. He felt 
 himself oppressed with a feeling that he ' was not for 
 that hour nor for that place.' Yet he was not 
 indifferent to the historic associations of the place. 
 Gazing back upon the feelings of those days, he 
 says : 
 
 ' Imagination slept, 
 And yet not utterly. I could not print 
 Ground where the grass had yielded to the steps 
 Of generations of illustrious men 
 Unmoved.' 
 
 Prtlude, book iii. 
 
 But his imagination found no expression in poetry : 
 only one poem, the Eveivmg Walk, was written duriug 
 his University career. 
 
 Hitherto we have seen him solemn and thoughtful, 
 listening to the teachings of Nature, and amazed at 
 her wonders; but now his feelings assume a more 
 distinctly religious character. His teachers are still 
 the same ; but, as he meditates in loneliness, he feels 
 his soul elevated above the petty cares of daily life, 
 and begins to realise the power of lofty aims, the 
 potency of a well-directed life — 
 
William Wordsworth. 9 
 
 ' How on earth 
 Man, if he do hut live within the light 
 Of high endeavours, daily spreads abroad 
 His being arm'd with strength that cannot fail.' 
 Prelude, book iv. 
 
 One of these solemn impressions — religious awaken- 
 ings they might be called — came upon him as he was 
 returning home from a rustic ball in the early hours of 
 morning. The circumstance is described in the Pre- 
 lude, and the passage must be given in full, for it is 
 one of the finest in the poem : 
 
 ' Magnificent 
 The morning rose in memorable pomp, 
 Glorious as e'er I had beheld. In front, 
 The sea lay laughing at a distance ; near, 
 The solid mountains shone, bright as the clouds, 
 Grain-tinctured, drench'd in empyrean light ; 
 And in the meadows and the lower grounds 
 Was all the sweetness of a common dawn — 
 Dews, vapours, and the melody of birds, 
 And laboiu'ers going forth to till the fields. 
 Ah, need I say, dear friend, that to the brim 
 My heart was fuU? I made no vows, but vows 
 Were then made for me ; bond unknown to me 
 Was given, that I should be, else sinning greatly, 
 A dedicated spirit.' 
 
 During his last college vacation, the autumn of 1790, 
 he made a tour through France and Switzerland in 
 company with a fellow-collegian named Robert Jones, 
 and like all the poets of the day he drank in the revo- 
 lutionary impulse. Up to this time he had been 
 strongly urged by many of his friends to enter the 
 Church ; but the disquieting influence of this conti- 
 nental tour upon his impulsive nature had greatly un- 
 
10 William Wordsworth. 
 
 settled liis mind, and made liim reluctant to submit to 
 the restraint of clerical life. He determined, there- 
 fore, that when his University career was concluded 
 he woiild enjoy the diversion of travel for a time 
 before finally deciding upon the future course of his 
 life. 
 
 In January 1791 he took his B.A. degree and went 
 to London. He also paid a visit to his friend Robert 
 Jones in North Wales, and in company with him made 
 a tour through the Principality, enjoying its romantic 
 and rugged beauty. But even amidst the solitude of 
 the hills the thought was ever present to his mind of 
 the rising spirit of liberty which he had witnessed 
 across the Channel. Like many other generous ardent 
 souls, his mind was inflamed by the events being there 
 enacted; his lofty enthusiasm was fed by the hope 
 that some wise and noble leaders would arise to guide 
 the movement ; and to the full he indulged in the 
 sanguine expectation that the reign on earth was now 
 to be inaugurated of liberty and brotherhood and uni- 
 versal peace. 
 
 Towards the end of 1791 he again visited the scene 
 of the struggle. At Paris and Orleans he watched with 
 close attention the stirring events of that exciting time, 
 mingling with his enthusiasm a sad regret that no fit 
 leader had yet been found to restrain and guide the 
 anger of the people. Towards the end of 1792 he 
 again returned to England, bringing with him, as a relic 
 to be prized and cherished, a fragment of stone which 
 he had preserved from the ruins of the Bastille. 
 
William Wordsworth. 
 
 II 
 
 The following year his first poems made their ap- 
 pearance. These comprised the piece written while at 
 college called the Evening Walk, and a poem entitled 
 Descriptive Sketches, containing an account of his 
 wanderings among the Alps. Neither of these poems 
 is, comparatively, entitled to any high rank among 
 Wordsworth's writings, though they give clear evidence 
 of the genius which was afterwards to be developed. 
 It is worthy of remark that, though the public displayed 
 little eagerness to obtain them, at least one competent 
 judge recognised their intrinsic merit. Coleridge was 
 at this time unknown to Wordsworth ; but as soon as 
 he had read the volume he declared that ' seldom, if 
 ever, was the emergence of an original poetic genius 
 above the literary horizon more evidently announced.' 
 
 Wordsworth, as we have said, had already deter- 
 mined that the Church was not his right vocation. The 
 law was then suggested to him ; but from this he shrank 
 instinctively, as being unsuited to his talents. There 
 was still the pursuit of literature in which he might 
 engage, and to this he directed his attention. But even 
 literature would be useless to him unless he could make 
 it remunerative ; for his funds were low, and there 
 seemed no way of increasing them save by his own 
 exertions. His mind too was depressed and melancholy. 
 The hopes he had built upon the French Revolution had 
 been rudely shattered : from the wreck and anarchy of 
 that great upheaval had emerged the form of Despotism ; 
 Liberty, affrighted at her own shadow, had fled from 
 the land ; and for the pure and ardent spirits who 
 
1 2 
 
 Willia^n Wordswo7'th. 
 
 had longed for the dawn of a brighter day there was 
 nothing left but to muse sorrowfully on their disap- 
 pointed expectations. How much that indulgence in 
 vain regret might disappoint the bright promise of 
 youth, and dry up the fount of human sympathy, we 
 learn from the Excursion, where the poet doubtless 
 puts into the life and character of the Solitary many 
 of the dark thoughts which at this time crossed his 
 mind. 
 
 Happy was it for him that by his side there walked 
 and waited lovingly one who could guide and cheer 
 his spirit in the fulfilment of a higher destiny. His 
 sister Dorothy, whose najcne has become almost as 
 familiar as his own, was now his truest friend. Her 
 quick perception enabled her to readily discern the 
 poet's genius ; and all the weight of her influence was 
 brought to bear upon him to keep him from embarking 
 in a profession unsuited to his tastes, or from brooding 
 sullenly upon the disappointment of his hopes. The 
 Prelude contains some grateful acknowledgments of 
 this preserving power ; and as we dwell upon the deep 
 feeling and solemn beauty of his later poems, we realise 
 how truly he was indebted to the sweet companion of 
 his life for her guidance at this critical time. With 
 sisterly tendei'ness she led him to that serene contem- 
 plation of Nature which was the life and inspiration 
 of his poetic soul. 
 
 But we have seen that mental disquietude was not 
 his only embarrassment. His small property was nearly 
 exhausted, and unless he could speedily turn his atten- 
 
Williain Wordsworth. 13 
 
 tion to some remunerative employment financial troubles 
 seemed likely to be added to his other anxieties. He 
 accordingly determined that he would go to London, 
 and employ his time in writing for newspapers ; but 
 even this must be delayed a little, for the claims of 
 friendship required that he should stay in Penrith to 
 attend at the bedside of a young companion named 
 Raisley Calvert, who was seriously ill. From that sick- 
 bed young Raisley Calvert never rose ; but before his 
 death he generously bestowed upon his friend a legacy 
 of 900/., in the hope that it might enable him to pursue, 
 without any anxious care, the natural bent of his poetic 
 disposition. De Quincey makes merry upon the sin- 
 gularly convenient way in which money always came 
 into Wordsworth's hands just at the moment when he 
 required it ; and in this respect his career was certainly 
 remarkable. Nothing could have been more agreeable 
 than this most timely gift ; and we shall notice that 
 throughout his life the same good fortune continually 
 attended him. 
 
 As soon as the poet found that his own and his 
 sister's immediate wants were provided for, he wisely 
 determined to relinquish his plan of writing for news- 
 papers, and resolved to devote his whole time and 
 thought to poetry. Instead, therefore, of going to 
 London, as he had previously arranged, he settled down 
 with his sister at Racedoun Lodge in Dorsetshire. 
 This was towards the end of 1795. 
 
 Very soon after he made the acquaintance of Cole- 
 ridge ; and so pleased were tlie two poets with each 
 
14 William Wordsworth. 
 
 other's society, that they became anxious for a closer 
 intimacy than was possible while they lived so far 
 apart. Coleridge was then residing at Nether Stowey 
 in Somersetshire. The natural law of affinity which 
 draws poets together with an irresistible attraction very 
 quickly vindicated its power ; and in the summer of 
 1797 Wordsworth and his sister found themselves com- 
 fortably settled at Alfoxden, close to Nether Stowey. 
 Here the poets were able to converse together as much 
 as they pleased upon the subjects dear to them both. 
 Neither of them was satisfied with the popular school 
 of poetry : they deemed it unreal and artificial, and 
 felt that a protest must be made against it. With this 
 view the plan was arranged of writing the Lyrical 
 Ballads, in which both the poets were to express in 
 simple language the simple feelings of ordinary every- 
 day life. 
 
 These ballads were published in 1798. They were 
 chiefly written by Wordsworth, and comprised some of 
 the simplest of his efforts. Occasionally, perhaps, there 
 was an affected childishness which partly justified the 
 censure that was so freely bestowed upon them ; but it 
 was only in a few instances that the complaint could 
 fairly be made, while in each there was a real beauty 
 which the inconsiderate critics entirely ignored. There 
 is, perhaps, none of them that has been more laughed 
 at than the familiar story of We are Seven; but we 
 shall look in vain to the more pretentious efforts of 
 other poets for anything which shall more felicitously 
 express the utter inability of childhood to realise the 
 
William Wordsworth. 15 
 
 meaning of death. But the critics were relentless. On 
 all hands the verdict was the same : censure, ridicule, 
 even a shriek of anger, came from poets and reviewers 
 alike; and the public, content that their merits should be 
 settled by the critics, permitted the volume to fall still- 
 born from the press. So insignificant indeed was the 
 sale, that when the publishers gave up business shortly 
 after the volume was published, and their copy- 
 rights were purchased by Messrs. Longman & Co., 
 the copyright of the Lyrical Ballads was valued at 
 nil. 
 
 But Wordsworth did not mind. To change the 
 public taste he knew was a difficult task, and one which 
 required the exercise of considerable patience ; but he 
 had faith in the ultimate triumph of his principles. In 
 the lowly incidents of humble life, and in the beauties 
 of external Nature, he was determined to seek for illus- 
 trations of the truths he wished to teach. The more 
 familiar the scenes, the more he loved to paint them. 
 Nature had be en his teacher, and from her he had learnt 
 that there is nothing which should be beneath the 
 poet's notice — 
 
 ' That he who feels contempt 
 For any living thing hath faculties 
 Which he has never used ; that thought with him 
 Is in its infancy.' 
 
 And knowing this to be true, he was content to pursue 
 the simple path he had chosen, heedless of the censure 
 which was passed upon him, in the full assurance that 
 the world would one day recognise the true worth of 
 
1 6 William Wordsworth. 
 
 his writings. ' Let the poet first consult his own heart, 
 as I have done, and leave the rest to posterity.' So 
 he wrote, and so he felt. 
 
 Towards the end of 1798 he started with his sister 
 and Coleridge for Germany. At Hamburg the party 
 was divided, Coleridge moving in the direction of 
 Ratzeburg, while Wordsworth and his sister took up 
 their residence at Goslar, a quiet town adjoining the 
 Hartz forest. Wordsworth's main object in taking this 
 journey was to obtain a more perfect acquaintance with 
 the German language ; but he seems to have been 
 industriously employed in writing poetry. Some of the 
 prettiest of his small pieces were produced at this time. 
 Early in the following year he returned to England, 
 and soon after settled with his sister at Grasmere. 
 From this time he never left the Lake district, except 
 for the purpose of paying temporary visits. 
 
 All who are acquainted with the Lake district can 
 easily understand the charm it must have had for a 
 poet like Wordsworth : its grandeur and its calm alike 
 impressed him ; it seemed the natural home of one 
 whose ' daily teachers had been woods and rills.' Soon 
 the ties of friendship brought others there. Coleridge, 
 anxious to be near his old companion, made it his 
 home ; Southey followed his friend Coleridge ; and 
 De Quincey and Professor Wilson joined the pleasant 
 company. The ties which held this little band toge- 
 ther were almost exclusively of a personal or family 
 nature ; but the critics, who had done their utmost to 
 destroy the poetic influence of Wordsworth, assured 
 
William Wordsworth. 17 
 
 themselves that this. Hteraiy gathering was of a far 
 more formidable character. They sn-pposed that com- 
 mon views on the subject of poetry was the bond oi 
 union, and the little company was christened with the 
 nickname of the 'Lake School.' 
 
 Of this imaginary ' school' Wordsworth was con- 
 sidered the principal representative ; and the associa- 
 tion of other poets with him at his quiet retreat in 
 Westmoreland was supposed to imply a complete 
 agreement on the principles of poetry for which he 
 contended. As a matter of fact the divergence was 
 very considerable : in many respects the views of 
 Wordsworth and Southey were completely at vari- 
 ance; but the reviewers, instead of recognising in this 
 fact a proof that their theory of the Lake School was 
 erroneous, persisted in regarding it as an indication ot 
 the difficulty that was experienced in keeping up the 
 union. Apart from the supposition that the 'Lake 
 poets' were united in a conspiracy to destroy the 
 popular school of poetry, there was nothing to excite 
 the least surprise in these differences ; but when once 
 it was taken for granted that this conspiracy existed, 
 every disagreement became important. And so the 
 critics amused themselves by making nice comparisons, 
 and dwelt with an amusing persistency upon the 
 quarrels which would surely destroy at last the har- 
 mony of the 'school.' Indeed an alarming amount of 
 nonsense has been talked upon this subject, and it has 
 all arisen from the one original mistake of supposing 
 that a special literary significance attached to a gather- 
 
 
 
1 8 William Wordsworth. 
 
 ing of friends who were brouglit together almost 
 entirely by personal and family associations. The 
 ' Lake School' has now come to mean nothing more 
 than William Wordsworth ; and when a poet is identi- 
 fied as being a disciple of the school, nothing more or 
 less is implied than that in tone and style he bears a 
 resemblance to Wordsworth. 
 
 But we must return to the personal narrative. In 
 1802 the poet paid a short visit to Penrith, and brought 
 back to the quiet cottage at Grasmere a companion for 
 his future years in the person of Mary Hutchinson — 
 his old friend at the dame-school of his infancy — 
 
 ' A perfect woman, nobly plann'd, 
 To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
 And yet a spirit still, and bright 
 With something of angelic light. ' 
 
 Miss Wordsworth continued to share her brother's 
 home. 
 
 The following year Wordsworth and his sister 
 started on a tour through Scotland. The poet has left 
 us in verse many pleasing memorials of this jom-ney, 
 and Miss Wordsworth has given us a charming narra- 
 tive in her diary of the tour. Coleridge started from 
 England with them, but was obliged to turn back. 
 The chief incidents of this tour were that the poet 
 made the acquaintance of Sir Walter Scott, and had 
 an opportunity of sorrowfully gazing upon the tomb of 
 Burns. From this time till 1813 he remained at Gras- 
 mere and the neighbouring cottage at Allan Bank 
 steadily writing and pubhshing. In 1813 he removed 
 
William Wordsworth. 19 
 
 to Rjdal Mount — a pleasant spot about two miles 
 distant from Grasmere — where he remained for the 
 rest of his life. 
 
 In 1814 his great poem of the Excursion was pub- 
 lished, and once more the reviewers went to work to 
 censure and condemn it. ' This will never do !' ex- 
 claimed ' immortal Jeffrey.' ' The case of Mr. Words- 
 worth, we perceive, is now manifestly hopeless, and 
 we give him up as altogether incurable, and beyond 
 the power of criticism.' Such was the judgment of the 
 principal critic of the day, and it doubtless had con- 
 siderable influence in deterring others from an atten- 
 tive study of the poem — for the public had not then 
 discerned, what is now abundantly clear to every one, 
 that Jeffrey was utterly incapable of appreciating the 
 true worth of a man like Wordsworth. Notwith- 
 standing the harsh criticism which this poem evoked, 
 it succeeded in gaining a select number of readers, by 
 whom many of its beautiful passages were highly 
 admired. 
 
 It was intended to be only a part of a large poem, 
 the general title of which was to be the Recluse ; and 
 in the preface to the first edition the plan of the whole 
 work is alluded to. ' Several years ago, when the 
 author retired to his native mountains, with the hope 
 of being enabled to construct a literary work that 
 might live, it was a reasonable thing that he should 
 take a review of his own mind, and examine how far 
 Nature and education had qualified him for such em- 
 ployment. As subsidiary to this preparation, he under- 
 
20 William Wordsworth. 
 
 took to record in verse the origin and progress of his 
 own powers, as far as he was acquainted with them.' 
 This record of 'the origin and progress of his own 
 powers' was completed in 1805, but remained unpub- 
 lished till 1850. The Excursion, therefore, was pub- 
 lished first, and is comx_)lete in itself, though only 
 intended to be the second part of the larger work. 
 
 We have had occasion to frequently allude to the 
 Prelude in tracing the poet's early life, and from the 
 Excursion we gain whatever knowledge w^e possess of 
 the mental progress of his manhood. The principal 
 characters introduced in the poem are the author, a 
 venerable companion called the Wanderer, a disap- 
 pointed hermit called the Solitary, and a village pastor 
 — leai lied, pious, and humble — who delights to live and 
 minister amid his simple flock, caring only 
 
 ' That when his course 
 Is run, some faithful eulogist may say, 
 He sought not praise, and praise did overlook 
 His unohtrusive merit ; but his life. 
 Sweet to himself, was exercised in good 
 That shall survive his name and memory.' 
 
 These are the principal characters of the poem ; and 
 their conversation, thrown into something of dramatic 
 form, turns upon the lofty topics of human duties, con- 
 flicts, and hopes. All who have carefully studied this 
 poem will acknowledge its elevating and ennobling 
 influence. The incidents are solemn — sometimes 
 mournful : a funeral ; churchyard meditations ; struggle 
 of the human heart with unrequited love ; or despon- 
 dency in ' sunless gulfs of doubt.' Yet the impression 
 
William Wordsworth. 21 
 
 jit leaves is not one of sadness, still less of despair ; but 
 ever of the victory of faith : it leads our thoughts 
 upward till they rest in God, and calms us with the 
 assurance of the eternal triumph of good. The Wan- 
 derer recognises in this the only available comfort in 
 times of trouble : 
 
 ' One adequate support 
 For the calamities of mortal life 
 Exists, one only — an assured belief 
 That the procession of our fate, howe'er 
 Sad or disturb'd, is order'd by a Being 
 Of infinite benevolence and power, 
 Whose everlasting purposes embrace 
 All accidents, converting them to good.' 
 
 Wherever the poet presents to us the sad aspect of 
 
 human life, it is to point us the Source whence the 
 
 remedy must proceed. We see here the progress he 
 
 has made since the days when his soul burned with 
 
 all the passionate enthusiasm of the French Revolution. 
 
 He is no better pleased than ever with the condition 
 
 of society; he still longs to see it regenerated; the new 
 
 birth of the nations is still his hope ; but he has ceased 
 
 to place his former trust in the feeble efforts of men, 
 
 and places all his hopes in the working of that ' Eternal 
 
 Spirit' to whom the pastor prays : 
 
 ' If by Thy decree 
 The consummation that will come by stealth 
 Be yet far distant, let Thy Word prevail, 
 0, let Thy Word prevail, to take away 
 The sting of human nature. Spread Thy law. 
 As it is written in Thy holy Book, 
 Throughout all lands ; let every nation hear 
 The high behest, and every heart obey ; 
 Both for the love of purity, and hope 
 
2 2 William Wordsworth. 
 
 Which it affords, to such as do Thy will 
 And perseyere in good, that they may rise 
 To have a nearer view of Thee in heaven. 
 Father of Good ! this prayer in bounty gi-aut, 
 In mercy grant it to Thy wi'etched sons. 
 Then — not till then — shall persecutions cease 
 And cruel wars expire.' 
 
 Had Wordsworth been dependent solely upon his 
 writings for support, the critics would have succeeded 
 most effectually in ruining him ; but fortunately he 
 never knew what it was to be in want of money. The 
 legacy left him by Raisley Calvert was sufficient, with 
 the addition of 100/. left to his sister and another 100/. 
 realised by the Lyrical Ballads, to maintain them both 
 for nearly eight years. Their father, we have noticed, 
 was law-agent to the Earl of Lonsdale, and at his 
 death the Earl was largely indebted to him ; but his 
 lordship, who gained the designation of the 'bad Lord 
 Lonsdale,' refused to pay this debt to the Wordsworth 
 family. In 1802 the ' bad lord' died, and his successor 
 immediately handed over to William and Dorothy 
 Wordsworth 1800/. apiece. Nothing could have been 
 more opportune than this payment, for it came to hand 
 just at the time when Eaisley Calvert's bequest was 
 about exhausted. 
 
 From this time money seems to have flowed in from 
 various sources at convenient intervals. He received 
 some with his wife; then his wife's uncle died, 'leaving,' 
 says De Quincey, ' to various nieces, and especially to 
 Mrs. Wordsworth, something or other — I forget what 
 but it was expressed by thousands of pounds.' In 1813 
 
William Wordsworth. 23 
 
 the office of Distributor of Stamps for the county of 
 Westmoreland fell vacant, and by the influence of Lord 
 Lonsdale Wordsworth received the appointment. The 
 duties were light and the salary 500/. a year. Soon 
 after the Cumberland distributor died, and part of his 
 district was annexed to Wordsworth's, with an addi- 
 tional salary of about 400Z. This appointment he con- 
 tinued to hold until 1842, when he resigned it in favour 
 of his younger son. 
 
 From the time of the publication of the Excursion 
 his fame speedily grew. The public, who had been 
 taught to despise his grotesque simplicity, began to 
 realise his depth and beauty ; taught to ridicule his 
 childish affectation, they found in him a surpassing 
 naturalness which touched their hearts and made itself 
 felt. The mists of prejudice had long hung about him^ 
 obscuring his fame and hindering his message to men ; 
 but his opponents had done their worst, and their 
 efforts were doomed to failure. In his quiet retreat at 
 Mount Rydal the poet had the satisfaction of knowing 
 that the people for whom he had written had learnt to 
 value his words, and that the men who had sought to 
 crush him in his youthful aspirations were ready to 
 acknowledge his genius and true worth. He had 
 written with a full assurance — we had almost said a 
 sublime faith — in his ultimate triumph : he knew that 
 
 ' Nature never did betray 
 The heart that loved her ;' 
 
 and from his youth up he had firmly resolved to be 
 
24 William Wordsworth. 
 
 faithful to Nature's teaching. Here was his great dis- 
 tinguishing characteristic. Other poets have gone to 
 Nature for imagery, and have clothed their thoughts in 
 her beauty ; but he went to her for the thoughts as 
 well : she was his teacher, and he a willing pupil — apt 
 to learn, loving and dutiful. We have noticed with 
 what solemn thoughts his lonely walks impressed him 
 in his boyhood. Let us hear his reflections later on in 
 life, when, contemplating the beauty with which God 
 has robed the universe, he realised more fully the 
 presence of Him ' in whom we live and move and have 
 our being ;' 
 
 ' I have felt 
 A presence that disturbs me with the joy 
 Of elevated thoughts : a sense sublime 
 Of something far more deeply interfused, 
 Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 
 And the round ocean, and the living air, 
 And the blue sky, and in the mind of man : 
 A motion and a spirit, that impels 
 All thinking things, all objects of all thought, 
 And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still 
 A lover of the meadows, and the woods. 
 And mountains, and of all that we behold 
 From this green earth ; of all the mighty world 
 Of eye and ear, both what they half create 
 And what perceive ; weU pleased to recognise 
 In Nature and the language of the sense 
 The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, 
 The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul 
 Of all my moral being.' 
 
 Lines composed a few Miles above Tintern Ahhey , 
 July 13, 1798. 
 
 But Wordsworth is ever reminding us that those 
 only can learn deep truths from Nature who seek in- 
 
William Wordsworth. 25 
 
 str-uction in the spirit of humility. She has no message 
 
 for those who prize 
 
 ' The transcendent universe 
 No more than as a mirror that reflects 
 To proud self-love her own intelligence.' 
 
 Nor is her music heard, or her teaching understood, by 
 
 any but the pure in heart. To ' Peter Bell,' though 
 
 in his travels Nature was ever before him, she had 
 
 nothing to teach — or rather, he could not understand : 
 
 ' He roved among the vales and streams, 
 
 In the green wood and hollow dell ; 
 They were his dwellings night and day. 
 But Nature ne'er could find the way 
 
 Into the heart of Peter Bell. 
 
 In vain through every changeful year 
 
 Did Nature lead him as before ; 
 A primrose by a river's brim 
 A yellow primrose was to him, 
 
 And it was nothing more.' 
 
 To the worldly mind it is the same : the music is 
 not heard, the beauty is not seen, the solemn truths 
 are unrevealed. And the poet from his lofty eminence 
 gazes compassionately — not contemptuously — on the 
 worldliness of men. He sees them so absorbed in the 
 pursuit of gain as to be incapable of a true feeling for 
 poetry ; and to be incapable of this feeling ' is to be 
 without love of human nature and reverence for God.' 
 His lamentation may still teach men something : 
 
 ' The world is too much with us ; late and soon, 
 
 Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers : 
 Little we see in Nature thait is ours. 
 We have given our hearts away — a sordid boon ! 
 
26 William Wordsworth. 
 
 The sea that bares her bosom to the moon, 
 The winds that will be howling at aU hours, 
 And are up-gather'd now, like sleeping flowers — 
 
 For this, for everything, we are out of tune ; 
 
 It moves us not.' 
 
 But Wordsworth was not contented with doleful 
 lamentations. He was no cynic snarling at the world 
 for its folly, and leaving it to its fate. His mission was 
 to I'emedy its wrongs; to teach men higher, purer, 
 nobler thoughts. Nor did it distress him to know that 
 his poems were being cast contemptuously aside. 
 ' Trouble not yourself,' he wrote to a friend, ' about their 
 present reception ; of what moment is that compared 
 with what I trust is their destiny? — to console the 
 afflicted ; to add sunshine to daylight, by making the 
 happy happier; to teach the young and the gracious 
 of every age to see, to think, and feel, and therefore to 
 become more actively and securely virtuous : this is 
 their office, which I trust they will faithfully perform 
 long after we are mouldered in our graves.' He wrote 
 that men might learn : he was to be 'a teacher or 
 nothing.' From the reverent contemplation of Nature 
 he sought to lead men's thoughts to the Fount and 
 Source of all that is pure and lovely and of good report. 
 He knew that, to the vicious. Nature spoke of nothing 
 beyond herself: a primrose was ' a yellow primrose and 
 no more ;' the form alone was seen, the teaching was 
 concealed. So also by those whose thoughts were 
 solely given to the avarice and strife of the world her 
 music was heard in vain. The heart could not respond: 
 
William Wordsworth. ij 
 
 it was out of tune. But to the spiritual discernment 
 of the meek and lowly Nature was a Divine revelation 
 — an authentic message of things unseen. The pure in 
 heart could read its promises of peace and love ; the 
 ear of Faith could drink in its entrancing melody : 
 
 ' I have seen 
 A cui-ious child, who dwelt upon a tract 
 Of inland sea, applying to his ear , 
 
 The convolutions of a smooth-lipp'd shell, 
 To which, in silence hush'd, his very soul 
 Listen'd intensely ; and his countenance soon 
 Brighten'd with joy ; for from within were heard 
 Murmurings, whereby the monitor express'd 
 Mysterious union with its native sea. 
 Even such a shell the universe itself 
 Is to the ear of Faith ; and there are times, 
 I doubt not, when to you it doth impart 
 Authentic tidings of invisible things ; 
 Of ebb and flow, of ever- during power ; 
 And central peace, subsisting at the heart 
 Of endless agitation.' 
 
 Even farther than this Wordsworth feels the potency 
 of Nature's teaching; for not only does she speak when 
 men rightly hear, but she even stimulates the Faith 
 that listens. It was so with the Wanderer in the 
 Excursion. When, 'a herdsman on the lonely moun- 
 tain-tops,' he learned ' to look on Nature with a humble 
 heart,' and his faith gathered strength in the exer- 
 cise — 
 
 ' 0, then how beautiful, how bright appear'd 
 
 The written promise ! Early had he learn'd 
 
 To reverence the volume that displays 
 
 The mystery, the life which cannot die ; 
 
 But in the mountains did he feel his faith. 
 
 Responsive to the writing, all things there 
 
28 William Wordswo7'th. 
 
 Breathed immortality, revolving life, 
 
 And greatness still revolving, infinite ; . • 
 
 There littleness was not ; the least of things 
 
 Seem'd infinite ; and there his spirit shaped 
 
 Her prospects : now did he believe — he saw. 
 
 What wonder if his being thus became 
 
 Sublime and comprehensive !' 
 
 The latter years of the poet's life were spent quietly 
 at Mount Rydal, varied occasionally with a short run 
 to the Continent or a brief visit to Scotland. In 1839 
 the University of Oxford bestowed an academic degree 
 upon him in recognition of his genius. Three years 
 later Sir Robert Peel recommended him for a royal 
 grant of 300/. a year; and in 1843 he succeeded his 
 friend Southey as Poet Laureate. 
 
 His course was now nearly run. On Sunday, 10th 
 March 1850, he attended divine service inHydal Chapel 
 for the last time. The following Thursday he com- 
 plained of a pain in his side, and retired to rest. 
 Friends who heard of his illness anxiously inquired 
 about him ; but each day the reports were less favour- 
 able : he was rapidly growing weaker. Sunday, April 
 7th, was the eightieth anniversary of his birth, and in 
 Rydal Church prayers were offered that he might yet 
 be longer spared. But it was not to be. Gradually he 
 sank — lower and lower; and at last, on the 23d of 
 April, he peacefully fell asleep. The simple unaffected 
 piety of his life remained the same till his death. He 
 
 died in the faith in which he had lived and worked 
 
 the faith in a Redeemer's love, and the ever-present 
 companionship of God. 
 
William Wordsworth. 29 
 
 Here we must take leave of om- subject. To extract 
 passages from his poems which would adequately ex- 
 press his teaching would require far more space than 
 is now at our disposal, and would be beyond our pre- 
 sent purpose. We must leave our readers to discover 
 for themselves the beauties of his writings, and none 
 who attempt the search will relinquish it without 
 reward. 
 
 The lines with which the poet concludes his series 
 of Sonnets to the River Duddon may appropriately close 
 this sketch. He consulted his own heart, he tells us, 
 before he wrote : 
 
 ' I thought of thee, my partner and my guide, 
 As being pass'd away. Vain sympathies ! 
 For backward, Duddon ! as I cast my eyes, 
 I see what was, and is, and will abide. 
 Still glides the stream, and shall not cease to glide 
 The form remains, the function never dies ; 
 While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise, 
 We men, who in the morn of youth defied 
 The elements, must vanish. Be it so ! 
 Enough if something from our hands have power 
 To live, and act, and serve the passing hour ; 
 And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, 
 Through love, through hope, and faith's ti-anscendent dower, 
 We feel that we are greater than we know.' 
 
THE GENEEAL : 
 
 SIR HENRY HAYELOCK. 
 
' Real glory- 
 Springs from the quiet conquest of ourselves ; 
 And without that, the conqueror is naught 
 But the first slave.' 
 
 Thomson. 
 
THE GENERAL: 
 
 SIR HENRY HAVE LOCK. 
 
 There cau be no scene more suggestive of painful 
 reflections to the moral sense of mankind than the 
 field where the jealousies and enmities of nations are 
 submitted to the dread arbitrament of war. Yet few 
 incidents captivate the imagination more than the 
 deeds of heroism wrought there. All that is noble 
 and chivalrous and brave seems to meet in conflict. 
 Thither the Peri first wings her flight to search for 
 the treasure that shall move the ' crystal bar of Eden,' 
 and finding upon the bloody plain a noble warrior 
 whose life has been sacrificed with the last hope of 
 his country's freedom, she speeds to the ' Eternal Gate' 
 with the welcome gift of his life-blood. So romance 
 has ever loved to dwell upon the heroic aspect of war, 
 painting in picturesque beauty the self-sacrifice of 
 noble men; the bravery, the fidelity, the patient en- 
 durance. 
 
 D 
 
34 Sir Henry Havebck. 
 
 In the sketch which we propose now to give, all 
 that is noble and manly in the highest ideal of a soldier's 
 life finds expression ; for Havelock could withstand the 
 taunts of irreligious companions as well as ride calmly 
 to the cannon's mouth ; his mihtary obedience was not 
 more exact than his scrupulous fidelity to God. In all 
 things he was a faithful servant, and the bravest of the 
 brave. 
 
 He was born at Bishop Wearmouth, near Sunder- 
 land, April 5, 1795. The period of childhood calls 
 for no special remark, except it be to say that he 
 evinced a serious thoughtfulness which seemed to be in 
 advance of his years. His mother had carefidly im- 
 pressed upon his young mind the supreme importance 
 of religion, and by example, as well as precept, had 
 trained him in the way that he should go. When about 
 nine years of age he was sent to the Charterhouse 
 School, and i-emained there for seven years. During 
 this time he made the acquaintance of several boys 
 about his own age, who were destined in after-years to 
 creditably fill high offices in Church and State. Some 
 of these acquaintances were continued through all the 
 changes of their varying lives, and in letters written 
 late in life they recall to each other's recollection the 
 days when a small party would retire to one of the 
 sleeping-rooms of the Charterhouse, and join together 
 in the Avorship of God and the study of His word. 
 During the school-daj^s he was deprived of one whose 
 loving care he had learned to value. His mother was 
 called away to rest from her labours. Tlie career of 
 
►Sz'r Henry Hav clock. ^iS 
 
 this one son would be sufEcient proof tliat those labours 
 were not in vain. 
 
 Young- Hemy Havelock had three brothers, all of 
 whom embraced the profession of arms ; but he seemed 
 destined for other duties. His mother had always 
 wished that he should go to the Bar, and now that she 
 was gone her wish was sacred to him. His own prefer- 
 •ence was for a military life ; but he soon decided the 
 matter, and in 1813 entered the Middle Temple as a 
 pupil of Chitty, the eminent pleader. There can be no 
 -doubt that the army was the right place for Havelock : 
 his genius was peculiarly adapted to the requirements 
 of a campaign, he was natiu-a,lly fitted to be a leader of 
 men. Y/e must therefore feel glad that circumstances 
 ■caused him to relinquish the law, though we may regret 
 the nature of those circumstances, A domestic dis- 
 agreement was the cause of the change ; his father, in 
 proof of his displeasure, withdrawing the support whicli 
 was essential to the continuance of his legal studies. 
 Henry was now advised by his brother to enter the 
 army; and at the age of twenty he did so, having 
 obtained a commission through his brother's influ- 
 ence. 
 
 The army can scarcely be deemed the most favour- 
 able school for the development of a religious character; 
 the associations are scarcely conducive to the growth 
 of spiritual life. Young Havelock had been quite ready 
 to join Avith his friends at school in private devotion, 
 heedless of the opinions of others about him ; and at 
 the early part of his military career he would no doubt 
 
2,6 Sir Heiiry Havelock. 
 
 have been quite proof against tlie sneers and open 
 hostility of his more worldly companions. But it was 
 a different kind of temptation he had to pass through. 
 He had to encounter the depressing influence of worldly 
 associations, and slowly his faith began to Yv^aver : his 
 spiritual life became feeble, its vitality was ebbing 
 away. Then the temptation became more violent ; 
 from the decay of spiritual life he passed to doubt of 
 the great truths of Christianity. Even the doctrine of 
 the Atonement — the Alpha and Omega of God's reve- 
 lation to mankind — caused him great mental dis- 
 quietude, and was almost rejected^ Those who can 
 understand Havelock's experience at this time will 
 restrain their censure, and spare a large share of com- 
 passion for him in a trial so great. These feelings to 
 which we have referred had been slowly growing upon 
 him during the first eight years of his military life. 
 During that time he was stationed in various parts of 
 the United Kingdom; but now an opportunity pre- 
 sented itself of going abroad, and Havelock eagerly 
 availed himself of it. 
 
 In the vessel in which he sailed for Bengal in 1823 
 were some other officers, and amongst them a Lieu- 
 tenant Gardner, with whom Havelock speedily became 
 very friendly. Lieutenant Gardner was a man of 
 strong religious principle, and he soon learned from 
 Havelock that it would be congenial to make religion 
 the subject of conversation. From this time Havelock's 
 doubts were settled; he resumed the reverent study 
 of the Scriptures, and soon his faith was reestablished, 
 
Sir Henry Havelock. 37 
 
 and his spiritual life invigorated. The indifference of 
 former days passed away as soon as he came into con- 
 tact with the spiritual energy of his friend. 
 
 During this voyage Havelock was asked by his 
 brother officers to give them lessons in Hindostanee ; 
 for he had been carefully studying Oriental languages 
 during his military life in England, Havelock cheer- 
 fully undertook the duty; but he insisted that his 
 pupils must recognise his authoi'ity as teacher, and 
 must attend regularly and punctually upon their studies, 
 in proof of their anxiety to learn. His friends readily 
 agreed to these conditions, and the class was at once 
 formed. This incident is exceedingly characteristic of 
 Havelock's disposition, and gives us an early glimpse 
 of the earnest worker and strict disciplinarian. 
 
 On arriving at Calcutta Havelock was disappointed 
 to find that the accommodation at Fort William was 
 so scanty that it would be necessary for a time to share 
 his rooms with a brother officer. Fortunately Lieu- 
 tenant Gardner was temporarily stationed there, and 
 the two friends were able to arrange to remain toge- 
 ther. This prolonged association doubtless had the 
 effect of greatly assisting the development of Have- 
 lock's religious character. 
 
 As soon as he was settled at Calcutta Havelock lost 
 no time in associating himself with the various Christian 
 agencies of the place, and astonished his brother officers 
 by gathering together upon each Sunday as many of 
 his men as cared to accept his invitation for the pur- 
 pose of religious instruction. No opportunity was lost 
 
38 Sir Hen7y Havelock. 
 
 "by him of exercising a religious influence on all around 
 him. There was nothing in his service of God which 
 he considered it necessary to conceal: his light was 
 not hid beneath a bushel, but was allowed to shine 
 before men. No one could doubt whose disciple he 
 was : every one knew the Master that he served. But 
 let us be careful to do him no injustice. Though his. 
 religion was frank and known to all about him, it was 
 offensive to none. He knew that the best service he 
 could offer to God was a life of active but unobtrusive 
 piety. 
 
 Of course he had to encounter oj)position from his 
 brother officers. The traditions of army life were 
 opposed to so complete a profession of Christianity,. 
 and the innovation was resented. The innovator him- 
 self was christened a ' saint,' and the ingenuity of his 
 companions was exhausted in ridicule. But this did 
 not last for long. As soon as the conversation was- 
 turned to military matters, all listened vdth eagerness 
 to the 'saint's' words. His criticism of past campaigns, 
 his perfect acquaintance with the details of all the 
 great battles, and his clear discernment of the cause of 
 failure in each instance, excited the interest and kindled 
 the respect of those who were inclined to sneer at his 
 religion. They felt that his military superiority blunted 
 the edge of their sarcasms. His religion, they found 
 was not merely a substitute for military capacity. 
 
 In 1824 the aggression and extravagant pretensions 
 of the Burmese court caused the authorities of India to 
 despatch an army of 10,000 men, under Sir Archibald 
 
Sir Hemy Hav clock. 39, 
 
 Campbell, across the frontier. The opinion formed at 
 the court of Ava of the power of England was one of 
 those strange delusions which occasionally get posses- 
 sion of the mind of half-civilised rulers. The fame of 
 European soldiers may perhaps have reached the ears 
 of the king, but if so, it only increased his anxiety to 
 encounter them. This expedition was accordingly sent 
 to teach him the lesson that he needed, and Havelock 
 welcomed it as an opportunity of exercising his mili- 
 tary capabiUties. He received the temporary appoint- 
 ment of deputy-assistant-adjutant-general. 
 
 It was rmderstood that the fu'st attack would be 
 made upon the toMii of Rangoon, and Havelock was 
 eager to reach the spot; but, through some misman- 
 agement iji the marine department, the dejDartm-e of 
 his vessel was delayed for a considerable time after 
 Sir A. Campbell had started. AATien at last he got in 
 sight of Rangoon he found, to his great disappointment, 
 that the town had been captured a week before. On 
 the 11th May the troops occupied the town, but for 
 some time they were annoyed with attacks from the 
 thick surrounding jungle, which had to be repelled by 
 sorties, in which the Burmese soldiers, of course, had 
 the great advantage of fighting in their native jungle 
 against an enemy unusued to such warfare. The 
 resistance, however, was only feebly protracted, and 
 the losses of the British were due chiefly to sickness, 
 Havelock had his first command on July 5, 1824, 
 when, with a small band, he attacked and, after hard 
 fighting, carried one of the enemy's stockades. The 
 
40 Sir Henry Havelock. 
 
 war feebly lived on till 1826, -when the close approach 
 of the British troops to the capital made the king sue 
 for peace. Havelock was one of the British represen- 
 tatives chosen to proceed to Ava for the purpose of 
 receiving the ratification of the treaty. 
 
 One incident of the campaign deserves notice. The 
 army was not provided with a chaplain, so Havelock 
 obtained permission to use one of the cloisters of the 
 Great Pagoda for religious services. An officer who 
 was present during the campaign relates that he once 
 heard some voices in the temple, and, wandering in, 
 found Havelock surrounded by his men of the 13th 
 regiment singing hymns to God. Around were the 
 symbols of the Burmese worship, and on the lap of 
 each image of Budha stood a lamp burning brightly to 
 give light to the small band of Christians. 
 
 Havelock did not remain in Burmah during the 
 whole of the campaign. Illness compelled him to 
 leave the country during the first year. His physician 
 ordered him to visit England ; but he was reluctant to 
 leave altogether the only scene where he could ex- 
 pect active service, and accordingly obtained permis- 
 sion to return to Bengal instead. This he did, and 
 was sufficiently restored in health to return to the 
 scene of hostilities during the progress of the war. 
 
 He afterwards published an account of the cam- 
 paign, in which the conduct of those responsible for it 
 was severely criticised. This step seems to have been 
 rather unfortunate for him at the time ; but he took it 
 from a sense of duty, though he knew that, as a candi- 
 
Sir Henry Have lock. 41 
 
 date for promotion, he could not afford to make enemies 
 of his military superiors. 
 
 In 1829 he married ; and six years later was ap- 
 pointed adjutant of the 13th regiment. This appoint- 
 ment was much opposed by many of his brother 
 officers, chiefly on the ground that to appoint to so 
 responsible a post an officer who habitually associated 
 with his men in worship would be subversive of autho- 
 rity and dangerous to the discipline of the regiment. 
 This complaint fortunately caused the authorities to 
 investigate the matter, and it was soon found that the 
 most obedient and best behaved in the regiment were 
 those who were in the habit of meeting for Havelock's 
 religious services. The appointment was therefore 
 made on the ground that he was ' unquestionably the 
 fittest man for it.' 
 
 Havelock's efforts to improve the character of his 
 men were now in no Avay lessened. He formed a tem- 
 perance society, of which the colonel of the regiment 
 — a man of religious principle, like Havelock — became 
 a member, and many of the privates were enrolled. 
 He was also instrumental in obtaining for the men a 
 coffee-room, where they could meet for familiar inter- 
 course instead of resorting to the canteen. In this 
 room he frequently addressed the men on religious 
 and other kindred topics. 
 
 The spirit of personal regard which this treatment 
 awakened in the men was shown under painful circum- 
 stances shortly after. Mrs. Havelock with her children 
 had been obliged to reside at a distance from lier hus- 
 
42 Sir Henry Havelock. 
 
 band's station, and on the 18th October 1836 she Avas 
 suddenly awakened by a cry of ' Fu'e !' The flames, 
 were rapidly spreading round the bungalow as she 
 rushed out with her youngest child in her arms : no 
 sooner was she out than she fell into the flames, and 
 but for the courageous efforts of a native servant both 
 mother and child must have perished. The servants 
 ran into the house and rescued the two boys still there, 
 but two servants died. The child who was clasped 
 in Mrs. Havelock's arms wdien she fell amidst the 
 flames was so severely burnt that death speedily ter- 
 minated its sufferings ; but Mrs. Havelock lingered in 
 great agony, and one of the boys was severely burnt. 
 
 Such was the news that suddenly reached Have- 
 lock. The shock to him was of course great, but his 
 Christian fortitude did not give way. In the midst of 
 his grief he remembered the Source of his strength, and 
 thankfully recorded the consolation he found in the 
 knowledge that God's love would still sustam him. 
 When the men of his regiment heard of the calamity 
 they went to him in a body to express theii- sympath}^, 
 and even offered him their wages for a month to com- 
 pensate for the pecimiary loss. This generous offer 
 was of course refused ; but nothing could afford better 
 evidence of the personal respect felt for him by the 
 men he commanded. Mrs. Havelock, after a long ill- 
 ness, happily recovered from her injuries. 
 
 Towards the end of 1838 Havelock, who had re- 
 cently been raised to the rank of captain, was appointed 
 aide-de-camp to Sir Willoughby Cotton, and left for the 
 
Sir Henry Havelock. 4j, 
 
 field of battle in Affgbanistan. This AfFgiian war is 
 one of the least satisfactory incidents in the progress 
 of British arms in Asia. It was undertaken for the 
 purpose of seating Shah Soojah upon the AfFghan 
 throne. Shah Soojah was a mere puppet in the hands 
 of the English, and the hope was that by establishing 
 him in power we should — according to Lord Auckland's 
 manifesto — ' raise up a lasting barrier against hostile 
 intrigues and encroachments at Cabul.' Our troops, 
 accordingly placed him upon the throne ; but we soon 
 found that this was only the beginning of the difficulty. 
 So long as a sufficient British force was kept there, the 
 throne was secure ; but it was quite impossible to incur 
 the tremendous expense of perpetu.ally maintaining an 
 army at Cabul, and it was well knov/n that as soon as 
 Ave c|uitted the place our ■■protege would be dethroned. 
 
 These circumstances were quite sufficiently per- 
 plexing, but unfortunately the next step taken vastly 
 increased our difficulties. The road from Cabul to^ 
 Peshawur on our Indian frontier lay througii mountain 
 passes ; about half-way is situated the town of Jellala- 
 bad. Between Jellalabad and Peshawur is the famous 
 Khyber Pass, and between Cabul and Jellalabad are a 
 series of passes, Avhich were at this time held by the 
 Ghilzie chief. It had hitherto been our policy to pay 
 a handsome sum to this chieftain for his protection of 
 the pass, and he had faithfully adhered to his part of 
 the arrangement by allowing undisputed passage to 
 the British authorities. It was now proposed to re- 
 du.ce the amount of this subsidy, and the Chilzies in 
 
44 Si?'- Hemy Havelock. 
 
 retaliation determined to resist our progress througK 
 the pass. 
 
 General Sale was sent with as strong a detachment 
 as conld be spared to force a passage, and Havelock 
 was chosen to be his aide-de-camp. All the difficulties 
 that had been anticipated were fully realised. At 
 every point the hardy mountaineers resisted, and the 
 narrow defiles, white with snow before the advancing 
 column, were dyed with blood in its rear. At last, 
 after much loss and suffering, the small army found 
 itself within the walls of Jellalabad. 
 
 Meanwhile not less stirring events had taken place 
 at Cabul. General Elphinstone, who was in command 
 of the main division of the army, felt himself unequal 
 to any great emergency, on account of his age and ill- 
 ness, and now one arose which might have baffled the 
 resources of the ablest of generals. ^The dissatisfaction 
 which reigned in Cabul greatly increased in strength 
 as soon as it became known that a part of the army 
 had left the capital, and on the 2d November 1841 the 
 expected revolt broke out. General Elphinstone in 
 vain endeavoured to cope with it, and at last agreed 
 to sign a convention by which he undertook to evacuate 
 the country. 
 
 On the 6th January 1842 the garrison, consisting 
 of 4500 soldiers, of whom 690 were Europeans, and 
 some 12,000 followers, marched out of the camp. The 
 mistake committed in confiding in the good faith of 
 the Afighan people was soon discovered. Immediately 
 the surrender was complete the massacre began. No 
 
Sir Henry Havelock. 45 
 
 quarter was shown, except in a few cases where pri- 
 soners were made, and of the whole garrison which 
 marched out of the camp only one man — Dr. Bryden — 
 lived to reach Jellalabad, where the British detach- 
 ment mider General Sale was shut up, powerless to 
 move. 
 
 There the outlook was alarming in the extreme. 
 There seemed no prospect of succour for a time, and 
 the town could hardly offer a strong resistance to any 
 forcible attack. But the men were perfectly ready to 
 obey with cheerfulness any orders that their leaders 
 might give them, or, if need be, to fight to the last in a 
 hopeless struggle. The deep devotional spirit of both 
 General Sale and Havelock animated the men with 
 firm resolves ; and they reverently listened to the voice 
 of Havelock upon the first Sunday after the sad news 
 from Cabul reached them, as he read from the 46th 
 Psalm the words of assurance, ' God is our refuge and 
 strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore 
 will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and 
 though the mountains be carried into the midst of the 
 sea.' 
 
 The garrison of Jellalabad waited patiently in daily 
 hope that succour from the Indian Government would 
 reach them; but no assistance came, and at last a 
 council of war was held, to decide whether the town 
 should be surrendered. In this council Havelock had 
 no voice, but his friend Captain Broadfoot expressed 
 the opinions of both with energy and warmth. His 
 influence, however, seemed in vain, for the surrender 
 
.46 Sir Henry Havelock. 
 
 Avas agreed upon, and it appeared that the British dis- 
 asters in AfFghanistan were now to be made complete ; 
 but the decision was fortunately revoked, and the 
 credit of this step seems to be chiefly due to Captain 
 Broadfoot's persuasion in the council, and Havelock's 
 influence without. 
 
 At last the welcome news arrived that General 
 Pollock had been despatched by the Indian Govern- 
 ment with reinforcements to extricate the garrison of 
 Jellalabad. As soon as he arrived the two armies were 
 united and marched towards Cabul. The resistance 
 they had to encounter on the way was very consider- 
 able ; but in each engagement the British arms were 
 victorious, and Cabul was again wrested from the 
 Affghan chief. 
 
 AVhile resting at Cabul the news came to hand that 
 a hostile gathering was about to take place in the 
 Kohistan — a mountainous region north of Cabul — the 
 principal town of which is named Istaliff. It was there- 
 fore determined that before retiring from the country 
 a detachment should be sent to disperse the assembled 
 chiefs and to attack Istaliff. General ^Ll'Caskill's divi- 
 sion was appointed to undertake the work, and the 
 General was not unwilling to avail himself very fully 
 of Havelock's ability. Sir Henry Havelock's biographer, 
 Mr. Marshman, says : ' The general did not interfere 
 with the operations of the day. During the action he 
 was seated under a tree with a basket of Cabul plums 
 near him, and when the ofiicer sent by Havelock gal- 
 loped down to announce the victory, said, " Indeed ! 
 
Si?"- Henry Hav clock. 47 
 
 Will you take a plumf For IstalifF General M'Caskill 
 was decorated with the Cross of the Bath, butHavelock 
 got nothing. To this neglect he sometimes facetiously- 
 alluded by quoting the words in Ecclesiastes, " Now 
 there was found in the city a poor wise man, and he by 
 his wisdom delivered the city ; yet no man remembered 
 that same poor man." ' This was the last incident of 
 the AfFghan war ; and before the year (1842) was past 
 Havelock found huuself once more in British India. 
 
 The following year he was appointed Persian in- 
 terpreter to the commander-in-chief, and took an active 
 part in the contest with the Mahratta court at Grv/alior 
 which speedily foUoY.^ed the disasters of theAffghanwar. 
 Towards the end of 1845 the first Sikh war broke out, 
 •and Havelock was present at all the important engage- 
 ments. His shrewd observation soon convinced him 
 that this struggle would have to be renewed at a later 
 date, unless the British Government followed their 
 conquest by annexation of the disturbing province. It 
 was not, however, deemed expedient at this time to 
 take such a step, and the anticipations of Havelock 
 were realised before three years had passed away. 
 
 In this second Sikh war he was not able to take 
 any part. The duties of his office — for he had been 
 appointed deputy-adjutant-general of the troops at 
 Bombay — would not permit of his going to the seat of 
 hostilities : he started with the intention of getting 
 there, early in 1849, but was recalled by order of the 
 commander-in-chief. The inevitable step of annexing 
 the province which had caused these two wars fol- 
 
48 ' Sir Henry Have lock. 
 
 lowed the conclusion of this contest, and the Punjab 
 thenceforth became an integral part of British India. 
 
 Meanwhile Havelock's health had been rapidly fail- 
 ing him. The strain upon his constitution had been 
 very great : for twenty-five years he had endured the 
 trial and fatigue of Indian service, much of that time 
 had been spent in the active and laborious duties of 
 war, and he had had no rest save his short visit to 
 Bombay during the Burmese campaign. After the 
 termination of the first Sikh war, we have seen that he 
 went to Bombay. There he was attacked by an inter- 
 mittent fever, which greatly reduced his strength and 
 threatened to cut short his life. A return to England 
 seemed to offer the only prospect of renewing his 
 health. On 26th April 1847 he wrote to a friend: 'T 
 am thankful to Almighty God that I am enabled to say 
 that by His blessing I am now decidedly better; but I 
 must be off to England early in 1848.' Finding, how- 
 ever, that there was a further improvement in his 
 health, he determined to postpone the visit for another 
 year ; and it was not till October 1849 that he actually 
 quitted Bombay. 
 
 His family had returned to England in the pre^dous 
 April, and Havelock was now able to recruit his health 
 in the uninterrupted enjoyment of their society, and in 
 renewed intercourse with the familiar friends of his 
 boyhood. In 1851 he again started for the scene of 
 his labours, and arrived at Bombay at the close of the 
 year. His wife and family were obliged to remain at 
 home : the injured health of his daughter had caused 
 
Sir Heniy Havelock. 49 
 
 them to return before, and the perils of an Indian 
 climate could not with safety be encountered again 
 just yet. Havelock felt this separation very much : 
 his letters abound with expressions of the pain it caused 
 him ; but in all there is the same feeling of assurance, 
 the same calm sense of confidence that He in whom 
 they trusted would order all things well. 
 
 The appointments for which he had been waiting 
 so patiently now came upon him. Early in 1854 he 
 was made quartermaster-general of the Queen's troops, 
 and before the end of the year was advanced to the 
 position of adjutant-general. 
 
 At the commencement of the Aifghan war in 1837, 
 the Persians, at the instigation of Russia, had laid 
 siege to Herat. The strategical importance of this 
 town has always made the Indian Government watch 
 it with anxious care. Competent critics seem to be 
 agreed in regarding it as the key to our Indian Empire; 
 and if we had had no more ambitious designs in 1837, 
 a war in defence of this important post would not have 
 stood in need of much justification. Persia withdrew 
 before the opposition of the Indian Government, and 
 for some years nothing but the intrigues of diplomatists 
 occurred to awaken our apprehension. In 1852 a fresh 
 rupture occurred between the courts of Persia and 
 Afighanistan, and, notwithstanding the protest of the 
 Indian Government, an army was despatched to lay 
 siege to Herat, while both town and province were, by 
 proclamation, foi'mally annexed to the Persian Empire. 
 
 The threat of immediate hostilities made Persia 
 
 E 
 
5 o Sir Henry Havelock. 
 
 Avitlidraw from the attack, and agree to a treaty by 
 which she relinquished her claim; but, shortly after, 
 the courage of the Shah revived ; he repudiated the 
 treaty, renewed his claim, and sent an army to effect 
 the conquest of the disputed town. The British Go- 
 vernment at once demanded that reparation should be 
 made for this breach of faith, and the neglect of this 
 demand caused the outbreak of the Persian war. The 
 declaration of hostilities was dated November 1, 1856. 
 
 Havelock was consulted by the commander-in- 
 chief as to the fittest person to put in command of this 
 expedition, and with admirable judgment he suggested 
 that, in his opinion, no one could be more competent 
 for the duty than Sir James Outram. In making this 
 suggestion Havelock was not aware that he should 
 himself be called upon to serve at all; but as soon 
 as Sir James Outram was appointed he proposed 
 that Havelock should have command of the second 
 division — quite unaware at the time that his own ap- 
 pointment was perhaps largely due to Havel ock's 
 advice. This war was only of short duration ; the 
 victory was, of course, on the side of the English, and 
 peace was concluded at Paris on March 4. 1857. 
 Havelock returned to Bombay at the end of May — ^just 
 in time to hear the news that open mutiny reigned at 
 Meerut and Delhi, and Avas fast spreading with wild 
 and resistless fury. 
 
 It Avould be beyond our province in this brief me- 
 moir to enter into any elaborate investigation of the 
 causes which conspired to bring about this mutiny; 
 
Si7' Henry Havelock. 5 1 
 
 but there can be no doubt that the causes were many 
 and various. The elements of disaffection had probably 
 been a long time in existence, and only a convenient 
 opportunity was v/anted for the conflagration to burst 
 forth. The ostensible — but utterly inadequate — cause 
 of the outbreak was the delusion which gained posses- 
 sion of the native mind concerning the use of greased 
 cartridges. The old muskets with which the native 
 troops had previously been armed were being ex- 
 changed for the new Enfield rifles, and a rumour was 
 spread through the army that grease was used in the 
 manufacture of the cartridges, for the purpose of de- 
 stroying the caste of the soldiers, and thus paving the 
 way for their conversion to Christianity. The most 
 explicit assurances were givenby the Indian authorities 
 that this suspicion was unfounded, and in proof of the 
 assurance natives were employed in making the car- 
 tridges ; but all assurance and proof were in vain. 
 
 At Berhampore and Barrackpore the first signs of 
 mutiny appeared. When the cartridges were served 
 out at these places to the 19th and 34tli Regiments 
 the men refused to accept them. A hasty consultation 
 w^as held by the authorities, and it was decided to dis- 
 band the rebels after they had been furnished with the 
 arrears of pay due to them. There can be little doubt 
 that this punishment was quite out of proportion to the 
 gravity of the offence : it was an act of fatal weakness 
 at a time when stern severity was required. The tide 
 of mutiny now rapidly rose. The disbanded troops 
 hastened to arouse their brethren in other parts. At 
 
52 Sir Henry Hav clock. 
 
 Meerut cartridges were served out on the 8th of May 
 and refused by the troops. On the 11th — Sunday 
 evening — the town Avas bright with the blaze of Euro- 
 pean dweUings ; the sullen soldiery, now inflamed with 
 fanaticism, let loose their violence upon the European 
 populace; slaughter and outrage spread throughout 
 the town, and a resolute band of mutineers marched to 
 arouse their comrades at Delhi. Wherever the revolt 
 spread, the same scenes of violence occurred. At Delhi, 
 Benares, and Allahabad the fierce passions of the troops 
 excited terror and despair; at Cawnpore, Sir Hugh 
 Wheeler was shut up with his brave band and the 
 ladies and children who had fled to him for refuge ; at 
 Lucknow, Sir Hemy Lawrence was besieged in the 
 British residency. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs when Havelock was 
 despatched from Bombay to render assistance to 
 the Government at Calcutta. He started on the 1st 
 June for Galle in Ceylon, expecting to meet a vessel 
 there which would convey him to Calcutta. But the 
 journey was not to be completed without disaster. At 
 night a sudden shock awoke Havelock from sleep, and 
 hastening on deck he speedily learned that the ship 
 had struck upon a rock off Caltura. All around was 
 dark, the damage was known to be very considerable, 
 and the crew anxiously watched for the dawn of day, 
 in hourly expectation that the vessel w^ould go down 
 with all on board. When the light of early morn 
 exhibited their danger to the people of Caltura, boats 
 were despatched for their rescue, and all wxre safely 
 
Sh^ Henry Have lock. ^t, 
 
 landed upon the island. As soon as the deliverance 
 was complete, Havelock called upon the companions of 
 his misfortune to kneel down with him and retm-n 
 thanks to God for having rescued them from death, A 
 vessel boimd for Calcutta soon called at the island, and 
 Havelock reached his destination on the 17th June. 
 
 Now for the first time in his life he was to have the 
 complete command of an army: he was placed in com- 
 mand of a movable column, with orders that ' after 
 quelling all disturbance at Allahabad he should not 
 lose a moment in supporting Sir Hemy Lawrence at 
 Lucknow and Sir Hugh Wheeler at Cawnpore.' Beyond 
 this it was impossible to give particular instructions, 
 and Havelock was accordingly left to exercise his own 
 discretion to a large degree, with the assurance that 
 'the commander-in-chief had entire confidence in his 
 well-known and often-proved high abihty, vigour, and 
 judgment.' 
 
 Havelock started from Calcutta on the 25th of 
 June, and reached Benares three days later. There 
 he had the satisfaction of finding that Colonel Neill, an 
 able officer who had previously been sent to the scene 
 of the outrages, had entirely succeeded in stamping out 
 the revolt. He accordingly pressed on to Allahabad, 
 reaching that place on the 30th June. Here he also 
 found that, by the energy of Colonel Neill, the outrages 
 of the miitineers had met with ample retribution, and 
 he learnt with satisfaction that a detachment had 
 already been sent forward to the relief of Cawnpore. 
 While resting at Allahabad the news came to hand of 
 
54 Sir Henry Hav clock. 
 
 the terrible massacre at Cawnpore. The details of 
 that massacre are well known. After a cannonade of 
 more than three weeks the garrison, reduced to 870 
 persons, of whom 320 were women and children, offered 
 to capitulate. The treacherous Nana Sahib had placed 
 boats in readiness, and the exhausted garrison entered 
 them unarmed, sad at heart at having to surrender, 
 yet glad to leave the scene of their sufferings. But no 
 sooner had the boats moved than the treacherous de- 
 sign became apparent. The artillery on the bank, pre- 
 viously hidden from view, opened a terrible fire upon 
 the helpless garrison, and none survived the slaughter 
 save 210 women and children, who were led back to 
 the city as prisoners, and four men who chanced to 
 escape in one of the boats. 
 
 Havelock's small band pressed on with the des- 
 perate hope that they might at least be able to save 
 the 210 captives. Several engagements Avere fought 
 on the way, in each of which Havelock easily dispersed 
 the rebels ; but at Cawnpore Nana Sahib had resolved 
 to make a final stand. Five thousand native soldiers, 
 trained by British officers and provided with heavy 
 artiller}^, were there drawn up to contest the passage ; 
 but Havelock's generalship rendered their superior 
 numbers of no avail, and though his army only con- 
 sisted of 1000 British soldiers and 300 Sikhs, the rebels 
 were driven Avith heavy loss to ignominious flight. 
 This battle occurred on the 16th of July, and the city 
 v/as hastily entered in the hope of rescuing the women 
 and children. 
 
Sir Henry Hav clock. ^^ 
 
 But all hope of rescue was long past. Previous 
 io giving battle the Nana had ordered a wholesale 
 slaughter of the captives, and when Havelock's troops 
 entered the prison-house they found how faithfully his 
 commands had been carried out. Soldiers accustomed 
 to the horrors of the battle-field stood aghast at the 
 hideous spectacle: heaps of slain, pools of blood, tresses 
 of long hair hanging from deep sabre-cuts in the walls, 
 showed Avhere the helpless captives had been cut down 
 in cold blood while they knelt and cried for mercy. A 
 thrill of horror ran through England when the terrible 
 news reached home ; but only those who witnessed 
 the sight can understand the effect it had upon the 
 soldiers of Havelock's army. It is high testimony to 
 Havelock's influence over his troops that he was able 
 under such circumstances to restrain them from plunder 
 or outrage in the city. 
 
 At Cawnpore the news reached him of the death of 
 Sir Henry Lawrence at Lucknow. Colonel Ingliss suc- 
 ceeded to the command in the besieged residency, and 
 Havelock was anxious to press forward to his rescue 
 before it was too late. But his small army had been 
 made still smaller by the recent engagements, and it 
 soon became evident that he would be able to offer no 
 effective assistance at Lucknow until he received some 
 reinforcements. He had started from Cawnpore in the 
 hope of being able to reach Lucknow ; but vfith deep 
 regret he was obliged to suspend his march between 
 the two towns. A letter written to his wife at this 
 time shows how serious he considered the danger to be. 
 
5 6 Sir Henry Havelock. 
 
 ' I must now write,' lie says, ' as one whom you may 
 never see any more, for the chances of war are heavy 
 at this crisis. Thank God for my hope in the Saviom\ 
 We shall meet in heaven.' On the 16th August the 
 menacing aspect of the rebels round Cawnpore com- 
 pelled him to fall back for the protection of the city. 
 
 Sir Colin Campbell, the commander-in-chief, pro- 
 mised that reinforcements should speedily be sent ; but 
 the discouraging news was also conveyed to Havelock 
 that he was deprived of his separate command and 
 placed under Sir James Outram, who had recently 
 returned from Persia. No censure whatever was in- 
 tended to be conveyed in this announcement, yet it 
 could not fail to cause Havelock much disappointment. 
 We could almost blame the authorities for the incon- 
 siderateness of this supersedure, if it were not for the 
 fact that it afforded an opportunity for an exercise 
 of magnanimity and generosity which we would not 
 willingly have lost. Sir James Outram wrote to Have- 
 lock to say that he would shortly reach him with the 
 reinforcements, adding, ' but to you shall be left the 
 glory of relieving Lucknow, for which you have already 
 struggled so much.' 
 
 It was the evening of the 15th of September when 
 Outram reached Cawnpore. The following divisional 
 order was issued the next morning: 'The important 
 duty of first relieving the garrison of Lucknow has 
 been intrusted to Brigadier-General Havelock, C.B.;. 
 and Major-General Outram feels that it is due to this 
 distinguished officer, and the strenuous and noble exer- 
 
Sir Henry Havelock. 57 
 
 tions which he has ah-eady made to effect that object, 
 that to him should accrue the honour of the achieve- 
 ment. Major-General Outram is confident that the 
 great end for which General Havelock and his troops 
 have so long and so gloriously fought will now, under 
 the blessing of Providence, be accomplished. The 
 Major-General, therefore, in gratitude for and admi- 
 ration of the brilliant deeds in arms achieved by 
 General Havelock and his gallant troops, will cheer- 
 fully waive his rank on this occasion, and will accom- 
 pany the force to Lucknow in his civil capacity as 
 Chief Commissioner of Oude, tendering his military 
 services to General Havelock as a vokmteer.' Many 
 praises have been passed upon Sir James Outram for 
 this generous action, but not one word can be said in 
 praise of it which is not deserved. Nothing could 
 better illustrate his great and lofty character. 
 
 The united forces of Havelock and Outram now 
 pressed forward to Lucknow, and on the 25th Septem- 
 ber the city was entered. Havelock rose before dawn 
 on that day that he might have time to commend into 
 God's keeping himself, his troops, and the fortunes of 
 the day. At breakfast he sat by a table spread on the 
 field, and was discussing with his staff the most suit- 
 able way of approaching the city, when a nine-pound 
 shot struck the ground about five yards in front, and 
 bounded over the heads of the gi'oup. There was 
 clearly no time to be lost : an action was imminent. 
 Major-General Outram led the attacking party, and a 
 desperate fight took place ; but finally the courage of 
 
5 8 Sir Hen7y Havelock. 
 
 ilie British troops prevailed, and the tAvo generals 
 entered the city. 
 
 A scene of wild joy followed. The inhabitants, who 
 had withstood the Aveary siege in that residency, 
 gathered round their deliverers to press their hands 
 and look the thanks they could not speak. But the 
 danger Avas not yet past. The force of the rebels AA'-as 
 sufficient to still continue the siege, and no chance of 
 escaping seemed likely to present itself till a second 
 relieving army should appear. For six Aveeks a Aveari- 
 some blockade Avas continued, but at last the Avelcome 
 ncAvs reached the garrison that Sir Colin Campbell was 
 at hand. On the 11th NoA^ember he arrived before the 
 city. A sharp engagement soon folloAved : the muti- 
 neers were attacked on both sides, Outram and Have- 
 lock Avithin the city cooperating Avith the commander- 
 in-chief Avithout. The contest Avas stubbornly prolonged, 
 but on the 17th the three generals met in safety : the 
 victory Avas complete. No time Avas lost in remoAang 
 the sick and wounded from the residencA'', and the 
 ncAvs Avas hastily conveyed to England that Lucknow 
 Avas saved. 
 
 At home all eyes had been turned upon that be- 
 sieged garrison. The hopes of the country had rested 
 Avith Havelock's little army from the time that he first 
 started from Calcutta, and the public noAv urgently de- 
 manded that his heroic efforts should be fitly recog- 
 nised. The day after he entered the city with Sir 
 James Outram he was made a Knight Commander of 
 the Bath, and three days later (Sept. 29th) he Avas 
 
Sir Henry Havdock. 59 
 
 elevated to the rank of major-general. Now that the 
 news of the final deliverance came to hand, fresh favours 
 were bestowed npon him. On November 26 he was 
 made a baronet, and at the meeting of Parliament a 
 vote of 1000/. per annnm was cheerfully made in recog- 
 nition of his distinguished services. 
 
 But the time for earthly dignities and state pen- 
 sions was past. His constitution, weakened by previous 
 illness, had wonderfully withstood the trials of this 
 arduous campaign ; but as soon as the danger was past 
 his health gave way. On the 20th Nov, he was at- 
 tacked with diarrhoea, which at first did not seem 
 serious ; but during the tvv^o follov/ing days he gradu- 
 ally grew worse. To those about him there seemed 
 no immediate danger ; but he felt that the time of his 
 departure w^as at hand, and, Avith the utmost compla- 
 cency, he assured his friends that he did not expect to 
 recover. On the 2od he was frequently heard to ex- 
 claim, ' I die happy and contented.' When Sir James 
 Outram visited him he calmly remarked, ' I have for 
 forty years so ruled my life that when death came I 
 might face it without fear :' to his son, who waited by 
 his bedside, his simple boast was, ' See how a Christian 
 can die.' During the night he slept but little ; early 
 in the morning of the 24th he seemed ratlier better; 
 but soon a change for the worse set in, and at half- 
 past nine he breathed his last. 
 
 Thus at the age of sixty-three — unconscious of the 
 honours paid him by his country, but with the solid 
 comfort of kuowing that his duty v/as done — this 
 
6o Sir Henry Havelock. 
 
 gallant general and valiant soldier of the Cross quietly 
 passed to bis rest. A memorial stone close to the 
 scene of his latest victory marks the spot where his 
 body Hes. The pension voted by Parliament in ignor- 
 ance of his death was continued to his widow ; and 
 the baronetcy, with an additional pension of 1000/. per 
 annum, was given to his son. 
 
 It is difficult to bestow praise upon a man like 
 Havelock : a simple narrative of facts is the highest 
 eulogy possible. His greatness is to be discerned in 
 the simple fidelity with which he devoted himself to 
 the daily duties of his life. Duty ever occupied the 
 first place in his mind. Even upon his wedding-day 
 he would allow no consideration to interfere with his 
 military obedience. It is recorded that on that morn- 
 ing he was summoned to attend a military court of 
 inquiry, and his friends were astonished Avhen they 
 learnt that he meant to attend: they urged that so 
 important a circumstance as his marriage would surely 
 be deemed a sufficient reason for liis absence; bu.t their 
 persuasions were in vain. As soon as the marriage 
 ceremony was completed he hastened on board a swift 
 boat which was waiting to convey him to Calcutta, 
 and did not return to the Avedding-breakfast at Seram- 
 pore until his military duties Avere at an end. A man 
 who would give such heed himself to the claims of 
 duty might well be a rigid disciplinarian, and so it was 
 with Havelock. 
 
 Nothing could be more unjust than the suggestion 
 that his intercourse Avith the men in religious worship 
 
Sir Henry Havelock. 6 1 
 
 was subversive of discipline. During tlie Burmese war 
 an outpost was attacked by the enemy, and Sir A. 
 Campbell ordered some troops to support it ; but the 
 men had been heavily drinking, and were of very little 
 use. An officer represented to him the state of affairs, 
 to which he promptly replied, 'Then call out Havelock's 
 saints ; they are always sober and can be depended on, 
 and Havelock himself is always ready.' No general 
 ever more completely gained the confidence of his 
 troops : they confided in him, and he trusted to them. 
 After one of the most severe engagements between 
 Cawnpore and Lucknow he rode in front of the army, 
 and the men lustily cheered him for the victory ; but 
 his generous heart would not allow him to accept the 
 credit of the battle, 'Don't cheer me, my men,' he 
 exclaimed ; ' you did it all yourselves,' 
 
 Like all earnest men, he was a praying man. Never 
 did he venture upon a battle without invoking the 
 help of his God. Regularly he set apart two hours in 
 the morning for prayer and the study of God's Word, 
 If the march was ordered for six o'clock, he rose at 
 four; if four was the appointed hour, he was up at two. 
 He was willing to forego his rest if duty required it, 
 but not to forego his communion with God; for that, 
 he knew, would be to throw away his greatest strength 
 — to relinquish his most powerful weapon. 
 
 So he lived and died: trustful, and therefore strong; 
 courageous, yet humble ; severe in discipline, but to 
 none so stern as to himself. 
 
THE PHILOSOPHEE : 
 MICHAEL FARADAY 
 
■ His life was gentle ; and the elements 
 So mist in him, that Nature might stand up 
 And say to all the world, — This was a man !' 
 
 Shakespeake. 
 
THE PHILOSOPHER: 
 
 MICHAEL FARADAY. 
 
 Science may proudly boast of her martyrs and her 
 heroes. For her sake men of noble worth have sa- 
 crificed the world's rewards and relinquished the fair 
 promise of wealth and fame, happy if they might but 
 find one undiscovered treasure to add to the knowledge 
 of mankind. No pleasant pastime or holiday amuse- 
 ment this ; it has been a lifelong struggle — earnest, 
 hopeful, valiant. Our hearts are filled with admiration 
 for the soldier on the field of battle, or the explorer 
 far away in unknown lands, when we dwell upon the 
 sad yet noble record of conflict, privation, and toil ; but 
 let us not limit to these worthies the rewards of the 
 brave. The philosopher in his quiet retreat wages a 
 peaceful but heroic warfare, and beyond the most san- 
 guine hopes of men he searches the untrodden wilds. 
 No martial conqueror is he, returning from the conflict 
 
 F 
 
66 Michael Faraday. 
 
 laden with the spoils of war ; yet a warrior truly : one 
 who wrestled hard with Nature, and wearied not in 
 the struggle till she consented to relinquish the secret 
 that he craved. Let us twine in his garland the laurel 
 andthe olive — a chaplet of victory, yet a symbol of peace. 
 
 None amongst the philosophers of modern times can 
 better deserve our admiration than Michael Faraday. 
 Acknowledged on all hands to be a prince in the 
 domain of science, an intellectual giant, yet a ' man- 
 child' in the simplicity of his heart, he is worthy to be 
 honoured amongst the noblest and the best of men. 
 
 Michael, the son of James Faraday, a blacksmith, 
 residing at Newington in Surrey, was born September 
 22, 1791. There was nothing remarkable about the 
 history or antecedents of this blacksmith. If he had 
 ever been endowed with a larger share of intellectual 
 power than other blacksmiths, the cu'cumstances of his 
 life must have stunted his mental growth ; for he in no 
 way evinced any marked superiority or gave indication 
 of unusual ability. His life was one of simplicity and 
 faithfulness. He worked at his toilsome craft honestly, 
 as to the Lord and not to men, caring only that when 
 his work was over he might be commended for having 
 ' well done' the simple duties of his stewardship. His 
 wife, it should be added, was a meet companion for him 
 in the pious simplicity of his life. Like him, she could 
 boast few intellectual attainments, but was rich in the 
 knowledge of God. With such parents Michael could 
 scarcely fail to be well trained in the moral and religious 
 obligations of life. 
 
Michael Faraday. Sj 
 
 Wlien lie was five years of age his parents removed 
 from Newington, and settled down in Jacob's Well 
 Mews, near Manchester-square. In after-life he pointed 
 out to his friends the places in this neighbourhood 
 where he used to play at marbles and mind his little 
 sister. ' My education,' he states in one of his letters, 
 ' was of the most ordinary description, consisting of 
 little more than the rudiments of reading, writing, and 
 arithmetic, at a common day-school.' 
 
 When he was thirteen years of age he left school, 
 and was engaged by a bookseller in Blandford-street as 
 errand-boy. His duties were, of course, of the simplest 
 kind, such as the collection and delivery of papers at 
 the houses of his master's customers. When years had 
 passed away, and the name of this errand-boy was 
 honoured as that of the first philosopher of the age, he 
 always retained a pleasant recollection of these early 
 days. The sight of a newspaper-boy would generally 
 call forth some kind remark. ' I always,' said he on 
 one occasion, ' feel a tenderness for those boys, because 
 I once carried newspapers myself.' 
 
 Mr. Riebau — for such was the name of the bookseller 
 — had only engaged Michael for a year on trial, but so 
 satisfied was he with the boy's attention, that at the 
 end of the year he accepted him as an apprentice. The 
 indentures of apprenticeship are dated October 7, 
 1805 ; and it is equally creditable to both master and 
 servant to find in them the words, ' In consideration of 
 his faithful services no premium is given.' 
 
 Here his scientific education began, and his own 
 
68 Michael Faraday. 
 
 words, written late in life, will best explain what that 
 education was like. ' I entered the shop of a book- 
 seller and bookbinder at the age of thirteen in the year 
 1804, and remained there eight years, and during the 
 chief part of the time bound books. Now it was in 
 these books, in the hours after work, that I found the 
 beginning of my philosophy. There were two that 
 especially helped me : the Encyclojylcedia Britannica, 
 from which I gained my first notions of electricity, and 
 Mrs. Marcet's Conversations on Chemistry, which, gave me 
 my foundation in that science. Do not suppose that I 
 was a very deep thinker, or was marked as a precocious 
 person. I was a very lively imaginative person, and 
 could believe in the Arabian Nights as easily as in the 
 EncyclopcBclia; but facts Avere important to me, and 
 saved me. I could trust a fact, and always cross-ex- 
 amined an assertion. So when I questioned Mrs. Mar- 
 cet's book by such little experiments as I could find 
 means to perform, and found it true to the facts as I 
 could understand them, I felt that I had got hold of an 
 anchor in chemical knowledge, and clung fast to it.' 
 
 The experiments by which he cross-examined the 
 assertions of his books were at first of a very simple 
 kind. ' I made,' he says, ' such simple experiments in 
 chemistry as coiild be defrayed in their expense by a 
 few pence per week, and also constructed an electrical 
 machine — first with a glass vial, and afterwards with 
 a real cylinder — as well as other electrical apparatus of 
 a corresponding kind.' 
 
 So far he was entirely unassisted in his research ; 
 
Michael Faraday. 69 
 
 but one day, when he had become fairly interested in 
 his subject, he chanced to espy a notice in a shop- 
 window announcing that evening lectures in natural 
 philosophy were delivered by Mr. Tatum at 53 Dorset- 
 street. Young Faraday was at once anxious to attend 
 these lectures, that he might gain more of the know- 
 ledge he thirsted for. The charge for admission, how- 
 ever, was one shilling a lecture, and with only the 
 scanty income of an apprentice this charge threatened 
 to be a serious obstacle. His elder brother, however, 
 came to his assistance, and from his earnings as a 
 blacksmith generously gave to Michael the necessary 
 cash. At these meetings young Faraday made several 
 valuable acquaintances, besides obtaining much useful 
 knowledge. He was also fortunate enough to obtain 
 an introduction to some of Sir Humphry Davy's lec- 
 tures at the Royal Institution. The notes taken by 
 him at these lectures were carefully copied out, and 
 became useful to him shortly afterwards. 
 
 In 1812, the time of apprenticeship having expired, 
 he left the house of Mr. Riebau, and obtained employ- 
 ment under another bookbinder. He soon found, how- 
 ever, that he had not made a fortunate choice. His 
 new master was passionate and unreasonable, and Fara- 
 day, whose dislike of trade had been steadily increasing, 
 now longed more than ever to be free from its restraints. 
 This dissatisfaction led him, after he had been two 
 months with his new master, to take a step which proved 
 to be the turning point in his career. ' My desire,' he 
 says in a letter written a few years after, ' to escape 
 
yo Michael Faraday. 
 
 from trade, which I thought vicious and selfish, and to 
 enter into the service of science, which I imagined 
 made its pursuers amiable and liberal, induced me to 
 take the bold and simple step of writing to Sir H. Davy, 
 expressing my wishes, and a hope that if an opportu- 
 nity came in his way he would favour my views; at 
 the same time I sent the notes I had taken of his 
 lectures.' 
 
 This letter of the young disciple, we may easily 
 believe, was rather perplexing to Sir H. Davy. He 
 called on a friend and asked his advice : ' Here is a 
 letter from a young man named Faraday ; he has been 
 attending my lectures, and wants me to give him em- 
 ployment at the Royal Institution. What can I do f 
 ' Do ?' replied his friend ; ' put him to wash bottles. If 
 he is good for anything he will do it directly ; if he 
 refuses he is good for nothing.' ' No, no,' said Davy ; 
 'we must try him with something better than that;' 
 and accordingly he Avrote to the young student a letter 
 full of kindly feeling, such as is seldom shown by the 
 great to a young and unknown aspirant. ' I am far 
 from displeased,' he says, 'with the proof you have 
 given me of your confidence, and which displays great 
 zeal, power of memory, and attention. I am obliged to 
 go out of town till the end of January ; I will then see 
 you at any time you wish. It would gratify me to be 
 of any service to you ; I wish it may be in my power.' 
 
 At the first interview Sir H. Davy promised to do 
 what he could for the young man, but advised him not 
 to give up his business prospects just then, as Science 
 
Michael Faraday. j i 
 
 was a harsh mistress, who co^^ld offer to her devotees 
 a very poor pecuniary reward. ' He smiled,' says Fara- 
 day, 'at my notion of the superior moral feelings of 
 philosophic men, and said he would leave me to the 
 experience of a few years to set me right on that 
 matter.' A short time afterwards, however, a carriage 
 drove up in front of the house where Faraday lived, 
 and the footman left a note from Sir H. Davy, 
 appointing an interview for the following morning. 
 The assistant in the laboratory of the Royal Institution 
 had been summarily dismissed, and Faraday was 
 offered the post. He accepted it eagerly ; for though 
 the salary was only twenty-five shillings per week, with 
 two rooms in the house, it was to him a very valuable 
 appointment, on account of the facilities it afforded 
 for the pursuit of science. 
 
 Sir H. Davy's opinion of his new assistant had been 
 favourable from the first, but it improved as their ac- 
 quaintance grew ; and after they had been working 
 together for about six months, he proposed that the 
 young man should accompany him, as his amanuensis, 
 on a continental tour. Faraday, who could not re- 
 member having ever been a greater distance than twelve 
 miles from London, was delighted at the prospect of 
 visiting the capitals of Europe ; and early in October 
 1813 the scientific pair started on their journey. 
 
 During this tour Faraday was fortunate in making 
 the acquaintance of several illustrious men of science. 
 One especially, whose friendship was highly prized, 
 early discerned the genius of the young philosopher. 
 
72 Michael Faraday. 
 
 This was Professor de la Rive, to whom Faraday was 
 introduced when at Geneva. Shortly after the intro- 
 duction De la Rive invited Sir H. Davy and Faraday 
 to dinner. Davy was rather shocked at this proposal, 
 and feeling that Faraday, whatever might be his genius, 
 Avas yet there in the capacity of his servant, declined 
 the invitation. The professor simply replied that he 
 was sorry he should have to give two dinners instead 
 of one. 
 
 After an absence of about two years Faraday re- 
 turned to London, and was reinstated at the Royal 
 Institution, with a salary of thirty shillings per week. 
 His scientific education now fairly began ; and between 
 his return to London in 1815, and another event which 
 happened in 1821, frequent contributions to the scien- 
 tific journals of the day gave evidence of the progress 
 he was making in his investigations. The event which 
 renders the year 1821 conspicuous is that it was the 
 date of his marriage. The letters written to his wife 
 during his married life, and which since his death have 
 been published, show how deep and sincere was his 
 affection ; but we shall understand this better when we 
 come to glance at the simplicity of his home-life. At 
 present we must briefly notice him as the man of 
 science. 
 
 To record all his investigations and discoveries 
 would require far greater space than is now at our 
 disposal; but there are some which stand out con- 
 spicuous and clear, and upon these the scientific fame 
 of Faraday chiefly rests. First among such is his great 
 
Michael Fa raday. y 3 
 
 discovery of magneto-electricity. The mutual relation 
 of magnetism and electricity bad long occupied the 
 minds of men, and when Faraday first came upon the 
 scene the scientific world was delighted with the bril- 
 liant discoveries of Ampere. This illustrious French- 
 man, by dint of anxious thought and careful observa- 
 tion, had discovered and firmly established the science 
 of electro -magnetism. He had shown that every 
 known magnetic phenomenon might be reduced to 
 the mutual action of electric currents ; and Faraday, 
 who delighted to break down the walls of separation 
 between different classes of phenomena, longed to 
 extend the bounds of this discovery. As Professor 
 Tyndall has well expressed it, 'Magnetism had been 
 produced from electricity, and Faraday, who all his 
 life long entertained a strong belief in such reciprocal 
 action, now attempted to effect the evolution of elec- 
 tricity from magnetism,' The work required patience 
 and perseverance ; but in 1831 the success he had 
 hoped for came, and the science of magneto-electricity 
 assumed an intelligible form. 
 
 From this time till 1855, Faraday steadily pursued 
 his researches in electricity, and the wonderful success 
 which attended each investigation must have been very 
 cheering to him in his labours. The fruits of such a 
 discovery cannot possibly be estimated, the impulse it 
 may give to other investigators cannot be told. The 
 test of immediate practical utility is usually an incom- 
 plete one when we have to determine the importance 
 of a scientific discovery, but even when regarded from 
 
74 Michael Faraday. 
 
 this point of view alone there is enough here to excite 
 our warmest gratitude. It is sufficient to remember 
 that on each side of the English Channel the lights 
 which beam from rocks and shoals to guide the mariner 
 on his way are ' Faraday's sparks exalted by suitable 
 machinery to sunlike splendour,' to feel assured that 
 these profound researches have not been without a bene- 
 fit to mankind. ' I cannot help thinking/ says Professor 
 Tyndall, ' that this discovery of magneto-electricity is 
 the greatest experimental result ever obtained by an 
 investigator. It is the Mont Blanc of Faraday's own 
 achievements. He always worked at great elevations, 
 but a higher than this he never subsequently obtained.' 
 
 Closely related to this discovery was one which he 
 made shortly after, when he found that many bodies 
 which had previously been considered insensible to the 
 influence of the magnet were really rej^eZ/gfi by it if suf- 
 ficient power was brought to bear upon them. This 
 power of magnetic repulsion had previously been ob- 
 served in a few instances by other investigators, but the 
 general application of the law, the discovery that all 
 bodies which were not attracted were repelled, was due 
 entirely to Faraday's repeated experiments, and was 
 christened by him with the name of diamagnetism. 
 
 His next great discovery was that of the law of 
 definite electro-chemical decomposition. The descrip- 
 tion, given by Professor Tyndall, will best explain the 
 steps of this investigation. Feeling the necessity of 
 quantitive determinations to guide him in many of his 
 experiments, he ' seeks to supply himself with a mea- 
 
Michael Faraday. j^ 
 
 sure of voltaic electricity. This he finds in the quantity 
 of water decomposed by the current. He tests this 
 measure in all possible ways, to assure himself that no 
 error can arise from its employment. He places in the 
 course of one and the same current a series of cells, 
 with electrodes of different sizes, some of them plates 
 of platinum, others merely platinum wires, and collects 
 the gas liberated on each distinct pair of electrodes. 
 He finds the quantity of gas to be the same for all. 
 Thus he concludes that when the same quantity of 
 electricity is caused to pass through a series of cells 
 containing acidulated water, the electro-chemical action 
 is independent of the size of the electrodes. He next 
 proves that variations in intensity do not interfere with 
 this equality of action. Whether his battery is charged 
 with strong acid or with weak ; whether it consists of 
 five pairs or of fifty pairs ; in short, whatever be its 
 source, when the same current is sent through his series 
 of cells the same amount of decomposition takes place 
 in all. He next assures himself that the strength or 
 weakness of his dilute acid does not interfere with this 
 law. Sending the same current through a series of 
 cells containing mixtures of sulphuric acid and water 
 of different strengths, he finds, however the proportion 
 of acid to water might vary, the same amount of gas to 
 be collected in all the cells. A crowd of facts of this 
 character forced upon Faraday's mind the conclusion 
 that the amount of electro-chemical decomposition de- 
 pends, not upon the sides of the electrodes, not upon 
 the intensity of the current, not upon the strength of 
 
76 Michael Faraday. 
 
 the solution, but solely iipon the quantity of electricity 
 which passes through the cell. The quantity of elec- 
 tricity he concludes is proportional to the amount of 
 chemical action. On this law Faraday based the con- 
 struction of his celebrated voltameter, or measurer of 
 voltaic electricity. 
 
 ' He submitted his conclusions to numberless tests. 
 He purposely introduced secondaiy actions. He en- 
 deavoured to hamper the fulfilment of those laws which 
 it was the intense desire of his mind to see established. 
 But from all the difficulties emerged the golden truth, 
 that under every variety of circumstances the decom- 
 positions of the voltaic current are as definite in their 
 character as those chemical combinations which gave 
 birth to the atomic theory.' 
 
 His next important series of investigations took a 
 turn most congenial to his inclinations and desires, 
 tending as they did to remove some of the barriers 
 which separated the various classes of natural pheno- 
 mena. His object was to find out whether any, and, if 
 so, what direct relationship existed between light on 
 the one hand, and electricity and magnetism on the 
 other. The general theory which led him to these in- 
 vestigations he describes in the paper containing the 
 details of his experiments. ' I have long held an opinion,' 
 he says, 'amounting almost to conviction, hi common, I 
 believe, with many other lovers of natural knowledge, 
 that the various forms under which the forces of matter 
 are made manifest have one common origin; or, in 
 other words, are so directly related and mutually de- 
 
Michael Faraday. 77 
 
 pendent that they are convertible, as it were, into one 
 another, and possess equivalents of power in their ac- 
 tion. This strong persuasion extended to the powers of 
 light, and led to many exertions, having for their object 
 the discovery of the direct relation of light and elec- 
 tricity. These ineffectual exertions coiild not remove 
 my strong persuasion, and I have at last succeeded.' 
 The efforts which at last were rewarded with success 
 were long and toilsome. But the principle that guided 
 him finally vindicated its own accuracy, and to the list 
 of Faraday's achievements was added the discovery 
 that light and electricity and magnetism are inti- 
 mately and directly related, if indeed they are not 
 simply various forms of one great universal power. 
 
 During the time that he was engaged upon these 
 great problems, lesser ones were continually coming 
 before him demanding and receiviug solution. Amongst 
 these may be mentioned his experiments upon the 
 liquefaction of gases. These experiments were pecu- 
 liarly successful, and enabled him to reduce many 
 gases to the liquid state which had hitherto been con- 
 sidered permanent. His endeavours also ' to improve 
 the manufacture of glass for optical purposes,' though 
 of no great use at the time, bore fruit in some of the 
 great discoveries which came after. 
 
 An investigation of the claims of spiritualism also 
 occupied a share of his time, and he communicated to 
 the Athenceum the result of the inquiry. He was satis- 
 fied, not only that there was no supernatural manifesta- 
 tion, but also that there was no need to attribute the 
 
78 Michael Faraday. 
 
 ■ plienomena to any unknown natural law. All the 
 effects of table-turning with which the public were 
 being startled he proved to be due to nothing more 
 than a mere mechanical pressure unconsciously exer- 
 cised by the operators. In a letter written to his 
 friend Professor Schonbein, in 1853, he speaks freely on 
 the subject, bitterly lamenting the credulity of men. 
 ' I have not been at work,' he says, ' except in turning 
 the tables upon the table-turners, nor should I have 
 done that, but that so many inquiries poured in upon 
 me, that I thought it better to stop the inpouring flood 
 by letting all know at once what my views and thoughts 
 were. What a weak, credulous, incredulous, unbeliev- 
 ing, superstitious, bold, frightened — what a ridiculous 
 world ours is, as far as concerns the mind of man ! 
 How full of inconsistencies, contradictions, and absurd- 
 ities it is ! I declare that, taking the average of many 
 minds that have recently come before me (and apart 
 from that spirit which God has placed in each), and 
 accepting for a moment that average as a standard, I 
 should prefer the obedience, affections, and instinct of a 
 dog before it. Do not whisper this, however, to others. 
 There is One above who worketh in all things, and who 
 governs even in the midst of that misrule to which the 
 tendencies and powers of men are so easily perverted.' 
 
 His plain outspoken attitude on this subject of 
 course brought about him a host of spiritualistic critics, 
 and he was obliged to resolutely decline being dragged 
 into controversy. A letter written in 1864, to one who 
 had invited him to a seance, is characteristic of the way 
 
Michael Faraday. ^q 
 
 in whioli he treated many similar requests. 'I am 
 weary,' he says, ' of the spirits — all hope of any useful 
 result from investigation is gone ; but as some persons 
 still believe in them, and I continually receive letters, 
 I must bring these communications to a close. When- 
 ever the spirits counteract gravity, or originate motion, 
 or supply an action due to natural physical force, or 
 counteract any such action ; whenever they can punch 
 or prick me, or affect my sense of feeling or any other 
 sense, or in any way act on me without my waiting on 
 them; or working in the light can show me a hand, 
 either writing or not, or in any way make themselves 
 visibly manifest to me, — whenever these things are 
 done, or anything which a conjurer cannot do better ; 
 or, rising to higher proofs, whenever the spirits describe 
 their own nature, and like honest spirits say what they 
 can do, or pretending, as their supporters do, that they 
 can act on ordinary matter ; whenever they initiate 
 action, and so make themselves manifest ; whenever by 
 suchlike signs they come to me, and ask my attention 
 to them, I will give it. But until some of these things 
 be done, I have no more time to spare for them or their 
 believers, or for correspondence about them.' This 
 peculiarly forcible letter seems to have convinced his 
 opponents that it was useless to bother him any more 
 on the subject. 
 
 Amongst the claims which Faraday has upon our 
 gratitu.de a place of no slight importance may be as- 
 signed to his services in this matter of spiritualism. 
 It was time that some competent scientific authority 
 
8o Michael ■ Far aday . 
 
 should encounter this persistent remnant of supersti- 
 tion;- and since then another great scientific autho- 
 rity — Dr. W. B. Carpenter — has followed his lead in the 
 same direction. 
 
 As a scientific lecturer he has probably never had 
 his equal. All who ever sat before him and heard his 
 masterly addresses testify to the power he had of in- 
 teresting and instructing his audience. Early in life 
 he had made this a careful study. His quick eye and 
 ready thought had discerned the weak points in other 
 lecturers ; and in his letters to a friend he pointed out 
 these faults and critically examined them. He also took 
 lessons of a well-known elocutionist, and requested his 
 instructor to attend his scientific lectures and point out 
 to him his elocutionary faults. This is but one of the 
 many instances that might be recorded in Faraday's 
 life of the minute attention he gave to every part of his 
 work. Nothing that came in his way seemed to him too 
 insignificant for careful attention — nothing too unim- 
 portant for thorough investigation. Whatever his hand 
 found to do, whether the task was great or small, he 
 always did it with his might. 
 
 The juvenile lectures which he continued to deliver 
 for nineteen years were the delight of both young and 
 old. Children home from school for the Christmas 
 holidays listened with eagerness to the great philo- 
 sopher as he spoke to them in a simple childlike way 
 about the chemical properties of a candle, or some other 
 ordinary article of daily use. 
 
 Not only as a lecturer, but in his home-life as well. 
 
Michael Faraday. 8 1 
 
 he was a favourite with the young, and always had a 
 kind word for them. Having no children of his own, 
 his nieces came in for the chief share of his favour; 
 and the memorials which they have given to the world 
 of his kindness are very choice. ' In all my childish 
 troubles,' says one, ' he was my never-failing comforter, 
 and was seldom too busy, if I stole into his room, 
 to spare me a few minutes ; and when perhaps I was 
 naughty and rebellious, how gently and kindly he 
 would win me round, telling me what he used to feel 
 himself when he was young, advising me to submit to 
 the reproof I was fighting against ! 
 
 ' If I had a difficult lesson, a word or two from him 
 would clear away all my trouble ; and many a long 
 wearisome sum in arithmetic became quite a delight 
 when he undertook to explain it.' 
 
 In his home-circle he was ever genial and happy. 
 Frequently in the evening he would go with his wife 
 to the Zoological Gardens, where the antics of the 
 monkeys were his chief delight. All the wonderful 
 Bights of the day interested him, 'acrobats and tum- 
 blers, giants and dwarfs ; even Punch and Judy was 
 p,n unfailing source of delight, whether he looked at the 
 performance or at the admiring gaping crowd.' We 
 catch in this picture a glimpse of the man as well as 
 the philosopher; and it is in his character as a man 
 that he awakens our admiration the most. It is the 
 complete simplicity of his daily life that endeared him 
 to so many noble hearts. The friends who knew him 
 best loved him most. To those who saw him only in 
 
 G 
 
82 Michael Faraday. 
 
 the laboratory or the lecture-room there was a sweet- 
 ness and gentleness in his manner which touched the 
 stranger's heart ; but to those who had the privilege 
 of a closer acquaintance even his scientific eminence 
 was forgotten in admiration of the ' great man-child.' 
 
 At the meeting of the British Association in 1855 a 
 rather heated debate had arisen on a paper communi- 
 cated by Professor Tyndall, and he wrote to Faraday, 
 as to a friend, expressing his dissatisfaction at the tone 
 of the discussion. The reply of the old philosopher is 
 beautifully illustrative of the kindness of his heart : 
 'Let me as an old man, who ought by this time to have 
 profited by experience, say that when I was younger I 
 found I often misinterpreted the intentions of people, 
 and found they did not mean what at the time I sup- 
 posed they meant ; and further that, as a general rule, 
 it was better to be a little dull of apprehension where 
 phrases seemed to imply pique, and quick in perception 
 when, on the contrary, they seemed to imply kindly 
 feeling. The real truth never fails ultimately to appear; 
 and opposing parties, if wrong, are sooner convinced 
 when replied to forbearingly than when overwhelmed. 
 All I mean to say is that it is better to be blind to the 
 results of partisanship, and quick to see good-will. 
 One has more happiness in oneself in endeavouring to 
 follow the things that make for peace.' Nothing can 
 show better than this letter how truly his heart was 
 filled with that love which 'beareth all things, believeth 
 all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.' 
 
 Yet we shall wrong him if we suppose that this 
 
Michael Faraday. 83 
 
 goodness and simplicity were so natural to liis nature, 
 and all else so foreign, that he knew little of the strug- 
 gles and conflicts of other men. The beauty of his 
 character was the result of patient effort, the victory 
 of steady self-restraint. ' Underneath his sweetness 
 and gentleness/ says his friend, ' was the heat of a 
 volcano. He was a man of excitable and fiery nature ; 
 but through his self-discipline he had converted the 
 fire into a central glow and motive-power of life, in- 
 stead of permitting it to waste itself in useless passion. 
 " He that is slow to anger," saith the sage, "is greater 
 than the mighty, and he that ruleth his own spirit than 
 he that taketh a city." Faraday was not slow to anger, 
 but he completely ruled his own spirit, and thus, though 
 he took no cities, he captivated all hearts.' 
 
 For those who wished to consult him in the cause 
 of science he had always a willing ear, though occa- 
 sionally it became necessary to rebuke some incon- 
 siderate person who was disposed to abuse his patience. 
 An instance of this is recorded: ' One morning a young 
 man called on him, and with an air of great importance 
 confided to him the result of some original researches 
 (so he deemed them) in electrical philosophy. " And 
 pray," asked the professor, taking down a volume of 
 Kees's EncyclojycBdia, " did you consult this, or any ele- 
 mentary work, to learn whether your discovery had 
 been anticipated?" The young man replied in the 
 negative. " Then why do you come to waste my time 
 about well-known facts that were published forty years 
 ago f " Sir," said the visitor, " I thought I had better 
 
84 Michael Faraday. 
 
 bring the matter to head-quarters at once." " All very 
 well for you, but not so well for head-quarters," replied 
 the professor sharply, and set him down to read the 
 article.' 
 
 But what, it may be asked, was the motive that 
 inspired Faraday in his work % What was it that urged 
 him forward % There is only one possible answer : it 
 was a love of knowledge. Wealth he deliberately 
 relinquished, and honours were only valued when 
 bestowed in grateful recognition of his service to the 
 cause of science. The applause of men who cared not 
 for his work gave him no pleasure whatever. When 
 Garibaldi was in London, a member of the Eoyal Insti- 
 tution suggested that they must get him to attend one 
 of the Friday-evening lectures. ' Well,' said Faraday, 
 ' if Garibaldi thinks he can learn anything from us, we 
 shall be happy to see him.' The reply is characteristic 
 of the man, and shows the same spirit as marked his 
 conduct when Lord Melbourne offered him a pension 
 from the Civil List. 
 
 The Prime Minister, in making the offer, expressed 
 in a rather blunt way his general opinions upon the 
 subject of giving pensions to scientific men, and is said 
 to have applied the word 'humbug' to the custom. 
 Faraday, without replying to the remark, terminated 
 the interview. The same evening he left a note at 
 Lord Melbourne's office, stating that he could not 
 accept at his lordship's hands ' that which, though it 
 has the form of approbation, is of the character which 
 your lordship has pithily applied to it.' Lord Mel- 
 
Michael Faraday. 85 
 
 bourne was extremely disappointed at this refusal, and 
 a lady, who from her intimate acquaintance with both 
 parties could act as mediator, asked Faraday what he 
 would require of the Prime Minister to induce him to 
 alter his resolution. Faraday replied, 'I should require 
 from his lordship what I have no right or reason to 
 expect that he would grant — a written apology for the 
 words he permitted himself to use to me.' To the 
 great credit of Lord Melbourne it must be stated that 
 this apology was at once sent, and Faraday without 
 further scruple accepted the honour. 
 
 The only dignity he ever sought was that of Fel- 
 lowship of the Royal Society, and though some six 
 dozen other honorary titles were bestowed upon him 
 in the course of his career, they all came unsolicited. 
 But Science had far nobler rewards for him than any 
 earthly dignities, for she taught him to look with ever- 
 deepening reverence upon God's handiwork in Nature, 
 and to listen to the message of a Father's love, which 
 even the lilies of the field reveal to those who have 
 ears to hear. 
 
 ' One rule his life was fashion'd to fulfil — 
 
 That he who tends Truth's shrine, and does the hest 
 Of Science with a humble faithful will, 
 
 The God of Truth and Knowledge serveth best.' 
 
 All the phenomena of Nature were lovely to him, but 
 nothing impressed him so much as the grandeur of a 
 thunderstorm or the rich tints of the setting sun. The 
 description given by his niece of his delight in these 
 scenes when the days of activity were past, and his 
 
86 Michael Faraday. 
 
 race was well-nigh run, is so beautiful that it cannot 
 be omitted here. ' I shall never,' she says, ' look at the 
 lightning flashes without recalling his delight in a 
 beautiful storm. How he would stand at the window 
 for hours watching the effects and enjoying the scene ; 
 while we knew his mind was full of lofty thoughts, 
 sometimes of the great Creator, and sometimes of the 
 laws by which He sees meet to govern the earth. 
 
 ' I shall also always connect the sight of the hues 
 of a brilliant sunset with him, and especially he will be 
 present to my mind while I watch the fading of the 
 tints into the sombre gray of night. He loved to have 
 us with him as he stood or sauntered on some lonely 
 spot, and spoke his thoiights perhaps in the words of 
 Gray's Elegy, which he retained in memory clearly 
 long after many other things had faded quite away. 
 Then as darkness stole on his companions would gra- 
 dually turn indoors, while he Avas well pleased to be 
 left to solitary communing with his own thoughts.' 
 
 Much, however, as he valued God's revelation of 
 His love in Nature, he always felt that far more than 
 that was required by the spiritual nature of man. The 
 mysteries of science were vast — almost incomprehen- 
 sible ; but before the great mysteries of God and eter- 
 nity his mind would retreat appalled. He believed 
 that it would be impossible in reliance upon his own 
 investigations of natural phenomena to explain and 
 account for the ways of God. By searching thus he 
 never hoped to find Him out ; he was sure that in that 
 way he could never know Him to perfection. All his 
 
Michael Faraday. 87 
 
 intellectual greatness seemed to be forgotten when his 
 soul cried out for the living God ; and with the simple 
 faith of a child he felt that all his knowledge must 
 be learnt at the feet of Him who came to reveal a 
 Father's love to men. 
 
 In 1859 the Queen, at the suggestion of Prince 
 Albert, proposed to Faraday that he should occupy a 
 house at Hampton Court ; but though he valued highly 
 the considerate kindness which prompted the offer, he 
 feared he should have to decline it. The house stood 
 in need of repair before it could be occupied, and the 
 philosopher, having chosen poverty as his lot in life, 
 was not in a position to meet the expense. As soon, 
 however, as the Queen heard of the difficulty she at 
 once removed it, by giving instructions for the house 
 to be put into thorough repair, and requesting Faraday 
 to dismiss from his mind all anxiety upon the subject. 
 This kindness he greatly appreciated, more especially 
 as he felt that his faculties were growing weaker and 
 his bodily strength fast declining. The following 
 year, in a letter to one of his nieces, he alludes to his 
 growing weakness with a happy resignation. ' My 
 worldly faculties,' says he, '■ are slipping away day by 
 day. Ha]3py is it for all of us that the true good lies 
 not in them. As they ebb, may they leave us as little 
 children trusting in the Father of mercies, and accept- 
 ing His unspeakable gift !' 
 
 His days at Hampton Court were happily spent, 
 cheered with the thought that his work was done, and 
 that a rest remained for the people of God. On the 
 
88 Michael Faraday. 
 
 25th August 1867 he peacefully breathed his last as he 
 sat in his chair in his study ; and though all who had 
 known him felt the loss, none sorrowed, for they knew 
 it to be his gain. 
 
 The funeral, according to his express wish, was 
 strictly private; and a plain tombstone in High- 
 gate cemetery now marks the spot where his body 
 rests. 
 
 The philosopher's discoveries are the heritage of 
 all future times, and many generations may reap the 
 fruits of Michael Faraday's profound research ; but not 
 less valuable to posterity are the lessons of a well- 
 spent life — the records of toil and faithfulness, of 
 patience and hope. 
 
 '■ Such lives are precious ; not so mucli for all 
 
 Of wider insiglit won wliere they have striven, 
 As for the still small voice with which they call 
 Along the beamy way from eai-th to heaven.' 
 
THE ADMIEAL: 
 
 SIR W. E. PARRY, 
 
' Peace hath her victories 
 No less renown'd than war.' 
 
 Milton. 
 
THE ADMIRAL : 
 SIR W. E. PARRY. 
 
 England is justly proud of her maritime supremacy. 
 Other nations may exhaust their strength and drain 
 their resources in the maintenance of gigantic mihtary 
 armaments, but she has no need to convert her empire 
 into a soldiers' camp. A barrier of sea is her safeguard 
 from peril, and she has little cause to fear the footstep 
 of the invader so long as she maintains her strength 
 upon the waters which girdle the home of liberty. 
 
 But war is not the sole occupation of those who ' go 
 down to the sea in ships, and occupy their business in 
 great waters,' There are peaceable conquests also to 
 be won, which test the endurance of the sailor as much 
 as any of the struggles of angry nations. The history 
 of Polar research stands conspicuous amongst these 
 victories of peace ; and the part which England has 
 played in the enterprise is worthy of the great name 
 
92 Sir W. E. Pany. 
 
 she inherits, and a fit homage to the high spirit of her 
 sons. 
 
 The name of Parry will ever remain famous among 
 Arctic voyagers. Many have nobly striven to emulate 
 his fame, but none have snatched the laurels from his 
 brow. 
 
 In the city of Bath there lived a certain Dr. Caleb 
 Hillier Parry, who, besides being a well-known physi- 
 cian, was also an author of some repute. In order to 
 render the harmony of his ei^istende Complete, Dr. Caleb 
 Parry married Sarah, the daughter of John Rigby, Esq., 
 of Lancaster, and the fourth son of this marriage was 
 William Edward, the subject of the present memoir, 
 who first saw the light of day on December 19, 1790, 
 in the city in which his-fatherwas famous-. 
 
 At an early age he was sent to the Bath Grammar 
 School; and from the records of his school-life which 
 have been left us it would; seem that he soon became a 
 general favourite among his young companions. He 
 was intelligent, diligent at his studies, full of boyish fun 
 and hardy courage, and always ready to be the cham- 
 pion, of the weak. There is a story told by his sister 
 which illustrates' both his generosity and his bravery. 
 One day he went to his father for counsel. ' Father,' 
 he said, ' I want your advice. I can't bear to see that 
 
 big boy G beating and ill-treating little H . I 
 
 have rescued him once or twice, and this morning G 
 
 turned upon me, and we fought, and I think I should 
 have beaten him if the sehool-bell had not rung. He 
 has challenged me on Saturday on Lansdowne, and all 
 
Sir TV. E. Parry. 93 
 
 the big boys are to be present. Do you think I should 
 meet him f This was not a very easy matter for a 
 father to give advice upon ; but after a few moments' 
 consideration Dr. Parry wisely decided. ' How old is 
 your opponent t' he inquired. 'Fifteen,' replied the 
 boy. ' And you are not yet twelve ! Try all you can 
 to avoid a battle, and by expostulation to prevent his 
 tormenting your little friend ; but if nothing else will 
 do, you must fight ; but be cool, and do not give way 
 to anger.' On the Saturday the boys met at Lans- 
 downe to see the contest. Parry was there, and fought 
 and won, though not before he had dislocated one of 
 his fingers. But he did not mind this injury, for he 
 had achieved his purpose ; and ' now,' said he, ' little 
 
 H will be safe.' 
 
 His father had originally intended that he should 
 be trained for a physician, and William — or rather 
 Edward, for he was always more familiarly known by 
 his second name — was perfectly willing to acquiesce in 
 the parental wish. But other influences were at work 
 which ultimately determined a very different choice. 
 The Channel fleet, lying off Brest, was under the com- 
 mand of Admiral the Honourable W. Cornwallis. Miss 
 Cornwallis, a near relative of this distinguished officer 
 and an intimate friend of Dr. Parry, recognised in the 
 boy an aptitude for sea-life. The early promise of 
 eminence was there, and the navy seemed to afford the 
 best scope for the exercise of his peculiar powers. She 
 accordingly urged his parents to allow him to at least 
 make a trial of a sailor's life, and after a good deal of 
 
94 Sir W. E. Parry. 
 
 persuasion their consent was given. The Ville de Paris, 
 under command of Captain Ricketts, was at this time 
 (June 1803) on the point of leaving England to join the 
 Channel fleet as flagship, and, through the influence of 
 the admiral, Miss Cornwallis succeeded in obtaining for 
 her young friend an appointment in this ship as a 
 volunteer of the first class. 
 
 When the day arrived for leaving he was accom- 
 panied to Plymouth by an old servant of the family, 
 who saw him comfortably established in the ship before 
 he returned. It was not long before Edward felt 
 himself at home amongst his new friends. As soon as 
 he saw the ship and the sea his heart was filled with 
 boyish delight, and his curiosity thoroughly aroused. 
 All was novel to him, and he eagerly asked for expla- 
 nations of everything that perplexed him. One of the 
 first sights that caught his eye as he stepped on board 
 was a sailor descending the rigging. He at once 
 sprang forward, and clambered up the ropes with the 
 agility of an athlete, only pausing to take breath or 
 rest as he waved his cap from the masthead. The 
 sailors were delighted with his impetuosity, and as 
 soon as he reached deck again they surrounded him, 
 saying that he was ' a fine fellow and a true sailor, 
 every inch of him.' 
 
 The Ville de Paris soon joined the fleet, and was 
 for some time employed in blockading the French coast 
 in the neighbourhood of Brest and Ushant. The Eng- 
 lish Government were at this time anticipating an 
 attempted invasion by the French, and the English 
 
Sir W. E. Parry. 95 
 
 admiral was fully occupied in watering the movements 
 of the hostile fleet. An engagement of no great 
 significance occurred soon after Parry joined the fleet, 
 and the flagship took part in it. This was his first 
 sight of a naval battle ; and in a letter which he wrote 
 home soon afterwards he declares that 'it certainly 
 was the prettiest sight I ever saw in my life.' Only a 
 few vessels were engaged, and the French quickly 
 withdrew from the attack. 
 
 He remained on board the Ville de Paris for nearly 
 three years, and during that time his leisure was care- 
 fully devoted to study, especially in French and mathe- 
 matics. On leaving his ship in 1806 he was able to 
 boast that he had fairly earned from Admiral Corn- 
 wallis the following testimony : ' Parry is a fine steady 
 lad. I never knew any one so generally approved of. 
 He will receive civility and kindness from all while he 
 continues to conduct himself as he has done, which, I 
 dare believe, will be as long as he lives.' 
 
 His next appointment was that of midshipman on 
 board the Tribune (Captain Baker). He was not able 
 during this time to devote quite so much attention to 
 study, as he was chosen by the captain to perform the 
 duties of day-mate. This selection, however, was not 
 without its advantages, for it afforded him facilities 
 for acquiring a practical knowledge of a naval officer's 
 duties, such as he could not otherwise have easily 
 obtained. 
 
 On the whole his days on board the Tribune were 
 passed as pleasantly as could be wished. The officers 
 
96 Sir W. E. Parry. 
 
 were kind and clieerful companions, and none of the 
 petty cares and vexations which always seek to cast 
 some shadow over the brightest day were permitted to 
 distm^b his serenity. In a letter written at this time 
 he speaks of the little troubles which tend to make one 
 uneasy, and says, ' I am determined never, if possible, 
 to be angry or discontented at any of these things, 
 which every day take place ; for that is only, in other 
 words, to call in question the goodness of God,' 
 
 During the two years of his service on board the 
 Tribune the ship was principally employed in cruising 
 off the French coast, often with the prospect of a severe 
 engagement. No contest of any serious kind occurred ; 
 but it may be interesting to extract a passage from one 
 of his letters, written at a time when a battle was con- 
 sidered imminent : ' I assure you that whenever I may 
 go into action I shall never do so thoughtlessly. I 
 shall always cai-ry in my mind who is my Protector and 
 my Friend ; whilst my body is doing my duty as an 
 officer, my heart shall be raised much higher, and shall 
 be secretly (at least, to the world) imploring a blessing 
 from my Heavenly Father. Thus prepared, what have 
 I to fear on such an occasion as going into action % I 
 am not naturally a coward ; and this, added to the 
 knowledge of the Being who protects me, should make 
 me bold indeed.' 
 
 Early in 1808 Captain Baker was promoted to the 
 command of the Vanguard, a line-of-battle ship be- 
 longing to the Baltic fleet, and Parry, who was much 
 attached to ' good Captain Baker,' succeeded in ex- 
 
Sir IV. E. Pamy. 97 
 
 changing into the same ship. Towards the end of the 
 year the Vanguard returned to Enghmd, and young 
 Parry spent Christmas at his father's house in Bath. 
 
 In the spring of 1809 the Vanguard sailed for the 
 Baltic, and Parry found plenty of excitement in fre- 
 quent encounters with the Danish gunboats, while in 
 his hours of recreation his favourite companions were 
 a violin and Cowper's Poems. His studies, meanwhile, 
 were not neglected ; and nothing but his age prevented 
 him from passing his examination as lieutenant. To 
 many of his friends it was a matter of surprise that he 
 should permit this obstacle to remain in his way. The 
 regulations of the service did not permit of his be- 
 coming a lieutenant till he had declared himself to be 
 nineteen years of age ; but it was a common practice 
 to make a false declaration as soon as a young officer 
 possessed the other necessary qualifications. Parry was 
 frequently advised to take this course, but he always 
 steadily refused. The practice might be common, it 
 might be almost universal, but it certainly was un- 
 truthful, and Parry resolved to have nothing to do with 
 it. ' People tell me,' he says, ' I could certainly pass 
 for nineteen or more if I chose to try. All this I know 
 very well ; but there is so much to be said in opposi- 
 tion to it which seems much more sensible, that they 
 may as well say nothing more about it.' 
 
 He completed his nineteenth year in December 
 1809, and in the same month the Vanguard returned to 
 England. He at once went to London, and took 
 lodgings until the time of his examination. He bad 
 
98 Sir W. E. Parry. 
 
 not long to wait. On the 3d of January 1810 he 
 satisfactorily passed, and two days later received his 
 commission as lieutenant. 
 
 In the following March he sailed for the Baltic on 
 board the Alexandria. This vessel Avas afterwards 
 employed in the Northern seas in protecting the Spitz- 
 bergen whale jfishery for about two years ; and at 
 the end of that time Lieutenant Parry took leave of 
 her. 
 
 He was next appointed to H.M.S. La Hogue (Cap- 
 tain Hon. Bladen Capel), which was lying at Halifax. 
 Lieutenant Parry arrived there June 2, 1813. Early 
 in the following year an incident occurred which was 
 full of pleasure to the young officer. England was at 
 this time at war with the United States, and vessels 
 cruising in American waters were in continual danger 
 from torpedoes. One night in April an attempt Avas 
 made to blow up the La Hogue ; but fortunately the 
 attack was too clumsy to be successful. The noise of 
 the explosion was heard and a considerable shock felt, 
 but no serious damage done. At the same time a boat 
 was observed rapidly moving away from the ship. It 
 was stopped and its solitary occupant taken prisoner. 
 The man protested that he had come to the ship on 
 a peaceful mission; but the circumstances were too 
 suspicious to allow of his being set at liberty, and the 
 sailors signified their opinion of him by christening 
 him ' Torpedo Jack.' 
 
 After remaining a prisoner for a short time, he 
 offered, in consideration of his liberty being restored 
 
Sir W. E. Parry. 99 
 
 to him, to pilot some boats up to Pettipaque Point, in 
 the river Connecticut, where several American priva- 
 teers and letters of marque were lying. The proposal 
 was considered by the officers of the various ships 
 which composed the English squadron, and it was 
 decided to despatch an expedition, and to send ' Tor- 
 pedo Jack' in handcuffs. For this purpose six boats 
 were selected from the ships La Hogue, Maidstone, and 
 Endymion. One of them was commanded by Lieuten- 
 ant Parry, and the whole were under the orders of 
 Captain Coote, of the Borer brig. The expeditionary 
 force proceeded in the Borer to the mouth of the river, 
 where the boats were let down and started on their 
 journey. 
 
 It was ten o'clock at night when they pushed off, 
 and the distance to be rowed was only about six or 
 eight miles; but the delay caused by the tide made 
 it break of day before the shipping was reached. A 
 landing was effected without opposition. Captain Coote 
 having threatened to burn the town if a single shot 
 were fired. The sailors at once set to work to de- 
 stroy the enemy's shipping, and from half-past four in 
 the morning till noon were engaged in this interesting 
 occupation. They then embarked on board two of the 
 best vessels, and remained within pistol-shot of the 
 woods for four hours, eating and sleeping, to refresh 
 themselves for the completion of their work. Presently 
 a boat was seen approaching from a point of the land 
 where the stream was narrowest, about two miles and 
 a half distant. The principal occupant of the boat bore 
 
loo Sir W. E. Parry. 
 
 a flag of truce and brought a letter, in the handwriting 
 of an illiterate cobbler, demanding an immediate sur- 
 render. Captain Coote contemptuously dismissed the 
 messenger, and his departure was the signal for a 
 hearty British cheer. 
 
 But there was danger ahead. The narrow point of 
 the river from which the boat had been sent had, no 
 doubt, been chosen by the enemy as a convenient spot 
 at which to assemble in strength and prevent the return 
 of the boats. It was accordingly resoh^ed that, as soon 
 as darkness should favour a retreat, an attempt should 
 be made to leave the river. At dusk the enemy's ship 
 in which they had been resting was destroyed, and the 
 boats got in readiness. The anticipation which had 
 been formed as to the danger which had yet to be 
 encountered proved a correct one ; for before the boats 
 lould start on their homeward journey a brisk fire was 
 opened upon them from the woods. Silently they 
 drifted down the stream, trusting to the current to 
 carry them along, as the noise of rowing would have 
 made their discovery certain. They proceeded un- 
 observed till they reached the narrow point at which 
 the enemy had collected their force, and a heavy fire 
 was then opened iipon them. The oars were at once 
 eagerly seized by the men and lustily plied till they 
 were out of danger. The casualties resulting from 
 this expedition were two men killed and one womided ; 
 while the damage done to the enemy's property was 
 estimated by Parry at a value of 60,000/. 
 
 Shortly after this expedition the La Hogue returned 
 
Sir W. E. Parry. loi 
 
 to England ; but Parry remained on the North American 
 station, serving on the Maidstone and several other 
 vessels, in what he called the ' almost hopeless chance 
 of promotion.' 
 
 It may here be mentioned that much of Parry's 
 spare time had been occupied in astronomical observa- 
 tions ; and in 1813 he prepared a little work entitled 
 Nautical Astronomy by Night. This work was circulated 
 in manuscript among the junior officers of the fleet on 
 the North American station, and its popularity and 
 usefulness caused its author to have it printed in 1816. 
 
 Early in 1817 Dr. Parry had a severe paralytic 
 attack, and his son returned home to visit him. Pre- 
 vious to this he heard that it was contemplated at 
 the Admiralty to send an expedition to explore the 
 river Congo. He at once offered himself as a volun- 
 teer; but the expedition was appointed to start too 
 early for him to join it; This was a disappointment 
 to him. A love' of adventure had always characterised 
 him, and it was his ' great wish to accomplish some 
 remarkable voyage. - The story is told that when he 
 was five years old he was takfen by his parents to visit 
 a lady, and was found alone in the library sitting 
 astride a globe. ' What !' exclaimed the lady, ' are 
 you riding on the globe V ' yes,' replied the child -, 
 ' Jioio I should like to go round it !' It is not surprising 
 that those who seek for the germ of an illustrious man- 
 hood in the ambitions of childish fancy should call to 
 memory an incident so promising, when the fame of the 
 great navigator was known throughout the world. 
 
I02 Sir W. E. Parry. 
 
 Towards the end of 1817 he wrote to his friend 
 Mr. Barrow, the Secretary to the Admiralty, and 
 alluded to his disappointment with regard to the 
 Congo Eiver expedition. The letter was written and 
 ready to be despatched, when his eye fell on a news- 
 paper paragraph in which it was stated that an expe- 
 dition to the Northern regions was likely to be fitted 
 out. He hastily added a postscript to his letter, ask- 
 ing whether there was any chance of an appointment, 
 adding that ' hot or cold was all one to him — Africa or 
 the Pole.' The request reached Mr. Barrow just in 
 time. Four ships were being fitted out ; two to pene- 
 trate as far as possible towards the Pole, and two to 
 attempt a North-west passage from the Atlantic to the 
 Pacific. The former were under the command of Cap- 
 tain Buchan and Lieutenant Franklin ; the command of 
 the latter had not been decided upon when Parry's 
 letter was received. The ships for the North-west 
 passage were the Alexander and the Isabella ; and it 
 was very shortly arranged that the Isabella should be 
 commanded by Lieutenant Parry, imder the orders of 
 Commander John Ross, of the Alexander. 
 
 The ships were got ready for the voyage at Dept- 
 ford, and Parry carefully watched every preparation 
 that was made. It was at this time that he first be- 
 came acquainted with Lieutenant Franklin, who was 
 four years his senior, and whose career was destined 
 to be so similar to his own. The deep friendship which 
 was then established lasted through life. 
 
 On the 3d May 1818 the two expeditions — that for 
 
Sir W. E. Parry. 103 
 
 the North. Pole and that for the North-west passage — 
 parted company soon after they left the shores of Shet- 
 land. We are only concerned in this place to trace 
 the course of the Alexander and Isabella. On the 26th 
 they rounded Cape Farewell, the southernmost point of 
 Greenland, and entered Davis Sti-aits. As fast as the 
 ice would permit them, they pressed onwards into 
 Baffin's Bay, surveying the western coast for the ex- 
 pected opening. On the 30th August the sight they 
 had been looking for caught their eye. There, on the 
 western coast, was the wide opening which Baffin had 
 marked on his chart as Lancaster Sound, but which no 
 one had as yet explored. All the sailors were de- 
 lighted, and every expectation was high when, on the 
 following day, the vessels entered the Sound, and com- 
 menced their westward course. ' Here,' wrote Parry 
 in his jom-nal, ' Baffin's hopes of a passage began to be 
 less, every day more than another ; here, on the con- 
 trary, mine begin to grow strong.' The Isabella, on 
 account of her superior sailing capacity, was some few 
 miles in advance of her consort when the Sound was 
 entered, and she had not proceeded far when, to the 
 isurprise of Parry and his crew, she changed her course 
 and sailed back to the eastward. All were astonished 
 at a movement so unexpected, and their surprise was 
 not lessened when they heard that the commander had 
 turned back because he had found that the passage 
 westward was blocked by a range of mountains. 
 
 Parry, in writing of this after his return to England, 
 said : ' You mu^t know that, on our late voyage, we 
 
104 Sir W. E. Parry. 
 
 entered a magnificent strait from thirty to sixty miles 
 wide, upon the west coast of Baffin's Bay, and — came 
 out again, nobody knows why !' The obstacle whicli 
 had prevented their further progress had been seen 
 by none of the Alexander crew; and Parry was fully 
 persuaded in his own mind that the Croker Mountains 
 had no existence except in the imagination of Captain 
 Ross. Writing home soon after his return to Shetland, 
 he says : ' That we have not sailed through the North- 
 west passage, our return in so short a period is, of 
 course, a sufficient indication ; but I know it is in 
 existence, and not very hard to find. This opinion of 
 mine, which is not lightly formed, must on no account 
 be uttered out of our family ; and I am sure it will not, 
 when I assure you that every future prospect of mine 
 depends upon its being kept a secret.' 
 
 Notwithstanding the caution which this letter dis- 
 plays, it was found impossible to entirely conceal his 
 opinion, and the Admiralty were soon aware of it. Mr. 
 Barrow, the Secretary of the Admiralty, to whose zeal 
 so much of the success attending Arctic discoveries has 
 been due, took the matter up again with vigoiir and 
 earnestness ; and Lord Melville, the , First Lord of the 
 Admiralty, with whom Parry had an interview soon 
 after his return, made careful inquiry as to the prospect 
 of success if a second expedition should be fitted out. 
 
 In December 1818 the public learnt that two ves- 
 sels — the Hecla and Griper — were about to be got in 
 readiness for another Arctic voyage, and early in the 
 following year it was announced that Lieutenant Liddon 
 
Sir W. E. Parry. 105 
 
 was appointed to the command of the Griper, under 
 the orders of Lieutenant Parry, who would command 
 in the Hecla. Whether the Croker Mountains had any- 
 real existence or not was a question which was now to 
 be set at rest ; for Pany's instructions were, that in 
 seeking for the North-west passage he was, in the first 
 instance, to attempt the route through Lancaster Sound. 
 He still retained the rank of lieutenant, and to many 
 it was a matter of surprise that his appointment to the 
 expedition had not been accompanied with promotion. 
 But Parry did not distress himself about that. ' When 
 I look,' said he, ' at the Hecla and at the chart of Lan- 
 caster Sound, oh, what is promotion to this !' He was 
 quite content to wait for rank and dignities. The task 
 which it had been his great ambition to accomplish lay 
 before him : it was sufficient for him to know that he 
 had that to do. ' Blessed is he,' says Carlyle, ' who 
 has found his work; let him ask no other blessedness.' 
 The two ships were fitted out at Deptford under 
 Parry's superintendence, and on the 11th May they 
 left the Thames, followed by the good wishes of the 
 nation. They pursued as direct a course as possible to 
 Lancaster Sound, every day dropping a bottle into the 
 sea giving an account of the ships, with a request, in 
 six European languages, that it might be forwarded to 
 the Secretary of the Admiralty. The entrance to the 
 Sound was reached by the end of July, and the two 
 ships were turned westward as soon as a favourable 
 breeze sprang up. Every one was full of hope. The 
 Croker Mountains, which had thwarted the previous 
 
i'o6 Sir W. E. Parry. 
 
 expedition, were now nowhere to be seen, and, free 
 from the obstacles of both ice and land, the ships 
 sailed steadily forward. After proceeding for some 
 distance, a large opening was discovered on both sides 
 of the coast ; that on the north was called Prince Re- 
 gent's Inlet, and that on the south Wellington Channel. 
 The latter was totally free from ice as far as the eye 
 could reach, but Parry felt that his right course was 
 westward so long as a way could be found, and that 
 Wellington Channel must remain unexplored a little 
 longer. 
 
 On the 3d September the crew were in high spirits, 
 for 'at a quarter-past nine p.m.,' says Parry in his 
 journal, ' we had the satisfaction of crossing the mere- 
 dian of 110° west from Greenwich, in the latitude of 
 74°44'20''; by which his Majesty's ships, under my 
 orders, became entitled to the sum of five thousand 
 pounds, being the reward offered by the King's Order 
 in Council, grounded on a late Act of Parliament, to 
 such of his Majesty's subjects as might succeed in 
 penetrating thus far to the westward within the Arctic 
 Circle.' The headland which had just been passed 
 was, on this account, called by the men Bounty Cape, 
 and by that name Parry has distinguished it on his 
 chart. 
 
 This point having been passed, it was determined 
 to anchor as soon as a convenient place for harbour 
 was found, and it was not long before the opportunity 
 presented itself. A few hours' sailing brought them to 
 a bay in eveiy way suitable for the purpose, and the 
 
Sir W. E. Parry. 107 
 
 two ships cast anchor for the first time since leaving 
 the coast of Norfolk. ' The ensigns and pendants,' 
 says Parry, ' were hoisted as soon as we had anchored, 
 and it created in us no ordinary feelings of pleasure to 
 see the British flag waving, for the first time, in these 
 regions, which had hitherto been considered beyond 
 the limits of the habitable part of the world.' The 
 place of anchorage received the name of Hecla and 
 Griper Bay. 
 
 On the 7th Sept. the vessels renewed their course, 
 proceeding along the south coast of Melville Island. 
 But the ice soon made it apparent that they must seek 
 without delay a refuge for the approaching winter. 
 They accordingly returned to the neighbourhood of 
 Hecla and Griper Bay ; and, after cutting a canal 
 through the ice more than two miles in length, obtained 
 an entrance into a natural harbour not far from the 
 spot at which they had anchored before. This inlet has 
 since been known by the name of Winter Harbour. 
 
 All the efforts of the commander were now required 
 to maintain the cheerfulness of the crews. Those who 
 dwell in southern climes can form but a faint concep- 
 tion of the dreariness of an Arctic winter. There can 
 be nothing much more conducive to despondency than 
 to lose for three months all sight of the sun, and to 
 know that when it dawns again it will only be to 
 make visible a trackless waste of ice and snow, stretch- 
 ing farther than the eye can reach ; a very picture of 
 desolation, with nothing to relieve its dull monotony. 
 Parry knew well the danger of allowing the spirits of 
 
io8 Sir W. E. Parry. 
 
 the men to be depressed, and, in order to avert the 
 danger, provided every possible occupation and amuse- 
 ment. A theatre was established, and the officers set 
 themselves to work to produce plays. A newspaper 
 was also started, called the North Georgian Gazette and 
 Winter Chronicle, to which most of the officers contri- 
 buted. In this way the winter was passed. Christmas- 
 day was celebrated with roast beef, which the coldness 
 of the climate had preserved without salt since the 
 preceding May. 
 
 After nine months a thaw set in, and so sudden was 
 the change in the temperature that all the authority of 
 Lieutenant Parry was required to prevent the men from 
 varying their clothing. It was evident that the ice 
 would soon break up sufficiently to permit the expedi- 
 tion once more to proceed on its way ; but meanwhile 
 Parry determined to visit the interior of Melville Island. 
 He accordingly made a short incursion, and then re- 
 turned to the ships. It is an interesting fact in connec- 
 tion with this journey that when Lieutenant M'Clintock 
 visited the island some thirty years afterwards, he found 
 the track of Parry's cart-wheels as distinctly marked as 
 if the journey had only been performed a week before. 
 
 On August 1st both ships quitted Winter Harbour, 
 and attempted to continue their journey westward. The 
 difficulties of further progress were, however, so great 
 that Parry was obliged to relinquish it after he had 
 reached the south-west corner of Melville Island, and to 
 direct his course for home. He started on the home- 
 ward journey on the 26th August, and arrived at Peter- 
 
Sir W. E. Parry. 109 
 
 head, near Aberdeen, on the 30tli October. Four days 
 later he was in London. He had not long to wait to 
 know the opinion of the Admiralty. The day after his 
 arrival in London he received a letter from the Secre- 
 tary, stating, ' I am commanded by their Lordships to 
 express to you their satisfaction at your return, and at 
 the extensive addition which this voyage has made to 
 the knowledge of the Northern regions, and to acquaint 
 you that, in approbation of your services, their Lord- 
 ships have promoted you to the rank of commander.' 
 
 One of the first acts of the commander on his return 
 was to write to the Vicar of St. Mary-le-Strand, ex- 
 pressing his wish that an arrangement might be made 
 for the crews of the two vessels to offer a public thanks- 
 giving to God for the many mercies they had received 
 on the voyage. His sole anxiety was, as he expressed 
 it, ' a sincere desire to give the glory where alone the 
 glory is due.' 
 
 So Parry's first command came to an end, and the 
 North-west passage remained undiscovered. But no 
 one was more certain than he that the search would 
 ultimately be rewarded with success. He even thought, 
 what afterwards was proved to be no groundless specu- 
 lation, that probably more than one passage would be 
 found if the search were prosecuted diligently. In the 
 expedition he had just concluded the great obstacle 
 had been the ice. It was this which entirely barred 
 his way when he reached the south-west extremity of 
 Melville Island ; and he was strongly of opinion that 
 ■when the next effort was made it would be better. 
 
1 1 o Sir W. E. Parry. 
 
 instead of proceeding so far north as Lancaster Sonnd, 
 to pass through Hudson's Strait, and to endeavour to 
 skirt the northern shore of America. 
 
 So pleased were the Admiralty with the success of 
 Parry's recent voyage, that it was determined to fit 
 out at once a second expedition. The Hecla having 
 proved a suitable kind of ship, another similar one was 
 selected to accompany it in the place of the Griper. 
 The new consort was called the Fury. It was De- 
 cember 21, 1820, when the crews of the Hecla and 
 Griper were paid off, and nine days later Parry's com- 
 mission was signed as commander of the Fury ; the 
 Hecla (commander Lyon) being placed under his orders. 
 The Admiralty instructions, which were based upon the 
 opinions he had himself expressed, ordered him to pro- 
 ceed through Hudson's Strait, and thoroughly explore 
 the coast of Repulse Bay. Failing to find a passage 
 to the westward there, he was to cruise along to the 
 northward, carefully examining every opening or inlet 
 on the western side. 
 
 On the 27th April 1821 the ships were ready for 
 sea, and the wind favourable ; but unfortunately it was 
 a Friday, and Parry knew too well the dispiriting influ- 
 ence of superstition to start on a day which the whole 
 of his crew would consider unlucky. The following day 
 the wind had changed to an unfavourable quarter, and 
 it was not till the 8th May that the ships were able to 
 leave the Thames. They then steered direct for Hud- 
 son's Strait, reaching it at the beginning of July. The 
 ice was found very plentiful : no less than thirty bergs 
 
Sir W. E. Parry. 1 1 1 
 
 were observed at one time, many of them being carried 
 about by the tides with great rapidity ; while in every 
 direction the lai"ge masses of broken floes rendered the 
 ships' progress difficult and slow. In this dangerous 
 navigation a month was consumed, August having 
 already commenced when the vessels reached South- 
 ampton Island. 
 
 At the north side of this island a previous navigator, 
 Captain Middleton, had marked a passage on his chart 
 which he called Frozen Strait ; but the existence of 
 such a strait had frequently been questioned. Parry 
 resolved to satisfy himself on the subject, and found, 
 not only that a strait was there, but also that its con- 
 dition fully justified the name which had been given 
 to it. With considerable difficulty he made his way 
 through this passage, and soon found himself in Re- 
 pulse Bay. A boat from the Hecla was at once sent 
 to examine the coast. It returned with the report 
 that there was no channel of any kind to be found. 
 The first part, therefore, of Parry's instructions had 
 been carried out. Repulse Bay had been carefully 
 surveyed, and the prospect of finding a westward pass- 
 age there was dispelled for ever. 
 
 The course now lay northward, and thither Parry at 
 once made his way, surveying with the utmost care 
 every creek or inlet on the western side of Fox 
 Channel. This task was an exceedingly difficult one, 
 and was frequently attended with considerable danger ; 
 but Parry always set his men a good example by per- 
 sonally undertaking the most hazardous enterprises. 
 
112 Sir W. E. Parry. 
 
 On one occasion he was absent with a small exploring 
 party from the ship during nine days and nights. The 
 anxiety which the crew felt for his safety was testified 
 by the warmth of the reception which he met with on 
 his return. The laborious and tedious occupation of 
 surveying the coast had occupied the crews for more 
 than two months, when Parry found it necessary to 
 seek winter quarters. On the 8th October the two 
 ships anchored at Winter Island. 
 
 The winter was passed very similarly to the pre- 
 ceding ones. A theatre was established, in which 
 plays were performed every fortnight ; amateur con- 
 certs were held by the officers, with the cabin-door 
 open for the men to hear ; and a school was started 
 to afford instruction in reading and writing. It is 
 satisfactory to know that, though the attendance at 
 this Arctic seminary was entirely voluntary, there was 
 no lack of willing and anxious pupils. There was also 
 a novel feature in this winter's amusements, a lady 
 having anonymously presented the expedition with a 
 magic-lantern. Besides all this, the dull monotony 
 of the place was occasionally enlivened by some visits 
 from a party of Esquimaux, who built a snow village 
 of a few huts close to them. In this way the winter 
 slowly dragged out its weary length ; and on the 2d 
 July 1822, after nearly nine months' imprisonment, 
 Winter Island was left behind, and the ships proceeded 
 northward along Fox Channel. 
 
 On the 18th August they reached a wide opening 
 to the westward, and Parry rightly divined that 
 
Sir W. E. Parry. 113 
 
 through it they would find a passage to the Polar Sea. 
 ' We hailed,' says he, ' the interesting event by three 
 hearty cheers, and by a small extra allowance of grog 
 to our people, to drink a safe and speedy passage 
 through the channel just discovered, which I ven- 
 tured to name by anticipation The Strait of the 
 Fury and Hecla.' Here disappointment was to begin. 
 Instead of finding a channel of open water, as had been 
 expected, even the entrance was barred with a barrier 
 of ice. While waiting for a chance of passing it winter 
 again drew on, and the ships were compelled once 
 more to seek harbour. The prospects of success were 
 now very dismal, and Parry employed the long season 
 of forced inactivity in a careful consideration of the 
 course he should take. He at last decided that, as it 
 would be impossible for both ships to remain out a 
 third winter, he would send the Hecla home, after 
 taking from her stores a year's provisions, and would 
 continue the hazardous enterprise alone in the 
 Fury. 
 
 In writing to his parents, announcing this intention, 
 he says: 'May God continue to us His all-merciful 
 guidance and protection, and I cannot despair of still 
 ultimately effecting our object. I am determined, how- 
 ever, with the continued assistance of Providence, to 
 show that perseverance has not been wanting in this 
 enterprise ; and no consideration shall induce me to 
 relinquish it while a reasonable hope of success remains. 
 Whatever the event may be, our efforts shall be worthy 
 of our country, and our return, I trust, at least not 
 
 I 
 
1 14 Sir W. E. Parry. 
 
 inglorious. What the issue is to be is in much better 
 hands than ours to determine.' There is something 
 very characteristic of Parry in this letter, in the spirit 
 which breathes through it of heroic perseverance, 
 mingled with devout submission to the Divine Will. 
 ' Our dear friends in England,' he adds, ' will not fail 
 to feel comfort in knowing that we are ever under the 
 guidance of Him "who is about our path and about 
 our bed, and spieth out all our ways." ' 
 
 When we reflect upon the perils of an Arctic voy- 
 age we can scarcely regret that Parry was compelled 
 to relinquish his intention of proceeding alone. A few 
 days before the ships were ready to leave their winter 
 quarters scurvy, the great foe of Polar expeditions, 
 made its appearance, and threatened to spread among 
 the crews. The surgeon was at once consulted on the 
 subject, and his opinion was that neither of the ships 
 could with safety be kept out during another winter. 
 To run an imminent risk of having the crew disabled 
 would, of course, have been the height of folly; and 
 Parry felt, after he had heard the medical report, that 
 there was no alternative left him. Both ships must 
 return home together. They left their harbour about 
 the middle of August, retraced the course they had 
 before travelled with so many anxious hopes, and 
 reached home early in October 1823. 
 
 One of the first letters Parry received on landing 
 contained the painful intelligence of his father's death. 
 His sensitive heart was deeply wounded, though the 
 news was not quite unexpected. He hurried to Lon- 
 
Sir W. E. Pariy. 1 1 5 
 
 don to report himself and deliver his papers at the 
 Admiralty, intending as soon as this necessary business 
 was done to hasten to his mother, that she might have 
 the comfort of his presence in her bereavement. His 
 youngest sister was living near London, and he called 
 on her the day after his arrival in town. She noticed 
 that he was very much depressed in spirits, and that 
 he scarcely spoke or ate. The following day she was 
 hurriedly summoned to his hotel, and found him in the 
 delirium of high fever. For several days he was in a 
 dangerous state, but the news was kept from his 
 mother until the illness had taken a favourable turn, 
 lest the thought of losing her illustrious son should 
 increase the weight of her sorrow. As soon as the 
 crisis was past he rapidly recovered. 
 
 During his absence from England he had been pro- 
 moted to the rank of post-captain, and immediately on 
 his return Lord Melville pressed him to accept the 
 situation of Hydrographer to the Admiralty, promising 
 that the appointment should remain open for him if he 
 should be required to undertake another voyage. 
 
 That a fresh expedition would be sent in search of 
 the North-west passage was believed on all hands. To 
 relinquish the search at a time when success seemed so 
 near was a step which it was felt could not be taken if 
 England was to maintain her supremacy and maritime 
 fame. But probably few expected that anything far- 
 ther would be done just then. The Admiralty, hovv^- 
 ever, were determined to lose no time ; and before the 
 year 1823 had passed away, the Hecla and Fury were 
 
1 1 6 Sir W. E. Parry. 
 
 again being prepared for service under the orders of 
 Captain Parry. A fresh route was chosen. Parry 
 was strongly of opinion that something might be 
 done by passing through the broad opening which 
 he discovered during his first voyage on the northern 
 side of Lancaster Sound, and the Admiralty as usual 
 instructed him according to his wishes. ' The con- 
 fidence,' their Lordships say in their orders, 'which we 
 are justified in placing in your judgment and experi- 
 ence determine us to authorise and direct you to pur- 
 sue the course which you consider most promising, 
 namely, through Prince Kegent's Inlet.' 
 
 On the 19th May 1824 the ships started. The un- 
 usual severity of the season made their progress very 
 difficult, but on the 27th September they passed from 
 Lancaster Sound into Prince Regent's Inlet. As winter 
 was now approaching, they were obliged to seek a 
 convenient harbour, and Port Bowen, on the eastern 
 coast of the inlet, was chosen for the purpose. The 
 chief novelty of the winter's amusement was a mas- 
 querade, which was proposed by Captain Hoppner of 
 the Fury. 
 
 The whole crew turned out in such quaint and 
 fantastic dresses as so extreme a northern latitude 
 would permit of; Captain Parry being made up as an 
 old marine with a wooden leg, in exact imitation of one 
 known to all the crew, who was accustomed to sit with 
 a fiddle begging on a road near Chatham. 
 
 On the 20th July 1825 Port Bowen was left behind, 
 both ships pursuing a southward course along the inlet. 
 
Sir W. E. Parry. 117 
 
 Soon the disasters began. The huge blocks of ice on 
 all hands were being whirled about with great velocity, 
 and a hard gale having sprung up, the danger became 
 very great. Both ships were jammed and squeezed 
 between masses of floating ice, and driven violently on 
 shore, there to remain till the advancing tide should 
 carry them oiF again. At last the Fury was crippled : 
 with her hold full of water, driven hard upon shore, 
 and damaged beyond the hope of repair, there was no 
 choice left to her commander but to abandon her. So, 
 with the crews of both vessels on board, the Heel a 
 turned her head for home, reaching Peterhead on the 
 12th October 1825. 
 
 This was the last effort made by Parry to find a 
 North-west passage ; and though he was successful in 
 carrying the English flag much farther than it had ever 
 been seen before, the main object of the search had to 
 remain unfulfilled. That he was right in the firm per- 
 suasion which he held that such a passage must exist, 
 we now know for a certainty. But of so little value is 
 the discovery to us in a mercantile sense that the crew 
 under M'Clure, which passed from Behring's Straits to 
 BafEin's Bay in 1852, is the only one that has ever 
 accomplished the hazardous voyage : unless, indeed, 
 the noble Franklin and his brave followers did so 
 ere they met their awful doom in this inhospitable 
 waste. 
 
 Before leaving the subject of Arctic discovery, 
 there is one more expedition to which we must allude. 
 Parry on his return to England had settled down to 
 
1 1 8 Sir W. E. Parry. 
 
 his duties as Hydrographer to the Admiralty; but his 
 mind was continually bent upon the problems which 
 seemed to be locked in the ice of the North. A short 
 time after he had been in London, he drew up a state- 
 ment as to the practicability of reaching the Pole 
 by means of sledge-boats. The matter was at once 
 considered by the Admiralty, and resulted in the 
 Hecla being again commissioned under Parry's com- 
 mand. 
 
 Meanwhile an incident occurred which must be here 
 recorded. On the 23d October 1826 Captain Parry 
 was married to Isabella Louisa, the fourth daughter of 
 Sir John Stanley, afterwards Lord Stanley of Alderley. 
 From the tower of the parish church of Alderley a silk 
 ensign fluttered in the breeze on the wedding morn. 
 It had been worked by the bride to accompany the 
 expedition ; and when it was hauled down from the 
 church tower it was carefully folded up, in the hope that 
 when it was next unfurled it would be at the North 
 Pole itself. 
 
 On the 25th March — just five months after his mar- 
 riage — Parry went down to Deptford, and, bidding 
 farewell to his friends, embarked on board the Hecla. 
 He arrived off Spitzbergen on the 12th May 1827. 
 After much delay caused by the ice, a suitable harbour 
 was found at Treurenberg Bay, and here the ship was 
 left while two boats, fitted with strong runners shod 
 with smooth steel, started on the voyage of discovery. 
 They were manned by the greater part of the crew, and 
 officered by Parry and his lieutenant. The rough 
 
Sir W. E. Parry. 119 
 
 nature of the ice made progress very tedious. ' More 
 than once,' says Parry, ' they were upwards of two 
 hours in advancing 100 yards.' But they toiled man- 
 fully on, encouraged by the unflagging zeal and per- 
 severance of their commander. Their hope was that 
 after traversing the rough ice for a short distance they 
 would find a smooth sheet of it before them, over 
 which they could move more rapidly ; but in this ex- 
 pectation they were disappointed. The farther they 
 went the more difficult it became to get along ; and, 
 at last. Parry was obliged to acknowledge with reluct- 
 tance that it was useless to prolong the attempt. The 
 boats were therefore turned backwards, and reached 
 the Hecla on the 21st August. Four days later, the 
 ship quitted her harbour, and by the end of September 
 1827 Parry found himself back in London. 
 
 The ensign worked by Lady Parry had not reached 
 the Pole, but it did not come back without being un- 
 furled; for in latitude 82° 45' it was opened and 
 hoisted in the breeze, to celebrate the attainment of 
 the farthest northern point which Arctic voyagers had 
 ever reached. 
 
 Parry had now made his last Arctic voyage, and 
 considered himself entitled to a short season of rest. 
 He visited the Continent, and was obliged to pay the 
 penalty of greatness by being lionised in every town 
 through which he passed. On the homeward voyage 
 from Rotterdam he M^as able to render a useful ser- 
 vice to his fellow-passengers. The night was dark 
 and stormy, and many passengers refused to occupy 
 
1 20 Sir W. E. Parjy. 
 
 the cabins lest some danger should suddenly arise, 
 till they heard that Captain Parry had expressed his 
 intention of remaining on deck all night. His pre- 
 sence soon proved very necessary, for the captain of 
 the ship, having mistaken the light on Goodwin 
 Sands for the North Foreland lighthouse, would have 
 steered into dangerous proximity to those treacherous 
 shoals had not Parry's firmness made him alter his 
 course. 
 
 The time of his return to England was marked by 
 several domestic calamities. The loss of two children 
 and the critical illness of his wife following each other 
 in rapid succession placed a severe strain upon his 
 Christian fortitude. But his faith, which had never 
 been weak, had greatly increased its strength in recent 
 years, and in the bitterest of his troubles he was 
 always able to recognise the dispensations of a Father's 
 hand. 
 
 Early in 1829 a national honour was paid to Parry 
 and to his illustrious friend Captain Franklin. Both 
 received the dignity of knighthood at the hands of 
 George IV.; and at Oxford the Sheldonian Theatre 
 rang with applause while the honorary degree of 
 D.C.L. was conferred upon the two famous navi- 
 gators. 
 
 In the spring of 1829 he was appointed Commis- 
 sioner of the Australian Agriciiltural Company, and 
 left England for Port Stephens. He soon found that 
 his new sphere of work would afford abundant oppor- 
 tunities for the exercise of a missionary spirit. There 
 
Sir W. E. Parry. 121 
 
 was no church nearer than Sydney, which was ninety 
 miles distant, and the rtioral condition of the people 
 was most deplorable. Parry at once set himself to 
 work with the zeal of an evangelist. He fitted up a 
 carpenter's shop for a place of worship, and as there 
 was no clergyman near he personally officiated. A 
 school was also organised under the superintendence 
 of Lady Parry, and other useful associations formed. 
 For more than five years the settlement was blessed with 
 his useful labours, and when, in November 1834, he 
 returned to England he was able to leave behind him 
 a church built and endowed by his munificence. 
 
 In 1835 he was appointed Assistant Poor-law Com- 
 missioner in the county of Norfolk ; but failing health 
 compelled him to relinquish the post after he had held 
 it for about a year. We next find him temporarily 
 engaged in organising the packet service between 
 Liverpool, Holyhead, and Dublin ; after which he was 
 selected to be Comptroller of Steam Machinery at the 
 Admiralty. 
 
 A new trial now awaited him. His wife lay at the 
 point of death, and in May 1840 he wrote to a friend 
 as follows : ' Of my dear wife's state I can scarcely 
 venture to think, much less to write. I believe that 
 her precious Kfe 'hangs on the most fragile thread; but 
 I know that the dear Redeemer's everlasting arms 
 must be around His own child, and that "it is well."' 
 This submissive spirit continued to maintain him when 
 the hand of death snatched from his side the partner 
 of his life. It was shortly after this bereavement that 
 
1 2 2 Sir W. E. Parry. 
 
 he compiled his little book, entitled Thoughts on the 
 Parental Character of God. 
 
 On June 29, 1841, he was married a second time, 
 Catherine Edwards, daughter of Rev. R. Hankinson, 
 Rector of Walpole, Lynn, being the new Lady Parry. 
 He shortly after went to live at Hampstead. 
 
 In November 1846 he accepted at Lord Auckland's 
 hands the appointment of Captain Superintendent of 
 Royal Clarence Yard and of the Naval Hospital at 
 Haslar. This post he continued to occupy till 1852, 
 when he attained to the rank of admiral. He then 
 varied his place of residence, spending his time partly 
 at Keswick among the beautiful English lakes, and 
 partly at Bishop's Waltham. Towards the end of 1853 
 he obtained the last appointment which he held, that 
 of Lieutenant-Governor of Greenwich Hospital. He 
 continued to reside at Greenwich till 1855, when ill- 
 health compelled him to go abroad. He started on the 
 23d May for the purpose of consulting an eminent 
 German doctor at Ems, and in due course reached the 
 pleasant watering-place. But his complaint was beyond 
 the reach of medical skill, and his strength rapidly 
 deserted him. He knew that the end was at hand, 
 and begged of his wife that there should be ' no death- 
 bed scene.' The time had arrived to which he had 
 been steadily looking during the yeai'S of his health 
 and strength, and his only hope now was that he 
 might quickly fall asleep in his Saviour's arms. His 
 consciousness remained to the last; and on June 8, 
 1855, with wife and children standing round his bed. 
 
Sir W. E. Parry. 123 
 
 in peace and calm serenity, he died ' the death of the 
 righteous.' 
 
 His body was taken to Greenwich to be buried, 
 and many were the illustrious men who bowed their 
 heads in reverence round his tomb. 
 
 There is much in this noble character which we 
 might have mentioned but have left unsaid. His strict 
 punctuality and minute attention to duty, his unosten- 
 tatious zeal in working for the spiritual welfare of 
 those who served beneath his command, and, above 
 all, his absolute faith in the all-conquering power of 
 prayer, are traits in his character which help to raise 
 him to the highest rank among Christian heroes and 
 English worthies. 
 
THE STATESMAN: 
 WILLIAM WILBERFORCE. 
 
'Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 
 Thy God's, and truth's.' 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
THE STATESMAN: 
 
 WILLIAM WILBERFORCE. 
 
 On tlie roll of English statesmen there is no name 
 more honoured or more worthy of honour than that 
 of William Wilberforce. The place which he fills in 
 our national history is one which few men could oc- 
 cupy. Neither before nor since his time has his like 
 been seen among us. His efforts in Parliament and his 
 influence in society alike entitle him to his country's 
 gratitude. His work, his character, his memory, will 
 be cherished with a feeling very much akin to venera- 
 tion so long as we have sufficient moral discernment to 
 admire a man who strove with all his heart to do 
 justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with 
 his God. In tracing his career, we shall see how 
 steadily he kept before him the highest ideal of states- 
 manship, and with what faithfulness he employed the 
 
128 William Wilberforce. 
 
 many talents with which his Master had intrusted 
 him : 
 
 ' Not making his higli place the lawless perch 
 Of wing'd ambition, nor a vantage-ground 
 For pleasure ; but thi-ough all this tract of years 
 Wearing the white flower of a blameless Ufe.' 
 
 He was the only son of Robert and Elizabeth Wil- 
 berforce, and was born at Hiill on the 24th of August 
 1759. His early days were spent with his parents. 
 When seven years old he was sent to Hull Grammar 
 School, where he remained for two years, under the 
 tuition of Joseph and Isaac Milner, the latter of whom 
 afterwards became Dean of Carlisle, and remained 
 through life the intimate friend of his pupil. 
 
 At the death of his father, in 1768, he was trans- 
 ferred to the care of an uncle, named William Wilber- 
 force, with whom he lived, partly at Wimbledon and 
 partly at St. James's -place. During this time he 
 attended a boarding-school at Putney, about which we 
 know very little, except that the education was indif- 
 ferent and the food ' nauseous.' He remained there for 
 two years. Meanwhile his friends in Hull were getting 
 rather anxious about his religious education. His aunt 
 was a great admirer of Whitefield's preaching, and as 
 William was beginning to evince a very serious dis- 
 position, his friends at Hull began to fear that the aunt 
 was making a Methodist of him. His grandfather 
 especially regarded such a prospect with the greatest 
 horror. ' Billy,' he said, ' shall travel with Milner as 
 soon as he is of age ; but if Billy turns Methodist he 
 
William Wilber force. 129 
 
 shall not have a sixpence of mine.' Accordingly it was 
 arranged that his mother should take a journey to 
 Wimbledon and fetch her boy away. 
 
 Once back in Hull, every effort was made by his 
 friends to charm away the serious spirit which had 
 taken possession of him. His own remark, made late 
 in life, leaves no doubt about the perseverance they 
 displayed : ' I might almost say that no pious parent 
 ever laboured more to impress a beloved child with 
 sentiments of piety than they did to give me a taste 
 for the world and its diversions.' In this way it was 
 hoped that the impressions he had received from his 
 aunt might be removed without doing any injury to 
 what they considered a proper religious spirit. There 
 is no doubt that this early change in the associations 
 of his life had at the time a disastrous effect on his 
 religious feelings, and caused him much pain in after- 
 years. Fortunately, the careless indifference which it 
 occasioned only had a temporary sway, and the calm 
 opinion which he ultimately formed was, ' In some 
 respects it has perhaps conduced to my usefulness that 
 I did not retain my early impressions.' 
 
 Soon after his return to Hull he was placed under 
 the care of the Rev. K. Basket at the endowed gram- 
 mar school of Pocklington. In 1776 he entered St. 
 John's College, Cambridge. ' On the very first night 
 of my arrival,' he says, 'I was introduced to as licen- 
 tious a set of men as can well be conceived. They 
 were in the habit of drinking hard, and their conversa- 
 tion was in perfect accordance with their principles. 
 
 K 
 
130 William Wilberforce. 
 
 Though often mingling in their parties, I never relished 
 their society ; indeed I was often horror-struck at their 
 conduct, and felt miserable.' Nor was he much better 
 impressed wlien he shook off these companions and 
 sought the society of the Fellows of the college ; for 
 even from these he says that he received no encourage- 
 ment to study, but every inducement to remain idle. 
 His grandfather and uncle having both died, he had 
 come into a large fortune ; and his college friends 
 could not miderstand wliy, with such wealtli, he should 
 ' trouble himself Avith fagging.' To much of this per- 
 suasion he listened, as may be supposed, only too 
 readily, though from many of the habits of his com- 
 panions he shrank instinctively. 
 
 When he left college he had resolved to lose no time 
 in entering upon public life ; and at the general election 
 of 1780, which occurred only a few days after his 
 twenty-first birthday, he contested his native town. 
 For some time past he had been preparing for this 
 contest by walking up and down the streets of Hull, 
 canvassing all sorts and conditions of men. Notwith- 
 standing his youth and the powerful influences arrayed 
 against him, he was very sanguine of success. His 
 expectations, however, were greatly exceeded when 
 the poll was declared, and he found that the votes 
 recorded for him were more than both his opponents 
 had obtained betAveen them. In the biography written 
 by his sons we are, in some measure, let into the secret 
 of this success. They say : ' This election cost him 
 between 8000Z. and 9000/. By long-established custom, 
 
William Wilberforce. \ 3 1 
 
 the single vote of a resident elector was rewarded with 
 a donation of two guineas ; four were paid for a 
 plumper ; and the expenses of a freeman's journey from 
 London averaged lOZ. apiece.' To this custom Mr. 
 Wilberforce conformed, though in after-life he came to 
 regard it with abhorrence. 
 
 He was now a member of Parliament, and sur- 
 rounded by all the temptations which beset a youthful 
 senator in the days 'when George the Third was king.' 
 Never was there a time when England could boast a 
 more brilliant race of statesmen than during the latter 
 half of the eighteenth century. It was in the middle 
 of this period that Wilberforce entered upon public 
 life. Fox, Burke, Sheridan, Grenville, Shelburne, and 
 Windham were already on the stage ; and though the 
 " great Commoner' had gone to his rest, the younger 
 Pitt was there to emulate the lofty virtues Avhich 
 had made the stainless reputation of his father's 
 name. 
 
 But great as was the honour of engaging in a work 
 where such giants contended, there was also a great 
 danger for a young man like Wilberforce. The world 
 of fashion was an admirable school for nurturing frivolity 
 and vice ; but a serious disposition could only thrive 
 with difficulty. The moral atmosphere was laden with 
 impurity; not many escaped its contaminating in- 
 fluence. No statesman now whose life was notoriously 
 Avild and dissolute could retain any hold upon the 
 public mind. The spirit of the age would not allow it. 
 The better sentiment which now prevails would cast 
 
132 William Wilberforce. 
 
 him off, and tell him sternly that he must amend hi,?- 
 ways or be contented with obscurity. But at the time 
 when Wilberforce came upon the scene society was not 
 at all exacting in this respect. Gambling, hard drink-^ 
 ing, and profligacy were not deemed inconsistent with 
 senatorial eminence, and the statesman who had wasted 
 his substance in riotous living could appeal without a 
 blush to the public confidence. In estimating a man's 
 title to fame, virtue was like silver in the days of 
 Solomon : ' it was nothing accounted of.' 
 
 Into this mad world of fashion Wilberforce had just 
 entered. Happily he had enough good principle to 
 guard him from its allurements. On all hands his' 
 society was coiu'ted. Possessing an almost unbounded 
 fund of mirth and vivacity, brilliant in conversation,. 
 and to a high degree amusing in his power of mimicry,, 
 it may easily be understood with what eagerness th& 
 fashionable loungers would endeavour to secure his 
 company. Add to this, that he had a voice of ex- 
 quisite melody, which so charmed the Prince of Wales 
 that he said he would go at any time to hear him sing,. 
 and we shall see at once that a character so suited to- 
 dispel care and relieve dulness would naturally become 
 a star of the first magnitude in social circles. He 
 joined all the fashionable clubs, and tried his hand at 
 cards and dice ; but only for a short time. He found 
 that there was a danger in these games of chance, and 
 resolved to give them up. As he has himself said 
 concerning Pitt, ' he perceived their increasing fascina- 
 tion, and soon after suddenly abandoned them for ever.'" 
 
William Wilberforce. 133 
 
 When Parliament met in 1781 Wilberforce and Pitt 
 botli took their seats for the first time. They were far 
 from being strangers. At Cambridge they had been 
 known to each other, and since leaving had become 
 more intimately acquainted from frequently meeting in 
 -society and in the gallery of the House of Commons. 
 Soon this intimacy was to ripen into a firm and en- 
 during friendship. 
 
 Wilberforce commenced his parliamentary career in 
 a way Avhich he afterwards recommended to othei'S. 
 He attended regularly, worked actively, and was in no 
 hurry to speak. His maiden speech was delivered on 
 May 17, 1781, when he presented a petition from his 
 constituents against the laws of revenue, and made an 
 attack upon them as being oppressive and unjust. In 
 the session of 1783 he was selected by the Shelburne 
 Ministry to second an address to the Crown. 
 
 A brief sketch of the position of political parties 
 will render the events of this period more clear. The 
 Tory jparty, which had stood by George III. during the 
 -war with America, and had incurred all the odium 
 ♦which the King's obstinacy had awakened, was led by 
 Lord North. In direct opposition to this was the 
 Whig party, under the nominal leadership of the Duke 
 ■of Portland and the real guidance of Charles James 
 Fox. There was also a third party, which consisted 
 principally of those who had been followers of the late 
 iiord Chatham. In many respects this party was 
 -similar to that led by Fox, though possessing none of 
 its oligarchic exclusiveness. Its leader, and the First 
 
134 William Wilberforce. 
 
 Lord of tlie Treasury at the time of which we speak, 
 was Lord Shelburne. The ChanceUor of the Exchequer 
 was WilHam Pitt, theu only twenty-three years of age. 
 Wilberforce entered the House as a supporter of the 
 Government. 
 
 Between the leaders of the Tory and Whig parties 
 a bitter hostility had existed. During the long struggle 
 with America nothing could exceed the virulence with 
 which Lord North was assailed by Fox. No epithet 
 was too strong ; even threats of impeachment were 
 used ; and Fox had boldly declared that if he coirld for 
 a moment think of alliance with such a man, he would 
 deserve to be reckoned among ' the most infamous of 
 mankind.' Lord Shelburne was now in an actual mi- 
 nority ; but the enmity between his two opponents 
 enabled him to maintain his ground. Such was the 
 position of parties at the beginning of the session of 
 1783, when Fox decided on the step which speedily 
 gained hina the triumph he longed for, and as speedily 
 snatched it from his grasp. To use the moderate 
 language of his biographer and disciple, Earl Russell, 
 ' He joined the Minister whom for many years he had 
 condemned as a statesman witbout foresight, treacher- 
 ous, vacillating, and incapable.' Happily this coalition 
 stands alone in our parliamentary annals, and has met 
 with universal censure. ' Unnaturaf and ' infamous' 
 were the terms familiarly applied to it at the time ; 
 and Charity herself, though sivfferiug long, may not 
 condone so gross an outrage on political morality. 
 
 Tliis coalition had just been formed when the 
 
William Wilber force. 135 
 
 Sbelburne Ministry agreed to the treaty of peace witli 
 France and Spain, and it was understood that the 
 whole force of opposition would be arrayed against the 
 Government when the Address to the Crown was 
 moved approving of the peace which had been con- 
 cluded. The Address was moved on the 17th February 
 1783, and seconded by Wilberforce. On behalf of the 
 coalition an amendment was moved, which, on a divi- 
 sion, was carried by a majority of sixteen. This defeat 
 was speedily followed by a second disaster, and the 
 Shelburne Ministry resigned. 
 
 In June 1783, the session being concluded, an ex- 
 cursion to the Continent was planned by Wilberforce, 
 Pitt, and Elliott. Previous to starting they met at the 
 house of Mr. Bankes in Dorset, and in the course of 
 some partridge-shooting Pitt had a narrow escape 
 from his friend's gun. ' So, at least,' says Wilberforce, 
 • my companions affirmed, with a roguish wish, perhaps, 
 to make the most of my short-sightedness and inex- 
 perience in field-sports.' In September they started 
 for France, calling first at Rlieims, where the intendant 
 of police regarded them as ' three Englishmen of a 
 very suspicious character.' They afterwards went on to 
 Fontainebleau, where the Court was holding some gala 
 festivities, and they were at once invited to join in 
 them. They retiu-ned to London in time for the next 
 session of Parliament, which commenced November 11, 
 1783. 
 
 When the Shelburne Ministry tendered their resig- 
 nation to the King, George III. was greatly annoyed, 
 
136 William Wilberfoi'-ce. 
 
 and declared — as was liis usual habit — that he would 
 not accept Fox as his Minister. He accordingly ap- 
 plied to the youthful Pitt to form a Cabinet ; but Pitt 
 was too shrewd to venture his reputation where the 
 prospect of success was so slender, and respectfully 
 declined the royal offer. The King was obliged, there- 
 fore, to apply to Fox and North ; and a ^Ministry was 
 formed, with the Duke of Portland at its head, and 
 with the reconciled leaders as joint Secretaries of State, 
 The King's animosity to his new Ministers was no 
 secret ; they knew that he would take the first oppor- 
 tunity that presented itself of dismissing them ; and the 
 knowledge of this fact very probably influenced their 
 policy. The chief matter to which they directed their 
 attention was the government of India. There can 
 be no question that the government of India stood 
 sadly in need of amendment ; and it can scarcely, in 
 fairness, be denied that, in soixie respects, the India 
 Bill of Fox would have introduced beneficial changes. 
 But on the other hand, the power which it would have 
 placed in his own hands was unreasonably great, and 
 the King was naturally alarmed at the prospect of 
 being confronted by a hostile Minister, whose influence 
 and patronage would be scarcely inferior to his own. 
 The bill passed the Commons, and in the Lords was 
 thrown out by a use of the King's name which can 
 hardly be defended on constitutional grounds. The 
 Ministers were at once dismissed, and Pitt, at the age 
 of twenty-four, undertook to form an Administration. 
 The first day that he took his seat as Premier five 
 
William Wilberforce. 137 
 
 Tiostile motions were carried against him, and every 
 artifice of political warfare was resorted to to hm-1 him 
 from power, till at last, when the indignation of the 
 country was fairly aronsed, the Parliament was dis- 
 ;Solved. 
 
 Wilberforce had gone to York, to stir up the public 
 feeling of that important county on behalf of the new 
 Administration, and was charming his audience Avith 
 an eloquent denunciation of the coalition, when a letter 
 from Pitt was put in his hand announcing that Parlia- 
 ment was to be at once dissolved. As soon as the free- 
 holders who were assembled in the castle-yard heard 
 the news they made their choice. The cry was raised? 
 ' We'll have this man for our county member,' and the 
 resolution then made was faithfully kept. The poll 
 closed on the 7th April 1784, and in Wilberforce's 
 diary is the following entry : ' Up early — breakfasted, 
 tavern — rode frisky horse to castle — elected — chaired — 
 dined, York tavern.' The success of Pitt's friends was 
 almost universal throughout the country, and the coali- 
 tion was for ever strangled — as monstrosities should be- 
 
 In the autumn of 1784 Wilberforce, with his mother 
 and sister, started on a continental tour, accompanied 
 by the future Dean of Carlisle. The events of this 
 journey had an important influence on the young states- 
 man's character. We have noticed how assiduously 
 his friends had striven to eradicate the serious impres- 
 isions imparted to his mind while under the care of his 
 aunt. We have seen also that the society into which 
 he so early entered was well calculated to render their 
 
138 William Wilberforce. 
 
 efforts successful. It can therefore be a matter of no 
 surprise to find tliat at this time he manifested consi- 
 derable indifference to religious principles. In his 
 friend Isaac Milner he fortunately had a companion 
 who Avas serious enough to check irreverence ; and 
 during this continental tour the conversation occasion- 
 ally tiu-ned upon religious topics. In his account of 
 the journey he says : ' He [Milner] and I were fellow- 
 travellers in one carriage, and the rest of our party in 
 another. Milner, though he held theoretically the same 
 religious principles as in more advanced life, did not at 
 this time act consistently with them ; but was very 
 much a man of the world in his manners, and was 
 lively and dashing in his conversation. I myself had 
 imbibed sceptical notions, and had hired a sitting at 
 Lindsay's Unitarian Chapel. Milner, however, was a 
 sincere believer, and when I let loose, as I sometimes 
 did, my sceptical opinions, or treated with ridicule the 
 principles of vital religion, he combated my objections, 
 and would sometimes say, "Wilberforce, I don't pretend 
 to be a match for you in this sort of running fire ; but 
 if you really wish to disciTSS these topics in a serious 
 and argumentative manner, I shall be most happy to 
 enter on them with you." ' 
 
 In the winter Wilberforce left his relations at Xice, 
 and returned to London in company with Milner, in order 
 to attend to his parliamentary duties. Before starting 
 he chanced to take up Doddridge's Rise and Progress of 
 Religion, and asked Milner what sort of a book it was. 
 His friend replied that it was one of the best books 
 
William Wilbei^for^ce. 139 
 
 ever written, and tliey agreed to read it together on 
 their way home. Before reaching London, Wilberforce 
 had resolved in his own mind that, as soon as an oppor- 
 tunity presented itself, he would investigate more care- 
 full}' the subjects of which the book treated. When 
 the session of 1785 was concluded, the two companions 
 started away again to join, at Genoa, the friends they 
 had left at Nice. 'In the coiu'se of this journey,' said 
 Wilberforce, late in life, ' Milner and I resumed the sub- 
 ject of religion, and my former convictions were con- 
 iirmed and deepened. We read parts of the New 
 Testament together, when I pressed on him my various 
 doubts, objections, and difficulties. The final result 
 of our discussions was a settled conviction in my mind, 
 not only of the truth of Christianity, but also of the 
 scriptural basis of the. leading doctrines which I now 
 hold.' From this time the religious character of Wil- 
 berforce may be said to have been established, though 
 many inward conflicts had yet to be endured before his 
 faith should gain a strength sufficient for the great 
 work of his life. 
 
 Nearly fifteen years had passed away since the ex- 
 treme piety of his boyhood had alarmed his friends ; 
 and we could almost wish that so much valuable time 
 had not been wasted. But we must not be too ready 
 to complain. A faith such as his required time to 
 mature and gather strength. Developed too soon it 
 would, perhaps, have been unequal to the task it had 
 to accomplish : the weakness of immature growth 
 might have marred its beauty, and rendered it feeble 
 
140 William Wilberforce. 
 
 in the day of its trial. The seeds which 'forthwith 
 sprung up' were those which had 'no deepness of earth: 
 and when the sun was np they were scorched ; and be- 
 ■cause they had no root, they withered away.' It is 
 impossible to read the private memoranda which he 
 made at this crisis without feeling how severe the 
 struggles were through which he had to pass. But the 
 Spirit which strives with men was Avith him through 
 the gloom of doubt, preparing him for the dawn of a 
 brighter day: 
 
 ' Thus he came at length 
 
 To find a stronger faith his own ; 
 
 And Power was with him in the night, 
 Which makes the darkness and the light, 
 
 And dwells not in the light alone.' 
 
 But it is time that we spoke of the great work which 
 has made the name of Wilberforce for ever memorable. 
 Foremost among the advocates of freedom stands the 
 honoured name of Dr. Granville Sharpe. The activity 
 which this good man displayed on behalf of the op- 
 pressed negro slaves led to the famous judgment of 
 Lord Mansfield in the case of Somersett. ' The air of 
 England,' declared the venerable dispenser of justice, 
 ' has long been too pure for a slave, and every man is 
 free who breathes it. Every man Avho comes into 
 England is entitled to the protection of English law, 
 -whatever oppression he may heretofore have suffered, 
 and whatever may be the colour of his skin: 
 
 " Quamvis Ule niger, quamvis tu candidus esses." 
 Let the negro be discharged.' 
 
William Wilberforce. 1 4 1- 
 
 But though England had been pronounced the home 
 of the free, the slave-trade continued unchecked ; and,, 
 in the West Indies, the institution flourished with all its 
 attendant horrors. AVilberforce early interested him- 
 self in the subject, and the more he studied it the more 
 his sold loathed the evil. ' His abomination of the 
 slave-trade,' says one who was his schoolfellow at Pock- 
 lington, ' he evinced when he was not more than foiir- 
 teen years of age. . . . One day he gave me a letter to 
 put into the post-office, addressed to the editor of the 
 York paper, which he told me was in condemnation of 
 the odious traffic in human flesh.' He has also himself 
 said that, ' as eai'ly as the year 1780, 1 had been strongly 
 interested for the West Indian slaves, and in a letter 
 asking my friend Gordon, then going to Antigua, to 
 collect information for me, I expressed my determina- 
 tion, or at least my hope, that some' time or other I 
 should redress the wrongs of those wretched and de- 
 graded beings.' 
 
 No one could have been better qualified than Wil- 
 berforce to carry on a crusade in the British Parliament 
 against this iniquitous traffic. His freedom from party 
 spirit — for though ordinarily a faithful supporter of 
 Pitt, he held himself perfectly independent to follow 
 the dictates of his judgment on all occasions — was not 
 the least of these advantages; for it was important 
 above all things that a question so weighty and mo- 
 mentous should be kept free from the entanglements of 
 party. Then, too, his position as member for the 
 largest county in England, added to the fact that his 
 
142 Willimn Wilbcrforce. 
 
 eloquence was of no common order, gave a weight to 
 his advocacy Avhich the appeals of most men would have 
 lacked. And, besides this, his serious disposition suited 
 him for a work in which the claims of religion and 
 humanity had to be vindicated. But, above all, he 
 possessed the essential qualification of trust in God. 
 We shall have occasion to notice, when we review the 
 liistory of the abolition struggle, how much this faith 
 supported him. 
 
 By several friends he was now urged to take the 
 matter up, and make it the work of his life. Among 
 -these was Lady Middleton — the wife of Sir Charles 
 Middleton, M.P. for Rochester — who deserves the highest 
 credit for having been one of the first to urge the im- 
 portance of appealing to the legislature, and arousing 
 the nation in the caiTse of freedom. Her zeal Avas 
 greatly stimulated by the Rev. James Ramsay, who had 
 for some time resided in the West Indies, and who 
 afterwards wrote an ' Essay on the Treatment of the 
 Slaves.' But another friend, whose influence was, per- 
 haps, the most important, was William Pitt. The two 
 statesmen had often discussed the subject, and Pitt had 
 been unceasing in his persuasions. At length the deci- 
 sion was made. Wilberforce was on a visit to Pitt at 
 Hoi wood diu'ing the year 1787, and the two companions 
 might have been seen in anxious conference beneath 
 the shade of a tree, afterwards to be known as ' Wilber- 
 force Oak.' It was here that the resolution was taken. 
 " At length,' says Wilberforce, ' I well remember, after 
 a conversation in the open air, at the root of an old 
 
William Wilberforce. 143 
 
 tree at Holwood, just above the steep descent into the 
 vale of Keston, I resolved to give notice, on a fit occa- 
 sion, in the Honse of Commons, of my intention to 
 bring the subject forward.' Soon after, Pitt appointed 
 a committee of the Privy Council to take evidence on 
 the African slave-trade. 
 
 In Parliament the crusade was to begin in the ses- 
 sion of 1788. At the beginning of this year, Wilber- 
 force was taken seriously ill, and as the time drew near 
 for him to commence his work in Parliament he found 
 himself completely prostrated. His disorder had as- 
 sumed the form of an entire decay of all the vital func- 
 tions, and the principal physicians of the day having 
 been consulted, they reported ' that he had not stamina 
 enough to last a fortnight.' In this critical state it was 
 arranged that he should go, as a last resource, to Bath 
 to partake of the Avaters. This was a great disappoint- 
 ment to him. He could scarcely expect to begin his 
 work during that session, and the thought of only a 
 year's delay was painful to him. Before starting he 
 obtained from Pitt a promise that in the event of the 
 illness continuing he would bring the matter forward for 
 him. From Bath he wrote to a friend: ' To you in strict 
 confidence I will intrust that Pitt, with a warmth of 
 principle and friendship that have made me love him 
 better than I ever did before, has taken on himself the 
 management of the business, and promises to do all for 
 me if I desire it that, if I were an efficient man, it would 
 be proper for me to do myself.' Pitt at once acted on 
 his promise to the extent of watching over the inquiries 
 
144 William Wilberfoi'ce. 
 
 of the Privy Council, but parliamentary action was de- 
 layed in the hope that Wilberforce woiild soon be able 
 to return to town. 
 
 Out of doors, the interest in the question was rapidly 
 growing, and the country supporters of the movement 
 began to get impatient at the delay. The London. 
 Committee for the Abolition of the Slave-trade were 
 appealed to even to seek a new champion for their 
 cause ; but the inconvenience of this was too evident, 
 and they replied that, ' if Mr. Wilberforce was at last 
 unable to resume his post, they should leave to him the- 
 selection of his substitute.' At the same time they 
 wrote to Wilberforce asking for advice. When the letter 
 arrived he was so seriously ill that it was impossible- 
 for him to be allowed to see it. His friends therefore 
 consulted together and wrote to Pitt, committing the 
 cause into his hands. 
 
 The Prime Minister at once gave notice of his inten- 
 tion to bring the subject forward, and on the 9th ]\Iay 
 1788 he moved, ' That this House will, early in the next 
 session, proceed to take into consideration the circum- 
 stances of the slave-trade.' The resolution was carried 
 without a division, only a faint show of opposition 
 having been offered in debate. This Avas a very satis- 
 factory beginning ; but even more promising was the 
 reception which the subject met with at the hands of 
 the leading members of the House. Burke expressed 
 his entire approval of the abolition, and Fox, besides 
 acknowledging the justice of the movement, expressed,. 
 with a candour which did him the highest credit, his- 
 
William Wilberfoj'ce. 145 
 
 satisfaction at knowing that Wilberforce was to be the 
 ■chief actor in the drama. ' I have considered the sub- 
 ject very minutely,' he said, ' and did intend to have 
 brought something forward in the House respecting it. 
 But I rejoice that it should be in the hands of the 
 honourable member for Yorkshire rather than in mine. 
 From him I honestly think it will come with more 
 weight, more authority, and more probability of suc- 
 ■cess.' 
 
 After the debate w^as concluded Sir William Dolben 
 and some other members of Parliament paid a visit of 
 inspection to a slave-ship which was being fitted out 
 in the Thames. They went chiefly for the purpose of 
 satisfying themselves whether there was any truth in 
 the plausible statement that self-interest alone would 
 insure the good treatment of slaves during their 
 passage. They soon found that neither self-interest 
 nor any other motive was sufficient to exempt the cap- 
 tives from most inhuman treatment. The report they 
 brought back to the House moved the assembly with 
 indignation, and a bill was at once passed regulating the 
 number of slaves which might be stowed in a vessel. 
 
 Wilberforce, having partially recovered from his 
 illness, left Bath on the 5th May 1788. He first visited 
 'Cambridge, where he renewed some college acquaint- 
 anceships. He then went to the Lake district, and 
 afterwards made a short journey to Hull. He returned 
 to London on the 27th of October. The great political 
 event which occupied all minds at the end of this year 
 was the King's illness and the Regency dispute. Space 
 
 L 
 
146 William Wilberfo7'ce. 
 
 will not allow us to clvvull upon tlio details of tliat 
 controversy now ; but it is satisfactory to be able to 
 record that Wilberforce stood lirmly by Pitt's side, 
 and vindicated with hiin the inherent right of Par- 
 liament to provide in the way which seemed best 
 to its wisdom for an emergency Avliich had not been 
 contemplated in the constitution of the realm. But 
 the 'slave business,' as he continually calls his work, 
 was now the one absorbing question for him, and 
 every energy was exerted in its behalf. 
 
 On the 12th May 1789 he moved twelve resolutions 
 in condemnation of the traffic. The speech in which 
 he su.pported them was one of his most brilliant efforts, 
 and called forth from Burke a warm eulogium. 'It 
 equalled,' he said, ' anything he had heard in modern 
 times, and was not, perhaps, to be surpassed in the 
 remains of Grecian eloquence.' The supporters of the 
 system had now recovered from the first assault. The 
 indignation which had been freely expressed at first 
 Avas not heard quite so frequently, and the planters and 
 their parliamentary friends knew that the best way to 
 strengthen their hands Avas to delay action as long as 
 possible. It Avas accordingly proposed that, before any 
 further steps Avere taken by Parliament, counsel should 
 be heard at the bar of the House on behalf of the 
 planters. To this request permission Avas granted. 
 
 Wilberforce Avas noAv obliged to give up all his 
 time to the Avork. Nine hours a day Avere regularly 
 consumed in correspondence, collecting evidence, re- 
 ceiving deputations, and all the other Avork Avhicli iiills 
 
William IVilberforce. 147 
 
 upon the leader of a great cause. Every opportunity 
 of recreation and social intercourse was emploj^ed in 
 the same way ; every visit he paid was to gain infor- 
 mation or to secure a supporter ; while his own house 
 was continually filled with visitors who took an interest 
 in the question. To a friend he writes at this time, 
 ' I cannot invite you here, for during the sitting of 
 Parliament my house is a mere hotel.' To another he 
 writes, ' I work like a negro.' And as though this 
 were not enough, he occasionally receives an un- 
 pleasant visitor who dislikes his activity, and is even 
 obliged to go out, in the company of a friend, armed, 
 to guard against violence. 
 
 In June 1790 Parliament was dissolved, and in the 
 general election which followed Yorkshire stood by 
 its representative, and returned him once more to St. 
 Stephen's. No parliamentary action was taken during 
 this year ; but in 1791 the whole question was brought 
 before tlie House. On the 18th April Wilberforce 
 moved for leave to introduce a bill ' to prevent the 
 further importation of slaves into the British colonies 
 in the West Indies.' At great length he revicAved the 
 evidence which had been taken by the House, and 
 concluded his speech with an eloquent appeal to thu 
 humanity and justice of Parliament. Pitt, Fox, and 
 Burke all raised their voices on the same side, against 
 a crowd of little men who clamoured for delay. 'The 
 battle of the pigmies against the giants' was the name 
 appropriately given to the debate. But, unfortunately, 
 the pigmies were too numerous ; and when the division 
 
148 William Wilbe7^fo7^ce. 
 
 was taken, on the 19tli April, only 88 votes were 
 recorded on behalf of freedom, while 163 members were 
 found ready to perpetuate the iniquity. 
 
 This result must have been disheartening even 
 to the sanguine Wilberforce. For three years he 
 had been working incessantly on behalf of this cause. 
 No effort had been spared to render the crusade 
 successful. Every sound argument, and every senti- 
 ment not utterly base and ignoble, were arrayed on 
 his side. Yet the result of his appeal to Parliament 
 was to find himself outvoted in the proportion of 
 nearly two to one. But he was not the man to be 
 discouraged by opposition. Disappointing as the result 
 was, his mind was prepared for it. A few days before 
 he had written, among his private memoranda, ' May 
 God bless me in this great work I have now in hand. 
 May I look to Him for wisdom and strength and the 
 power of persuasion, and may I surrender myself to 
 Him as to the event with perfect submission, and 
 ascribe to Him all the praise if I succeed, and if I fail, 
 say from my heart, " Thy will be done." ' 
 
 The following year the question was again brought 
 before the Hoiise, The debate which then took place 
 is famous for having drawn from Pitt one of the finest 
 speeches he ever delivered. 'For the last twenty 
 minutes,' said Wilberforce, ' he really seemed to be in- 
 spired.' The resolution which Wilberforce had moved for 
 immediate abolition was defeated ; but one was after- 
 wards carried for gradual abolition by a large majority. 
 The most astute among the opponents of the move- 
 
William Wilberforce. 149 
 
 raent had already found that it woiild be mipossible 
 much longer to refuse all concession. They prudently 
 resolved, therefore, to change their groiuid; and, while 
 acknowledging that the slave-trade was bad, to delay 
 as long as possible the day of its abolition. The most 
 wary advocate of this new policy was Mr. Dundas, who, 
 on the 23d April 1792, took the initiative, and moved 
 some resolutions in favour of gradual abolition. He 
 proposed the year 1800. Wilberforce and his friends 
 stoutly contended for fixing an earlier date ; and idti- 
 mately a majority of nineteen settled that the aboli- 
 tion should commence in 1796. 
 
 When the question again came before the House, 
 on May 1, Mr. Dundas refused to proceed with his 
 amended resolutions. They were accordingly proposed 
 by Pitt, and on the following day sent to the House of 
 Lords. But the Peers decided to hear evidence at the 
 bar before proceeding any farther, and the question 
 was consequently postponed till the next session. A 
 further postponement then occurred, and the matter 
 was ultimately allowed to drop. 
 
 It would be tedious to trace all the futile efforts 
 which were made to terminate the odious traffic. We 
 will hasten on to one Avhich promised to be more suc- 
 cessful. On the 18th February 1796 Wilberforce moved 
 for leave to introduce a bill to abolish the slave-trade, 
 and he pleaded his cause in a fine vigorous speech. 
 The war with France had been mentioned as a reason 
 for delay, and it had been urged that the question 
 shoidd be postponed till peace was secured. ' No, sir,' 
 
150 William Wilberforce. 
 
 exclaimed Wilberforce ; ' I will not delay this motion, 
 and I call upon the House not to insult the forbearance 
 of Pleaven by delaying this tardy act of justice.' Per- 
 mission was given to introduce the bill by a majority 
 of twenty-six. Though stoutly opposed, it passed the 
 subsequent stages of second reading and committee ; 
 and then, just when its supporters were growing sure 
 of success, it was thrown out by a majority of four. 
 
 Another series of unsuccessful efforts followed, and 
 the prospect of success never looked so bright again 
 till 1804. On May 30 of this year Wilberforce once 
 more moved the first reading of his bill, and carried it 
 by a large majority. An equally favourable reception 
 met it at the other stages of its progress, and it was 
 carried up to the House of Lords. But the hearts of 
 its supporters Avas once more to be made sick Avith 
 ' hope deferred.' Many peers who were friendly to 
 the measure were unable to be present when it was 
 brought forward, and Lord Grenville, Avho had charge 
 of it, decided, Avitli the approval of AVilberforce, that it 
 would be inexpedient to risk a division. It Avas there- 
 fore once more postponed. 
 
 In 180(i a ncAV Ministiy Avas formed, Avith Lord 
 Grenvillc as Prime Minister and Fox for Foreign Sec- 
 retary. ])0th these statesmen had been Avarm sup- 
 porters of the abolition movement, and they continued 
 to render it the utmost assistance in their poAver. 
 
 The triiunph of the cause AA^as noAv at hand. The 
 House of Commons had declared in its favour, the 
 House of Lords Avas not thought to be hostile, and 
 
William IVilbcrforcc. 151 
 
 Wilberforce, witli rising hope, pressed forward to 
 liis final victory. In the session of 180(5 a resohition 
 was agreed to, almost iinanimonsly, declaring the 
 slave-trade to be 'contrary to the principles of justice, 
 hnmanity, and sonnd policy,' and pledging the House 
 to abolish it witli ' all practicable expediency.' 
 
 Early in the following year a bill was introdiiced 
 into \\\& House of Lords by Lord Grenville, in fulfil- 
 ment of this pledge. On the 5th of February it was 
 read a second time by a majority of sixty-four. Five 
 clays later it had passed the Lords, and was sent to 
 the House of Commons. There only sixteen members 
 were found to resist its progress ; and on the 23d of 
 March it passed its final stage. 
 
 When the second reading was moved Sir Samuel 
 Komilly eloquently compared the rewards of virtue 
 with those of ambition, contrasting the feelings of 
 Napoleon at the height of his power with those which 
 Wilberforce would liave 'when he should retire into 
 the bosom of his happy and delighted family ; wlien he 
 should lay himself down on his bed, reflecting on the 
 innumerable voices that would be raised in every 
 quarter of tlie world to bless him.' The House, touched 
 by the contrast, manifested its delight with unusual 
 vehemence. Moved by one impulse, the members rose 
 to their feet, and with three loud ringing cheers ex- 
 pressed their admiration of the man who had patiently 
 toiled for nearly twenty years to gain the victory of 
 that night. 
 
 The feelings of Wilberforce in the hour of his 
 
152 William Wilberforce. 
 
 triumpli have been well described by a celebrated' 
 essayist : ' Amidst the acclamations of Parliament, the- 
 enthusiastic congratulations of his friends, and' the- 
 applauses of the world, Mr. Wilberforce witnessed the- 
 success of the great object of his life with emotion, and 
 in a spirit which could not have found admission into- 
 a mind less pure and elevated than his own. The 
 friendly shouts of victory which arose on every side- 
 were scarcely observed or heeded in the delightful con- 
 sciousness of having rendered to mankind a ser^ace of 
 unequalled magnitude. He retired, to prostrate himself 
 before the Giver of all good things in profound hu- 
 mility and thankfulness, wondering at the unmerited 
 bounty of God, who had carried him through twenty 
 years of unremitting labour, and bestowed on him a 
 name of imperishable glory.' 
 
 We have spoken chiefly as yet of the part which 
 Wilberforce played in the abolition of the slave-trade. 
 But great as Avas this work, it was not the only achieve- 
 ment of his active life. The first task to which he 
 devoted his attention was one which required a giant's- 
 strength. He wished to leaven with his own religious 
 spirit the class of society in Avhich he moved. 
 
 The moral degradation and spiritual lethargy which' 
 prevailed in England during the eighteenth century 
 gave little promise of that religious energy which we 
 now witness on all hands. The feeling was one of 
 general indifference to the claims and duties of religion.. 
 And though many noble exceptions might be men- 
 tioned, it must be owned that the Church had sadly 
 
William Wilberfoixe. 153; 
 
 neglected her work. In the midst of this apathy 
 Whitefield and Wesley came upon the scene. Their 
 v.oices" were heard thronghont the country, uttering 
 the Baptist's cry, and the contagion of their enthusiasm 
 quickly spread. But it was only amongst the lower 
 orders that their influence was greatly felt. In the 
 higher ranks of society the name of their followers soon 
 became a byword.. Even Wilberforce, with all his 
 talents, felt that his power for good would have been 
 seriously injured ifhe had been 'a despised and bigoted- 
 Methodist.' 
 
 The reforming movement among the upper classes 
 must proceed from one of themselves. The example 
 of one in high station was wanted. Wilberforce felt 
 that this was his mission. ' God,' he writes in his 
 journal, 'has set before me as my object the reforma- 
 tion of my country's manners ;' and to this great pur- 
 pose he devoted much of his early energy. He obtained 
 the issue of a royal proclamation against vice and 
 immorality, and founded the Society for the Keforma- 
 tion of Manners. This association, which has since 
 been dissolved, was very similar to that which now 
 exists for the Suppression of Vice — a society whichf 
 continues to pursue a very necessary work with great 
 satisfaction to the public, notwithstanding the strictures 
 with which Sydney Smith greeted it when first it 
 started into being. 
 
 The story is told by Bishop Wilberforce, that when 
 his father was visiting the houses of the great and^ 
 influential, seeking support for his society, a nobleman- 
 
154 William Wilbcrforce. 
 
 Tipon whom he called replied, ' So you wish to be a 
 reformer of men's morals. Look, then, and see what is 
 the end of such reformers,' pointing as he spoke to a 
 picture of the crucifixion. It had not occurred to him 
 that the young statesman had often gazed upon that 
 scene, and that the noble impulses Avhich were burning 
 in him then were the fruits of that contemplation. 
 
 Another object to which he devoted a large share 
 of his attention was the religious condition of the people 
 of India. A resolution, proposed by him, was passed 
 in 1793, declaring that to promote the religious im- 
 provement of the natives, by ' all just and prudent 
 means,' was the 'peculiar and bounden duty' of the 
 country. He then moved that chaplains and school- 
 masters should be sent out ; not — as he explained — to 
 force our faith upon the natives of India; but 'gravely, 
 silently, and systematically to prepare the way for the 
 gradual diffusion of religious truth.' Fortune seemed 
 at first to sinile upon his efforts ; but the East India 
 directors frowned, and nothing further could be done. 
 When the charter w^as renewed in 1813, the resolution 
 passed twenty years previously was brought before 
 the notice of the House ; and, by making provision for 
 the teaching of Christianity in India, the House showed 
 that it was not unwilling to discharge the ' peculiar 
 and bounden' duty which it had before been content 
 with simply acknowledging. 
 
 In addition to these subjects, which Wilbevforce 
 had made, in an especial sense, his own, he was always 
 ready to take an active part in the political conflicts of 
 
William Wilbcrfoixe. 155 
 
 the day. In most of these lie was a regular supporter 
 of Pitt ; but he distinctly refused to be considered a 
 party man, and sometimes maintained his independence 
 at the risk of personal friendship. 
 
 A remarkable instance of this was when he differed 
 from Pitt about the war with France. In the debate 
 on tlie King's message at the opening of the session 
 of 1793 he was about to speak against the war policy 
 to which the Government were then committed, but 
 refrained when Pitt sent a message across the House, 
 asking him not to oppose till he had heard some farther 
 explanations. He did not have another opportunity of 
 expressing his opinions till it was too late to be effectiTal. 
 Towards the end of 1704 ho made up his mind that 
 duty required Iiira to speak in fiivom* of peace ; and on 
 the oOth December he moved an amendment to the 
 Address. The amendment was lost ; but both he and 
 Pitt felt very acutely the difference which separated 
 them. The proud Minister, who would not bestow 
 upon many of his hal^itual supporters even a passing 
 nod of recognition, lay tossing restlessly on his bed 
 tJiat niglit, his sleep driven away by the thought 
 that he was alienated from his chief companion. The 
 cloud which this difference of opinion caused was 
 scarcely allowed to cast its shadow upon their friend- 
 ship ere it passed avv^ay, and left the two statesmen 
 as firmly and intimately united as they had been before. 
 Another occasion upon which Pitt and Wilberforce 
 differed was when the conduct of Lord Melville was 
 called in question. Pitt, though on terms of personal 
 
156 William Wilberfo7%e. 
 
 disagreement with Melville, felt it to be bis duty to 
 stand by him in his misfortune. Wilberforce, on the 
 other hand, considered that it was absolutely neces- 
 sary to censure his conduct, in order to maintain a 
 proper standard of rectitude among public men. The 
 day before the debate Wilberforce made an entry in his 
 diary, which shows with what extreme anxiety and 
 care he approached the subject. ' I have difficult and 
 trying questions before me in Parliament,' he says. 
 'I will pray for wisdom, and pursue the path dictated 
 by conscience, and then peace will follow. Lord, give 
 me wisdom. Do Thou enable me to act to-morrow 
 honestly and uprightly, without fear of man or any 
 other unlawful motive. Lord, give me Thy wisdom,, 
 and set me above this world and all that it contains.' 
 The House of Commons concurred in the view which 
 Wilberforce took of the question, and censured and 
 impeached the defaulting Minister. 
 
 Notwithstanding these and other disagreements, 
 Pitt and Wilberforce remained the closest of friends 
 till the hand of death snatched the son of Chatham 
 away. At the age of forty-seven the great Minister 
 passed from the scene of his labour and triumph, worn 
 out in his country's service, and crushed by the weight 
 of her calamities. On the 22d February 1806 his body 
 was laid Avith solemn pomp in Westminster Abbey ., 
 AVilberforce helped to carry the banner Avhich preceded 
 the coffin. 
 
 It was a sad time for England. In her troubles she 
 could ill afford to lose one statesman ; but before the 
 
William Wilberforce. 157 
 
 year had gone Pitt's great rival had been taken as 
 well. Once more the solemn service was heard in the 
 Abbey ; and there 
 
 ' The mighty chiefs lie side by side. 
 Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 
 'TwUl trickle to his rival's bier ; 
 O'er Pitt's the mournful requiem sound, 
 And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 
 The solemn echo seems to cry, 
 " Here let their discord with them die." 
 Speak not for them a separate doom 
 Whom Fate made brothers in the tomb ; 
 But search the land of living men, 
 Where wilt thou find their like again ?' 
 
 Space will not allow us to speak at any greater 
 length of the parliamentary career of Wilberforce. In 
 1812 he resigned his seat for Yorkshire, on the ground 
 that he was not able to attend fully to both his domestic 
 ,and public duties. Rather than partially neglect the 
 duties of his large constituency he preferred to sit as 
 member for a small nomination borough. He finally 
 retired from Parliament in 1825. 
 
 In his diary on August 3, 1793, occurs the following 
 short entry : ' I laid the first timbers of my tract.' This 
 was the commencement of his book on Practical 
 Christianity, which was published in May 1797. Some 
 of his friends were rather astonished at his writing it ; 
 and his publisher, he says, evidently regarded him as 
 ' an amiable enthusiast.' But the book had a sale far 
 greater than he had ever anticipated, and received 
 vconsiderable notice in fashionable circles. This was 
 the purpose he had in view. His wish was to appeal 
 
158 Willia^n Wilberforce. 
 
 to those who were not influenced Ly the ordinary 
 agencies of religious exhortation. 
 
 On retiring from Parliament he settled down at 
 Highwood Hill, and spent his days in the calm and 
 peaceful enjoyment of family associations. The charm 
 of his society had been felt by all who had come in 
 contact with him. When Madame de Stael Avas intro- 
 duced to him, she remarked that ' Mr. Wilberforce is the 
 best converser I have met with in this country ;' and 
 Hannah More, who was one of his most intimate friends, 
 said, ' It is difficult not to groAv wiser and better every 
 time one converses Avith him.' Those Avho were per- 
 mitted to enjoy his company in his retirement found 
 that his vivacity and wit were not quenched or dimmed 
 by age. But ' above all,' says his son, ' his friends will 
 never cease to remember that peculiar sunshine which 
 he threw over a company by the influence of a mind 
 perpetually turned to love and praise.' 
 
 After six years' residence at Highwood Hill he was 
 obliged, through financial embarrassment, to relinquish 
 his house, and spend his remaining days in the homes 
 of his sons in Kent and the Isle of Wight. In the 
 spring of 1832 he visited Bath, but ill-health compelled 
 him to proceed to London in July. He arrived while 
 Parliament was sitting, and heard that the great mea- 
 sure had just been passed which was wanted to com- 
 plete his own work. ' Thank God,' he exclaimed, 
 ' that I should have lived to witness a day in which 
 England is willing to give twenty millions sterling for 
 the abolition of slavery !' 
 
Williani Wilbcrforce. 159 
 
 This was the k^st news that ho received of public 
 affairs. His weakness rapidly increased till the morn- 
 ing of July 21), Avhen, with a humble expression of con- 
 fidence, he entered into his rest full of days and 
 honour. 
 
 He had expressed a wish to be buried in a family 
 vault at Stoke Newington ; but the nation earnestly 
 desired that he might rest in the Abbey at Westminster. 
 The permission of his friends was gained for this na- 
 tional honour, and his body was laid close to the tombs 
 of Pitt and Fox. 
 
 A statue was afterwards placed in the; Abbey, and 
 on its pedestal, with a record of his great achievements, 
 is graven a just estimate of his noble character : ' In an 
 age and country fertile in great and good men, he Avas 
 among the foremost of those who fixed the character 
 of their times ; because to high and various talents, to 
 warm benevolence, and to universal candour, he added 
 the abiding eloquence of a Christian life.' 
 
THE PHYSICIAN : 
 
 DR. JAMES HOPE. 
 
 M 
 
' Nor love thy life, nor hate ; but what thou liv'st 
 Live well, how long or short permit to Heaven.' 
 
 Milton. 
 
THE PHYSICIAN. 
 
 DR. JAMES HOPE. 
 
 The life of a London physician is one continual round 
 of toilsome activity ; he has scarcely a moment he can 
 •call his own. When not actually engaged he is always 
 liable to be called to his work. He cannot be sure of 
 having his meals regularly. Even his sleep may be 
 broken by the claims of duty. He hears of 'long vaca- 
 tions' in other professions, but is seldom permitted to 
 enjoy them himself; and at last finds that, unless he 
 retires from his profession while his faculties are still 
 at their best, he will have to stay and make scientific 
 observations on the ruin of his own constitution. Even 
 if he should say that he will relinquish his profession, 
 he will find that his troubles are not at an end. A host 
 of patients will surround him, who are certain that 
 no one else can advise them so well ; there is no 
 doctor that can know their constitution like the old 
 
164 Dr. James Hope. 
 
 physician, and with the persistency of dying men they 
 will take no refusal. 
 
 But while there is much that is wearisome and 
 harassing in the life of a popular physician, it is not 
 without its encouragements. We do not speak of 
 wealth and social eminence, though these are his in a 
 high degree ; but to a man of any earnestness — one 
 who feels that life is given to be used and accounted 
 for — there is a continual comfort in reflecting on the 
 character of the work itself. It is essentially a work 
 of humanity and beneficence ; there is scarcely any 
 sphere of duty which offers more abundant opportunities 
 for the exercise of Christian charity. 
 
 Let us notice the career of one who was not only 
 successful to an unusual extent, but was also deeply 
 impressed with the responsibilities and privileges of 
 his calling. 
 
 The reader must first be introduced to a strong 
 hearty man, well advanced in years, but still remarkable 
 for great mental and bodily activity. In early life he 
 had been a merchant and manufacturer at Stockport ; 
 but, having secured a handsome fortune, had retired at 
 the age of forty-four. The family from which he sprang 
 had been remarkable for longevity; but he could 
 scarcely have expected when he Avithdrew from busi- 
 ness that forty-one years of retired life were in store 
 for him. Such, however, was the case. When long 
 past the allotted time of threescore years and ten he 
 would walk his twenty miles a day without any incon- 
 venience, and eighty-five winters had passed over his 
 
Dr. James Hope. i S^ 
 
 head ere he quitted the scene of his long but cheerful 
 pilgrimage. Such was Thomas Hope, the father of the 
 famous physician. 
 
 His son James was born at Stockport on the 2od 
 February 1801. He was the tenth child in a family of 
 twelve. Soon after his birth his parents moved to Prest- 
 bury Hall in Cheshire, and there James was sent to 
 school. The progress which he made in his regular 
 studies was of a very ordinary kind ; but he was fond 
 of reading, and eagerly devoured every book he could 
 lay hands on. When only eight years old he was 
 found deep in Milton's Paradise Lost; and though his 
 father tried to persuade him that he did not understand 
 what he was reading, nothing would satisfy him but 
 being permitted to i3nish the book. He also evinced an 
 early partiality for scientific experiments, and pursued 
 them with great activity, though his parents frequently 
 wished that ' James's messes' were out of the way. 
 
 At the age of ten he was sent to the Grammar 
 School at Knutsford, where his education rapidly pro- 
 gressed. Two years later he was placed under the 
 care of the Rev. G. S. Weidemann, from whom he 
 received a valuable training, not only in classics, but in 
 general literature, history, and science. This liberal 
 method of instruction largely extended the sphere of 
 his attainments, and gave him the reputation soon after 
 among his schoolfellows of being ' an odd fellow, who 
 knew everything.' He remained under the Rev. G. S. 
 Weidemann for about two years. 
 
 He next went to the Macclesfield Grammar School, 
 
'i66 Dr. James Hope. 
 
 the head-master of which was Dr. Davies, a gentleman 
 of great classical attainments. An instance of the boy's 
 perseverance was shown soon after entering the school. 
 He was placed in a class lower than he had expected, 
 on account of his knowledge of Greek being inferior to 
 that of Latin. He proposed, therefore, to a boy in the 
 class above him that they should get up at four o'clock 
 in the morning and study together privately. The 
 plan was agreed to ; and for a year and a half the two 
 boys industriously struggled with Herodotus andThucy- 
 dides before breakfast. 
 
 Yoimg Hope, however, was not a bookworm only. 
 He was as fond as most boys are of sport and play ; 
 and few of his companions could rival him in the 
 strength and skill with which he joined in their athle- 
 tic amusements. Fishmg was the sport in which he 
 chiefly delighted, and in after-years it was his favourite 
 recreation ; though, probably, he was no more able 
 than Paley to define or account for the mysterious 
 pleasure it afforded him. 
 
 When between seventeen and eighteen years of age 
 he left the Macclesfield school, hoping that he would 
 be able to proceed at once to college, and afterwards 
 go to the bar. But his father had designed that he 
 should follow in his own steps, and become a merchant.. 
 To this plan James was entirely opposed. Every in- 
 clination rebelled against a commercial life, and he 
 reminded his father of a previous promise he had made 
 that his sons should choose their own professions. 
 Mr. Hope, however, was unAvilling to relinquish his 
 
Dr. James Hope. 167 
 
 plan, and only gave way when he found that his son's 
 spmts wei'e greatly depressed by the prospect of beuig 
 forced into an uncongenial occupation. 
 
 While his future course remained unsettled James 
 was living at home, and a year passed away before 
 any further arrangement Avas made. Mr. Hope senior 
 then suggested the medical profession, and once again 
 father and son were unable to agree. The prospect of 
 a physician's life was as disappointing to the young 
 man as anything could be. He still longed for the bar. 
 It so happened, however, that an eminent physician 
 was at this time attending a member of the family. 
 He was asked to remove the prejudice, if possible, and 
 was so far successful in the effort that young Hope 
 agreed to embrace the profession on condition that he 
 should be allowed to practise in London. This being 
 settled, he went to Oxford, and resided there for a year 
 and a half with his brother, who was reading for his 
 degree. His father could not make up his mind to 
 allow him to become a member of any college, but 
 he accompanied his brother in his studies, and enjoyed 
 many of the advantages of University life. 
 
 In the autumn of 1820 he went to Edinburgh to 
 commence his medical studies. He had made up his 
 mind now that his right course was to follow the pro- 
 fession that had been selected for him. It was not the 
 one he would have chosen ; but he had good sense 
 enough to know that the best way to achieve success 
 was to heartily reconcile himself to his work. One of 
 the first studies in which a medical man must engage 
 
1 68 Dr. y ames Hope. 
 
 is that of anatomy ; and to anatomy young Hope had 
 an intense dislike. But he was ambitious of distinc- 
 tion ; and having made up his mind to succeed as a 
 doctor, was not disposed to be thwarted by his personal 
 aversion to one particular study. He always attached 
 great importance to a thorough acquaintance with 
 morbid anatomy. ' A physician,' he would say, ' in 
 looking at his patient ought, in imagination, to turn 
 him inside out.' He, therefore, gave to this objection- 
 able subject an especial amount of attention and care. 
 
 The second year of his residence at Edinburgh he 
 became a member of the Royal Medical Society of 
 Edinbiu-gh, and in 1823 was a candidate for the post of 
 president. Four presidents had to be chosen, and Hope 
 was second on the list. Considering that the other can- 
 didates were of thrice his standing in the profession, 
 we might suppose that he would be very well con- 
 tented with having gained the second place. But, on 
 the contrary, his ambition reproached him. xX^ut Ca'sar 
 aut nullus seems to have been the motto of his early 
 life ; and writing to a friend on the subject of the pre- 
 sidential election, he says : ' I am satisfied with the 
 society; they elected me in the most handsome man- 
 ner. But to you, my dear George, I feel ashamed to 
 acknowledge that I am second. Like that imreason- 
 able fellow Caesar, I would rather be first in a village 
 than second in the world.' 
 
 We have seen that he had been prevented by his 
 father's unsettled plans from taking a degree at Oxford, 
 It was his intention to supply this deficiency by re- 
 
Dr. yanies Hope. 169 
 
 turning to the English University after graduating at 
 Edinburgh. Circumstances, however, caused him to 
 change his mind. Early in 1824, while waiting to pass 
 his examination, he was elected house physician to the 
 Royal Edinburgh Infirmary. This was a post in which 
 the opportunities of practically studying the profession 
 were very great, and he felt that it would be unwise 
 to decline it for the sake of an English degree. The 
 Oxford scheme was therefore finally abandoned. 
 
 Towards the end of the year the office of house 
 surgeon also fell vacant ; and although it was an estab- 
 lished rule that the person holding that post should have 
 graduated, an exception was made in Hope's favour, 
 and he was chosen, with permission to postpone taking 
 his degree until the following year. In private prac- 
 tice, it may be mentioned, Hope always strictly con- 
 fined himself to medicine ; but in order to render his 
 knowledge more complete, he had studied surgery 
 as well. He was thus able to fill a post for which 
 many young physicians would not have been qualified. 
 He further proved his knowledge of surgery by 
 passing an examination at the College of Surgeons, 
 The well-known Mr. Cline was the examiner, and his 
 shrewd penetration quickly enabled him to see that 
 Hope had thoroughly mastered his subject. He ex- 
 amined him for about a quarter of an hour, and then 
 said, 'You know your profession, sir; we need not 
 detain you.' The way in which his connection with 
 the college afterwards terminated is worth mentioning. 
 Those who have studied the rules of trades' unions 
 
1 7° Dr. James Hope. 
 
 know that among tlie most foolish of their regulations 
 are some which spring from an absurd jealousy of 
 kindred trades. A similar kind of infatuation occa- 
 sionally takes possession of learned bodies ; and the 
 London College of Physicians affords a remarkable 
 illustration. Among their regulations it is laid down 
 that no physician practising in London may be a mem.- 
 ber of the College of Surgeons. Accordingly Avh en the 
 time came for Hope to begin his private practice he 
 was obliged to pay a fee to tlie College of Surgeons for 
 the privilege of having his name erased from their 
 books. 
 
 He left Edinburgh at the end of 1825, and early the 
 following year entered St. Bartholomew's Hospital, 
 London. He did not remain here for long, as he Avas 
 anxious to carry out a plan he had formed of con- 
 tinental travel. He first went to Paris, and very 
 quickly found that his scanty knowledge of French 
 was insufficient to travel through the country with. 
 At the first hotel he went to he made many endeavovu's 
 to explain to the landlady what rooms he required ; 
 but she was quite unable to comprehend the meaning 
 of his jargon, and he was obliged to go elsewhere. 
 With characteristic energy he at once went to work to 
 learn the language. He engaged a French master, set 
 apart twelve hours a day for the study, and took pains 
 to frequent places of public resort, where he could hear 
 the sound of human voices without being compelled to 
 say much himself. His progress in a month was 
 astonishing; and, as he had a fancy for the apart- 
 
Dr. Jajiies Hope. 1 7 1 
 
 ments -wliicli he saAv on his first arrival, he called again 
 at the hotel, and addressed the landlady in most in- 
 telligible — not to say polished — French. The good 
 woman raised her hands in the most ntter astonish- 
 ment. ' Voila, un miracle P she exclaimed. ' You can- 
 not be the same gentleman that called here a month 
 ago, and could not speak a word of French !' He ex- 
 plained — though she still seemed incredulous — that his 
 pei'sonal identity was unquestionable. While remaining 
 in Paris he visited most of the important hospitals, and 
 made the acquaintance of several medical celebrities. 
 
 In the summer of 1827 he left Paris for Switzerland, 
 Here medical study gave place to a delightful con- 
 templation of Nature. In company Avith a friend, he 
 traversed the country on foot at the rate of twenty 
 miles a day. He also visited Italy and Germany, and 
 returned to England in June 1828. 
 
 Before settling down to his professional duties in 
 London, he paid a short visit to his father. This 
 worthy old gentleman was not without hope that his 
 son would distinguish himself in life ; but he had an 
 equally strong conviction that, in doing so, he would 
 be an exception to the great bulk of his profession- 
 Doctors, in a general way, he regarded very much as 
 well-civilised rogues. Certainly his own experience 
 had not convinced him of their necessity ; for he had 
 nearly reached his eightieth year and scarcely knew 
 what illness meant. His good fortime in this respect 
 had made him rather harsh in his judgment, and he was 
 accustomed to attribute his sound constitution to the 
 
17^ Dr. James Hope. 
 
 fact that he had carefully kept out of the hands of the 
 doctors. 
 
 Some time before this visit, the old gentleman had 
 intimated to his son that he would one day give him 
 some most important advice. Dr. Hope had often re- 
 minded his father of this promise, and occasionally 
 rallied him upon its non-falfilment. The day before his 
 return, as the two were walking along together, Mr. 
 Hope suddenly stopped, and drawing himself up with 
 great dignity said, ' Now, James, I shall give you the 
 advice that I promised, and if you follow it you will be 
 sure to succeed in your profession. First. Never keep 
 a patient ill longer than you can help. Second. Never 
 take a fee to which you do not feel yourself to be 
 justly entitled. Third. Always pray for your patients/ 
 
 A short time before his death. Dr. Hope bore testi- 
 mony to the value of these maxims, which he said had 
 always been the rule of his conduct. 
 
 Having taken farewell of his friends, he started for 
 London, anxious to enter into the honourable rivalry of 
 a young physician's life. He became a licentiate of the 
 College of Physicians in the latter part of 1828, and 
 took a house in Lower Seymour-street, where he con- 
 tinued to reside till he relinquished his practice. 
 
 Let us glance for a moment at the position and 
 mental resources of this young aspirant after fame. He 
 is here in London, where talent abounds, and has come 
 to make a name which shall be remembered when he 
 has passed away! Upon what does he rely*? Some 
 physicians commence their course with a practice ob- 
 
Dr. James Hope. 173 
 
 tained by purchase ; others rely on extensive family and 
 private connections. Dr. Hope had neither. He had 
 come with a well-stored mind, an inexhaustible fund of 
 perseverance, and a good sound constitution. Of family 
 connection he had none, of personal friends scarcely 
 any. But he had a just and well-founded confidence 
 in his professional ability, and above all — he meant to 
 get on. There lay the secret of the success that awaited 
 him ; as indeed it is the secret of all success. He had 
 before him a definite object, a fixed purpose, which he 
 was resolved to accomplish at all hazards. Sir Thomas 
 Fowell Buxton — whose remarkable success in life en- 
 titled him to speak with authority on this subject — 
 once said, ' The longer I live, the more I am certain 
 that the great difierence 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 v.'-orld; and no 
 talents, no circumstances, no opportunities, will make 
 a two-legged creature a man without it.' Dr. Hope 
 started life with this firm unalterable purpose. 
 
 Having no private connection to rely upon, he was 
 obliged to take such steps as were necessary to acquaint 
 the world with his true worth. There are several ways 
 in which a physician of ability may make himself 
 known. By his writings and lectures he may gain a 
 reputation among professional men which will bring 
 him consultations ; and by attaching himself to a 
 hospital he may not only increase this practice, but 
 
1 74 D7'. James Hope. 
 
 may one day become the hospital physician. Dr. Hope 
 was anxious to choose the widest sphere for his activity. 
 Had he possessed a private connection, he would, pro- 
 bably, have been dissatisfied with such a limited area 
 of work. He would still have aspired to the higher 
 eminence, which can only be attained by the physician 
 whose ability is known and valued in the profession. 
 He had already planned two works on subjects which 
 had long occupied his attention. One was a treatise on 
 Diseases of the Heart ; the other a complete work on 
 Morbid Anatomy. The materials for the latter he had 
 nearly ready ; but the former would require much pa- 
 tient investigation and care. He set himself seven 
 years to accomplish the two, but was determined that, 
 even then, they should not be published unless suffi- 
 ciently complete to be creditable to him. 
 
 Meanwhile, as it was desirable — especially for the 
 work on Morbid Anatomy — that he should study at 
 some large hospital, he attached himself to St. George's, 
 with the hope of becoming its physician at some future 
 day. He also, in 1829, established a private dispensary 
 in connection with the Portman-square and Harley-street 
 District Visiting Societies, where his kindness and skill 
 were highly appreciated by the poor of the neighbour- 
 hood who came to him for advice. He calculated that 
 in the course of a year he must have seen at this insti- 
 tution as many as a thousand patients. 
 
 In November 1831 a post fell vacant to which he 
 was very pleased to be appointed — that of physician to 
 Marylebone Infirmary. He considered himself fortunate 
 
Dr. ya77ies Hope. 175 
 
 in being elected to this ofEce, as it afforded most valu- 
 able opportunities of professional observation, and also 
 insured him a permanent income of 500Z. a year, which 
 a young physician unknown to fame could not be ex- 
 pected to despise. 
 
 In St. George's Hospital he soon attracted attention. 
 He Avas appointed clinical clerk to the principal physi- 
 cian, and the care and attention with which he took 
 notes of all the cases that came under his observation 
 soon brought him into notice. At that time there was 
 a very strong prejudice against the stethoscope, which 
 had only recently come into use. Many physicians of 
 great eminence and talent denied its usefulness, and 
 ridiculed the claims of its advocates. Dr. Hope was 
 strongly convinced of its utility, and was determined to 
 give proof of it. He wished that facts should speak 
 for themselves. Every case of pectoral disease that 
 came beneath his notice he carefully examined by 
 auscultation, and, when death occurred, always wrote 
 out his notes and placed them on the table for public 
 inspection previous to the post-mortem examination. 
 His diagnosis invariably proved correct, and convinced 
 many of the usefulness of his method. His friend. Mi-. 
 George Julius of Richmond, says that while they were 
 at Edinburgh together, Hope often spoke of the pros- 
 pects which a young stethoscopist would have in 
 London, and the advantages he would enjoy over other 
 physicians. To any objection his friend might make 
 he would reply, ' Depend upon it, George, the intrinsic 
 value of the instrument is so great and self-evident, 
 
17^ Dr. James Hope. 
 
 that in a very short time you will no more see a physi- 
 cian without his stethoscope than you would, fifty years 
 ago, have seen him without his gold-headed cane, or a 
 major without his boots.' Mr. Julius has well remarked 
 that ' he lived to verify his prediction, and richly reaped 
 the rewards of his sagacity.' 
 
 In 1832 he published his treatise on Diseases of the 
 Heart, and the following year his work on Morbid 
 Anatomy. The reception accorded to these books was 
 most welcome. They were acknowledged on all hands 
 to be works of the highest merit, and well worthy of 
 the labour which had been bestowed upon them. 
 
 In 1834 the office of assistant physician in St. 
 George's Hospital was established, and seven appli- 
 cants were quickly in the field. The canvassing for 
 this appointment lasted nearly six months, and as the 
 various candidates found their chances of success de- 
 clining, they, one after another, withdrew from the 
 contest, till at last only Dr. Hope and one opponent 
 were left. When the votes came to be counted it was 
 found that Dr. Hope's majority was in the proportion of 
 about two to one. The duties of his new ofiice were 
 very considerable, but he was not the man to shrink 
 from hard work. So long as he had strength to get 
 through it all he did not care how numerous his en- 
 gagements were. In addition to his hospital duties, it 
 must be borne in mind that he had private practice ; 
 which, since the publication of his books, had been 
 rapidly increasing. 
 
 When he first came to London he availed himself of 
 
Dr. James Hope. lyy 
 
 the introductions of a few friends to become acquainted 
 with some wealthy families, in the hope that an exten- 
 sive social acquaintance would increase his practice. 
 But the experiment did not prove s^^ccessful. His new 
 acquaintances were extremely pleasant people to meet 
 in hours of relaxation, but very few showed any inclin- 
 ation to consult him when they wanted medical advice. 
 He soon found that he must rely entirely on his pro- 
 fessional reputation, as private influence was too pre- 
 carious for support. A curious illustration of the slight 
 dependence which can be placed on neighbours and 
 family acquaintances is afforded by the following inci- 
 dent, which has been related by Mrs. Hope in the me- 
 moir of her husband : ' A gentleman, an old friend of 
 Mi'S. Hope's family, lived for several years Avithin three 
 doors of him, but never dreamt of trusting his life into 
 the hands of a young man like Dr. Hope. This gentle- 
 man having been taken dangerously ill at Glasgow, 
 was recommended by his medical adviser to come to 
 town in order to consult Dr. Hope. " What !" said the 
 old gentleman, " you do not mean the man next door to 
 whom I have lived for so many years "?" He came, how- 
 ever, and with great naiveU repeated the story himself, 
 laughing at the notion of having been obliged to travel 
 to Glasgow to discover the merits of his neighbour.' 
 
 But Dr. Hope was not dependent on such uncertain 
 friends as this. He had resolved to look to advance- 
 ment as the reward of ability, and now his fame was 
 heard in quarters where he was personally quite un- 
 known. In the year which followed the publication of 
 
 N 
 
17^ Dr. James Hope. 
 
 bis first book be was consulted by one patient wbo had! 
 come expressly from Gibraltar, and by another Avho- 
 had made the journey from Corfu to obtain his advice. 
 When once he had fairly commenced his private prac- 
 tice his connection rapidly grew, and, with his work at 
 the hospital, very fully occupied his time. Yet he 
 managed to find some leisure for other duties, which a 
 physician who aspires to be both useful and famous 
 may not omit. He contributed some valuable articles 
 to the medical journals of the day, and gave frequent 
 lectures both to students and practitioners at St. 
 George's Hospital, at the Aldersgate School of Medi- 
 cine, and at his own home. Though blessed with a 
 very strong constitution, these labours were beginning- 
 to tell upon him. 
 
 In June 1839 the office of physician to St. George's, 
 fell vacant, and Dr. Hope felt sure that, being assistant 
 physician, the post would be offered to him as a matter 
 of course. He was rather surprised, therefore, to hear 
 that he would have to stand a contested election. But 
 he did not mind this a great deal ; for he knew that 
 the candidate who was supported by the Medical Com- 
 mittee would be sure of success, and he had no doiibt 
 that that support would be accorded to him. His dis- 
 appointment was very keen when he heard that the 
 Medical Committee did not intend, in a collective capa- 
 city, to support either of the competitors, but that 
 each individual member would exercise his own discre- 
 tion. He had looked forward to quietly stepping into 
 this ojffice as the reward of his former labour in the 
 
Dr. yames Hope. T79 
 
 subordinate post, but now he saw that he must pass 
 through an exciting contest. He knew, moreover, that 
 a defeat would mean the ruin of his professional pro- 
 spects. This anxiety proved too much for him. His 
 frame was already weakened by the persistency with 
 which he had kept to his work, foi-egoing all needful 
 rest, and the excitement of the approaching election 
 had a serious effect upon him. The night that he 
 received the news he was attacked with a spitting of 
 blood, and was obliged to retire to his bed. 
 
 As soon as the circumstances of the election became 
 generally known in the profession, his cause was warmly 
 taken up. The medical officers who were his colleagues, 
 and the students who had listened to him, came in a 
 body to his support. A remarkable enthusiasm was 
 manifested in his cause, and it soon became evident 
 that the victory w^ould be his. On the 26th June his 
 opponent "withdrew from the hopeless contest, and on 
 the 5th July Dr. Hope was elected without opposition. 
 His friends, on all hands, congratulated him on his suc- 
 cess, and predicted a long and famous career. But he 
 had his misgivings. He rejoiced greatly in having 
 gained the eminence to which he had always aspired ; 
 but he could not forget the blood-spitting which had 
 preceded his triumph. 
 
 We will now glance for a moment at his personal 
 character. Let us leave the doctor for a while, and get 
 a glimpse of the man. In the first place, we must re- 
 cord the domestic fact that he was married in March 
 1831. By one who could only speak in measured terms 
 
i8o D7\ James Hope. 
 
 this union has been called ' a peculiarly happy one.' 
 His wife was deeply interested in all his pursuits, and 
 by her loving sympathy stimulated him in the perform- 
 ance of every good work. 
 
 . The habits of his life were very simple, nearly the 
 whole of his time being occupied by professional duty. 
 He would usually work from seven in the morning till 
 midnight, and, if he had anything of great interest on 
 hand, the passing of the hours would scarcely be noticed. 
 When writing his treatise on Diseases of the Heart, he 
 would frequently sit up half the night, and sometimes 
 rise as early as three in the morning. He had a great 
 habit of turning every moment to practical account. 
 He knew the value of time, and always gathered up the 
 fragments. While engaged on any subject the whole 
 of his attention would be absorbed by it, so that an 
 animated conversation might be carried on in the room 
 where he was at work without disturbing him. As 
 soon as he turned his mind to something else the old 
 question ceased to engage his thoughts, and he could 
 work on as before withoiit any distraction. This habit 
 of continuous attention can only be acquired by careful 
 training. With him it was the result of steady self- 
 discipline. He could never bear the thought of losing 
 spare moments, and is even said to have indulged in 
 a gentle complaint at not being able to read during 
 meals after he got married. 
 
 In all his habits he was extremely temperate. From 
 wine or any intoxicating drinks he was almost a total 
 abstainer. This was because he forind that even very 
 
Dr. James Hope. 1 8 1 
 
 moderate quantities did not agree with his health. His 
 opinion on the temperance question may be worth 
 alluding to. Personally, he confessed that he had a 
 liking for a glass of wine or beer though he was obliged 
 to forego it ; but his sensitive nature was deeply pained 
 by the devastation and ruin which drunkenness has 
 caused in the homes of the poor. In a letter written 
 in 1840 he went very elaborately into the subject, and 
 concluded by saying, ' I have hitherto taken no part in 
 the cause of teetotalism, as my own engagements ren- 
 der it difficult for me to turn my attention to subjects 
 out of my province ; but if the question should ever be- 
 come a strictly medical one, I should feel it due to my 
 country, and to the cause of humanity, to lend the aid 
 of my feeble pen on the affirmative side.' 
 
 But we can only rightly understand his character 
 when we know the principle which guided it. What 
 was the motive which lay at the root of his exertions, 
 and constituted the mainspring of his activity % The 
 low sordid desire of making money, because it will 
 purchase indolence and applause, never had any in- 
 fluence over his actions or his plans. He was always 
 anxious to deserve the praise he obtained : he would 
 like to be thought great, but would vastly prefer to he 
 great. There was never any sham or pretence about 
 him : he was always real. 
 
 Still it must be owned that the motive with which 
 he started life was not the highest, and had in course 
 of time to give place to another and a better one. The 
 stimulus of his early exertions was ambition. From 
 
i82 D7\ James Hope. 
 
 infancy it had been impressed on his mind that there 
 were family traditions which he was required to main- 
 tain. His father was very enthusiastic on this subject, 
 and the boy quickly caught the contagion. He com- 
 menced his career with the full conviction that his great 
 duty in life was to add lustre to the honoured name 
 of Hope. It is perfectly certain that there are many 
 worse motives than this by which he might have been 
 actuated, but it is equally true that this alone would 
 have been quite insufficient to have developed such a 
 character as his. It is essentially a selfish considera- 
 tion, however grandly it may be expressed. Family 
 pride may restrain a man from many actions which are 
 ignoble and mean; yes, even when no human eye is 
 looking on. But when acts of charity and beneficence 
 have to be performed, Avhen self-siu-render and self- 
 sacrifice are called for, it will be found a very poor im- 
 pulse, a motive quite inadequate. 
 
 It was with this to support him that young Hope 
 started in life. But soon the loftier and purer principles 
 of religion came to his assistance. His visit to Paris 
 Avas the occasion of his first serious impression. Ho 
 was taken one Sunday by a friend to hear Mr. Lewis 
 Way — an Evangelical preacher of gi-eat excellence — and 
 in reflecting upon the sermon he had heard, he came to 
 the very rational conclusion that it could not be wise 
 to trifle with religion. Either it was nothing or it 
 must be everything. His mind was awakened : he 
 eagerly conversed with friends on the subject ; and de- 
 termined that as soon as he was back in London he 
 
Dr. Jarnes Hope. 183 
 
 would calmly and seriously consider the whole matter. 
 In the spirit of a scientific reasoner he set to work to 
 thoroughly investigate it, and when his inqiiiry was at 
 an end he had firmly resolved to devote himself en- 
 tirely and earnestly to the service of God, and to seek 
 to glorify Him in his life and profession. 
 
 The effect of this resolve was manifested in all that 
 he afterwards undertook. His faith produced its 
 natural fruits : he abounded in good works. Especially 
 was this shown in his considerate treatment of the 
 poor. While at the Marylebone Infirmary he always 
 .sought out those among his patients who were friend- 
 less, and provided them, at his own expense, with the 
 little luxuries which are so acceptable in times of sick- 
 ness. And afterwards at St. George's Hospital, when 
 he ordered a patient to wear flannel, he regularly made 
 a practice of inquiring whether his order could be 
 obeyed, and, if poverty rendered it doubtful, his own 
 purse was always at hand. These are the little acts of 
 charity which prove the kindly disposition of a Chris- 
 tian heart. 
 
 During the early part of his professional life it was 
 <i common practice with him to spend the night at the 
 house of any patient who might be dangerously ill. 
 As his duties increased he was obliged to give this up 
 io a large extent ; but he did not entirely relinquish it 
 till within two years of his death. In one case he had 
 remained thus through the night, and cheered the dying 
 bed of a very wealthy patient, whose friends expressed 
 themselves deeply grateful. They were very much 
 
184 Dr. James Hope. 
 
 astonished, however, a short time after to find him 
 bestowing similar attention upon a groom whose case 
 required continual watching. 
 
 It may be mentioned that Dr. Hope always attached 
 great importance to the observance of Sunday. He 
 believed that both the letter and the spirit of the Divine 
 command required that it should be kept as a conse- 
 crated day. Except in cases of emergency, he would 
 never allow professional duty to disturb its calmness. 
 During the election of assistant physician to St. George's 
 Hospital he was very strongly urged to give up Sunday 
 to canvassing for votes. This he could not do. He 
 would rather risk the election. Arguments, entreaties, 
 and threats could not move him. He must do what he 
 held to be right, and was content to leave the result 
 with God. This feeling of trust — the confidence that 
 if he did right nothing need trouble him — was very 
 conspicuously shown throughout the whole of his career. 
 In every step of life he humbly besought the Divine 
 guidance ; and, when harassed and worried by profes- 
 sional vexations, he could always regain his wonted 
 serenity in the attitude of prayer. 
 
 In many ways he sought to advance the cause of 
 religion. As he stood by the bedside of the sick he 
 would often speak a word of encouragement, and point 
 to that home where sorrow and sighing shall flee away. 
 In his lectures to medical students he was continually 
 combating the scepticism, and urging them to shun the 
 immorality, into which many of their class so often fall. 
 A tone of lofty Christian sentiment breathed in all his 
 
Dr. James Hope. 185 
 
 utterances, like that which the students of St. Bartho- 
 lomew's have been accustomed to hear from the lips of 
 Sir James Paget. It was one of Dr. Hope's plans to 
 write a book for the moral and religious welfare of 
 medical students; but it was delayed until the hand 
 of death intervened and thwarted the purpose. 
 
 When thirty-three years of age he was told by Sir 
 Henry Halford, the well-known President of the College 
 of Physicians, that if he made a thousand pounds a year 
 by the time he was forty he might consider himself 
 very fortunate. He was thirty-eight years of age when 
 elected physician of St. George's, and in the year which 
 followed his income reached to four times the amount 
 his friend had named. His own perseverance had raised 
 him to an eminence to which scarcely any physician of 
 equal standing had ever previously attained; and this, 
 too, with the hearty good-will and affectionate esteem 
 of those who might have been his rivals. Though not 
 yet forty years of age — still a young man — he had 
 reached the top of his profession, and was cheered 
 
 with 
 
 ' That wMch should accompany old age, 
 As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends.' 
 
 But the Athenian sage has taught us to esteem no man 
 happy till the day of his death. Let us glance at the 
 end. 
 
 The day after his election to the physicianship Dr. 
 Hope removed his family to West End, a few miles 
 north of London, His duties were now much lighter 
 than they had been, and he looked forward to enjoying 
 
i86 Dr. James Hope. 
 
 much benefit from a journey to West End each day. 
 Indeed, it had become very necessary that he should in 
 some way reinvigorate his enfeebled constitution. The 
 attack of blood-spitting previous to his election had 
 alarmed his practised eye. He knew that there was 
 danger about it. His friends also got alarmed when 
 they noticed how rapidly his strength was failing him. 
 When he insured his life at the age of thirty-five he 
 was able to say that, with the exception of one attack 
 of lumbago, he had never had occasion to consult a doc- 
 tor about his own health. But the few years that had 
 intervened had very much weakened his constitution. 
 His continual work and ceaseless mental activity had 
 unduly excited his nervous system and sown the seeds 
 of consumption. 
 
 His wife had hoped that the change of air at West 
 End might restore him to health ; but, finding that it 
 •did not, she urged him to seek further relaxation by 
 visiting some country friends. He had intended to 
 go away for a month ; but even at this critical time 
 his consideration for others was as conspicuous as ever. 
 A patient, whose case was really past cure, could not 
 bear the thought of his leaving her, and, rather than 
 ■disappoint her wish, he curtailed his holiday to a fort- 
 night. Some friends urged him to go abroad, and 
 spend the winter in a waraier climate ; but his own 
 medical opinion was against this, and an eminent phy- 
 -sician, to whom he mentioned the matter, agreed in 
 his judgment. 
 
 He was now attended by two able brother phy- 
 
Dr. James Hope. 1 8 7 
 
 sicians, and placed his case unreservedly in their hands. 
 He had, however, fully made up his mind that only 
 death would release him. He had made it his practice 
 in professional life always to tell a patient when he 
 considered the end was at hand ; and he had no desire 
 noAV to hide this knowledge from himself. He watched 
 his symptoms with the utmost calmness, and calculated 
 in the autumn of 1840 that his death would take place 
 in about nine months. On his bedroom chimneypiece 
 he kept a strip of paper, with which he used to measure 
 the size of his leg ; and as it diminished inch by inch, 
 he used to smile, and to speculate on the probability of 
 his going before or after the time he had named. 
 
 He lingered for seven months. When in health he 
 had often spoken of the folly of those who defer a pre- 
 paration for death till they are on a bed of sickness. 
 It was his joy and comfort to know that he had no 
 such cares to trouble him now. His approaching death 
 was a favourite subject of his conversation, and he 
 would speak of the glories that awaited him. His wife 
 delighted to listen to these bright anticipations, but 
 sometimes a tear would involuntarily start from her 
 eye. He told her he would not speak thus if she wept. 
 A celebrated physician one day met him, and told him 
 that he must not despond, for ' he would be quite well 
 yet.' Dr. Hope stopped him, and assured him that he 
 had no need to be thus cheered, for he Avas well aware 
 of his condition, and should be sorry to change the 
 prospects of his heavenly inheritance for the toils of his 
 profession. ' Yes,' he said to a sister-in-law, ' when we 
 
1 88 Dr. James Hope. 
 
 approach the invisible world it is astonishing with what 
 intensity of feeling we desire to be there.' This eager 
 looking forward to his departure is the more remarkable 
 when we remember that in ordinary matters he was 
 not at all a demonstrative man, but singularly void of 
 all excitement and enthusiasm. His sober belief in the 
 Bible, and its prayerful study, had sufficed to give him 
 all this happiness and calm. 
 
 He used to say that, if he was permitted to choose 
 his mode of death, he would choose his own — that of 
 consumption, which some have even called ' the death 
 of the chosen.' Formerly he used to have his plans of 
 ambition for his only boy ; but they were all over now. 
 He had hoped to make him independent of a pro- 
 fession; but it was, perhaps, better as it was. 'You 
 see, Theodore,' he said to his son, ' what a lucky fellow 
 I am ! You have your fortune to make, but mine is 
 ready made for me. I am going to my heavenly in- 
 heritance. You know how hard I used to work for- 
 merly to get fees for you and mamma ; but all that is 
 over now — my toil is at an end.' 
 
 He had retired from practice at the beginning of 
 March 1841, and towards the end of the month removed 
 to Highgate. He died there on the loth May. His 
 faculties remained to the last. Immediately after his 
 ■death his wife wrote a beautiful account of his parting 
 moments. A brief extract must be given here : 
 
 ' At ten minutes past three he left a parting mes- 
 sage for Theodore, directing him always to pray to 
 Ood. 
 
Dr. Janus Hope. 189 
 
 ' He then begged me not to make him speak, as it 
 would cause him to go sooner. A minute after he said, 
 in a quick lively tone, and with a smile of joy, 
 
 " I am going now. I shall soon sleep." 
 
 " And you will wake again." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 ' I quoted, " Those which sleep in Jesus will God 
 bring with Him." 
 
 " He will." 
 
 ' Thinking he was going immediately, I said, " Lord 
 Jesus, receive his spirit." 
 
 ' This he repeated after me three or four times, and 
 also some other things, of which I only caught the 
 words, " God, Christ, triumph." 
 
 ' Day beginning to dawn, he looked out of the win- 
 dow, and I remarked, " What a glorious day is dawning 
 on you, my dearest !" 
 
 'He assented with a look of joy. 
 
 ' I said, " There will be no sun and no moon there, 
 for the Lamb will be the light thereof" 
 
 ' Looking fixedly before him, he murmured, " Christ, 
 angels, beautiful, magnificent, delightful!" and then, 
 turning to me with a look as if reassuring me, " Indeed 
 it is." 
 
 'A few minutes after he said, "I thank God," and 
 these were the last words which he spoke.' 
 
 In harmony with a scene so calm and beautiful, the 
 well-known lines at once occur : 
 
 ' How sweet the horn- of closing day, 
 When all is peaceful and serene, 
 
igo Dr. James Hope. 
 
 And the broad sun's retiring ray 
 
 Sheds a mild lustre o'er the scene ! 
 
 Such is the Christian's parting hour, 
 So peacefully he sinks to rest ; 
 
 And faith, rekindling all its power, 
 Lights up the languor of his breast. 
 
 There is a radiance in his eye, 
 A smile upon his wasted cheek. 
 
 That seems to tell of glory nigh 
 
 In language that no tongue can speak. 
 
 A beam from heaven is sent to cheer 
 The pilgrim on his gloomy road ; 
 
 And angels are attending near 
 
 To bear him to their bright abode. 
 
 O Lord, that we may thus depart, 
 
 Thy joys to share. Thy face to see, 
 
 Impress Thine image on our heart. 
 
 And teach us now to walk with Thee.' 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTEE 
 
 DR. ARNOLD. 
 
'I would the gi-eat world gi-ew like thee, 
 Who gi'ewest not alone in power 
 And knowledge, but by year and hour 
 In reverence and in charity.' 
 
 Tenkyson, 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 
 
 DR. ARNOLD. 
 
 This distinguished scholar and remarkable teacher was 
 the youngest son of William and Martha Arnold. For 
 two generations the family had resided at West Cowes 
 in the Isle of Wight, and it was there that Thomas 
 was born on the 13th of June 1795. 
 
 His early education at home was undertaken by 
 his aunt, Miss Delafield, and he continued under her 
 influence till he was eight years of age. He was then 
 — in the year 1803 — sent to Warminster School in 
 Wiltshire. In after-life, when he was head-master of 
 Rugby School, he used to make a point of carefully 
 Avatching the boys in then- hours of leisure, and no- 
 ticing the friendships they kept. He held that the 
 choice of companions which a boy would voluntarily 
 make was the surest index to his moral disposition. 
 At Warminster his earliest and most intimate friend 
 was George Evelyn. He loved him with the strongest 
 
 
 
194 Dr. Arnold. 
 
 affection of which his boyish nature was capable. Id- 
 1807 Arnold left the school, and from that time he 
 never saw Evelyn again, though the recollection of 
 him haunted his memory as ' a phantom of delight.' 
 Twenty-three years after separation Arnold was re- 
 quested to write an epitaph on this companion of hi& 
 boyhood. He wrote to the widow, imdertaking the 
 task, and in his letter, recalling the friendship at school, 
 said, ' I never knew any spirit at that age so piu-e and 
 generous, and so free from the ordinary meannesses, 
 coarsenesses, and littlenesses of boyhood.' Thoiigli only 
 eight years old, he had already learned to appreciate 
 that which was pure and lovely and of good report. 
 
 Another remark may be made concerning his school- 
 days at Warminster, to show with what carefulness he 
 pursued his studies. He read Priestley's Lectures on 
 History, and so vivid was his recollection of them that 
 he quoted them from memory nearly forty years after- 
 wards, when he was Professor of ]\Iodern History at 
 Oxford University. 
 
 In 1807 he Avent to Winchester School, and re- 
 mained there until his sixteenth year. In order to 
 distinguish him from another boy of the same name he 
 was called Poet Arnold by his schoolfellows. This 
 title was given to him on account of his having written 
 several ballads and a play, in which many of his com- 
 panions figured. His earliest effort in this Avay was a 
 tragedy called Percy, Earl of Northumherland, written at 
 the age of seven years. 
 
 In 1811 he was elected a scholar of Corpus Christi 
 
Dj\ Arnold. 195 
 
 College, Oxford. A sketch of him as he then appeared 
 miTst be full of interest. The late Mr. Jnstice Coleridge, 
 A"vho was his intimate companion in tliese Oxford days, 
 and remained his firm friend through life, has said: 
 ' He came to ns in Lent Term 1811 from Winchester, 
 winning his way against several very respectable can- 
 didates. He was a mere boy in appearance as well as 
 in age ; but we saw in a very short time that he was 
 quite equal to talsie his part in the arguments of the 
 common-room ; and he was, I rather think, admitted by 
 Mr. Cooke at once into his senior class. As he was 
 equal so was he ready to take his part in our discus- 
 sions ; he was fond of conversation on serious matters 
 and vehement in argument; fearless, too, in advancing 
 his opinions, which, to say the truth, often startled us 
 a great deal ; but he Avas ingenuous and candid, and 
 though the fearlessness with which — so young as he 
 was — he advanced his opinions might have seemed to 
 betoken presumption, yet the good temper with which 
 he bore retort or rebuke relieved him from that imputa- 
 tion ; he was bold and Avai'm, because, so far as his 
 knowledge went, he saw very clearly, and he was an 
 ardent lover of truth, but I never saw in him even then 
 a grain of vanity or conceit.' 
 
 His favoiuite subjects of study at this time were 
 the philosophers and historians of antiquity ; and of 
 these none could compete for his favour with Aris- 
 totle, Thucydides, and Herodottis. The first of these 
 was especially his favourite. It has often been told 
 bow, when he was deciding on a university for his son, 
 
196 Dr. Arnold. 
 
 and was, for many reasons, strongly inclined to send 
 him to Cambridge, he relinquished the intention, be- 
 cause he could not bear to let him go where Aristotle 
 was excluded from the curriculum of study. 
 
 In 1815 he was elected a Fellow of Oriel College, 
 and for about four years after this remained at Oxford, 
 taking private pupils and availing himself of the rich 
 libraries of the University to increase his own know- 
 ledge. He gained the Chancellor's prize for the two 
 University Essays in Latin and English for the years 
 1815 and 1817. 
 
 He was ordained a deacon in December 1818, and 
 in the following year took up his residence at Laleham, 
 near Staines. Previous to his ordination his mind had 
 been much distressed by religious doubts, which again 
 and again would start up to affright and dishearten 
 him. A vigorous mind like Arnold's could scarcely 
 fail to pass through some such conflict ere it emerged 
 into the full light of faith, and under no circumstances 
 would he have been likely to treat it with indifference. 
 But the position he occupied made him cautious in the 
 extreme. He felt that it was to his personal interest 
 to decide one way, and the fear that this thought might 
 influence him added to his anxiety. He would pro- 
 bably have passed through the ordeal sooner than he 
 did had it not been for the sensitive apprehension that 
 he might be doing violence to his conscience for the 
 sake of a living. In after-life he described this state 
 of feeling as the ' severest of earthly trials.' Full of 
 the faith which lives in honest doubt, 
 
Z?r. Arnold. 197 
 
 ' He would not make his judgment blind ; 
 He faced the spectres of his mind, 
 And laid them.' 
 
 It was in the might of the ' stronger faith' Avhich he 
 came at length to find that he was able to go forth and 
 accomplish the great work of his life. 
 
 He remained at Laleham for nine years, taking 
 pupils in preparation for the Universities. At first he 
 undertook this work in conjunction with Mr. Buckland, 
 his brother-in-law ; but during the greater part of the 
 time he carried on the establishment alone. He had 
 no parochial charge, although in deacon's orders ; but 
 he willingly gave his assistance to the curate of the 
 place whenever it Avas needed. He would not, how- 
 ever, allow that even ministerial duties should interfere 
 Avith the work of tuition. This — for the present, at 
 least — was his especial business; and he rightly held 
 that nothing could justify him in neglecting it. 
 
 It would seem at times to have been a very trying 
 duty; for some of the pupils that came for his instruc- 
 tion were a long way from being naturally brilliant. 
 In a letter to a friend he makes some revelations which 
 are certainly rather grotesque. 'You could scarcely 
 conceive,' he says, ' the rare instances of ignorance that 
 I have met with amongst them. One had no notion 
 of what was meant by an angle ; another could not 
 tell how many Gospels there are, nor could he, after due 
 deliberation, recollect any other names than Matthew, 
 Mark, and Luke ; and a third holds the first concord in 
 titter contempt, and makes the infinitive mood supply 
 
198 Dr. Arnold. 
 
 the place of the principal verb in the sentence without 
 the least suspicion of any impropriety.' 
 
 With such pupils — trying as they were — he was 
 always willing to persevere. He used to tell later on in 
 life that upon one occasion at Laleham his patience 
 failed, and he spoke sharply to a boy whose disposition 
 Avas good, but whose intelligence was very doubtful. 
 The boy looked up in surprise, and inquired, ' Why do 
 you speak in anger, sir ? Indeed I am doing the best 
 I can.' When repeating this incident he once said, 'I 
 never felt so much ashamed in my life. That look and 
 that speech I have never forgotten.' It was his plan 
 to treat with the utmost forbearance all faults that 
 were not of a vicious nature, and to encounter those 
 that were with stern severity. In reply to a scholastic 
 friend who had applied to him for advice while he was 
 at Laleham he said, ' I would be as patient as I possibly 
 could with irresolution, unsteadiness, and fits of idle- 
 ness ; but if a pupil has set his mind to do nothing, but 
 considers all the work as so much fudge, which he will 
 evade if he can, I have made up my resolution that I 
 will send him away without scruple ; for, not to speak 
 of the heartless trouble that such an animal would give 
 to myself, he is a living principle of mischief in the 
 house, being ready at all times to pervert his com- 
 panions ; and this determination I have expressed 
 publicly, and, if I know myself, I will act upon it, and 
 I advise you most heartily to do the same.' 
 
 At Laleham he seems to have tried upon a small 
 scale the method of teaching which was afterwards so 
 
Dr. Arnold. 199 
 
 •successful at Rugby — a method which consisted in 
 making each boy realise as far as possible that there 
 "was an individual responsibility resting upon him as a 
 moral and accountable creature. One of his earliest 
 scholars has said, ' 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.' Surely a 
 life could not be much better spent than in teaching 
 people this ' eternal verity.' 
 
 It was always a principle of Arnold's that, however 
 busily he might be engaged in teaching others, he 
 could not be exempted from the necessity of increasing 
 his own knowledge. He felt that by virtue of his 
 occupation necessity was laid upon him to study. ' I 
 hold,' he said, ' that a man is only fit to teach as long 
 as he is himself learning daily.' He would therefore 
 devote much of his leisure time to work and study, 
 which was quite independent of his teaching. At 
 Laleham he was chiefly employed on philology and 
 history. His principal subjects were some articles on 
 Roman history from the time of the Gracchi to that of 
 Trajan, Avhich were written for the Encyclopaedia Metro- 
 ■politana ; a short history of Greece, which was never 
 completed or published; a Lexicon of Thucydides, and 
 also an edition of the same author with notes. 
 
 These literary labours give evidence of the energy 
 with which he worked ; for his attention was so fully 
 occupied by his pupils that he had little leisure to spare. 
 ' In the details of daily buisness,' says one who was with 
 Mm at Laleham, ' the quantity of time that he devoted 
 
200 Dr. Arnold. 
 
 to his pupils was very remarkable. Lessons began at 
 seven, and with the interval of breakfast lasted till 
 nearly three ; then he would walk with his pupils, and 
 dine at half-past five. At seven he usually had some 
 lesson on hand ; and it was only when we all were 
 gathered up in the drawing-room after tea, amidst 
 young men on all sides of him, that he would com- 
 mence work for himself, in writing his sermons or 
 Roman history.' 
 
 It should be mentioned that on August 11, 1820' 
 — soon after settling at Laleham — he married Mary^ 
 the youngest daughter of the Rev. John Penrose^ 
 Rector of Fledborough in Nottinghamshire, and sister 
 of one of his earliest school and college friends. 
 
 We have said that Arnold remained at Laleham for 
 nine years. During this time he had often been urged 
 by his friends to make a change. They recognised his 
 merit and his usefulness, and thought that he ought to 
 be placed in some position less precarious than that of 
 a private tutor, and one where he would have greater 
 scope for the exercise of his peculiar talents. One or 
 two positions of importance had been suggested to him, 
 which he had felt it his duty to decline ; but at last the 
 expense of the neighbourhood made him decide on 
 leaving. He was hesitating somewhat as to the course 
 he should piu-sue when, in August 1827, the head-mas- 
 tership of Rugby School became vacant. Though diffi- 
 dent about accepting so responsible a post, he made 
 up his mind to apply for it. 
 
 The appointment of head-master to Rugby rests 
 
Dr. Arnold. 201 
 
 "with the twelve noblemen and gentlemen who act as- 
 trustees of the school. Each candidate had to send in 
 his testimonials for their inspection, Arnold was late 
 in the field ; many had made application before him ;. 
 he was not personally acquainted with any of the trus- 
 tees ; few of them had so much as heard of his name. 
 It is not surprising, therefore, that his hope of success 
 was very slight. The trustees, however, had deter- 
 mined to be guided in their choice solely by the fitness 
 of the candidates ; and the testimonials sent in by 
 Arnold were extremely favourable. One friend, Dr, 
 Hawkins, had said in his, that if Mr. Arnold were 
 elected, he would change the face of education all 
 through the public schools of England. Others had 
 spoken in a tone of similar confidence. The trustees 
 felt that they had found the right man, and they elected 
 him at once. He formally entered on his duties in 
 August 1828. ' Here begins the second act of our lives,' 
 he writes to a friend at this time. ' May God bless it 
 to us, and make it help forward the great end of all.' 
 
 In the interval between his Laleham and Rugby life 
 he found time to pay a short visit to Warminster ta 
 look on the scenes so familiar to his early boyhood. An 
 entry in his journal will show in what spirit he entered 
 upon his new work. ' Warminster, January 5th [1828]. 
 I have not written this date for more than twenty 
 years, and how little could I foresee when I wrote it 
 last what would happen to me in the interval ! And 
 now to look forward twenty years — how little can I 
 o-uess of that also ! Only may He, in whose hands are 
 
202 Dr. Aj^nold. 
 
 time and eternity, keep me evermore His own; that 
 Avlietber I live, I may live imto Him ; or whether I die, 
 I may die imto Him ; may He guide me with His comi- 
 sel, and after that receive me to glory, throngh Jesus 
 Christ our Saviour.' 
 
 In June 1828 — after his election to the head-master- 
 ship, but before the commencement of his duties — he 
 received priest's orders from the Bishop of London. 
 In April and November of the same year he took his 
 degree of B.D. and D.D. Henceforth he is Dr. Arnold 
 of Rugby. 
 
 Yvhile his appointment was doubtful he wrote to a 
 friend and said, ' If I do get it, I feel as if I could set 
 to work very heartily, and, with God's blessing, I should 
 like to try whether my notions of Christian education 
 are really impracticable ; whether our system of public 
 schools has not in it some noble elements which, under 
 the blessing of the Spirit of all holiness and wisdom, 
 might produce fruit even to eternal life.' This, then, 
 was the task before him ; no slight one, as he knew 
 full well, but sufficient to test the endurance of the 
 strongest and the faith of the truest. Nevertheless it 
 stood before him as a duty requiring to bo done, and 
 in God's name he meant to do it. 
 
 The first thing that Dr. Arnold insisted on, when 
 he accepted the responsibility of his office, was that he 
 should be perfectly mifettered in the management of 
 the school. He knew that in carrying out his principles 
 of education he would be sure to awaken some oppo- 
 sition. It would be impossible to avoid this. He had 
 
Di\ Arnold. 205 
 
 come with certain very definite ideas, which he meant 
 to put to a practical test ; and was there ever a man 
 with ' ideas' who was not pronounced ' dangerous' % 
 All public schools are governed largely by custom ; and 
 from many of the traditions prevailing at Rugby he 
 knew he would have to break away. He thought it 
 not improbable that, when the trustees found him 
 doing this, they might take alarm, and begin to con- 
 sider the expediency of restraining him. He took care, 
 therefore, to make it clearly understood that in the 
 actual working of the school he must be perfectly inde- 
 pendent. If the trustees were dissatisfied, they would 
 have the option of dismissing him ; but so long as he 
 remained, he must be free from interference. 
 
 Later on he had to contend for a similar freedom 
 from restraint in his private occupations. In April 
 1836 he wrote an article for the Edinburgh Revieio on 
 the appointment of Dr. Hampden to the Regius Pro- 
 fessorship of Divinity at Oxford. The controversy 
 which this appointment raised is now almost forgotten; 
 perhaps it is well that it should be. It will be remem- 
 bered, however, that a bitter opposition was started 
 against the Professor on the ground that his teaching 
 was tainted with heterodoxy. Dr. Arnold took up 
 the cudgels in Dr. Hampden's defence, and in the 
 Edinhurgh Revieio struck vigorously at his opponents. 
 Lord Howe, one of the school trustees, wrote at once 
 to the head-master to know whether he was tlie author 
 of the article, remarking that his conduct would be 
 guided by the answer he received. Dr. Arnold felt 
 
204 Dr. Arnold. 
 
 that this request placed him in an awkward position^ 
 as he was most unwilling to incur the imputation of 
 seeking to conceal his authorship, and at the same time 
 he felt bound to resent the interference. He refused 
 to reply to the question, and, though other letters 
 passed, insisted upon his refusal, feeling that it was a 
 duty which he owed ' to the master of every endowed 
 school in England.' The end of the matter was that 
 a resolution of censure was moved at the Board of 
 Trustees, and was lost. Had it been carried it is 
 supposed that Dr. Arnold would have resigned. 
 
 So far, then, as the trustees were concerned, he 
 entered upon his work free from restraint. If failure 
 should follow, the fault might be his : it certainly would 
 not be theirs. Biit to accomplish the task he had set 
 before him something else was needed besides freedom 
 from interference. Sympathy and active support w^ere 
 required as well, and for these he looked to his staff of 
 assistant-masters. Nothing delighted him more than 
 to find those who were his fellow-workers inspired with 
 a zeal similar to his own. Once, when an assistant-mas- 
 tership was vacant, he wrote : ' What I want is a man 
 who is a Christian and a gentleman, an active man, and 
 one who has common sense and understands boys.' 
 High scholarship, he held, was of great importance ;■ 
 and it would ahvays be a great recommendation in his- 
 eyes when united with the other essential qualities.- 
 But the chief thing he cared for was, that his assistants 
 should enter info his system heart and hand, that all 
 might work together with a common purpose. ' It is- 
 
Dr. Arnold. 
 
 205 
 
 my object,' he said, 'to get here a society of intelli- 
 gent, gentlemanly, and active men, who may perma- 
 nently keep up the character of the school, and make it 
 mle damnum if I were to break my neck to-morrow.' 
 
 The rules which he had laid down for his own guid- 
 ance he wished the assistant-masters to adopt as well. 
 He liked them to be in orders, and was always pleased 
 to find them in their leisure assisting the parochial 
 clergy. But the school business was to have their main 
 attention. Nothing was to interfere with that. He 
 would remind them that no parochial ministry could 
 be more properly a cure of souls than theirs. But he 
 did not want them to work with him that he might 
 gain the honour. Quite otherwise. His unselfishness 
 was equal to his devotion. In speaking of one whose 
 reputation had extended beyond the school, he said, 
 ' Nothing delights me more than to think that boys 
 iire sent here for his sake rather than for mine.' 
 
 The state of the school when Dr. Arnold went to it 
 'was very imsatisfactory ; indeed the whole public-school 
 system of the country was in disrepute. The impatient 
 and restless state of public feeling at that time had 
 produced a general dissatisfaction with most existing 
 institutions, and the public schools had largely shared 
 in the odium. Nor was it undeserved. The range of 
 study was confined almost exclusively to classics, while 
 €ven these were not cultivated to any remarkable ex- 
 tent. But the chief fault in Dr. Arnold's eyes was the 
 remarkable absence of anything like a systematic at- 
 tempt to make the education Christian in character. 
 
2o6 Dr. Arnold. 
 
 He felt that such a system was not merely useless, but 
 positively dangerous; that the evil attendant upon 
 withdrawing boys from parental influence and control^ 
 and grouping them together in large numbers, had 
 nothing to mitigate or counteract it unless Christian 
 principles were inculcated. It pained him to think 
 how many pupils were leaving public schools, destined 
 to fill positions of responsibility and honour, without one 
 serious thought of the reality and earnestness of life. 
 
 To remedy all this was his lofty aim. Not by mak- 
 ing violent sweeping changes in tlae management of 
 the school, nor by roughly thrusting aside all the tradi- 
 tions which had grov/n with its growth. As far as. 
 possible he felt it his duty to work with the machinery 
 ready at his hands. ' Another system,' he said, 'may be 
 better in itself, but I am placed in this system, and am 
 bound to try what I can make of it.' He wished to 
 connect his work with the labours of those who had 
 gone before him ; to retain wherever he could the forms 
 and regulations which others had foimd useful. But 
 at the same time belonged to animate it all with a new 
 life ; to infuse into it the spirit of his Master, Christ. 
 
 In matters of discipline he made several very im- 
 portant changes. Prominent among these was the 
 sending away scholars v/hose influence he considered 
 dangerous to others. This was quite a difl'erent thing 
 from formal expulsion for grave moral offences, Avhich 
 was a system that had long prevailed, and about wliich 
 we shall have a word to say presently. There are 
 many boys, however, whose presence in a large school 
 
Dr. Arnold. 207 
 
 may be dangerous to others and even to themselves as 
 well, but who by no means deserve the lasting disgrace 
 which shonld attach to formal expulsion. In all such 
 cases he intimated to the parents that the boy had bet- 
 ter be withdrawn. Often he would allow a removal of 
 this kind to be deferred till the holidays, in order that 
 it should not be noticed by the school. The introduc- 
 tion of this system caused some surprise among the 
 parents of the boys, many of whom could not at all 
 imderstand why their sons should be sent away if they 
 had not got into any xmpardonable scrape. Dr. Arnold,, 
 however, had made up his mind before beginning his 
 work that this was the only way of dealing with some 
 characters in a school of three hundred boys; and on 
 more than one occasion he declared that he could not 
 justify the existence of the public-school system in a 
 Christian country, unless such a method of treatment was 
 employed. ' Till,' said he, ' a man learns tliat the first, 
 second, and third duty of a schoolmaster is to get rid 
 of unpromising subjects, a great public school will 
 never be what it might be and what it ought to be.' 
 
 Between this system of weeding the school, and 
 that of formally expelling a boy he made the greatest 
 possible distinction. While the former was always 
 done privately and often with perfect secrecy, the lat- 
 ter always took place publicly before the whole school. 
 Never did the head-master's naturally stei-n features 
 assume a graver expression than on these occasions. 
 The offence which occasioned it was always of a serious 
 nature ; and it was with great reluctance that the pun- 
 
2o8 Dr. Arnold. 
 
 ishment was adopted. But when it was employed 
 there was no mistaking its significance. It was meant 
 to be a lasting disgrace to the culprit, and a serious 
 lesson to those who remained. Upon one occasion, in 
 addressing the school at a public dismissal. Dr. Arnold 
 raised his voice, and in a tone which none could readily 
 forget exclaimed : * It is not necessary that this should 
 be a school of three hundred, or one hundred, or of 
 fifty boys ; but it is necessary that it should be a school 
 of Christian gentlemen.' 
 
 Flogging he retained as a suitable and necessary 
 method of punishment in a large school, and defended 
 it in a letter to the Quarterly Journal of Education in 
 1835. The objection that corporal punishment is de- 
 grading he dismissed as a worthless and vicious argu- 
 ment. ' I well know,' he says, ' of what feeling this is 
 the expression; it originates in that proud notion of 
 personal independence which is neither reasonable nor 
 Christian, but essentially barbarian. . . . Impatience of 
 inferiority felt by a child towards his parents, or by a 
 pupil towards his instructors, is merely wrong, because 
 it is at variance with the truth : there exists a real in- 
 feriority in the relation, and it is an error, a fault, a coi'- 
 ruption of nature, not to acknowledge it.' Carrying out 
 this principle, he insisted that so long as a boy remained 
 at school he should be made to understand that the 
 respectability and immunities of manhood can only be 
 earned by upright conduct and a manly sense of duty. 
 ■* While,' said he, ' we told them that, as being boys, 
 they were not degraded by being punished as boys, we 
 
Dr. Arnold. 209 
 
 should tell them also that in proportion as we saw 
 them trying to anticipate their age m.orally, so we 
 should delight to anticipate it also in om- treatment of 
 them personally; that every approach to the steadi- 
 ness of principle shown in manhood should be con- 
 sidered as giving a claim to the respectability of man- 
 hood ; that we shoiild be delighted to forget the infe- 
 riority of their age, as they laboured to lessen their 
 moral and intellectual inferiority.' But while thus de- 
 fending flogging as a part of school discipline it was 
 seldom that he resorted to it, and when he did, it was 
 usually for some aggravated moral ofience. He pre- 
 ferred, as he said, to ' try talking to the utmost.' 
 
 It was not, however, to any external restraint that 
 he trusted for forming the characters of the boys. 
 Such restraints were very well to maintain order and 
 authority in the school ; but they could not greatly 
 improve the dispositions of the scholars. He felt that, 
 to effect so important a change as this, he must teach 
 the boys to feel their individual responsibility, and 
 cultivate in them a proper sense of self-respect. He 
 made it his practice, therefore, to trust the boys as far 
 as possible, relying on their honour as ' Christian 
 gentlemen.' There was no offence, for example, which 
 he regarded with greater displeasure than lying. 
 Whenever he discovered it he treated it with the 
 greatest severity. But he never appeared to be sus- 
 picious. In the upper forms especially he invariably 
 accepted a boy's assertion. Any attempt to confirm 
 the statement with proof met with instant rebuke: 
 
 P 
 
2IO Dr. A7niold. 
 
 ' If you say so, that is quite enough — of course Ibeheve 
 your word.' The value of thus trusting boys may be 
 judged from the fact that in course of time there grew 
 up a feeling at Rugby that ' it was a shame to tell 
 Arnold a lie — he always believes one.' 
 
 Sometimes he would address the whole school, and 
 speak of the satisfaction it aiforded him to be at the 
 head of a society where noble and honourable feelings 
 were encouraged. He would remind them how fully 
 he confided in their honoui", and how utterly averse he 
 was to resting his influence on physical force alone. 
 Once after a display of bad feeling among the boys 
 he asked in tones of indignation, ' Is this a Christian 
 school ? I cannot remain here if all is to be carried 
 on by constraint and force ; if I am to be here as a 
 gaoler, I will resign my office at once.' 
 
 But it was in the use made of the sixth form that 
 Dr. Arnold's peculiar system was best illustrated. 
 The sixth form consisted of thirty boys who had 
 reached the highest class. Naturally they were the 
 boys whose influence was greatest, and Dr. Arnold 
 wisely determined to use this influence for the benefit 
 of the school. His whole work would be in vain, he 
 felt, unless he could create a healthy public opinion 
 among the boys themselves ; and the best way of 
 doing this seemed to be to give to the sixth form a 
 recognised authority in the school, and to strive with 
 all his might to imbue them with his own spirit. 
 
 With this purpose he reorganised the system of 
 ' fagging,' and gave it a legal existence. He did not 
 
Z^r. Arnold. 211 
 
 ■connive at it as a practice bad in itself, but one that 
 lie might employ for his own pm-pose. On the con- 
 trary, he openly authorised it and defended it in print. 
 He held that 'fagging,' subject to proper regulation, 
 was essential to the government of a public school ; 
 but the bullying and tyranny which are so often 
 associated with this word he repudiated as an abuse 
 of the system. ' B}^ the power of fagging,' he said, 
 '• I understand a power given by the supreme authori- 
 ties of a school to the boys of the highest class or 
 classes in it, to be exercised by them over the lower 
 boys for the sake of securing the advantages of regular 
 government amongst the boys themselves, and avoid- 
 ing the evils of anarchy, in other words, of the lawless 
 tyranny of physical strength.' That some such system 
 as this will always exist, whether recognised or not, he 
 considered to be inevitable ; and, with the sound com- 
 mon sense which always distinguished him, he saw 
 that his wisest plan was to put himself at the head of 
 it, and employ it for the general good. ' I assume,' he 
 said, ' as a certain fact, that if you have two or three 
 hundred boys living with one another as a distinct 
 society, there will be some to command, as in all other 
 societies, and others to obey. The only difference is 
 that the present system first of all puts the power into 
 the best hands; and secondly, by recognising it as 
 legal, is far better able to limit its exercise and to 
 prevent its abuses than it could be if the whole were 
 a mere irregular dominion of the stronger over the 
 Aveakcr.' This was his first step to create the public 
 
212 Dr. A^mold. 
 
 opinion he wanted in the school : the sixth form were 
 armed with an official authority. 
 
 But besides giving them this power, Dr. Arnold let 
 them see that they were completely trusted by him, 
 and that he looked upon them as fellow-workers with 
 him. This gave to them a sense of responsibility and 
 dignity; for they felt it was no light thing to be 
 trusted by such a man. He would often speak to 
 them on the subject of their duty to those about them, 
 reminding them how much he relied on their good 
 example. He would tell them that they were to help 
 him in making Rugby a school of Christian gentlemen. 
 Nothing would ever pain him more than the discovery 
 that any member of the sixth form had abused his 
 confidence. ' When I have confidence in the sixth,' he 
 declared to them on one occasion, ' there is no post in 
 England which I would exchange for this ; but if they 
 do not support me I must go.' 
 
 Thus far we have spoken chiefly of Dr. Arnold'a 
 method of discipline. We must briefly notice his 
 system of instruction as well. While attaching great 
 importance to the study of classics, and regarding- 
 them as the basis of all sound intellectual teaching, 
 he sympathised with the popular objection to confin- 
 ing school instruction to one subject alone. He there- 
 fore incorporated with the classics the study of modern 
 history, modern languages, and mathematics. His pur- 
 pose in this was not so much to fill the boys with a 
 mass of information as to teach them the way in which 
 to acquire and to use it. ' You come here,' he would 
 
Dr. Arnold. 213 
 
 •say, '■ not to read history, but to learn how to read it.' 
 On another occasion he wrote : ' It is no wisdom to 
 make boys prodigies of information, but it is our 
 wisdom and our duty to cultivate their faculties, each 
 in its season ; first the memory and imagination, and 
 then the judgment ; to furnish them with the means, 
 and to excite the desire of improving themselves, and 
 to wait with confidence for God's blessing on the 
 result.' 
 
 To many in the school the head-master may often 
 have seemed distant and severe. Among so large a 
 number of boys there were necessarily some who had no 
 opportunity of intimately knowing him, especially those 
 in the lower classes. But with the elder scholars his 
 intercourse was more familiar. The sixth form was 
 under his own especial care. In the library tower, 
 over the great gateway of the school buildings, he 
 would meet Avith them alone. Dean Stanley — whose 
 affectionate biography of his friend and teacher must 
 be consulted by all who wish to have a minute ac- 
 quaintance with Arnold's thoughts and ways — has said 
 that, to those who came beneath his influence in that 
 library tower, ' the recollections of the head-master of 
 Rugby are inseparable from the recollections of the 
 personal guide and friend of his scholars. They will 
 at once recall those little traits, which, however minute 
 in themselves, will to them suggest a lively image of 
 his whole manner. They will remember the glance 
 with which he looked round in the few moments of 
 silence before the lesson began, and which seemed to 
 
214 Dr. Arnold. 
 
 speak liis sense of his own position, and of tlieirs also^ 
 as the heads of a great school ; the attitude in whicli 
 he stood turning over the pages of Facciolati's Lexi- 
 con or Pole's Spiopsis, witli his eye fixed upon the 
 boy who was pausing to give an answer ; the well- 
 known changes in his voice and manner, so faithfull}^ 
 representing the feeling within. They will recollect 
 the pleased look and the cheerful " Thank you !" which 
 followed upon a successful answer or translation ; the 
 fall of his countenance wdth its deepening severity, the 
 stern elevation of the eyebrows, the sudden " Sit down !" 
 which followed upon the reverse; the 'courtesy and 
 almost deference to the boys, as to his equals in 
 society, so long as there was nothing to disturb the 
 friendliness of their relation ; the startling earnestness 
 with which he would check in a moment the slightest 
 approach to levity or impertinence ; the confidence 
 with which he addressed them in his half-yearly ex- 
 hortations ; the expressions of delight with which, 
 when they had been doing well, he would sa}^ that it 
 was a constant pleasure to him to come into the 
 library.' 
 
 To speak of the religious character of Dr. Arnold's 
 teaching is difficult ; for if we were to mention all the 
 services, sermons, addresses, arrangements for woi'ship^ 
 and suchlike things, which are associated with his 
 name, it would give but a poor idea of the religious 
 influence he exercised. Nor must we expect to find 
 evidence of his zeal in a wearisome repetition of reli- 
 gious phrases. The lesson on history he would endea- 
 
Dr. Arnold. 1 1 z, 
 
 vovir to make as religious as the sermon, yet no one 
 would suspect liim of preaching. His wliole teaching, 
 the habitual tone of his thought, seemed to have one 
 character. When Christian principles were expressly 
 introduced by him, says Dean Stanley, 'they had not 
 the appearance of a rhetorical flourish, or of a tempo- 
 rary appeal to the feelings ; they were looked upon as 
 the natural expression of what was constantly implied; 
 it was felt that he had the power, in which so many 
 teachers have been deficient, of saying what he did 
 mean, and of not saying what he did not mean — the 
 power of doing what was right, and speaking what was 
 true, and thinking what was good, independently of 
 any professional or conventional notions that so to act, 
 speak, or think was becoming or expedient.' Many 
 who have known the force of his influence, who have 
 had their purpose in life formed, and their faith 
 strengthened by his teaching would feel it difficult to 
 determine whether they received the good impulses in 
 the school, in the chapel, or in private conversation. 
 Wherever he stood he was a teacher from God, and 
 none could live in his presence without catching the 
 glow of his enthusiasm. 
 
 There is nothing, perhaps, which could better show 
 the powerful influence he exercised than the statement 
 in Tom Brown's School Days, that whereas, before the 
 Doctor came, no boy could kneel by his bedside with- 
 out being assailed with a shower of slippers and a far 
 more painful storm of jeers, before his work was ended 
 there was not a dormitory in the house in which prayer 
 
2i6 Dr. Arnold. 
 
 •was not regularly offered. If this had been the only- 
 result of his years of patient toil, it would surely have 
 been w^orth working for ! How many who have done 
 less service to the world have been honoured with its 
 loud applause ! 
 
 But though his religious influence was thus general, 
 and cannot be measured by the direct instruction given 
 by him, we must not omit to give this direct teaching 
 a separate notice. The sixth form being under his 
 especial care, of course received the largest amount of 
 personal instruction. Besides the lectures on Sunday, 
 he introduced for them two lectures on the Old and 
 New Testament in the course of the week. He also 
 commenced his class each day with a prayer, in addi- 
 tion to those read before the whole school. The cir- 
 cumstances under which he commenced this arrange- 
 ment deserve mention. He had been attending the 
 deathbed of one of the boys, and came straight from it 
 to the school-work. A painful contrast struck him, 
 and he said that this must be due to the fact that the 
 school-work was not sufficiently sanctified to God's 
 glory. For the future, they would commence their work 
 with prayer. 
 
 It had been his habit each night to read a portion 
 of Scripture to the boarders in his owm house, who 
 numbered between sixty and seventy boys. He was 
 afraid that some would omit to read their Bibles daily 
 if left to themselves, though he had frequently urged 
 the importance of it. He used also, when he first went 
 to Kugby, to give to these boys a short address on 
 
Dr. Arnold. 217 
 
 Sunday. This afterwards gave place to regular ser- 
 mons to the whole school. In 1831 the chaplaincy fell 
 vacant, and he at once applied for the post; urging 
 that no one could feel the interest in the boys that he 
 did, or could be able to speak to them with so much 
 influence. The salary attached to the office he declined 
 to accept ; ' because,' said he, ' I consider that I am 
 paid for my services already ; and that, being head- 
 master and clei'gyman, I am bound to be the religious 
 instructor of my pupils by virtue of my situation.' 
 His request was at once acceded to, and from that time 
 Dr. Arnold regularly preached in the school chapel. 
 
 His sermons were remarkable for the homeliness of 
 their tone, and for their appropriateness to the con- 
 gregation he had to address. They ^were always 
 preached at the afternoon service, and usually lasted 
 for about twenty minutes. But how long they lived 
 in the memories of those who heard them ! ' I used to 
 listen to them,' says one, ' from first to last with a kind 
 of awe, and over and over again could not join my 
 friends at the chapel-door, but would walk home to be 
 alone ; and I remember the same effects being produced 
 hj them, more or less, in others, whom I should have 
 thought as hard as stones, and on whom I should think 
 Arnold looked as some of the worst boys in the school.' 
 Or take the eloquent testimony of the author of Tom 
 BroiDYis School Days : ' We listened as all boys in their 
 better moods will listen (ay, and men too, for the 
 matter of that) — to a man whom we felt to be, with all 
 his heart and soul and strength, striving against what- 
 
2i8 Dr. Arnold. 
 
 ever was mean, and unmanly, and unrighteous in our 
 little world. It was not the cold clear voice of one 
 giving advice and Avarning from serene heights to those 
 who were struggling and sinning below ; but the warn- 
 ing living voice of one who was fighting for us and by 
 our sides, and calling on us to help him and ourselves 
 and one another. And so wearily, and little by little, 
 but surely and steadily on the whole, was brought 
 home to the young boy, for the first time, the meaning 
 of his life ; that it was no fool's or sluggard's paradise 
 into which he had wandered by chance, but a battle- 
 field ordained from of old, where there are no spectators, 
 but the yoimgest must take his side, and the stakes are 
 life and death. And he who roused this consciousness 
 in them showed them at the same time, by every word 
 he spoke in the pulpit, and by his whole daily life, how 
 that battle was to be fought, and stood there before 
 them, their fellow-soldier and the captain of their band. 
 The true sort of captain, too, for a boy's army — one 
 who had no misgivings, and gave no uncertain word of 
 command, and, let who would yield or make truce, 
 would fight the fight out.' 
 
 In private conversation with the boys. Dr. Arnold 
 would often lead their thoughts to serious subjects, and 
 sometimes deeply impress them with the importance of 
 some neglected duty. Especially would he dwell upon 
 the value of prayer, reminding them of God's promise 
 that it would not be unheeded, and assuring them, with 
 grave earnestness, that if that promise was not true, 
 nothing was. Many of the impressions given on such 
 
Dr. Arnold. 219- 
 
 occasions have been remembered ever .since, and, thons'li 
 lie has passed away, they linger still. 
 
 It is not necessary that we should speak here at 
 any lengtli of his character as a theologian apart from 
 Rugby School. Few men have been more grievously 
 misunderstood. Even now there are some to be found 
 who, when his authority is quoted, will shake their 
 heads gravely, and suggest that he is a dangerous 
 guide ; though the precise significance of the adjective 
 is usually involved in some obscurity. Yet it is not too 
 much to say that no man could have clung more firmly 
 or with more affectionate ardour to the central truth of 
 the Christian religion. ' Where,' said he, in one of his 
 sermons, ' can we find a name so holy as that we may 
 surrender our whole souls to it, before which obedience, 
 reverence without measure, intense humility, most un- 
 reserved adoration may all bo duly rendered % One 
 name there is, and one alone, one alone in heaven and 
 earth — not trutli, not justice, not benevolence, not 
 Christ's mother, not His holiest servants, not His blessed 
 sacraments, nor His very mystical body the Church, but 
 Himself only, who died for us and rose again, Jesus 
 Christ, both God and man.' This is no formal- state- 
 ment of a dry theological dogma, but the utterance of 
 a living faith, which filled his lieart with the holiest 
 love, and influenced eveiy part of his life. 
 
 For parties he cared nothing. High, Low, and Broad 
 were titles which others might claim, or epithets which 
 others might apply ; but for himself he would have none 
 of them. He preferred to keep ever before him the 
 
2 20 Dr. Arnold. 
 
 laighest ideal of human excellence, and, in the spirit of 
 his Master, Christ, to be 'broad with the breadth of the 
 charity of Almighty God, and narrow with the narrow- 
 ness of His righteousness.' 
 
 But to return to the school-work. From the time 
 that a boy had his first interview with the head-master 
 he became an object of his personal solicitude. Perhaps 
 -during the time that he remained at the school there 
 might be little direct intercourse, but he was greatly 
 mistaken if he ever supposed that Dr. Arnold had for- 
 gotten him. A friend once suggested that, in receiving 
 60 many boys, the feeling of interest in each individual 
 one must in course of time wear away. ' No,' said Dr. 
 Arnold ; ' if ever I could receive a new^ boy from his 
 father without emotion, I should think it was high time 
 to be off.' It has been told, too, how on one occasion, 
 when a young boy of promise came, he handed him 
 over to one of the assistant-masters, and, in a voice 
 trembling wdtli emotion, said, ' If he should turn out ill 
 I think it would break my heart.' It was one of the 
 remarkable features of Dr. Arnold's teaching that, in 
 dealing with the multitude, he never forgot the indi- 
 vidual. Before Heaven he felt a solemn responsibility 
 for each boy that came into his school. 
 
 Nor did his care for his pupils cease when they left 
 him. It was his great delight to receive visits from 
 those who had listened to his teaching in time past. 
 Even when he has been very busy he has suggested to 
 old scholars, who have been reading for their degree at 
 college, that if they would come and see him he would 
 
Dr. Arnold. 221 
 
 give them some help in their studies, so that they 
 shonkl not lose any time. It is needless to add that 
 many who had been trained by him, and had received 
 the impress of his mind, remained throngh life his most 
 devoted friends. 
 
 It is surprising how, amidst his numerous engage- 
 ments, he could have fotmd time for much literary work. 
 Yet that which he has left behind will live as an endur- 
 ing inonument, though it is only a small part of what he 
 intended to perform if long life had been granted to 
 him. We have spoken already of his edition of Thucy- 
 dides, his numerous published sermons, and his contri- 
 butions to various magazines and newspapers, Avhich 
 have been collected in a volume of miscellaneous writ- 
 ings. Besides these, he had designed three great works,- 
 which were to contain his mature views on history, 
 theology, and philosophy. They were to be — a History 
 of Rome, a Commentary on the New Testament, and a 
 Treatise on Church and State, or Christian Politics. He 
 did not expect to accomplish all this at Rugby, but 
 he hoped, Avhen advancing years should make it neces- 
 sary for him to relinquish his post, that he might settle 
 down quietly in his Westmoreland home, and write for 
 posterity. In view of this he had purchased an estate 
 called Fox How, situate between Rydal and Ambleside. 
 There he meant to spend his retirement in calm seclu- 
 sion till, as he said, 'his bones should go to Grasmere 
 churchyard, to lie under the yews which Wordsworth 
 planted.' Alas, how hopefully we make our plans for 
 the future, and how little we know whether any can 
 
2 22 Dr. Arnold. 
 
 be accomplished ! The History of Rome — itself incom- 
 plete — is the only one of the three great works which 
 Dr. Arnold has left. In the meridian of manhood, in 
 the midst of active duty, he was suddenly called to his 
 rest. 
 
 His History of Rome commences at the earliest 
 period, and is carried on to the end of the second 
 Punic War. He had hoped to complete it, and there 
 seemed every prospect of his hope being realised ; but 
 death intervened, and only a mighty fragment is left. 
 The third volume was published after his death, and 
 edited by Archdeacon Hare. There has also been re- 
 published, in a separate volume, that portion of Eoman 
 history which he contributed to the Encyclopcedia Metro- 
 politana. This carries it on from the end of the second 
 Punic War to the death of Augustus. Compared with 
 the earlier part, this is, of course, but an outline sketch. 
 How much we could have wished that he had lived to 
 till it in with the inimitable shades and colours of his 
 master hand ! 
 
 We need not dwell at any length upon his social 
 character. The kindness and gentle urbanity which 
 lay beneath his apparent sternness, the total absence of 
 nnything like patronising condescension in his inter- 
 course with the poor, and the fulness of his affection to 
 those who by right were nearest and dearest to him, — all 
 this has been often told. ' He was attached to his family,' 
 «aid Archbishop Whately, ' as if he had no friends, to 
 his friends as if he had no family, and to his country as 
 if he had no friends or relatives.' The poor of Rugby 
 
Dr. Arnold. 223 
 
 and Westmoreland long remembered liis kindness. 
 One old woman would delight to tell how the Doctor 
 used to come ' and talk to me as if I was a lady ;' an- 
 other would put a high value upon the chair Avhich he 
 had sometimes occupied ; another, who died in the 
 Rugby almshouses a short time after his death, mingled 
 among her bright hopes of future happiness the joy of 
 seeing his kind face once more. 
 
 In 1835 he was elected to a Fellowship in the Senate 
 of London University ; but he withdrew from it three 
 years later, being dissatisfied with the arrangements 
 made for examination in religious subjects. In 1841 
 he received from Lord Melbourne the appointment of 
 Regiiis Professor of Modern History at Oxford. This 
 was the fulfilment of one of his dearest hopes, for he 
 had always longed for an Oxford professorship. Only 
 the introductory lectures were ever delivered. 
 
 On the 5th of June 1842 he preached to the boys a 
 parting sermon before they left the school for their 
 summer holidays. The week which followed was oc- 
 cupied with examinations. To the sixth form he had 
 promised that he would give one more lesson on the 
 following Sunday afternoon. As his custom was, he 
 gave a supper to them on the Saturday, on account of 
 its being the close of the summer half-year. The boys 
 looked forward with pleased expectancy to the address 
 of the morrow. 
 
 Early on Sunday morning between five and six 
 o'clock he awoke Avith a sharp pain across his chest. 
 His wife inquired whether he felt unwell, and he men- 
 
2 24 Dr. Arnold. 
 
 tioned the pain, adding that he had felt it slightly on 
 the preceding day. He tried to sleep, but could not. 
 Mrs. Arnold rose, and called to an old servant whose 
 advice in cases of illness had been valuable before. 
 The servant came and thought there was no cause for 
 alarm. Partly reassured, yet still in great anxiety, 
 Mrs. Arnold watched him. Presently with clasped 
 hands and upraised eyes he repeated the words, ' And 
 Jesus said unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen 
 thou hast believed; blessed are they who have not 
 seen, and yet have believed.' Then in solemn tones 
 he added, ' But if ye be without chastisement, whereof 
 all are partakers, then are ye bastards and not 
 sons.' 
 
 Mrs. Arnold Avas now fairly alarmed, and sent for 
 medical assistance. She then sat by his side, and 
 read at his request the fifty-first Psalm. Shortly after^ 
 one of his sons came into the room and sat at the foot 
 of his bed. '■ Thank God, Tom,' he said, ' for giving 
 me this pain ; I have suffered so little pain in my life, 
 that I feel it is very good for me ; now God has given 
 it to me, and I do so .thank Him for it.' From the phy- 
 sician he learnt that it was a spasm of the heart that 
 he suffered from. He feared that if the pain returned 
 again he would not be able to bear it. ' Is it likely to 
 return"?' he asked. He was told it was. He then 
 asked whether it was generally suddenly fatal. ' Gener- 
 ally,' was the answer. For the moment he seemed 
 easy, and the physician turned aside to prepare a 
 draught. In another minute he heard a rattle in the- 
 
Dr. Arnold. '2.'i<^ 
 
 throat and a convulsive struggle. Turning instantly 
 to his patient, he called for Mrs. Ai-nold. A few 
 minutes later, as wife and children stood weeping round 
 the bed, the spirit which had wrought and toiled so 
 faithfully was freed from its prison-house of clay. 
 
 It was Sunday, June 12, 1842, when he died. 
 The following day, had he lived, he would have en- 
 tered on his forty-eighth year. When the news 
 reached the boys still remaining at the school they 
 ■could scarcely realise its meaning. Only the day be- 
 fore they had remarked upon his unusual cheerfulness. 
 His spirits had never seemed lighter or his hopes more 
 buoyant. Could it be possible that death had done its 
 work so soon % It was but a few hours since they had 
 eeen him in all the glory of his mature strength, and 
 had watched with delight the play of his vigorous 
 intellect. Yet it was true. All was now over. 
 There in that chamber of death he lay silent and still, 
 
 ' Struck while the pride of manhood stamp'd his form, 
 Like some brave forest tree uprent by sudden storm.' 
 
 On Friday, the 17th of June, he was buried beneath 
 the Commimion-table in the chancel of the school 
 chapel. The following Sunday his friends met to par- 
 take of the Holy Communion at his grave, and to hear 
 read a sermon preached by him in the previous year 
 ■on ' Faith triumphant in death.' On the first Sunday 
 of the next half-year, when the school reassembled, one 
 more solemn service was held in that chapel, and many 
 young hearts were mournful. But they sorrowed not 
 
 Q 
 
2 26 Dr. Arnold. 
 
 as those which have no hope ; for they knew that their 
 friend, who had finished his course, had also fought a 
 good fight, and kept the faith, and that henceforth there 
 was laid np for him a crown of righteousness. 
 
THE EXPLOEER : 
 
 DAVID LIVINGSTONE. 
 
' Like as a star, 
 That maketh not haste, 
 That taketh not rest, 
 Be each one fulfilling 
 His God-given hest.' 
 
 Goethe. 
 
THE EXPLOEEE: 
 
 DAVID LIVINGSTONE. 
 
 In a book which professes in any degree to map out 
 the various departments of recent activity it would be 
 impossible to avoid mentioning the work of explora- 
 tion. The century has been prolific of discoverers. 
 In all directions geographical researches have been 
 prosecuted, and secrets concealed for ages have been 
 brought to light. 
 
 It is equally obvious that David Livingstone must 
 be chosen as the representative man. As an explorer 
 none can take rank before him, while the field of his 
 labour has been that in which the greatest activity 
 has been displayed by modern discoverers. It was 
 not long since that Africa was supposed to consist of 
 trackless wilds and inhospitable wastes — a barren 
 fruitless tract of country, in which civilisation could 
 never make a home. It was, indeed, an unknown 
 
230 David L ivingstone. 
 
 region ; and the prevailing ignorance was happily de- 
 scribed by Dean Swift in his humorous lines : 
 
 ' Geogi-aphers in Afric maps 
 
 With savage pictures fill their gaps ; 
 And o'er unhabitaWe downs 
 
 Place elephants, for want of towns.' 
 
 Now the veil has been drawn aside. Persevering tra- 
 vellers have forced their way through barriers which 
 Avere once supposed to be impassable. Almost the last 
 problem of African geography has been solved. Many 
 have contributed to this work, and many must share 
 the honour ; but Livingstone stands at the head of all 
 by a right of preeminence which none can question, 
 and which those who might be his rivals are the readiest 
 to acknowledge. 
 
 The Livingstone family was one of great respecta- 
 bility, though it had recently been reduced in circum- 
 atances when David came upon the scene. Llis great- 
 grandfather was a native of the Highlands of Scotland, 
 and fell at the battle of Culloden, 'fighting for the okl 
 line of kings.' Ilis grandfather was a small farmer in 
 Ulva, one of the islands of the Hebrides; and finding 
 that rents were rising while his own income was de- 
 clining, this worthy old gentleman determined to 
 migrate to the Lowlands. He removed to the banks 
 of the Clyde, above Glasgow, near the large cotton- 
 works at Blantyre. His sons being very fairly educated 
 were received as clerks in the cotton-mill, and the old 
 gentleman himself was appointed to a position ofre- 
 sponsibiHty and trust. All the sons, with the exception 
 
David Livino stone. 
 
 ir\ 
 
 of one, afterwards entered the King's service, either as 
 soldiers or sailors. The one who remained a civilian 
 was David's father ; and, close to the Blantyre cotton- 
 works, he carried on a small business in tea. 
 
 David was Lorn on the 19th of March 1813, and at 
 ihe age of ten was sent to work in the cotton-mill as a 
 ' piecer.' His education previous to this had, of coui'se, 
 been very slight ; but he was resolved to get on, and 
 to acquire further knowdedge. With part of his first 
 week's wages he bought Ruddiman's RudimeMs of Latin, 
 and set to w^ork diligently at the study of the lan- 
 guage. His hours of work were from six till eight, and 
 as soon as he escaped from the factory each evening he 
 would hurry off to a school where instruction was 
 given between the hours of eight and ten. At ten ho 
 would return home, and till midnight would occupy 
 himself with his Latin dictionary ; unless, as frequently 
 happened, his mother snatched the book out of his 
 hand, and sent him off to bed. At the age of sixteen 
 he was quite familiar with Horace and Virgil. 
 
 He was fond, too, of reading any treatise on scientific 
 subjects that came in his way. Upon one occasion he 
 was out with some young companions on an exploring 
 expedition not far from his home, and the party chanced 
 to enter a limestone quarry. Young Livingstone was 
 quickly engaged in the close examination of some 
 organic remains, which his sharp eye had discerned. 
 A quarryman, at work close by, gazed compassionately 
 at the boy. 'He looked,' said Livingstone, 'with that 
 pitying eye which the benevolent assume when viewing 
 
23 2 David Livingstone. 
 
 the insane.' Here, thought the boy, is a man who 
 knows all about this place; and addressing him, h& 
 asked, 'However did these shells come into these 
 rocks f The man hesitated not a moment, but promptly 
 replied, ' When God made the rocks He made the shells 
 in them.' This was very conclusive ; but young Living- 
 stone thought that something more might be known 
 about it. For the future geology was included in his 
 studies. 
 
 But his greatest delight in reading was to get hold 
 of some book of travel and adventure. For novels he 
 cared nothing, and for theological works he had the 
 strongest aversion. In this latter characteristic he 
 greatly annoyed his father, who, like many a simple 
 man of his time, thought that the study of science was 
 quite inimical to religion, and that a spiritual life was 
 only to be cultivated by poring over the Cloud of Wit- 
 nesses or Boston's Fourfold State, which were then the 
 favourite theological works among the Scottish pea- 
 santry. David could not reconcile himself to this ' dry 
 doctrinal reading,' as he called it ; and at last, when 
 he refused to sit down to Wilberforce's Practical 
 Christianity, his father thought him almost incorrigible, 
 and felt that he must chasten him while there was 
 hope, and let not his soul spare for his crying. Even 
 this, however, did not awaken in him many spiritual 
 longings, and for some years his feelings remained the- 
 same. 
 
 The family, it should be mentioned, had originally 
 been attached to the Roman Catholic Church. The- 
 
David L ivingstone. 233 
 
 method by which it was converted to Protestantism 
 is curious. The laird, being himself soundly orthodox 
 in the reformed faith, was inspired with a laudable 
 anxiety to rescue his dependents from their darkness.- 
 He accordingly visited them, in company with a man 
 who carried a formidable yellow staff. David Living- 
 stone, in alluding to this part of the family history ,- 
 quietly remarks that the staff 'would seem to have 
 attracted more attention than his teaching.' Certain- 
 it is that the people viewed this weapon with very 
 suspicious eyes; and then, in the exercise of their 
 Protestant right of private judgment, determined that 
 for the future they would think the same as the laird, 
 and worship in the way that seemed best to him. For 
 some time after the new faith was familiarly known* 
 as ' the religion of the yellow stick.' 
 
 David's father, as we have already seen, retained 
 some belief in the efficacy of force as an instrument for 
 conversion ; but it was not only thus that he sought to- 
 guide and influence his boy. He was an eminently 
 pious man, one whose religion was shown in acts more 
 than it could ever be spoken in words ; and by a con- 
 sistent example, as well as by earnest counsel, he con- 
 tinually sought to impress upon his son that his highest 
 duty here on earth was to do justly, and to love mercy, 
 and to walk humbly with his God. A few years after 
 David's refusal to read Wilberforce'sPmc^!^■ca^CAm^!^■amYy 
 he happened to take up two books by Dr. Thomas Dick, 
 the Philosophy of Religion and the Philosophy of a 
 Future State. From these he learned that religion and 
 
234 David Livingstone. 
 
 science were not hostile, but friendly, to each other. 
 Faith became a serious matter Avith him. A power, 
 imfelt before, manifested itself in his heart, and, as he 
 says, ' In the glow of love which Christianity inspires, 
 I soon resolved to devote my life to the alleviation of 
 human misery.' It is unnecessary to dwell at greater 
 length upon this subject ; but, once for all, let it be 
 said that it was this ' glow of love' which made him 
 Avhat he was — a great and good man, loving to all and 
 faithful to God, willing to forsake home and to endure 
 Iiardship and peril ; to press forward with all-conc[uering 
 faith, though estranged from human sympathy, that he 
 might carry the light of civilisation into the home of 
 darkness, and tell Afric's SAvarthy sons of a Father who 
 loves them with an everlasting love, and who is not far 
 from any one of them, even in the depths of their 
 degradation. 
 
 But at present we are dealing with him as a ' piocer" 
 in the Blantyre cotton-works. While engaged at this 
 occupation he made up his mind that he would like to 
 be a pioneer of Christianity in China. It was difficult 
 then for a missionary to obtain access to China ; but 
 Livingstone hoped that, by uniting the healing art to 
 his other knowledge, he might be allowed to live and 
 minister among the people in the character of a doctor. 
 His chief wish, therefore, was to obtain a medical 
 education ; but this rct^piircd money, and the small 
 Avages he Avas then receiving Avere quite insufficient 
 for the purpose. In his nineteenth year, hoAvever, he 
 Avas promoted to the duties of a spinner. The Avork of 
 
David L ivingstone. 23^ 
 
 the new post was very heavy; but he did not mind 
 that, as the wages were sufficient to enable him to 
 •attend the medical and Greek classes at Glasgow 
 University during the winter months and the divinity 
 lectures in the summer. 
 
 In due course he presented himself for examination, 
 and Avas admitted a Licentiate of the Faculty of Phy- 
 sicians and Surgeons. He was now ready to start on 
 his mission, under the auspices of the London Missionary 
 Society; but the imfortunate opium war had recently 
 broken out, and it was thought inexpedient for him to 
 go to China just then. In South Africa Mr. l^Ioffat had 
 Ibeen pursuing his missionary labours with great success 
 for some time past. In the Bechuana country, about 
 seven hundred miles inland from Cape Tov-n, a flourish- 
 ing missionary station had been established. Living- 
 stone resolved to join him. He remained a little longer 
 in England to complete his theological training, and 
 in 1840 embarked for Africa. 
 
 Having landed at Cape Town, he hastened on to 
 Yix. Moflat's station among the Bechuanas. His first 
 "wish was to become acquainted with the native lan- 
 guage, and to undei'stand their customs. For this 
 purpose he shut himself out from all direct intercoin-se 
 with civilised men for about six months, and lived 
 exclusively with the natives. During this time he 
 .studied their character and habits, and they formed 
 their opinion about him. He found them human, with 
 hearts capable of deep affection ; imtaught and wild, 
 but brothers still. They found in him a friend who 
 
2;^6 David L ivingstone. 
 
 loved them, because they were men ; who taught them 
 to love him, because he was kind and good. He 
 healed their sicknesses by his skill, and told them how 
 tliey might become wise and good as well. What won- 
 der that they learned to trust and reverence him as 
 then- benefactor, even though they could not under- 
 stand the motive that had made him leave his country 
 and his friends % 
 
 For nine years he devoted himself almost entirely 
 to missionary work among the ti-ibes on the border of 
 the Kalahari desert. The natives thought that it would 
 be quite impossible ever to cross this desert ; for they, 
 who could endure thirst better than the white man^ 
 could scarcely accomplish the journey. When Living- 
 stone first preached to the tribe of the Bakwains, and 
 told them that all Africa would one day be covered 
 with the knowledge of Christ, the chief pointed to the 
 Kalahari desert, and asked, ' Will you ever get across 
 that with your Gospel ■?' Livingstone had a notion 
 that he would, and he surprised the chief by saying so. 
 
 One incident must be alluded to which occurred 
 dimng this early part of his missionary life. The vil- 
 lagers ofMabotsa in the Bechuana country had been 
 much troubled by lions, a troop of which had been 
 prowling about the neighbourhood for some time past,- 
 and committing serious depredation among the cattle- 
 pens of the natives. Lions have a great objection tO' 
 being shot, and usually, if one meets with this fate, hiS' 
 companions will most intelligently take the hint, and 
 forthwith leave the neighbom-hood. Livingstone,. 
 
David L ivingstone. 237 
 
 therefore, advised his friend to destroy one of the 
 marauders, and as they were rather a cowardly people 
 he went with them to encourage the attack. Upon a 
 hill not far distant they found several of them assembled. 
 These were allowed to escape ; but shortly after Living- 
 stone discerned one on a piece of rock behind a bush. 
 Bringing his rifle to his shoulder he fired both barrels. 
 The people eagerly rushed forward, exclaiming, ' He is 
 shot, he is shot!' but, seeing the lion's tail erected in 
 anger behind the bush, Livingstone called to them to 
 wait till he had loaded again. While making this pre- 
 paration he heard a shout, and, looking up, saw the lion 
 in the act of springing on him. The beast seized him 
 by the shoulder, dragged him to the ground, and, as 
 he says in his description of the encounter, ' growling 
 horribly close to my ear, he shook me as a terrier dog 
 does a rat.' One of the party tried to fire an old flint 
 gun, but both barrels missed, and the lion, leaving 
 Livingstone, sprang upon his new assailant. Another 
 who tried to spear him was next attacked ; but by this 
 time the bullets had done their work, and the brute 
 fell dead upon the ground. 
 
 All three were badly wounded. In the upper part of 
 Livingstone's arm eleven teeth-wounds were counted, 
 and the bone was crunched into splinters. He was 
 never able to take steady aim with his gun again. His 
 feelings while the lion stood over him he likened to the 
 stupor of a patient partially under the influence of chloro- 
 form, who can see all the operation, but does not feel 
 the knife. He looked round at the beast, saw his pro- 
 
238 David L ivingstonc. 
 
 tniding ffuigs, and heard his horrible gro\vl without 
 any sense of horror. ' This peculiar state,' he says, ' is 
 probably produced in all animals killed by the carnivora ; 
 and, if so, is a merciful provision by our benevolent 
 Creator for lessening the pain of death.' The whole 
 race of lions seems to have sunk very much in Living- 
 stone's estimation after this encounter. Henceforth 
 the 'king of beasts' is 'merely an animal somewhat 
 larger than the biggest dog,' by no means so ferocious 
 as he is usually depicted, and possessing ' none of the 
 nobility of the Newfoundland or St. Bei'nard dogs ;' 
 while to talk of his majestic roar 'is mere majestic 
 twaddle.' ' The silly ostrich,' he says, ' makes a noise 
 as loud, yet he never was feared by man.' 
 
 In 1849 Livingstone started on the first of his me- 
 morable expeditions. In company with Messrs. Murray 
 and Osgood he set out for the further end of the Kala- 
 hari desert. His int-ention was rather to skirt its 
 boundary than to cross it ; but he was fully resolved 
 that, in some Avay or other, he would, if possible, open 
 np the country beyond. The party started on the 1st 
 of June, and travelled on for two months with a very 
 scanty supply of water ; but all the trials of the way 
 were forgotten when, on the 1st of August 1849, they 
 stood beside the Lake Ngami, and remembered that 
 they were the first Europeans who had ever gazed 
 upon its blue waters. Mrs. Livingstone and the children 
 accompanied him in this journey, sharing its hardships 
 and braving its dangers. Having thus assured them- 
 selves that this formidable desert was no insuperable 
 
David Livingstone. 239- 
 
 barrier, tlie party returned to the station at Kolobeng 
 in the Bechuana countiy. 
 
 In 1850 Livingstone made anotlier northern excur- 
 sion, taking his family Avith him as before. This time 
 he penetrated into the interior as far as the river 
 Zambesi. He saw that, there was a great work before 
 him. He was in a country hitherto imvisited by the 
 white man, and he must explore it. He was amongst 
 men who had received him kindly, and lie longed to 
 teach them the Gospel of Christ. But the dangers of 
 the climate and the enmity of hostile tribes made it a 
 most rmdesirable place for wife and children to remain 
 at; so early in 1852 the party retraced their steps to 
 the coast. At Cape Town Mrs. Livingstone em- 
 barked with her family on board a homeward-bound 
 ship, and her husband, with a promise to return in two 
 years, turned his face once more to Central Africa. 
 
 After a journey of eleven months he reached Lim- 
 ganti, the capital of the Makololo, and met with a very 
 gracious reception. It would be impossible within 
 the limits of this sketch to enter into any minute de- 
 scription of these people and their ways. There is a 
 most interesting account of them by Dr. Livingstone 
 in his volume of Missionary Travels. Like all savage 
 tribes they manifested great interest in everything 
 which showed the art or skill of Europeans. The 
 Doctor's looking-glass was a great attraction. One 
 man came to have a quiet gaze at his own features 
 when he thought Livingstone was asleep ; and after 
 twisting his mouth about in various directions, ex- 
 
2 40 David L ivingstone. 
 
 •claimed in disgust, ' People say I am ugly, and how 
 very ugly I am indeed !' The women, of course, found 
 the greatest pleasure in this self-examination, and it 
 is surprising to find that they were equally candid in 
 their criticisms. 'Is that mef one would exclaim. 
 ' What a big mouth I have !' ' My ears are as big as 
 pumpkin-leaves,' &c. 
 
 Livingstone was never greatly impressed with the 
 personal charms of African women. He says that they 
 are by nature not particularly good-looking, and seem 
 to take all the pains they can to make themselves worse. 
 They would be much handsomer, he thought, if they 
 would only let themselves alone ; ' though unfortu- 
 nately,' he adds, ' that is a failing by no means peculiar 
 to African ladies.' The contrast presented on his 
 return home he reckoned among the delights of his 
 wandering life. ' You can hardly tell,' he said, in one 
 of his lectures, ' how pleasant it is to see the blooming 
 cheeks of young ladies before me, after an absence of 
 sixteen years from such delightful objects of contem- 
 plation.' It is needless to say that after this graceful 
 compliment the lecturer could always be sure of a large 
 female audience. 
 
 But we must resume the account of Livingstone's 
 journey. Having gained the favour of both chief and 
 people of the Makololo, he started in November 1853 
 up the Leeambye, accompanied by twenty-seven men 
 who belonged to six distinct tribes and were acquainted 
 with several of the native dialects. So long as tliey 
 were in the Makololo dominion they were able to loush 
 
David Livingstone. 241 
 
 on with ease and safety; but after the frontier was 
 past they had to carefully ascertain their way, and 
 provide for their safety at every village they ap- 
 proached. They generally threw themselves trust- 
 fully on the good faith of the inhabitants, and were 
 well received on the way. They pursued the course 
 of the Leeambye, or Upper Zambesi — for it is part of 
 the great river — until they reached the Leeba, a tribu- 
 tary river flowing to the north-west. Following the 
 direction of this stream partly in canoes and partly on 
 foot, they at length reached the watershed between 
 Central and Western Africa. Then, having crossed 
 the Quango, they entered Angola ; and on the 31st of 
 May 1854, from the plains above the city of Loanda, 
 they caught sight of the sea. 
 
 Nearly seven months had been consumed in this 
 journey, and something like 1200 miles had been tra- 
 versed. Food had been provided chiefly by Living- 
 stone's gun ; the favour of chiefs had been won by a 
 judicious combination of tact and firmness ; and the 
 courage of the whole party had been maintained by 
 the indomitable spirit of their leader. Livingstone 
 did not believe in exciting the cupidity of the tribes 
 through whose territory he had to pass, by carrying a 
 large array of baggage. The whole amount of cur- 
 rency which he took with him amounted to twenty 
 pounds of beads, value forty shillings. One chief would 
 be contented with nothing less than a slave, and tried 
 to frighten the traveller into leaving one of his men 
 behind. But the effort was in vain; and when the 
 
 R 
 
242 David Livingstone. 
 
 chief observed the coohiess of the white man, he 
 preferred to accept a lesser gift instead of running 
 the risk of hostihties. 
 
 The Makololo men, who had been Livingstone's 
 companions during this trying journey, were deeply 
 attached to him. Upon one occasion they showed 
 signs of mutiny ; but their leader's firmness quickly con- 
 vinced them that they must be more careful. A short 
 time after, they grew dispirited, and, notwithstanding 
 Livingstone's utmost persuasions, urged him to lead 
 them home again. To return was out of the question, 
 but to advance alone was full of danger. Finding that 
 he could not influence them, Livingstone went into 
 his tent and prayed for help. His friends quickly fol- 
 lowed, exclaiming in remorseful tones, ' We will never 
 leave you. Do not be disheartened. Wherever you 
 lead, we will follow. We are all your children. We 
 will die for you. We have not fought because you 
 did not wish it ; but if these enemies begin, you Avill 
 see what Ave can do.' No wonder that Livingstone's 
 supplication became a thanksgiving to his God; for he 
 felt that tlie friends who surrounded him had faithful 
 and honest hearts, and Avoidd support him in the hour 
 of his necessity. 
 
 The astonishment manifested by these poor Africans 
 when they first beheld the sea was ludicrous to witness. 
 On describing their feelings afterwards they said: 'We 
 marched along with our father, believing that what 
 the ancients had always told us Avas true — that the 
 world had no end ; but all at once the Avorld said to 
 
David Livingstone. 243 
 
 lis, '-'I am finished; there is no move of me!"' Tho 
 simple-minded ci'eatm-es had always imagined that 
 the ^vorld was one extended plain Avithout limit. Y\^hen 
 they reached Loanda, and gazed for the first time on a 
 civilised city, their astonishment was beyond all de- 
 scription. They had never conceived the possibility 
 of a house being built with two stories. ' It is not a 
 hut ; it is a mountain with several caves in it,' was the 
 best description they could give of such a phenomenon. 
 Livingstone remained nearly four months atLoanda, 
 and then returned by the same route to the Makololo 
 country. He had thus twice travelled half-way across 
 the continent. Starting from a fairly central point, he 
 had reached the western coast, and had returned to 
 the place from which he set out. But he was anxious 
 to explore the opposite direction as well, by following 
 the course of the Zambesi to the eastern coast. On 
 the 3d of November 1855 he commenced this expedi- 
 tion, accompanied by nearly two hundred men, all of 
 whom were either volunteers or paid by Sekeletu, the 
 Makololo chief. This chief and all about him had 
 become greatly attached to their visitor: they regretted 
 that he should have to leave them, but comforted them- 
 selves with the hope that he Avould soon return and 
 bring his wife with him. 
 
 When the f;ither-in-law of the chief came to bid 
 him good-bye, he said, ' A man wishes, of course, to 
 appear among his friends, after a long absence, with 
 something of his own to show : the whole of the ivory 
 in the country is yours, so you must take as much 
 
244 David Livingstone. 
 
 as you can, and Sekeletu will furnish men to carry- 
 it.' Such generosity as this is not often to be raet 
 with, and shows how fully Livingstone had won the 
 affection of the people. 
 
 The chief event of this journey to the east coast 
 was the discovery of the gigantic waterfalls in the 
 Batoka country. They were known to the natives by 
 the name of Mosiwatunja, or thundering smoke, but 
 Livingstone bestowed upon them the name of the 
 Victoria Falls. They are now familiar to all who have 
 any knowledge of the physical geography of Africa, 
 It is difficult to determine the breadth of the Zambesi 
 at this point. Livingstone estiroated it at a thousand 
 feet, but he says he was always a poor judge of dis- 
 tances on water. The distance that the torrent falls 
 is four hmidred feet. On the 20th of May 185G the 
 party reached Quillimane, and were once more glad- 
 dened with the sight of the sea. 
 
 On the 12th July 1856 Livingstone embarked for 
 home, taking with him Sekwebu, his most devoted fol- 
 lower. It was in vain that he tried to persuade the 
 poor fellow to return to his native home. ' You will 
 die if you go to such a cold country as mine,' said the 
 Doctor. ' That is nothing,' replied the man. ' Let me 
 die at your feet.' The sea was rough when they went 
 on board, and the poor African soon became alarmed 
 as the ship reeled to and fro, and the waves broke- 
 overhead. He looked to Livingstone with an expres- 
 sion of the greatest trouble. ' Is this the way you go T 
 Is this the way you go f he wildly asked. Living- 
 
David Livingstone. 24^ 
 
 stone tried to calm his fears, and smiled kindly as he 
 replied, ' Yes ; don't you see it is V As wonder after 
 Avonder was displayed before his astonished eyes, the 
 poor fellow's reason gave way. The officers proposed 
 to put him in irons for safety, but Livingstone objected 
 to this. On arriving at Mauritius, the approach of a 
 steam-tug terrified him greatly. He refused to land, 
 and in the evening, in a fit of frenzy, tried to spear 
 one of the crew, and then sprang overboard. Every 
 effort was made to rescue him, but in vain. He sank 
 beneath the dark waters, and was seen no more. 
 
 Livingstone remained at Mauritius till he felt that 
 his health would permit him to proceed to England. 
 He then resumed his voyage, and reached home on 
 the 12th of December 1856, having travelled, as has 
 been estimated, over eleven thousand miles of African 
 territory. 
 
 His welcome in England was of course cheerful and 
 hearty. Scientific societies and civic and municipal 
 •corporations vied in doing honour to him. The Queen 
 granted him an audience, that he might carry the mes- 
 ^sage of her good- will on his next journey. Everywhere 
 enthusiasm was manifested and gratitude expressed. 
 Having prepared the account of his travels for publi- 
 <;ation, Livingstone next turned his attention to the 
 work that had still to be done in the distant continent. 
 His next expedition had a more distinctly national 
 character, for he went out as consul for South-eastern 
 Africa, and a vote of 5000^. was agreed to by Par- 
 liament to defray the expenses. The chief object he 
 
246 David L ivingstoiie. 
 
 liad now in view was to explore the Zambesi river and 
 its tributaries, to ascertain its conveniences for com- 
 mercial development. To assist him in this lie waR 
 furnished with a small steam-launch, which he called 
 the Ma Robert, that being the name by which the 
 natives always spoke of Mrs. Livingstone. The real 
 Ma Robert was also to accompany him to share \\\^ 
 dangers and his difficulties. 
 
 On the 10th of March 1858 they sailed from Liver- 
 pool on board the Pearl, and arrived at the mouth of the 
 Zambesi in the following W;\j. In January 1850 the as- 
 cent of the river Shire was commenced. It had never 
 before been explored by Europeans. Tliey were able to- 
 navigate it for a distance of about two hundred miles, 
 and were then stopped by some magnificent catar- 
 acts. Livingstone named these the Murchison Falls, in 
 memory of his friend, the disting-uished President of 
 the Geographical Society. Unable to proceed anj^ 
 further, he returned to Tette, the Portuguese settle- 
 ment on the Zambesi. 
 
 In the following March he again ascended the Shire 
 as far as the Murchison Falls, and in company with Dr„ 
 Kirk, who had gone with the expedition, journeyed 
 over the land to Lake Shirwa. They discovered this 
 lake on the 18th of April, and once more returned to 
 Tette. In August of the same year they again went 
 up the river, and, having left the steamer at the old 
 spot, started in search of Lake Nyassa. They reached 
 it on the 16th September, only just in time to claim the 
 discovery ; for an enterprising German explorer, named 
 
David L iv ing stone. 247 
 
 Dr. Reseller, siTcceeded in reacliing the lake at another 
 point on the 19tli of November of the same year, 
 Livingstone's party having regained their steamer on 
 the Shire, again returned to Tctte. 
 
 Tlie discovery of Lake Nyassa was the principal 
 geographical resnlt of this expedition ; but Ave mnst 
 never forget that Livingstone was something more 
 than an explorer. He was a missionary. Wherever 
 he went he carried with him the civilising light of 
 Christianity. To discover the marvels of an unknown 
 country was a great work ; but to tell the ' glad tidings 
 of great joy' to the people who dwelt there was of in- 
 finitely more importance. When he published the 
 account of his first expedition, he called the volume 
 Missionary Travels ; and it is not too much to say that 
 only the spirit of missionary enterprise could have 
 supported him through his years of toil. These 
 expeditions through the Shire valley in 1859 had an 
 important bearing on future missionary work, about 
 which a few brief remarks must here be made. 
 
 When Livingstone returned to England from his 
 first expedition he thought that something might be 
 done to stir up the enthusiasm of Oxford and Cam- 
 bridge in behalf of Central Africa. For this purpose 
 he attended the latter University, and delivered an 
 address in the senate-house. The matter was almost 
 immediately taken up. An influential committee was 
 formed, a subscription started, and the cooperation of 
 Oxford invited. The Oxonians entered heartily into 
 the Avork, and very soon a method of action was re- 
 
248 David Livingstone. 
 
 solved upon. It was arranged to establish a mission, 
 to be called the 'Oxford and Cambridge Mission to 
 Central Africa.' The late and deeply-lamented Bishop 
 Mackenzie became the head of it, and his staff con- 
 sisted of laymen as well as clergymen. The object 
 in view was twofold : to preach the Gospel to the 
 natives, and to instruct them in the arts of civilised 
 life. 
 
 Livingstone's explorations in 1859 determined the 
 locality in which the mission should plant its station, 
 and by the middle of 1861 it was established at Mago- 
 mero on the highlands of the Shire. Bishop Mackenzie 
 and his associates were accompanied to this spot by 
 Livingstone. On the way some slaves, who were 
 being brutally driven along in chains, were rescued and 
 restored to freedom. They also had a collision with a 
 native tribe, whose anger cou.ld not be turned away by 
 soft words. They regretted that they should have to 
 resort to force, but were compelled to use their rifles in 
 self-defence. Bishop Mackenzie was temporarily absent 
 during the rescue of the slaves ; but Livingstone was 
 present and entirely approved of it. ' Logic,' he said, 
 ' is quite out of place when the question with a true- 
 hearted man is whether his brother man is to be saved 
 or not.' He also approved of firing upon the natives 
 for self-defence when attacked ; but he felt that it was 
 extremely imdesirable to interfere in any native quar- 
 rels, and warned the mission against taking any step 
 which could have this appearance. 
 
 Upon more than one occasion Bishop Mackenzie 
 
1 David Livingstone. 249 
 
 found it necessary to place himself at the head of his 
 neighbours, and to chase and punish the very tribe 
 that attacked the mission on its first settlement in the 
 country. Many people at home severely censured the 
 Bishop for his acts of hostility ; but those who knew 
 the difficulties of his position best were the first to 
 approve of his conduct. In all that he did he had the 
 unanimous support of the members of the mission, and 
 Avhen Livingstone heard of the affair he expressed his 
 entire satisfaction. His own published words are em- 
 phatic. Writing to a friend just after he had been 
 gazing upon the rude wooden cross which marks the 
 «pot where the good man rests, Livingstone says, ' I 
 have just been visiting Bishop Mackenzie's grave. At 
 first I thought him wrong in fighting, but don't think 
 so now. He defended his hundred and forty orphan 
 ■children when there was no human arm besides to in- 
 voke. To fight even in self-defence must always be but 
 a sad necessity ; but to sit still and let the bloodthirsty 
 ■slave-hunters tear away the orphans who cleave to us 
 for protection must be suffering martyrdom for our own 
 folly.' Those who know nothing of African life and 
 its difiiculties from actual experience may well hesi- 
 tate to condemn, on grounds of humanity, a policy 
 which the warm-hearted Livingstone has stamped with 
 his approval. 
 
 To trace the University Mission's history is no part 
 ■of our purpose. We have spoken of it thus far only 
 because we consider it due to the memory of Bishop 
 Mackenzie that Livingstone's real sentiments should be 
 
250 David Livingstone. 
 
 known. Only a few days before he left Ed gland — to 
 retnni no more alive — he conversed with a friend of the 
 writer on this very topic, and expressed an opinion 
 identical with that contained in the above letter. The 
 Mission has now changed the field of its operations. 
 It has removed to the coast, and established itself at 
 Zanzibar, in the hope that that position will prove 
 ' best for ultimately reaching the Central tribes.' Many 
 have doubted the wisdom of this change, and Living- 
 stone entirely disapproved of it. It certainly does appear 
 somewhat incongruous that a Central African Mission 
 should be established elsewhere than in Central Africa. 
 
 But we must return to Livingstone's expedition. 
 Having made his great discovery of Lake Nyassa, he 
 resolved on paying a visit to his friends in the Makololo 
 country. The people had looked forvrard to seeing him 
 again there, for he had promised to return. He made 
 his way along by the Zambesi, gazed once more upon 
 the magnificent Victoria Falls, fullilled his promise to 
 the Makololo, and returned to Tettc. This brings us 
 to the end of 1860. Early in the following year he 
 journeyed, as we have seen, up the Shire with Bishop 
 Mackenzie. He then started with Dr. Kirk and his own 
 brother Charles Livingstone, to further explore the 
 great Lake Nyassa. 
 
 The party proceeded along the course of the river,, 
 carrying their boat on land Avhile they passed the ]\Iur- 
 chison Falls. On reaching the lake, they found it to 
 be about two hundred miles long and fifty or sixty 
 miles broad. In attempting to sound its depth they let 
 
David Livingstone. 25 1 
 
 down seven Imndred feet of line and chain without 
 reaching the bottom. Having completed their examin- 
 ation of the lake, they returned to the Zambesi, explored 
 some of its tributaries, attempted the Rovuma, and on 
 February 14, 18G4, left Africa for England. So far 
 as the work was concerned, Livingstone might well 
 return Vvdth a light heart to his home ; but, alas, that 
 home was no more to be gladdened by the presence of 
 one whose companionship had been the support and 
 inspiration of his life. Mrs. Livingstone was dead. 
 This noble lady had been the partner of his toils ; her 
 loving sympathy had encouraged him in his heroic mis- 
 sion ; her courage and fortitude had sustained his soul 
 in danger. Stricken by fever, she died on the 27th of 
 April 1862, and Avas laid by her sorrov,fful husband 
 beneath the sheltering boughs of a large Baobab-tree at 
 Shupanga, close to the Avaters of the Zambesi; Re- 
 quiescat in pace. She Avas Avorthy of being called the 
 daughter of Moffat and the Avifc of Livingstone. 
 
 On returning to England, Livingstone became the 
 guest of Mr. and Mrs. W. F. AVebb at NeAvstead Abbey, 
 and there prepared for publication the accomit of 
 his last expedition. But he Avas not to remain idle. 
 Sir R. Murchison had obtained a promise from him 
 that, as soon as his A^olume was completed, he Avould 
 again start off to Africa. The route that he Avished 
 to take he indicated in the preface of his book. ' I 
 propose,' he says, ' to go inland, north of the territory 
 which the Portuguese in Europe claim, and endeavour 
 to commence tliat system on the oast Avhicli has been 
 
1^2 David L ivingstone. 
 
 so eminently successful on the west coast, a system 
 combining the repressive efforts of her Majesty's cruisers 
 with lawful trade and Christian missions, the moral and 
 material results of which have been so gratifying. I 
 hope to ascend the Rovuma, or some other river north 
 of Cape Delgado, and, in addition to my other work, 
 shall strive, by passing along the northern end of Lake 
 Nyassa and round the southern end of Lake Tangan- 
 yika, to ascertain the watershed of that part of Africa- 
 In so doing, I have no wish to unsettle what, with so 
 much toil and danger, was accomplished by Speke and 
 ■Grant, but rather to confirm their illustrious discoveries.' 
 He started on the 14th of August 1865, and towards 
 the end of March 1866 entered the Rovuma river. For 
 a long distance he followed the course of this stream, 
 but so thick was the wood along its bank that progress 
 was slow and difficult, and the axe was in continual re- 
 quisition. The men whom he had taken with him from 
 Zanzibar and its neighbourhood grew discontented 
 when they found how serious the obstacles were which 
 would have to be encountered. Some had to be sent 
 back early in the journey, and most of the others de- 
 serted soon after. On reaching Lake Nyassa, Living- 
 stone wished to pass its northern extremity, but he 
 could not prevail on his men to go. They were afraid 
 of a hostile tribe whose raids they had recently heard 
 of. Livingstone next tried to cross the lake ; but the 
 Arabs who kept two dhows hid them out of sight, and 
 he was at last obhged to pass the southern end. He 
 then struck out in a north-westerly direction. 
 
David L ivingstone. 253, 
 
 Meanwhile the men who had deserted him spread 
 the report that he was dead, and the leader of the band 
 — a notorious liar — gave a circumstantial account of 
 the calamity. It was on March 7, 1867, that Sir 
 R. Mm-chison read to the Geographical Society a letter 
 from Dr. Kirk, vice-consul at Zanzibar, conveying this 
 news. The announcement was received by the country 
 with the deepest sorrow, and was generally believed ; 
 but some who knew the African character best were 
 convinced that it was false, and all felt that something 
 should be done to remove uncertainty. A ' Livingstone 
 Search Expedition ' was accordingly fitted out under 
 the command of Mr. E. D. Young, which started on the 
 18th of June 1867. It did not succeed in reaching the 
 illustrious traveller, but it proved beyond doubt that he 
 was alive at a later date than that of his reported death. 
 Shortly after, the country was gladdened with the still 
 more satisfactory news that despatches had been re- 
 ceived from Livingstone. Again his movements were 
 obscm^e, and reports of his death became general. It 
 was an anxious time. His friends hoped, and yet 
 feared. 
 
 In the midst of this suspense an American gentleman 
 conceived a scheme unique in the history of journalism. 
 Mr. James Gordon Bennett jun., the young manager 
 of the Neic York Herald, determined on sending a 
 ' special correspondent ' in search of the illustrious 
 traveller. Mr. Henry M. Stanley has told, in his most 
 interesting volume How I found Livingstone, in what 
 way he accomplished the task committed to him. It 
 
254 David Livingstone. 
 
 would indeed be a miserable jealousy wliicli would 
 make us withhold our praise from this great achieve- 
 ment. It originated in a generous thought, and culmi- 
 nated in a great success ; and Avhatever may be the 
 nationality of the adventurer, he has fairly Avon our 
 highest admiration. The description of his journey is 
 familiar to us all; how he pressed on among hostile and 
 friendly tribes, regardless of danger and difficulties, for 
 more than nine montlis, till at last he found the object 
 of his search, and the two travellers grasped hands at 
 
 Ujiji.' 
 
 It was the 28th of October 1871 when Livingstone 
 and Stanley came face to face. But what had the 
 former been doing in the interval since his men deserted 
 him at Lake Nyassa? We left him slowly making his 
 way to the north-west. As he went on he discovered 
 'a series of great lakes, the Bangweolo, the Moero, 
 and the Kamolondo. These he found to be united by 
 a mighty watercoui-se called the Lualaba, which he 
 supposed to be the upper source of the Nile. Eecent 
 research has proved this anticipation to be wrong. 
 The last journey of Mr. Stanley has removed all doubt 
 upon the subject, and the Lualaba is known now to be 
 identical with the great Congo river. It is fed by the 
 Tanganyika lake through the Lukuga rivei', which 
 Cameron found was the only outlet of this vast reser- 
 voir. The great height of Tanganyika — 2710 feet 
 above the sea-level — and its enormous size, may largely 
 account for the immense volume of water which the 
 Congo discharges at its mouth. So strone: is the cur- 
 
David Livingstone. 255 
 
 rent that at a distance of sixty miles out at sea its 
 Avaters are not entirely blended with those of the ocean, 
 and at fifteen miles from the coast the water is qnite 
 fresh. The fm-thest northern point to which Living- 
 stone was able to trace the Lualaba or Congo was 
 Nyangwe ; and Cameron in his more recent expedition 
 was unable to proceed further. To have penetrated 
 beyond this limit may be fairly reckoned the greatest 
 of Stanley's achievements. 
 
 Having made these discoveries, Livingstone en- 
 tered Djiji weary and destitute. Probably this might 
 have been the end of his career but for the opportune 
 arrival of Stanley, who was able to afford him the relief 
 which he so sadly needed. The two travellers then 
 explored Tanganyika together, sought in vain for an 
 outlet round the northern shore, and returned to Ujiji. 
 On the 14th March 1872 they bade each other farewell, 
 Stanley to return home, but Livingstone to stay and 
 finish his labours. 
 
 He waited at Ujiji till the carriers hired by Stanley 
 on the coast were able to join him, and then set out 
 once more. He proceeded with difficulty and with 
 failing health, suffering from a chronic malady and a 
 frequent recurrence of fever, which were greatly aggra- 
 vated by the marshy nature of the country. He 
 approached the Bangweolo lake early in 1873, and, 
 travelling amid its swamps, soon became so weak that 
 he was unable to walk. He attempted to mount his 
 donkey, but fell prostrate on the ground. His faithful 
 friends Susi and Chuma, who had remained constant 
 
1^6 David Livingstone. 
 
 to him during the Aveaiy years of his travel, carried 
 him to Chitambo's village on the southern shore of the 
 Bangweolo lake. He was almost dead when he reached 
 it, on the 29th April. Slowly and painfully the follow- 
 ing day wore on. The chief of the village called to see 
 him, but he was obliged to send him away, as he could 
 not talk. Early on the morning of the 1st of May his 
 friends looked in upon him and found him kneeling by 
 the bed, apparently in prayer. They immediately 
 withdrew. Presently they looked again, and finding his 
 position the same, they grew alarmed. They watched 
 him for a minute, and then one stepped forward and 
 gently laid his hand upon his master's cheek. It was 
 cold ! All was over. The work of Livingstone was 
 ended, and he had gone to his long home. 
 
 We will not dwell here upon the benefit which this 
 illustrious man conferred upon science, or the great 
 services he rendered to the cause of Christianity. His 
 work is sufiiciently well known, and his place is secure 
 among the benefactors of mankind. But there is a fear 
 that in. our admiration of his great achievements we 
 may fail to properly appreciate his personal character. 
 This would indeed be a loss ; for great and precious as 
 is the work he accomplished, the memory of the man 
 himself is a more valuable possession. The instances of 
 pure self-sacrifice are not so numerous that we can 
 afford to lose any. David Livingstone was a conspicu- 
 ous example of self-forgetful devotion. From the mo- 
 ment he undertook his missionary labours till he knelt 
 in death, his courageous faith never failed him. When 
 
David L ivingstone. i^y 
 
 liis wife was taken from him he keenly felt her loss ; 
 but not once did he hesitate in his work. Far from 
 home, from kindred and friends, he remained steadfast 
 to the great purpose of his life. The sense of isolation 
 would sometimes deeply oppress him ; but his faith in 
 God's providence — the assurance that He would ac- 
 complish His eternal purposes in His own good time — 
 supported him through every trial. That ' glow of 
 love' which first led him to devote his life ' to the alle- 
 viation of human misery' had continued to invigorate 
 him during the thirty-three years of his missionary 
 life. 
 
 We cannot take leave of this subject without speak- 
 ing of that accursed slave-trade which blackens and 
 blights the fair provinces of Africa. Livingstone had 
 an opportunity of watching it in all its horrors. He 
 visited remote spots, where the slave-dealer had not 
 found his way, and met with kindness and hospitality ; 
 he returned later on, and found the place desolate. Its 
 population had been hunted to the death, like wild 
 beasts, or loaded with chains and driven to the markets 
 in gangs. The description he has given us of some of 
 the slave-parties he met upon the march is revolting in 
 the extreme, and every traveller to the country bears 
 witness to similar cruelties. The captives are fastened 
 together by heavy chains, or by poles seven feet in 
 length and as thick as a man's arm. This latter instru- 
 ment is forked at the end, so that it may fit a man's 
 neck, and is made secure with a bar of iron. Many 
 heavily weighted in this manner sink helpless upon the 
 
 s 
 
258 David L ivingstone. 
 
 ground, and if their strength has so completely failed 
 that the driver's whip cannot rouse them to activity, 
 they are left upon the road to die bound and helpless. 
 Some are ruthlessly murdered to inspire the rest with 
 a wholesome dread. The route taken by the proces- 
 sion may be traced by following the road where groups 
 of dead and dying point the way. 
 
 The revelations which Livingstone has made of 
 these hideous scenes have done much to arouse the 
 conscience of the civilised world, though the worst has 
 never been told. ' When I have endeavoured,' he wrote, 
 a short time before his death, ' to give some idea of the 
 slave-trade and its attendant evils in this country, it 
 was necessary to keep far within the truth, in order 
 not to be thought guilty of exaggeration. But in sober 
 seriousness, the subject does not admit of being over- 
 drawn. To exaggerate its enormities is a simple im- 
 possibility. The sights I have seen, though common 
 incidents of the so-called trade, are so terribly nause- 
 ous that I always strive to drive them from memory ; 
 and in cases of other disagreeable recollections I can 
 in time succeed in consigning them to oblivion. These 
 slaving scenes, however, come back, unbidden and un- 
 welcome, and sometimes make me start up at dead of 
 night, horrified by their vividness.' No wonder that 
 he called this foul system the ' Monster Iniquity,' and 
 declared that until it was rooted out it would be im- 
 possible to civilise the people. 
 
 Still more recent testimony is given by Commander 
 Cameron in the narrative of his voyage across Africa. 
 
David L ivingstone. 259 
 
 Not only does he describe the horrors of the system, 
 but he looks forward to its probable consequences, and 
 expresses the firm opinion that, if allowed to exist 
 much longer, the civilising light which has already 
 dawmed upon that continent will again give place to 
 darkness. 'Africa,' he says, 'is bleeding out her life- 
 blood at every pore. A rich country, requiring labour 
 only to render it one of the greatest producers in the 
 world, is having its population — already far too scanty 
 for its needs — daily depleted by the slave-trade and 
 internecine war.' And he adds : ' Should the present 
 state of things be allowed to continue, the country will 
 gradually relapse into jungles and wilds, and will 
 become more and more impenetrable to the merchant 
 and traveller.' In calculating the results of the trade 
 he says that ' an annual loss of over half a million lives' 
 is the lowest estimate that can be made. How long is 
 it to be before legitimate commerce shall supplant this 
 abominable traffic % 
 
 But we must return to the hut at Chitambo's village, 
 beside Bangweolo Lake. The faithful followers de- 
 termined that at all hazards the corpse of their master 
 should be carried to England. They embalmed it as 
 best they could with salt and brandy, and buried the 
 heart with some other parts which they had to remove. 
 The burial service was read by Jacob Wainwright, 
 whose name is now familiar to every one. Then the 
 melancholy procession started for Zanzibar. Arrived 
 there, the body was given into the charge of English 
 officials. On the 15th of April 1874 the ship which 
 
26o David Livingstone. 
 
 carried it arrived at Southampton. The mortal remains 
 of the great traveller were at once removed to London ; 
 there an examination by Sir William Fergusson re- 
 moved all doubt about identity. On Saturday the 
 18th of April Westminster Abbey received the illustri- 
 ous guest. We need not tell of the eminent men who 
 assembled round that tomb, of the universal gloom 
 which pervaded the land, of the wreath of azaleas 
 from the Queen, and other touching memorials which 
 lay upon the coffin. They were honours which he 
 never coveted, but which none could have better 
 deserved. 
 
 One of the pall-bearers was Jacob Wainwright, the 
 young African Christian who had attended Livingstone 
 during his latest hours, and had accompanied his re- 
 mains to England. He stood by that open tomb as 
 the representative of Africa, to pay a last tribute of 
 affection to his country's benefactor. 
 
 A tablet in memory of the great explorer has been 
 placed near his grave in the Abbey, and one of the last 
 sentences which he wrote with reference to the slave- 
 trade of Africa has been engraved upon it. The in- 
 scription runs : ' All I can add in my loneliness is, may 
 Heaven's rich blessing come down on every one, 
 American, English, or Turk who will help to heal the 
 open sore of the world.' Perhaps when that healing is 
 accomphshed, when commerce shall have developed 
 Africa's untold resources, when the civilising iniluence 
 of Christianity shall have made its population a wise 
 and imderstanding people, we may be able to recognise 
 
David L ivingstone. 261 
 
 in some measure the worth of Livingstone's labours. 
 But never till all the kingdoms of this world become 
 the kingdoms of God and of His Christ shall we fully 
 know how much this single man has helped forward 
 that glorious consummation. His life was an acted 
 prayer that the kingdom of God might come ; and 
 there is an incalculable efficacy in such petitions. 
 
f 
 THE GEOLOGIST : 
 
 PROFESSOR SEDGWICK. 
 
' The highest perfection of human reason is to know that there is an 
 infinity of truth beyond its reach.' Pascal. 
 

 kf f-* C"'* "■ ' ''^^ w' 
 
 THE GEOLOGIST: 
 PROFESSOR SEDGWICK. 
 
 In any estimate of the leading characteristics of the 
 present century a conspicuous place must be given to 
 the progress which has been made in the various de- 
 partments of physical science. The mind of man has 
 been active in all quarters searching for the record of 
 the earth's history, and striving to unravel the compli- 
 cated problems of the universe. There is, perhaps, no 
 science which has made a more certain and perma- 
 nent advance than geology during this time. At the 
 beginning of the century it was in a comparatively ele- 
 mentary state ; and a brief account of its early progress 
 may be appropriate in introducing to the reader's 
 notice one who played a part more conspicuous and 
 important, perhaps, than that of any other geologist 
 in advancing the science to its present perfection. 
 
 Two opposing parties occupied the field at the 
 beginning of the centixry. On the one side were the 
 
266 Professor Sedgwick. 
 
 followers of Hutton of Edinburgh, and on the other the 
 disciples of Werner of Freiberg in Saxony. Hutton 
 had finished his scientific labours and gone to his rest 
 when the century began ; but his followers were nu- 
 merous, and held firmly to the faith of their master. 
 Their principles were briefly these : that geology can 
 throw no light on the first condition of the earth, as 
 the record does not go back to the beginning ; and 
 that the past history of the earth can only be explained 
 by what we can learn of the economy of Nature at the 
 present time. This latter was their great principle, 
 and all who wished to understand the mutations which 
 our planet has undei"gone were referred to the every- 
 day workings of earth, sea, and air. The havoc Avrought 
 by rain and frost, the continu.al dashing of waves upon 
 the sea-shore, and the ceaseless flow of rivers wearing 
 away old rocks and laying down sedimentary deposits 
 for the formation of new ones, — these were the opera- 
 tions to which they pointed to explain the history of 
 the past. They recognised, too, that deep in the val- 
 leys and high in the hills there were clear records that 
 rocks, now fai- removed from waters, had once been 
 sea bottoms ; and the altered position of them they at- 
 tributed to comiuotions caused by the earth's internal 
 heat. It will be at once observed that the chief 
 characteristic of this theory is the exclusion of all 
 causes not supposed to belong to the present order 
 of Nattu'e. 
 
 The theory of Werner may be briefly described as 
 one attributing all geological formations to aqueous 
 
Professo7' Sedgwick. 267 
 
 causes. He held that the eai'th had originally been 
 covered with ocean, and that on the retirement of the 
 waters, universal formations, composed of chemical 
 precipitates, spread over the globe, assuming at the 
 surface irregular shapes as they consolidated. Subma- 
 rine volcanoes Avere entirely dispensed with. He even 
 contended that in the primeval ages of the world there 
 were no volcanoes. 'His theory,' says Sir C. Lyell, 
 ' was opposed in a twofold sense to the doctrine of the 
 permanent agency of the same causes in Nature ; for 
 not only did he inti-oduce without scruple many ima- 
 ginary causes supposed to have once effected great 
 revolutions in the earth, and then to have become ex- 
 tinct, but new ones also were feigned to have come 
 into play in modern times ; and, above all, the most 
 violent instrument of change, the agency of subterranean 
 heat.' 
 
 The geological world was thus practically divided 
 into two parties — those avIio advocated the production 
 of all rocks by aqueous distribution, and those who at- 
 tributed the origin of many of them to the action of 
 fire. They were called respectively, not only Werner- 
 ians and Huttonians, but also Neptunists and Vulcanists ; 
 and between them there was w^aged a warfare more 
 intemperate and violent, perhaps, than any other which 
 has ever disturbed the world of physical science. 
 
 The most famous champion of the views of Hutton 
 was the illustrious Playfair, who in 1802 published his 
 Illustrations of the Huttonian Theory. With copious il- 
 lustrations, and in language of equal force and elegance. 
 
268 Professor Sedgwick. 
 
 he insisted upon the permanency of Nature's working. 
 ' Amid all the revolutions of the globe, the economy of 
 Nature has been uniform, and her laws are the only things 
 that have resisted the general movement. The rivers 
 and the rocks, the seas and the continents, have been 
 changed in all their parts ; but the laws which direct 
 those changes, and the rules to which they are subject, 
 have remained invariably the same.' The publication 
 of this book marks an epoch in the history of geology. 
 It gave to the science a new impulse, and laid its future 
 professors under a lasting debt of gratitude. When 
 nearly half a century had passed away. Professor Sedg- 
 wick recalled the services of Playfair and his master, 
 and said that it was they who ' first taught us to reason 
 weir on geological subjects. ' They laid,' said he, 'a 
 good foundation in the facts of Nature, and their theo- 
 retical views were ennobled by a high philosophy. 
 They found geology sunk under the load of a cum- 
 brous hypothesis ; but they lifted her half-drowned 
 from the waters, animated her by their fires, and she 
 grew under their training to a goodly stature. If other 
 discoverers have gone beyond them, it is but the com- 
 mon fortune of all advancing knowledge ; and our 
 modern geologists, while they are pursuing a new 
 game, should bear in mind that, without such noble 
 leaders, they never could have ventured to attack the 
 quarry that is before them ; and it would ill become 
 them to think only of theiiiselves, and forget the hard- 
 bought honours of their fathers.' 
 
 While Huttonians and Wernerians were fighting 
 
Professor Sedgwick. 269 
 
 their battle, there was one geologist attached to nei- 
 thei' party Avho was silently and steadily working. 
 This was William Smith — familiar to all who are ac- 
 quainted with the history of the science as ' the father 
 of English geology.' By profession he was a civil 
 engineer, and had taught himself the method of iden- 
 tifying rocks and arranging their strata in their true 
 position by the fossils they contained. With remark- 
 able perseverance he set to work to classify the rocks 
 of England, and travelled all over the country on foot 
 that he might render his work complete. In 1815 he 
 gave to the world the benefit of his painstaking exer- 
 tions by publishing a il/ap of the Strata of Enrjland and 
 Wales. 
 
 Other geologists repeated and confirmed his obser- 
 vations, and the general principles of the science began 
 to be understood. Meanwhile several gentlemen 
 interested in it had formed themselves into a society 
 to collect data and record observations which might 
 assist investigation. This was the Geological Society, 
 which, at its formation in 1807, numbered only thirteen 
 members. 
 
 The science had now lost the highly speculative 
 character which belonged to it in the days when Hut- 
 tonians and Wernerians fought their great fight. It 
 was no longer thought necessary to imagine theories, 
 and then fight desperately for them. Careful and 
 diligent workers were wanted who would follow in the 
 path marked out by William Smith, examining and 
 comparing the features of stratified rocks, and classing 
 
270 Pi'ofessor Sedgwick. 
 
 them in their great natural divisions. The fierce con- 
 troversy of the rival schools Ava.s nearly at an end. 
 The theory of Hntton had gained its just ascendency ; 
 and Professor Jaroieson of Edinburgh, who was the re- 
 cognised head of the Wernerian party, is said to have 
 publicly acknowledged that ' Wernerism was doomed 
 and deserved to die.' Such was the position of 
 geological science when Adam Sedgwick came upon 
 the scene. 
 
 He was born March 22, 1785, at Dent in Yorkshire, 
 where the family from which he sprang had long re- 
 sided. His boyhood was spent chiefly in this secluded 
 spot, and many happy associations rendered it dear to 
 him. In after-life his thoughts would often recur to 
 the happy village home, ' where once his careless child- 
 hood strayed, a stranger yet to pain.' He was educated 
 under Dr. Dawson at Sedbergh, and afterwards went 
 to Cambridge. In 1808 he graduated as fifth wrangler, 
 and in the following year was elected a Fellow of 
 Trinity College. 
 
 If scholastic instruction were the whole of education, 
 we might with this brief notice pass over the time of his 
 youth and opening manhood; remarking only that he 
 was a persevering scholar, and made good use of every 
 opportunity for acquiring knowledge. But education 
 is a word of far ^vider significance than this. It com- 
 prehends all that assists in the development of charac- 
 ter; it means all that helps in the making of the man. 
 As a boy, i\.dam Sedgwick had always deeply felt the 
 influence of natural beauty. He loved to wander 
 
Professor Sedgwick. 2 7 1 
 
 among the hills and valleys iu the neighbom'hood of 
 his home, and would linger with intense delight in some 
 sequestered dell where primroses and ^^olets had spread 
 their covering. All that he could see of Nature was so 
 beautiful, it surely must have something to teach. 
 Sometimes the impulse would be strong upon him to 
 search out and know its secret. Already he had learnt 
 to reverence the beautiful, and had become the adopted 
 child of Xature. But she did not teach him of herself 
 alone. From the first her message was of something 
 beyond : she came to him with ' authentic tidings of 
 invisible things.' 
 
 ' And Nature, the old nurse, took 
 The child upon her knee, 
 Saying, " Here is a story-book 
 
 Thy Father has written for thee. 
 
 Come, wander with me," she said, 
 
 " Into regions yet untrod. 
 And learn what is still unread 
 
 In the manuscripts of God." 
 
 And he wander 'd away and away 
 
 With Nature, the dear old nurse, 
 Who sang to him night and day 
 
 The rhymes of the universe. 
 
 And whenever the way seem'd long, 
 
 Or his heart began to fail, 
 She would sing a more wonderful song. 
 
 Or tell a more wonderful tale. ' 
 
 At school and at college his taste remained the same, 
 and his great delight in holidays or vacations was to go 
 for long excursions, on horseback or on foot, in search 
 
272 Professor Sedgwick. 
 
 of objects of natural beauty. It was chiefly through 
 these excursions that his attention was fixed upon 
 geology. Those who have but an elementary acquaint- 
 ance with this science will know how great an interest 
 it can give to solitary rambles : how as one reads the 
 record of the rocks the mystery of life assumes its grand 
 proportions, and the mind is irresistibly led to contem- 
 plate the littleness of its own achievements, and the 
 need of working with untiring vigour while the day 
 shall last. To geology Adam Sedgwick resolved to 
 devote his time and energy. 
 
 He was ordained in 1817, and in the follo^\dng year 
 was chosen to succeed Professor Hailstone in the chair 
 of geology in the University of Cambridge. This pro- 
 fessorship Avas founded by Dr. Woodward, in the early 
 part of the eighteenth century, and it has usually been 
 called after his name. For more than fifty years it was 
 held by Sedgwick; and the reader may occasional^ 
 find him referred to in the following pages under the 
 title of the Woodwardian Professor. 
 
 About the time that he received this appointment 
 he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, and also 
 of the Geological Society. A sketch of him at this 
 period, drawn by a competent hand, may be interesting. 
 Of all his friends and scientific companions the most 
 familiar and intimate was Sir Roderick ]\Iurchison, with 
 whom he engaged in several of his most interesting and 
 valuable investigations. Unhappily this friendship was 
 afterAvards obscured, and a painful alienation took its 
 place. But we need not anticipate a matter which we 
 
Professor Sedgwick. 273 
 
 could wish to forget altogether. It will have to be 
 alluded to later on. 
 
 Professor Geikie, in his Memoirs of Sir R. Murchison, 
 gives us the portraiture of Sedgwick that we want : 
 ' Admirable as an observer, clear and brilliant as an 
 expositor, the Woodwardian Professor was one of the 
 kindliest, wittiest, merriest of companions. AVhile 
 Murchison's pursuit of science Avas now, and continued 
 through life to be, a serious earnest task, Sedgwick's 
 enthusiasm and earnestness, on the other hand, Avere 
 quite as great, his knowledge far greater ; but he threw 
 over his scientific work the charm of his own bright 
 genial nature. Brimful of humour and bristling with 
 apposite anecdotes, his scientific talk was greatly more 
 entertaining than the ordinary conversation of most 
 good talkers ; for he could so place a dry scientific fact 
 as to photograph it upon the memory, while at the 
 same time he linked it with something droll or fanciful 
 or tender, so that it seemed ever after to wear a kind 
 of human significance. No keener eye than his ever 
 ranged over the rocks of England ; and yet while noting 
 each feature of their structure or scenery, he delighted 
 to carry through his geological work an endless thread 
 of fun and wit.' 
 
 At tlie formation of the Cambridge Philosophical 
 Society in 1819, Sedgwick was chosen for one of its 
 secretaries, and some of his earliest contributions to the 
 literature of science were papers read before it, and 
 preserved in the record of its transactions. 
 
 The names of Sedgwick and Murchison must often 
 
 T 
 
2,74 Professor Sedgwick. 
 
 be coupled together in this memoir, as they frequently 
 worked in conjunction. Their first joint excursion was 
 a tour through Scotland in 1827. The humour which 
 the Woodwardian Professor threw into all his work 
 made him a very agreeable companion on such occa- 
 sions as this. Several amusing incidents have been re- 
 corded. It has been told how Sedgwick, wearing a 
 plaid which he had bought from a shepherd, caused the 
 party to be mistaken for a couple of drovers at an inn 
 at which they called. The attention they received was 
 what two drovers would probably have expected ; ex- 
 actly so much, and no more. Upon another occasion 
 Murchison thought that he would enter the inn first, to 
 prevent the possibility of such an undignified reception. 
 He went, and Sedgwick laughed loudly when he heard 
 that his friend had been made the victim of a similar 
 mistake, and had been invited into the tap-room. 
 
 The chief scientific object of this tour was to ex- 
 amine the red sandstone of Scotland ; and having com- 
 pleted their investigation as far as possible the two 
 friends made for home. ' Behold me now,' writes 
 Sedgwick, on his return to Cambridge, ' in a new 
 character, strutting about and looking dignified with 
 a cap, gown, cassock, and a huge pair of bands, the 
 terror of all academical evil-doers — in short, a perfect 
 moral scavenger.' 
 
 In the spring of 1829 they visited France, Germany, 
 Austria, and Switzerland together, and the two friends 
 were engaged for some time in investigating the 
 geological structure of the Alps. 
 
Professor Sedgivick. 275 
 
 From 1829 to 1831 Professor Sedgwick held tlie 
 post of President of the Geological Society. The two 
 inaugural addresses which he delivered contain, not 
 only an admirable summary of the progress made by 
 the society, but also some general remarks which show 
 A^ath what confidence and equanimity he watched the 
 advance of physical science. ' If,' said he, ' I believed 
 that the imagination, the feelings, the active intellec- 
 tual powers bearing on the business of life, and the 
 highest capacities of our nature, were blunted or im- 
 paired by the study of our science, I should then regard 
 it as little better than a moral sepulchre, in which, like 
 the strong man, we were burying ourselves and those 
 around us in ruins of our own creating. But I believe 
 too firmly in the immutable attributes of that Being in 
 whom all truth, of whatever kind, finds its proper rest- 
 ing-place, to think that the principles of physical and 
 moral truths can ever be in lasting collision.' 
 
 Let us notice for a little while some of the work in 
 which Sedgwick and Murchison were engaged together. 
 They were during several years employed in Wales and 
 the neighbouring counties ; but we will pass that by at 
 present, as it will be more convenient to allude to it 
 later on. 
 
 In 1836 they went into Devonshire together, 'to try 
 to understand the complicated geology of that county;' 
 and during the two following years frequent visits were 
 made to that part. 
 
 The result of the first excursion was communicated 
 to the Geological Society in a paper by Murchison. 
 
276 Professor Sedgwick. 
 
 Sedgwick was unable to assist in the preparation of 
 this memoir ; but it was sent to him by the society for 
 inspection. His criticism on it, addressed to Murchison, 
 is characteristic of the vigour displayed in many of his 
 Avritings. He says that he has reported favourably to 
 the society on the paper, and has said that it ought to 
 be printed. 'But,' he adds, 'was ever such a blotted, 
 patched, botched, scratched, blurred, bothered thing 
 sent to an arbitrator ! With a prospectus, too, of 
 certain plates affixed like a tin case to its tail, I sup- 
 pose to make it go. It made me mutter bad words 
 through my teeth many times over before I got to the 
 end of it. Perhaps I did not swear outright ; but you 
 have no right to tempt me.' In 1839 a paper, the joint 
 product of Sedgwick and Murchison, was communi- 
 cated to the Geological Society, containing their final 
 views on the classification of these Devonshire rocks. 
 It was proposed that the term Devonian should be 
 applied to all the rocks lying between the silurian and 
 carboniferous systems. And, though some opposition 
 was offered to the new nomenclature, it was not long 
 before it was adopted ; and the Devonian system took 
 its distinct place in the Hst of stratified formations, not 
 only in our own country, but throughout the Continent 
 and in America as well. 
 
 We come now to their labours in Wales. For some 
 time past Sedgwick had been engaged in and about 
 the Principality. As early as 1831 he had commenced 
 his labours there in company with Mr. Charles Darwin, 
 Murchison had likcAvise been employing his time in the 
 
Professor Sedgwick. 277 
 
 same neiglibourhood, bnt in examining different forma- 
 tions. In the summer of 1834 they met to arrange an 
 amicable adjustment of their boundaries, and in a letter 
 to Dr. Whewell at Cambridge, Murchison reported the 
 result of the conference as follows : ' We have actually 
 made our formations embrace each other in a manner 
 so true, and therefore so affectionate, that the evidence 
 thereof would even melt the heart, if it did not con- 
 vince the severe judgment, of some Cantab mathe- 
 maticos of my acquaintance.' Sedgwick does not seem 
 to have fully shared in this satisfaction, and in course 
 of time the real disagreement manifested itself. 
 
 Sedgwick had applied to his rocks the name of the 
 Cambrian system, and Murchison had distinguished his 
 as the Silurian, on account of the best types occurring 
 in the region which had formerly been the country of 
 the Silures. Each had supposed that the two systems 
 were separated by some unmistakable boundaries, and 
 each natui'ally felt a sort of personal property right in 
 his own discovery. When the time for classification 
 came, however, it was found that a serious disagree- 
 ment existed, Murchison claiming as part of the 
 Silurian system some extensive formations which 
 Sedgwick had reckoned in his Cambrian system. For 
 a time their strong friendship survived this difference ; 
 but at last it had to succumb. The two friends be- 
 came rivals, their familiar intercourse grew less and 
 less, and after the year 1859 it entirely ceased. It 
 was on this account that Sedgwick withdrew from the 
 Geological Society in 1861. 
 
278 Professor Sedgwick. 
 
 It would be impossible within the limits of this 
 sketch to enter into the merits of the controversy 
 which this disagreement caused. Each party has been 
 heard in full, and nothing of importance can now be 
 added. Professor Geikie, in his admirable life of 
 Murchison, has warmly espoused the Silurian side of 
 the controversy, and elaborately defended the course 
 taken by his friend. On the other hand. Professor 
 Sterry Hunt, in his Chemical and Geological Essays, 
 has gone with thoroughness over the whole ground of 
 the dispute, and his verdict is on the side of the Wood- 
 wardian Professor. In the preface to the Catalogue of 
 Cambrian and Silurian Fossils, written by Sedgwick 
 only a few months before his death — when ' tottering 
 under the infirmities of old age ' — the venerable geolo- 
 gist expressed his gratitude to Dr. Sterry Hunt for his 
 ' bold and honest vindication.' Here we leave the dis- 
 pute. To apportion the blame — if blame there be — 
 is no part of our duty ; nor woiild it serve any useful 
 purpose. We will leave it with the simple hope that 
 when a permanent nomenclature shall have been 
 adopted, and the whole controversy is forgotten, the 
 great services and good qualities of both disputants 
 may continue to serve the cause of science, and live in 
 the affectionate remembrance of the posterity for whom 
 they worked. 
 
 We have already seen that Sedgwick had an early 
 appreciation of natural beauty, and had learned, 
 
 ' In oft-recurring hours of sober thought, 
 To look on Nature with a humble heart.' 
 
Professor Sedgwick. 279 
 
 This similarity of feeling between himself and the poet 
 of Grasmere and Rydal Mount had brought the two 
 men into intimate communion. A brief extract from 
 some remarks of Sedgwick, when Wordsworth's Pre- 
 lude was published, will show how greatly he valued 
 his teaching. 'Who,' he says, ' has spread before the 
 wondering senses more glorious imagery, more true 
 touches of Nature's painting, or loftier strains of poetic 
 inspiration ? He taught us a holier faith in Nature, 
 and how to seek a better communion with her. He 
 worked out, and not without many a hard-fought 
 battle, and a long struggle against an adverse stream, 
 a great revolution in the taste and poetical feeling of 
 his countrymen ; and he has opened a vast storehouse 
 of enduring happiness to those who will take him for 
 their guide and Avill listen to his song.' 
 
 But it is geology that we have to speak of here, 
 and not poetry. Frequently as the two friends walked 
 and talked together, the poet had urged Sedgwick to 
 write him some letters on the geology of the Lake Dis- 
 trict, and Sedgwick had said that he would one day 
 take the matter in hand. In 1842 he wrote three long 
 letters, which were published in Wordsworth'' s Guide to 
 the English Lakes. 
 
 The introductory part of the first one has a general 
 interest, as containing his views on the claim of geology 
 to be regarded as a useful science, and also as express- 
 ing his opinion on the ultimate object of all knowledge 
 of the order of the physical world. ' One of your great- 
 
28o Professor Sedgwick. 
 
 est works,' he says, ' seems to contain a poetic ban 
 against my brethren of the hammer, and some of them 
 may have well deserved yom- censm-es; for eveiy 
 science has its minute philosophers, who neither have 
 the will to soar above the material things around them, 
 nor the power of rising to the contemplation of those 
 laws by which Nature binds into union the different 
 portions of her kingdom. But Geology has now a 
 different form and stature from what she had in earlier 
 days : she is the handmaid of labourers who are toil- 
 ing, as they believe, for the good of their fellow-men. 
 She claims kindred with all the offspring of exact 
 knowledge ; and she lends no vulgar help to the 
 loftiest investigations of human thought. To reject 
 her altogether can only be done consistently by one 
 who shuts his eyes to the light of material science ; 
 and this, I know, is no part of your philosophy ; for 
 no one has put forth nobler views of the universality 
 of Nature's kingdom than yourself. You wish not her 
 provinces to be dissevered, but each of them to con- 
 tribute to the good of the whole state. You believe, 
 however, and I subscribe to the same creed, that 
 material science is only so far truly good as it tends 
 to elevate the mind of man ; giving him a higher con- 
 ception of his capacities and duties, and a better power 
 in following them to their proper end.' 
 
 It would be impossible by extracts to give a just 
 idea of the value of these letters as geological guides 
 to the Westmoreland district. They are written in a 
 
Professor Sedgwick. 281 
 
 way which is intelHgible to the general reader as well 
 as to professed geologists, and will always be consulted 
 with interest by visitors to the English Lakes. 
 
 To emmierate all Sedgwick's published papers and 
 memoirs on geological subjects would be tedious. A 
 list of them is given in Agassiz's Bihliographia Zoolo- 
 gice et Geologice, and was reprinted in the Geological 
 Magazine for 3870. Ten of them lie produced in 
 conjunction with Sir Roderick Murchison, and there 
 are more than thirty at which he worked without 
 assistance. The most complete of his distinctly geolo- 
 gical writings was A Synopsis of the Classi/ication of the 
 British Palceozoic Bocks, in which he expressed his 
 matured views, and gave his final decision on the 
 classification and nomenclature of the older palaeozoic 
 formations. 
 
 But it was not in this way only that he served the 
 cause of science. Besides his own direct work he was 
 the indirect cause of geological research in all parts of 
 the kingdom. For more than fifty years he occupied 
 the professor's chair at Cambridge ; and there was 
 none among those who had listened to his teaching 
 but was proud to call him master. 
 
 As a lecturer and public speaker he was a universal 
 favourite ; lucid in explanation, ever brilliant and 
 cheerful, yet solemn and impressive where the claims 
 of duty had to be urged. He was always ready to 
 relieve the monotony of any dull scientific meeting 
 with a joke or some playful allusion. At the British 
 Association in 1855, when he rose to reply to some 
 
282 Professor Sedgwick. 
 
 remarks of Murchison's, it was noticed that he began 
 by slowly divesting himself of a thick heavy great- 
 coat. The assembled savants smiled at this deliberate 
 preparation. Sedgwick instantly noticed the merri- 
 ment he had caused, and replied in his happiest way, 
 ' 0, I'm not going to fight him ;' and the smile gave 
 place to a burst of hearty laughter and applause. 
 Even age seemed unable to quench the humour which 
 sparkled and glistened in every utterance. 
 
 He was very fond of telling an anecdote to his 
 class, which was something to this effect : He was 
 one day invited to the house of a friend in a part of the 
 country which promised some good geological amuse- 
 ment. He arrived rather late in the evening, and, being 
 wearied with work and travel, retired to rest without 
 making the acquaintance of the other guests. The 
 following morning he was up early, and, hammer in 
 hand, started out to explore the country. A few miles 
 distant from the house he found a delightful quarry, 
 and in high spirits set to work to dislodge some 
 choice specimens. The sun was shining brightly, when 
 a lady passing by saw him at his labour. She thought 
 it must be very wearisome to have to work so hard 
 in such a hot sun, and she stood for a few moments 
 watching him. It should be mentioned that Sedgwick 
 was always very negligent about his personal appear- 
 ance ; the hlack coat he used to wear has been described 
 as one of the greenest of its class. The lady who watched 
 him so compassionately not unnaturally mistook him 
 for an ordinary roadside labourer, and addressing him 
 
Professor Sedgwick. 283 
 
 with a kindly ' Well, my man !' inqmred something 
 about the work he was doing. The mistake suited the 
 genial professor admirably, and he tried to encourage 
 it. The lady remained for some time in conversation, 
 and then placing a shilling in his hand, to compensate 
 for the loss of time she had caused him, went her way. 
 Her general impression was that he was a very hard- 
 working man, and, in point of intelligence, rather above 
 the ordinary run of navvies. 
 
 Sedgwick returned to the house with great glee, 
 both pleased with his morning's Avork, and anxious 
 to amuse his friends with the story of his adventiu-e. 
 When he got back, he felt that the joke was really 
 complete ; for there, among the giiests, was the very 
 lady who had taken so deep an interest in him a few 
 hours before. She sat by his side at dinner that day, 
 and it is easier to imagine than to tell what her feelings 
 were hke as the professor related the incident of the 
 morning in his peculiarly happy way. 
 
 Sedgwick was great at anecdotes. He delighted 
 to tell them, and few could do so better. His pupils 
 went to his lectures expecting to be amused as a matter 
 of course. Yet it would be wrong to say that humour 
 was the leading characteristic of his style. That which 
 gave him his A^ast influence was his sublime earnest- 
 ness. His voice was like that of some prophet from 
 God sent to pour forth words of fierce indignation 
 against every form of sin or meanness. None could 
 listen to his vigorous tones and not feel nerved to 
 nobler loftier aims. 
 
2 84 Professor Sedgwick. 
 
 But there is another service for which science has 
 to thank him. A few months before his death he said : 
 'There were three prominent hopes which possessed 
 my heart in the earhest years of my professorship. 
 First, that I might be enabled to bring together a col- 
 lection worthy of the University, and illustrative of all 
 the departments of science it was my duty to study 
 and to teach. Secondly, that a geological museum 
 might be built by the University, amply capable of 
 containing its future collections ; and lastly, that I 
 might bring together a class of students who would 
 listen to my teaching, support me by their sympathy, 
 and help me by the labour of their hands. It now 
 makes me happy to say that all these hopes have for 
 many years been amply realised.' 
 
 It will be seen from this that one of his ' prominent 
 hopes' was that he might establish a good geological 
 museum ; and the zeal with which he worked at this 
 purpose entitles him to the lasting gratitude of his 
 University. When he was appointed to the chair of 
 geology in 1818, Cambridge could only boast a very 
 small geological collection, consisting principally of the 
 cabinet of Dr. Woodward, the founder of the professor- 
 ship. Sedgwick set himself diligently to work to ren- 
 der this collection worthy of the University. Through- 
 out his long life he allowed no opportunity to escape 
 him of enriching it. He has himself contributed to it 
 a series of many thousand rock specimens, chiefly 
 British, and a still more valuable series of organic 
 remains. It is due to his untiring zeal and ungrudging 
 
Professor Sedgwick. 285 
 
 liberality that Cambridge can now boast one of the finest 
 collections of well-arranged rocks and fossils in the world. 
 
 The museum was always his delight. So great 
 was his pleasure on first seeing any really good addi- 
 tion that he would rub his hands, and exclaim with the 
 greatest joy: 'Isn't this capital f Is it not splendid f 
 Mr. Keeping, who has long had charge of this valuable 
 collection, and whom Sedgwick used to speak of as his 
 right-hand man, says that if the professor was a little 
 poorly, the sight of some fine fossils would cheer him 
 up and make him quite forget his illness. His delight 
 in the increasing wealth of the museum would banish 
 every thought of his own malady. Often, as he went 
 away, he would remark how much better he felt for 
 his visit. 
 
 On the 21st of February 1851 the Wollaston medal 
 was presented to him by Sir Charles Lyell, the Presi- 
 dent of the Geological Society. Only those who knew 
 the professor's health and disposition could fairly appre- 
 ciate the labours which gained him this reward ; for 
 there were times when he felt totally unable to con- 
 tinue his work. Not only had he to endure many real 
 ailments, but imaginary ones would trouble him as 
 well. He had a constitutional tendency to hypochon- 
 dria, and would occasionally be greatly depressed in 
 spirits. Then, too, he used to take a great deal of 
 exercise on horseback, and more than once he came to 
 grief through this amusement. Just about the time 
 that he received the Wollaston medal he had a bad fall, 
 and fractured his right arm. 
 
286 Professor Sedgwick. 
 
 But if we want a graphic picture of liis illnesses, 
 we must look at a letter Avhich he wrote to Murchison 
 in the very year that this accident occurred. It is 
 dated from the Canonry, Norwich; for it should be 
 mentioned that he was made a canon of Norwich Cathe- 
 dral in 1834. He says : ' I have had a miserable residence. 
 The influenza never quite left its hold upon me, and 
 the cold cathedral confirmed its grasp. I did my best 
 to barricade my lungs from the cold air. Ever since 
 I came into residence I have gone to my stall with a 
 black-velvet cap arching over from the occiput to the 
 OS frontis, and a tremendous black respirator over my 
 jaws and muzzle. So that I look like a true angelic 
 church-militant going to war, with a black helmet and 
 a visor so far uplifted as just to show a running snout 
 and a big pair of blear eyes. My cold is better, though 
 my lungs are still impatient of cold air. 
 
 'But as the cold went out the gout came in. So, to 
 complete my costume, I now wear a tremendous pair of 
 black snow-boots over my shoes and ankles. Such is 
 my daily costume at the altar-table, where I sit and 
 stand in state ; and such a sight w\as never before seen 
 at Norwich. So much for the outer man. 
 
 ' My spirits are all gone, my memory is shattered, 
 and my temper is turned to distemper. All the bad 
 parts of the old Adam are vigorously thriving, and 
 whatever good there may once have been in him is all 
 gone, without leaving so much as a caput mortuwn. But 
 all things have their end, and so must tliis true history. 
 
ProfessoT" Sedgwick. 287 
 
 I bless my stars that I have still the power of grumblmg. 
 Everythuig is out of order.' 
 
 A more grotesque account of a man's complaints 
 could scarcely be written. But though he would write 
 and feel thus when ill, no man was more active and 
 vigorous than he when his health was good. 
 
 But there is another view we must take of Sedg- 
 wick's life besides the purely scientific one. We must 
 regard him in the loftiest and noblest sense as a man of 
 grand unconquerable faith. Throughout his long career 
 he clung with firm tenacity to the Avhole of God's reve- 
 lation to men. The fashionable scepticism wliich thrives 
 on superficial science never had any charm for his 
 vigorous understanding. Nor, on the other hand, was 
 he troubled "with a miserable dread that the progress of 
 physical science would prove inimical to revealed truth 
 Nature and Revelation had one voice to him. Men, 
 through the darkness of their minds, might be unable 
 for a time to rightly interpret either utterance ; but the 
 God of Truth spoke through both, and His records 
 could not be at variance. 
 
 His faith was of a courageous order. When first he 
 entered upon his work geology had many enemies to 
 encounter. The speculative character of its early days 
 still clung to it, and made many shun it who were 
 otherwise well disposed to physical science ; while it 
 must be owned that it had other enemies as well, who 
 regarded physical science in general, and geology in 
 particular, with far less favour. But Sedgwick entered 
 boldly upon his task. Though a timorous theology 
 
2 88 Professor Sedgwick. 
 
 held aloof, and sometimes even frowned, lie did not 
 hesitate, but sprang foi'ward with fearless confidence 
 into the front rank of inquiry. He left no stone un- 
 turned or depth unexplored where light and knowledge 
 could be gained. For ages darkness had enveloped the 
 earth's history, and the secret of Nature's workings had 
 been concealed from view. It required a faith like his 
 to chspel this gloom, and to welcome God's light in each 
 new truth. In this faith he laboured; and never 
 through all the years of his long life did he lose the 
 conviction that in pursuing his bold research he was 
 doing a duty sacred in God's sight. 
 
 He was able, as few have been, to recognise the 
 attitude in which science and theology should stand 
 towards each other. Many attempts have been made 
 to settle their respective boundaries. In Sedgwick's 
 life they were completely reconciled. He agreed with 
 the forcible language of Bacon : 'As for the conceit that 
 too much knowledge should incline a man to atheism, 
 and that ignorance of second causes should make a 
 more devout dependence upon God, which is the first 
 cause, it is good to ask the question which Job asked 
 of his friends : " Will you lie for God, as one man -will 
 do for another to gratify him T ' But while thus con- 
 tending that it was man's highest duty to gain all 
 attainable knowledge, he recognised, with a profound 
 reverence, the limit of human capacity. Never did he 
 write or speak with greater vigour than when he thought 
 that the domain of theology was unfairly invaded by 
 science. His bitterest scorn was reserved for those 
 
Professor Sedgwick. 289 
 
 scientific theorists who build elaborate systems by 
 making hypotheses do the work of ascertained fticts. 
 
 In the theological and scientific world much commo- 
 tion has been caused of late by the advocacy of what is 
 known as the evolution theory. Men of great scientific 
 attainments have been found supporting and opposing 
 it ; even theologians have not been unanimous in their 
 judgment. It would be quite beyond the scope of this 
 book to enter into any independent examination of the 
 theory. But the opinions of so competent a judge as 
 Professor Sedgwick must have great weight in every 
 impartial mind ; and we have no difficulty in discovering 
 what those opinions were. 
 
 In 1844 the anonymoiis work entitled Vestiges of the 
 Natural History of Creation first made its appearance. 
 Many criticisms of an adverse nature welcomed it, pro- 
 minent among which was a very elaborate and vigorous 
 article in the Edinburgh Review. Rumour at once 
 attributed this to the energetic Sedgwick, and rumour 
 Avas correct. The theory of the author of the Vestiges 
 Avas in the main similar to that which is now associated 
 with the name of one of Sedgwick's earliest friends, 
 Mr. Charles Darwin. It suggests, to use the author's 
 own words, 'the doctrine of progressive development 
 as a hypothetic history of organic creation.' 
 
 Sedgwick was entirely opposed to this ' hypothetic 
 history,' and stoutly contended that the whole course 
 of Nature negatived the supposition of specific transmu- 
 tations as well as that of spontaneous generation. 'We 
 venture to affirm,' he said, ' that up to this time the 
 
 U 
 
■290 Professor Sedgwick. 
 
 theory of development is an idle dream, without one 
 fact to rest upon ; that no organic structure has been 
 created by natural means ; and that no one species, 
 by lapse of ages or by artifices of breeding and nursing, 
 has passed into another.' One after another the author's 
 arguments are mercilessly dissected by the reviewer, 
 close reasoning, vigorous denunciation, and playful 
 sarcasm being artistically intermingled. The conclu- 
 sion of the whole matter is summed up in the following 
 words : ' Our author's work is not merely shallow and 
 superficial, but utterly false throughout to all the prin- 
 ciples of sound philosophy. Of all the books we ever 
 read it puts before us the largest congeries of positive 
 misstatements and positively false conclusions. But it 
 is pleasantly written, it is systematic, and it has been 
 prepared for the press with no common care ; so that 
 its errors are not the mere errors of inadvertency ; and 
 its language (with one or two gross exceptions, which 
 we have pointed out) is so reverent, and so like the 
 solemnity of truth, that we are compelled (almost 
 against our senses) to believe that the author is actually 
 labouring under some strange delusion, whereby he 
 cheats himself, while he is doing his best to cheat others, 
 by turning upside down every rule of sound induction, 
 and by affirming again and again, and in every solemn 
 form of language, that which is at direct variance 
 with the plainest acknowledged facts of Nature.' 
 
 These conclusions were held by Professor Sedgwick 
 to the end of his life, and are therefore entitled to great 
 authority as the settled convictions of one exceptionally 
 
Professor Sedgwick. 291 
 
 qualified to judge. In every question of this kind, the 
 great majority of people are necessarily unable to in- 
 vestigate for themselves, and must therefore rely largely 
 upon the judgment of others. The only necessary con- 
 ditions of this reliance are, that the person upon whose 
 authority we depend shall be scientifically competent 
 to arrive at a sound conclusion, and honest enough to 
 express his real conviction. That these conditions are 
 fulfilled when we accept Sedgwick's guidance will 
 scarcely be disputed by any. Few have possessed a 
 more extensive knowledge of physical science, and none 
 has clung more tenaciously to the creed that ' there can 
 be no religion but truth, and no heresy but Msehood.' 
 
 There is another published work of Sedgwick's, 
 which, though not confined to his own particular branch 
 of science, will continue to be remembered with him, 
 and deserves more than a passing notice here. It is 
 entitled A Discourse on the Studies of tlie University of 
 Cambridge, and originally consisted of a single ser- 
 mon delivered in the chapel of Trinity College. But 
 when the fifth edition made its appearance, an enormous 
 preface and numerous appendices had converted it into 
 a vokrnie of nearly 800 pages. The original discourse 
 is to be found somewhere about the middle of the book, 
 and looks, as the Professor said, 'like a grain of wheat 
 between two millstones.' Upon another occasion he 
 compared the whole volume to a wasp, ' large in front 
 and large behind, Wth a very fashionable waist.' 
 
 In this volume he renewed his attack on the Vestiges 
 of the Natural History of Creation. Its author had re- 
 
292 Professor Sedgwick. 
 
 plied to the Edinhurgh Review article in a book of 
 Explanations; but in the preface to the Cambridge 
 discourse Sedgwick again reviewed the whole question, 
 reiterating his previous conclusion in the strongest way. 
 'Have we,' says he, 'any proof of specific transmuta- 
 tions in the living world ? We have not, as far as I 
 understand the question, so much as the shadow of any 
 proof of them. The constancy of organic forms — like 
 species producing like according to a fixed law of 
 generation — is the obvious and certain fact. These 
 laws are to the organic world what the laws of elective 
 affinity are to chemical combinations. Varieties there 
 are — the limits of species are not well known — the 
 riches of Nature are so great that, in the almost bound- 
 less varieties of animal forms created on a common 
 plan, one species often comes close upon another. As 
 an inevitable consequence, naturalists have made many 
 blunders ; and their vanity may sometimes have led 
 them to give new specific names where the new names 
 were not called for. But the mistakes of naturalists 
 alter not the laws of Nature. Art has been pushed to 
 the utmost in modifying the natural forms of organic 
 life ; but not so much as one true specific change has 
 been ever wrought about, so as to raise the progeny of 
 any known animal to a higher grade on the organic 
 scale. These are the broad conclusions we arrive at 
 from all the facts and analogies offered to our senses.' 
 
 In his own mind, guided by his vast experience, he 
 had no doubt whatever that the theory of progressive 
 development was an unsubstantial fabric, requiring a 
 
Professor Sedgwick. 293 
 
 strong imagination for its genesis, and credulity for its 
 acceptance. He leaves it with the final reflection that, 
 ' to be an intrepid vindicator of rash hypotheses, a man 
 must be first endowed by Nature with an ample 
 capacity for belief.' 
 
 We need not speak at any length of the other 
 subjects treated of in this discourse. They are largely 
 of a theological nature, dealing with Paley's Evidences, 
 the Horce. Paulina', and Butler's Analogy, and the funda- 
 mental truths of Christianity are defended alike against 
 the sceptical system of Hume and the mythical treat- 
 ment of Strauss. There is also a critical examination 
 of some of the teaching of Locke and Paley on subjects 
 of moral philosophy. The influence of Paley has 
 always been great at Cambridge, and Sedgwick wished 
 it to continue so ; but he could not accord to his teach- 
 ing an unreserved support. The essentially utilitarian 
 basis of his philosophy was an element which he felt 
 himself bound to strongly protest against. 
 
 Towards the end of his life he was compelled to 
 
 relinquish the active duties of his professorship, though 
 
 he continued to hold the office till the day of his death. 
 
 In the preface to the Catalogue of Cambrian and Silurian 
 
 Fossils he wrote a solemn farewell to his friends and 
 
 pupils. He had reached his eighty-eighth year, and 
 
 felt that his course was finished. A few months later 
 
 the strife and toil of life were over. His soul had 
 
 passed 
 
 ' To where beyond these voices there is peace.' 
 
 He died on Monday the 27th of January 1873, and 
 
294 Professor Sedgwick. 
 
 on Saturday the 1st of February was buried in the 
 chapel of Trinity College. The close of his life, like 
 its whole course, was peaceful and calm. Even the 
 last prayer v/hich trembled on his lips, ' Sanctify me by 
 Thy Holy Spirit,' was beautifully in harmony with all 
 that had gone before. 
 
 So recently has he been taken, that his memory is 
 still fresh ; those who knew him have not had time to 
 forget the excellences of his character. The very 
 mention of his name awakens a crowd of recollections 
 — his noble independence, mingled with the most gra- 
 cious courtesy ; his lofty admiration of whatever was 
 unworldly, generous, and just ; his simple, childlike, yet 
 manly and understanding faith ; his ardent enthusiasm 
 in the pursuit of trrxtli. How vividly these thoughts 
 present themselves to the mind as we try to realise 
 the fact that he no longer lives among us ! 
 
 To those who enjoyed the privilege of personal 
 acquaintance there are recollections yet more sweet. 
 They think of the charm of his society, the depth and 
 intensity of his friendship ; how a few minutes in his 
 company have proved suf&cient to cheer and elevate 
 their thoughts ; how in times of trouble his sympathy 
 has flowed out spontaneously and without restraint. 
 Quite recently the writer has had an opportunity of 
 perusing some of Sedgwick's letters, addressed to a 
 friend who was sorrowing under a painful bereavement. 
 How humbly they urge devout submission beneath the 
 mighty hand of God ! How feelingly they speak of the 
 chastenings of divine mercy ! With what conJSdent 
 
Professor Sedgwick. 295 
 
 faith they tell of the comfort which even affliction 
 brings to the Christian heart when it is sanctified by 
 God's Spirit ! These letters are gems of their kind. 
 No Avonder their possessor esteems them of incal- 
 culable value ; for they speak the full heart of Sedg- 
 wick — that kindly loving heart. It is only in such 
 memorials as these that we can fairly discern the 
 man's intrinsic worth and nobleness. He was great 
 and good, wise and simple ; a rare combination] of 
 the highest qualities found expression in his life ; and 
 to those who knew him, his memory is a powerful in- 
 centive in the pursuit of all that is just and pure and 
 lovely and of good report. 
 
THE SUEGEON: 
 
 SIR CHARLES BELL. 
 
' The purest treasure mortal times afford 
 Is spotless reputation ; that away, 
 Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.' 
 
 Shake srEAEE. 
 
1 n 
 
 THE SURGEON: 
 SIR CHARLES BELL. 
 
 Some tliirty-five years have passed away since Sir 
 Charles Bell went to his long home, leaving behind 
 him an illustrious and unsullied name, and bequeathing 
 to the generations to come the rich legacy of a bright 
 example. He died, as most great men have, only par- 
 tially understood and faintly appreciated. Indeed, it 
 seems to be an established law in the moral govern- 
 ment of this world that those who benefit mankind the 
 most shall not receive its applause for their wages. 
 Elsewhere and in other coin shall they be paid; but 
 not here and in this way may they expect recompense, 
 or their lives, which should be sweet, will be soured 
 by disappointment. Nor need we wonder at this. 
 It would be strange were it otherwise. A really great 
 man is generally in advance of the times in which he 
 lives, and many generations must patiently toil to ob- 
 tain the eminence which he reaches at one bound. 
 
300 Sir Charles Bell. 
 
 Meanwhile be is alone, misunderstood, and often 
 abused. Some perbaps may gaze up reverently to the 
 height where he stands, and ' darkly feel him great and 
 wise ;' but not many will discern as much as this. 
 Harvey used to say that his discovery of the circulation 
 of the blood cost him his practice, and gained him 
 the reputation of a madman. The martyrs of science 
 are a numerous company. There is a truth in the 
 poet's lament : 
 
 ' He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find 
 
 The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow ; 
 
 He who surpasses or subdues mankind 
 
 Must look down on the hate of those below. 
 
 Though high above the sun of glory glow, 
 
 And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, 
 
 Eound him are icy rocks, and loudly blow 
 Contending tempests on his naked head, 
 And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.' 
 
 Kepler was right. ' How can I hope,' said he, ' in my 
 own century to be comprehended, when God has in 
 fifty found but one man to comprehend Him"?' And so 
 it must ever be. The great thinker will do his work 
 and pass away, treated with indifference or contumely 
 by those for whom he has laboured. To remedy 
 this wrong is the privilege of those who come after. 
 
 Sir Charles Bell was one whose true worth was not 
 recognised in life. Yet what a character was his ! 
 As a practical surgeon, as an author, as one of the 
 greatest of modern discoverers, he occupies a position 
 almost unrivalled in the annals of medical biography ; 
 while his lofty integrity, the gentleness and sweet sim- 
 
Sir Charles Bell. 301 
 
 plicity of his domestic life, and the calm piety ■which 
 entered into and animated it all add an additional 
 beauty and charm to the story of his professional and 
 scientific eminence. 
 
 He was the most remarkable member of a very re- 
 markable family. His father, the Rev. William Bell, 
 was a clergyman of the Scottish Episcopal Church. 
 He preached the Gospel, and lived by it, realising the 
 handsome income of twenty-five jwunds per annum ! He 
 died in 1779, leaving a wife and six children very 
 slenderly provided for. Charles was born at Edinburgh 
 in November 1774, and was therefore only five years 
 old when his mother found herself a widow. Mrs. Bell, 
 who was a woman of great intelligence and piety, 
 exercised a powerful influence over all her sons ; but 
 none felt it more than Charles, or retained a more 
 grateful memory of it. 'For twenty years of my life,' 
 he once wrote, ' I had but one wish — to gratify my 
 mother and to do something to alleviate what I saw 
 her suffer.' 
 
 The resources of the family were so scanty that one 
 son had to be withdrawn from school during the life of 
 the Rev. William Bell. His death was, of course, the 
 cause of still greater embarrassment; and as Charles 
 Avas the youngest son, his education was necessarily 
 stinted. He attended for two years at the High School 
 of Edinburgh ; but the time was spent unhappily, and 
 added very little to his knowledge. A biography of 
 him was published in 'PeiiigxeWB Medical Portrait Gallery 
 in 1839, and Sir Charles adorned a copy of it with some 
 
302 Sir Charles Bell. 
 
 private notes of his own. Opposite to the statement 
 that 'he was educated at the High School of Edinburgh' 
 he wrote, ' Nonsense ! I received no education but 
 from my mother ; neither reading, writing, ciphering, 
 nor anything else.' That which was called his ' educa- 
 tion at the High School,' he says, was ' torture and 
 humiliation.' He had an instinctive aversion to dry 
 grammatical studies, and it was long before he could 
 overcome this dislike. 
 
 He therefore traced all that was useful in his educa- 
 tion to his mother's influence, and the example of his 
 brothers. We have said that the family was a remark- 
 able one : all the sons became distinguished men. The 
 one next to Charles in age was George Joseph, who 
 early devoted his attention to the study of law. He 
 was the author of a very famous legal work, which was 
 originally called A Treatise on the Laio of Bankruptcy in 
 Scotland, but which, in course of time, developed into a 
 comprehensive commentary on mercantile law. This 
 has long been recognised as a work of the highest 
 excellence. Lord Cockburn says that it settles eighty 
 out of every hundred mercantile cases in Scotland, and 
 has done more for the fame of Scotland in law than all 
 the other Scottish law-books put together. He calls it 
 the greatest book since Lord Stair's Institutes. It still 
 guides the judicial deliberations of his own country, and 
 has had its merits acknowledged by such eminent 
 jurists as Story and Kent. It was quoted in the 
 American case before the Geneva Court of Arbitration. 
 This brother v^-as Charles's most intimate friend. From 
 
Sir Charles Bell. 303 
 
 earliest boyhood they had been constant companions, 
 and as years gave strength to their characters, their 
 fraternal love grew deeper. The letters which Charles 
 wrote to this brother, when separated from him in after- 
 life, show how tender was the affection which subsisted 
 between them. He declared that he valued success 
 chiefly because 'it gave happiness to the best of 
 brothers.' There seems to be a touch of romance in 
 such devotion. 
 
 The next brother in seniority was John, whose fame 
 as a surgeon was fully established before Charles en- 
 tered the profession. The apostolic precept about 
 living peaceably with all men was the point where 
 John Bell and St, Paul differed; and when Charles 
 commenced his surgical labours under his brother's 
 guidance, he quickly found himself in 'a vortex of medi- 
 cal polemics.' John Bell was a diminutive man, viva- 
 cious, and yet not too fond of work. As an operator he 
 had scarcely a rival, and his reputation was not confined 
 to either Scotland or England. But he had one weakness 
 ^a terrible love for controversy; and with many of his 
 professional brethren he lived in a state of perpetual 
 warfare. He was, however, a shrewd discerning man, 
 and recognised the genius of his younger brother. 
 
 Although it was unfortunate for Charles to be mixed 
 up with professional quarrels at the commencement of 
 his career, it must still in justice be said that he pro- 
 fited very much by being associated with his brother. 
 In 1798 he became a member of the College of Surgeons. 
 Edinburgh was at this time the home of a group of 
 
304 Sir Chmdcs Bell. 
 
 illustrious men — Brougham, Horner, Jeffrey, Mackin- 
 tosh, Sydney Smith, and others. With most of them 
 Charles Bell was intimately acquainted, and he con- 
 tinued to enjoy their friendship when he and they had 
 alike become more famous. He also had many oppor- 
 tunities of listening to the eloquent words of the philo- 
 sophic Dugald Stewart, whose fame was then at its 
 height. 
 
 As early as 1797 Charles and George Bell made up 
 their minds to add something useful to the literature of 
 their respective professions. Charles commenced his 
 System of Dissections, and George began the great legal 
 work which has made his name famous. This resolu- 
 tion to Avrite seems to mark an epoch in the lives of 
 the two brothers. Long after, an incident connected 
 with it was affectionately recalled to memory by 
 George, in relating a journey which lie and Charles 
 undertook to visit their sister. 'Charles,' he said, 'had 
 his manuscripts in a small roll at his back, I my 
 book for my notes on mercantile law ; and I remember 
 we stopped to rest ourselves, and drink at a stream at 
 the roadside, and amused ourselves with thinking how 
 pleasant it would be to remember this outset in life 
 when we were advanced somewhat higher.' Charles 
 had completed and published his System of Dissections 
 before 1801, and soon began to feel a desire to get 
 away from Edinburgh. The hostility which his pug- 
 nacious brother had excited was extended to him as 
 well. It had already compelled him to discontinue his 
 lectures, and greatly interfered with his practice. On 
 
Sir Charles Bell. 305 
 
 the whole, he thought it would be best to change the 
 scene of his labours. 
 
 George strongly urged him to go to London, to see 
 what the great city had to offer. He advised it re- 
 luctantly, for neither wished that the ' fair companion- 
 ship' should be broken. ' I felt,' says George, ' when he 
 went away, that he had left me never to meet again 
 but for a visit ; that our long brotherly life ofuninter- 
 iiipted companionship was at an end. Yet I believed 
 this to' be most manifestly for his advantage, and forced 
 my inclination to advise and promote it.' On the 23d 
 of November 1804 Charles took leave of friends and 
 home, and started to push his fortune in the south. 
 
 The young surgeon was not entirely tmknown in 
 London, although he could boast but few friends. The 
 fame of his book had gone before him, and the reputa- 
 tion of his family soon made him known to the leading 
 members of the profession. He had been but a short 
 time in the metropolis before he was on terms of fami- 
 liar intercourse with such men as Sir Joseph Banks, Sir 
 Astley Cooper, and Abernethy. The entries in his 
 notebook at this time are rather amusing. They record 
 his first impressions of the great men he met. Of Sir 
 Astley he quietly observes, ' He has nothing of that 
 tormenting anxiety for his patient which becomes the 
 burden of life to other men.' Of Abernethy he says, 
 ' He is spoiled by the unrepressed admiration of his 
 connections, and his pupils enjoy his jokes and his wine.' 
 Yet Abernethy was very kind to Bell, and was often 
 with him. 'Many a moonlight night,' the notebook 
 
 X 
 
3o6 Sir Charles Bell. 
 
 records, 'have we wandered over half London, when 
 Abernethy had no other intention than bidding me 
 good-night at his own door.' With such friends, and 
 the consciousness of his own powers to support him, 
 the young surgeon settled down to the duties of his 
 profession. 
 
 Yet it was not without many misgivings about his 
 prospect of success. From the first, he thought there 
 would be a prejudice against him on account of his 
 nationality, and this suspicion continued for some time 
 — perhaps not T\'ithout reason. ' They have a perfect 
 horror here,' he wrote to his brother, ' of the shrewdness 
 and perseverance of Scotchmen.' There is much, too, 
 in the vastness and dreariness of London to abate the 
 ardour of a young man, and to impress him vdth the 
 difficulties which his enterprise must encounter. It was 
 so with Bell when the first novelty of London life wore 
 off. The obstacles to success seemed so many that he 
 hesitated about encountering them. He even alludes 
 to the possibility of his returning to Edinburgh. But 
 the desire of giving pleasure to the ' best of brothers' 
 still urged him to success. 
 
 Some years later, when his practice was fairly estab- 
 lished, he recorded, in a letter to the future companion 
 of his life, the first feelings of sadness which London 
 awakened in him. ' I can still recollect,' he says, ' the 
 effect of the London cries dinning in my ears that I had 
 no longer a home. I can recollect the very odd sensa- 
 tion in passing through the crowded streets alone 
 among thousands — the bustle of a cofi"ee-house dinner 
 
Sir Charles Bell. 307 
 
 when I took my solitary meal. I had leism-e for con- 
 templation. I had time to riot in the misery of visiting 
 the Abbey and St. Paul's, and the pai'ks and gardens. 
 Then it was that a brother's love was the spring of life 
 — my warm feelings towards him corrected my cold 
 distrust of the world.' For some months Charles Bell 
 resided in Fludyer-street, hoping that he might obtain 
 the appointment of lecttu'er at one of the public medical 
 schools. Finding that no opportunity of this kind pre- 
 sented itself, he resolved to take a larger establishment, 
 and to receive pupils privately. He accordingly cast 
 his eyes about him for a suitable house, and found one 
 which he thought would suit in Leicester-street, Leices- 
 ter-square. 
 
 There was already a history attaching to this house. 
 It had been the residence of Speaker Onslow, and had 
 been used by the ' Invisible Girl.' Dr. Gibson, the 
 American physician, who had been a pupil of Bell's at 
 this school, tells some interesting stories about it. He 
 relates how Bell's servants left one after another almost 
 as soon as they came ; how his pupils dreaded sleeping 
 in single rooms, or anywhere close to the operating 
 theatre ; and how Bell himself, while tossing about one 
 night in bed, felt his foot seized by ' an ice-cold hand.' 
 The explanation of all this is that the house was sup- 
 posed to be haunted by a beautiful girl who had died 
 while engaged to be married, and whose body had been 
 dissected by some London surgeons. We will not 
 speculate about the authenticity of these American 
 stories ; but this, at least, is historically reliable, that 
 
3o8 Sir Charles Bell. 
 
 the first night Bell slept in the honse a part of the 
 flooring npon which he trod gave way, and beneath it 
 he found a tube which had been part of the ' Invisible 
 Girl's' machinery. This was the first intimation he 
 received of the suspicious character of his new abode, 
 and his sense of propriety was greatly shocked. As he 
 himself expressed it, ' A man brought up as I had been 
 in Scotland has certain notions of respectability which 
 are very strong and very peculiar. I don't know that 
 at any time I was more depressed than when I found 
 the sort of house I had got possession of.' Yet there he 
 was; he had taken the place, had started his classes, 
 and established his museum, and for better or worse 
 must remain there. 
 
 Before leaving Edinburgh he had been busily en- 
 gaged in the preparation of a work on the Anatomy of 
 Expression. He had some difficulty in obtaining a 
 publisher for it : several to whom it was shown refused 
 it. Yet there was none of his books in which he took 
 a greater interest. He laboured at it with delight, for 
 it was congenial to his taste. Few men could be so 
 well qualified to treat the subject well. From his 
 mother he inherited a natural genius for drawing, and 
 careful training had improved the gift. He was an 
 artist as well as an anatomist and surgeon, and could 
 use the pencil and the scalpel with equal ease. The 
 leading idea of the book is to give a reasonable ex- 
 planation of the muscular movements which usually 
 accompany the various emotions and passions, and to 
 show that the artist will fail in his purpose unless he 
 
Sir Charles Bell. 309 
 
 regards the expression with scientific accuracy ; for, as 
 he points out, it is essentially in expression that the 
 highest beauty exists. In various ways he illustrates 
 the necessity of exactness in art, and, by the aid 
 of his anatomical science, shows how precisely true 
 to Nature are the highest delineations of genius. Al- 
 though the audience addressed by such a work is 
 necessarily limited, fresh editions are regularly called 
 for. Mr. Darwin in his Expression of the Emotions makes 
 frequent allusions to his indebtedness to Bell. 
 
 By all competent judges it was acknowledged that 
 the Anatomy of Expression was the most valuable con- 
 tribution which anatomical science has ever made to 
 art. As a literary work its merit is very considerable. 
 It abounds with graceful and pleasing allusions which 
 give evidence of its author's numerous accomplishments 
 and his familiar acquaintance with poetic literature. He 
 had hoped that it would be held to give him a claim to 
 the anatomical chair in the Royal Academy, but his 
 wish was never realised. Upon three occasions the 
 vacancy occurred, and he waited the appointment with 
 eagerness : once he went to the length of canvassing 
 for support, and Abernethy, Avho was also a candidate, 
 withdrew in deference to his superior merit. But it 
 was of no avail : the coveted honour always eluded his 
 grasp. He had the satisfaction, however, of knowing 
 that the ablest men in his own profession recognised 
 his worth, and some of the most eminent painters 
 owned their indebtedness to him. Amongst these latter 
 the name of Sir David Wilkie at once occurs as one 
 
310 Sir Charles Bell. 
 
 who learnt much from him, and was always glad to 
 acknowledge how the great surgeon had influenced 
 his taste and expanded his knowledge. He reverenced 
 Bell as a teacher, and loved him as a friend. 
 
 Some have expressed regret that Bell did not devote 
 his attention to art as the main business of his life. 
 Certainly had he done so, there is abundant reason to 
 believe that he would have attained the highest rank 
 as a painter. But art would have been enriched at the 
 expense of physiological science, and the world could 
 scarcely be congratulated on such a bargain. 
 
 While at Edinburgh, Bell had as many as ninety 
 pupils; and he fully expected, when he took the cheap 
 rickety house in Leicester-street, that he would be able 
 to assemble a still larger class. Instead of this, he had 
 to be contented with three disciples for a commence- 
 ment, and many years had passed before this number 
 was increased to forty. Occasionally he expressed satis- 
 faction at the way in which the fees came in, mention- 
 ing, as a matter worthy of remark, how one day began 
 with a guinea and ended with a guinea. Yet his income 
 at this time was not more than a quarter of what has 
 been obtained by some provincial practitioners. But at 
 present it answered his modest requirements, and he was 
 satisfied. 
 
 In 1810 he was attacked by scarlatina, and was de- 
 lirious for several days. In writing to his brother, he 
 gave a description of his sensations during this anxious 
 period. The passage is interesting, both as showing 
 how careful and minute was his habit of observation, 
 
Sir Charles Bell. 311 
 
 and also as proving how much these wild wanderings 
 of the mind are influenced by our daily habits and asso- 
 ciations. At first he says the delirium was agreeable : 
 '■ A painter, with a look of self-gratulation, seemed to 
 place his piece on an easel; another, with an air of 
 superiority, displaced the first and substituted his own 
 style ; a third frowned and terrified the last, until, in 
 rapid succession, I saw the finest pieces of history, the 
 most romantic scenery — banditti, ruins, aqueducts. . . . 
 By and by the same process of fancy became less airy 
 and light in what it exhibited. I seemed to be among 
 legs and arms ; a dressing-gown, hanging in a corner^ 
 was a figure in a frowning or contemptuous attitude ; a 
 fold of the bed-clothes gave the idea of a limb, to which 
 I added what was necessary to the figure. Every ab- 
 surdity of my imagination I observed to have a distinct 
 origin in the impression on the sense. AVheu the light 
 was vivid, the candles and fire burning bright, the truth 
 of sensation corrected all aberrations. In total dark- 
 ness, too, I was free of false perception; but in the 
 obscm-e light of the rushlight on that gray canvas, that 
 seemed to be drawn across the vision by the shutting of 
 the eyelids, the reflex sensation perpetually exhibited 
 the most romantic scenes, or the richest ornaments, or 
 the gayest festoons of flowei'S.' 
 
 Having recovered from his illness, he paid a visit to 
 his brother George at Edinburgh. An important inte- 
 rest attaches to this trip, for it enabled him to renew 
 his acquaintance with Miss Marion Shaw, the sister of 
 George's wife. An engagement speedily followed, and 
 
3 1 2 Sir Charles Bell. 
 
 on the i3d of June 1811 they were married. The happy 
 couple went for their bridal tour to the English Lakes, 
 and afterwards visited Oxford. They then settled down 
 in Soho-square to a life of the most perfect domestic 
 felicity. 'I watch her ever,' he writes to his brother 
 soon after their arrival home, ' and the animated colour 
 of her cheek is sunshine to me.' The duty which now has 
 precedence of all others is 'to take care of this dear girl.' 
 
 Early in 1812 the proprietor of the Medical School 
 in Great Windmill-street offered it for sale to Charles 
 Bell for the sum often thousand pounds. The reputa- 
 tion of this school, previous to the formation of London 
 University and King's College, stood very high. It was 
 associated with the names of some of the most eminent 
 surgeons and anatomists, such as the Hunters and the 
 illustrious and genial Dr. Baillie. Bell would have 
 liked very much to have it ; but the price was too high, 
 and he declined. A short time after, it was offered him 
 again at a loAver figure ; this time he accepted it. His 
 delight was great. His wife says he was so excited that 
 he could not sleep, and awoke her by saying what a 
 noble museum he would make at Windmill-street. 
 
 On April 7, 1814, he was elected surgeon to the 
 Middlesex Hospital. This is the summit of a surgeon's 
 professional hopes ; but usually it is accompanied or 
 preceded by such a substantial increase in genera 
 practice that it is the sign of a very lucrative position. 
 In Bell's case, however, it was not so. Writing to his 
 brother, he says that everything goes well except the 
 money. His poverty, he declares, makes him 'sick 
 
Sir Charles Bell. 313 
 
 and heavy, and out of heart.' He parted with his 
 man-servant to reduce expenses, and woukl have done 
 the same with his horses and carriage had it not been 
 that they were professional necessities. His appoint- 
 ment at Middlesex Hospital, however, was of great 
 convenience to him. It furnished ready to his hand 
 the most important cases for operation, without his 
 having to seek for them, and in many ways assisted 
 him in the prosecution of his researches. But if he 
 reaped some benefit from his connection with the 
 hospital, it is equally true that the hospital increased 
 in importance to an incalculable extent by having 
 Bell for its surgeon. Crowds of students flocked to 
 hear his lectures and to Avitness his operations. The 
 reputation of his name, far more than any other cause, 
 raised the hospital to the position of eminence which 
 it afterwards occupied. 
 
 Bell took an especial delight in military surgery. 
 Many foreigners of distinction came to him, and from 
 the Emperors Alexander and Nicholas he received 
 valuable rings in recognition of the services he had 
 rendered to Russian generals. AVhen the remnants of 
 our army landed at Portsmouth after the disaster of 
 Corunna, Bell eagerly seized the opportunity for 
 maturing his knowledge of military surgery. He 
 hastened to Haslar Hospital to render what services 
 he could to the brave fellows, whose physical suffer- 
 ings were aggravated by the shame of defeat. His 
 sensitive nature — and it was an extremely sensitive 
 one — would not allow him to treat the spectacle of a 
 
314 Sir Charles Bell. 
 
 military hospital with anything like professional in- 
 difFerence. Writing to his brother, he says, ' I have 
 stooped over hundreds of wretches in the most strik- 
 ing variety of woe and misery, picking out the 
 wounded. Each day as I awake, still I see the long 
 line of sick and lame slowly moving from the beach: 
 it seems to have no end.' He declares that he hates 
 himself for allowing his feelings to be at all blunted 
 by repetition. Yet he preferred to labour in this 
 branch of surgery, because he felt that he could in 
 such a way render the most useful service to the cause 
 of humanity. 
 
 When the news arrived of the battle of Waterloo, 
 he determined to proseciite his studies on the battle- 
 field, and asked his brother-in-law, John Shaw, who 
 was assisting him in the hospital, to go with him. 
 ' Johnnie !' he exclaimed, as soon as he heard the 
 tidings, 'how can we let this passi Here is such an 
 occasion of seeing gun-shot wounds come to our very 
 door. Let us go !' The idea was at once approved of, 
 and on the 26th June the two friends started for Brus- 
 sels. They carried no passports except their surgical 
 instruments : these they shook in the faces of the offi- 
 cials, and got along without difficulty. Once on the 
 scene of the great battle, Bell found plenty to occupy 
 him. Writing to his friend Francis Horner, he tells 
 how for three successive days he took the knife in 
 hand at six o'clock in the morning, and worked inces- 
 santly till seven in the evening, till at last his arms 
 dropped powerless to continue the exertion. 
 
Sir Cha7'les Bell. 315 
 
 Amidst the variety of suffering which the field of 
 Waterioo presented to him, he wondered how he man- 
 aged to keep his mind calm. Only an imperative sense 
 of duty could have enabled him to do so. In ordinary 
 practice he suffered most acute mental agony before 
 undertaking any great operation, and the same reluc- 
 tance to inflict pain made him shrink from the frequent 
 resort to vivisection in his physiological researches. It 
 is surprising how one so sensitive could ever have 
 obtained his great reputation as an operator. His 
 wondrous dexterity in the use of the scalpel was imi- 
 versally acknowledged. 
 
 But it is as a great discoverer that Bell will be prin- 
 cipally remembered. His skill as a practical surgeon 
 may be forgotten, as an artist and author he may cease 
 to be remembered ; but his great scientific achievements 
 will still insure him a lasting renown. Miillei', the 
 German physiologist, says that the discovery of the 
 circulation of the blood by Harvey, and the discoveries 
 of Sir Charles Bell in the nervous system, are the two 
 grandest that have ever been made in physiological 
 science. Another eminent authority praises Bell for 
 having made the ' greatest discovery in the physiology 
 of the nervous system for twenty centimes.' While 
 Bell himself^a man of a retiring modest disposition, 
 Avho cared little for either censure or praise — declared 
 confidently in 1821 : ' Iliave made a greater discovery than 
 ever was made by any one man in anatomy — and I have 
 not yet done.' What that was must be briefly told. 
 
 As early as 1807 he wrote to his brother saying 
 
3i6 Sir Charles Bell. 
 
 that he was on the eve of a grand discovery. Soon 
 after he prepared a treatise entitled Idea of a New 
 Anatomy of the Brain, which was printed and privately 
 circulated among his friends and the profession in 
 1811. This may be said to contain the germ of all his 
 subsequent discoveries, and Bell hoped that his views 
 would be fairly criticised and an interest in the subject 
 awakened. His expectations, however, were disap- 
 pointed — the suggestions of the treatise remained un- 
 noticed. It is difficult now to realise the confused ideas 
 concerning the nervous system which existed previous 
 to Bell's time. Anatomists had observed the intrica- 
 cies of the nervous system — a fibrous network spread- 
 ing over the whole human frame — and they had sup- 
 posed that as all the nerves of the body appeared 
 similar in structure they were likely to be the same in 
 function. Experiments seemed to confirm this ; for it 
 was found that if the trunk of a single nerve was cut — 
 in a limb, for example — both sensation and motion were 
 lost to that limb. It was concluded as a matter of 
 course that these two great functions of tlie body — 
 sensation and motion — had the same nerve. 
 
 Bell's researches satisfied him that all nerves were 
 not similar, but that various functions were distributed 
 among the different portions of the nervous system. 
 Sensation and motion, the two great functions of 
 which we have spoken, were, he observed, entirely 
 separable both in idea and in fact ; and he felt certain 
 that they could not have one common conductor. Yet 
 there was the experiment shomng that the severance 
 
Sir Charles Bell. 3 1 7 
 
 of one nerve affected both functions. How was that 
 to be explained? Like most great discoverers Bell was 
 fond of theorising, and he at once made the bold scien- 
 tific guess that what appeared to be one nerve must in 
 reality be a bundle of nerves packed and tied together 
 for the purpose of convenience of distribution. The 
 guess proved to be accurate : careful dissection showed 
 that the spinal nerves, though in appearance single, 
 sprang from two roots, and were composed of two 
 distinct filaments. 
 
 The fundamental principles of his system are, first, 
 that nerves similar in their substance and structures 
 differ in endowments and functions as in origin ; and 
 secondly, that the nerves owe to their roots in the 
 great nervous centres their respective endowments — 
 the one motion, the other sensation. This was the foun- 
 dation of Bell's nervous system. But he was not the 
 man to rest satisfied with having made a discovery: as 
 soon as it was complete, he was anxious to employ it 
 for the alleviation of human suffering ; and many cases 
 which came under his own notice gave evidence of its 
 practical value. 
 
 His labours in this field were largely supplemented 
 by the late Marshall Hall, and more recently by Drs. 
 Russell, Reynolds, and Brown-Sequard; but to Bell 
 alone the credit of the original discovery is due. An 
 unworthy attempt was made to rob him of it, and for 
 some time he had to bear the imputation of claiming 
 another's merit as his own. Happily his friends were 
 able to prove conclusively that the discovery was his, 
 
3i8 SiJ'- Charles Bell. 
 
 and bis alone. So far as Bell was personally concerned 
 the controversy" which arose upon this painful topic 
 was quite unheeded. It unquestionably grieved him 
 to know that his honesty was called in question ; but 
 he would not condescend to attempt its vindication. 
 Others undertook the task for him, and a simple appeal 
 to dates and facts was sufficient to establish his claim 
 beyond the possibility of dispute. Since his death his 
 right to the credit of the discovery has been attested 
 in the most solemn and deliberate manner by the repre- 
 sentatives of the two great scientific bodies of Eng- 
 land — the Royal Society and the College of Surgeons. 
 There is no fear that it will be seriously questioned 
 again. 
 
 Bell rightly entertained a high opinion of the value 
 of his discovery, and the most eminent of his profes- 
 sional brethren united their congratulations in a chorus 
 of praise. When Abernethy heard of it, he exclaimed, 
 ' What stupid chaps we have all been not to think of 
 this before !' Before any doubt had been thrown upon 
 the genuineness of his discovery. Bell wrote to his 
 brother in the highest glee. It seemed to him so com- 
 pletely his own success, that he never supposed for a 
 moment that any rival would spring u]3. ' Harvey,' he 
 writes, 'was said to have had the way prepared for 
 him, so that he could not miss it : so fools argue the 
 matter. But the discoverer of the nervous system had 
 nobody to go before him, for the researches of anato- 
 mists had only rendered the subject more intricate 
 and obscure.' But he pathetically adds, ' I find my 
 
Sir Charles Bell. 3 1 9 
 
 cliaracter higher than my fortune — compliments, not 
 money.' 
 
 Here we may speak of some of the honom-s which 
 rewarded him. In 1824 the College of Sm-geons 
 elected him to fill the senior chair of anatomy and 
 sm-gery. He accepted the post with delight, believing 
 that it afforded a good field for useful work. He meant 
 to gather a large audience for his lectures, not of stu- 
 dents only, but of practical surgeons as well. His 
 expectation was fulfilled : five hundred eager listeners 
 crowded into the theatre. In the front row he dis- 
 cerned the faces of some of the oldest and best lec- 
 turers — Cline, Abernethy, Cooper, and others. At first 
 he felt nervous. ' My tongue,' he says, ' clove to the 
 roof of my mouth.' But this was observed by himself 
 more than by others. His hearers were all delighted, 
 and the course of lectures was a complete success. 
 
 Whenever Bell stood up to address an audience he 
 had something to say worth listening to. No teacher 
 could be more careful or painstaking. The responsi- 
 bilities of his office were always kept in solemn remem- 
 brance ; he felt that he was answerable for the dis- 
 semination of opinions which were to be tested on 
 human life. It was this earnest thoughtfulness which 
 gave the great charm to his lectures. His style was 
 sometimes spoken of as being ingenious and poetical ; 
 but its real characteristic was it suggestiveness. His 
 listeners would go away delighted with what they had 
 heard, but would not rest satisfied with it. They 
 would feel that he had broken ground for them, but 
 
320 Si7' Charles Bell. 
 
 they must continue the investigation for themselves ; 
 he had shown the way, and led them to the path where 
 they could travel on alone. 
 
 In 1831 he received the Guelphic order of knight- 
 hood. The honour was quite unexpected, and it gra- 
 tified him very much, especially as his companions 
 were Herschel, Babbage, Leslie, Ivory, and Brewster. 
 All were knighted together ; and, as Bell declared, ' the 
 batch makes it respectable.' Previous to this he had 
 accepted the chair of physiology in the London Univer- 
 sit}', as his own school in Windmill-street seemed 
 destined to be absorbed by the larger colleges. But 
 the council of the new University gave him great dis- 
 satisfaction, and before long he indignantly threw up 
 the appointment. He was now Avithout any public 
 employment, and had nothing to depend on but his 
 private practice. In 1835 he was offered the Professor- 
 ship of Surgery at Edinburgh University, and after 
 some hesitation accepted it. 
 
 There was much to make this change agreeable. 
 It would enable him to spend his remaining days near 
 the home of his boyhood, and would bring him once 
 more close to the brother that he loved. There might 
 well be a pleasure, too, in looking forward to the com- 
 parative ease which the new position promised. He 
 had seen the best years of his life — more than threescore 
 had passed away — and some amount of rest was wel- 
 come. Oil the other hand, he had been dependent of 
 late solely upon his private practice, and this would 
 have to be relinquished in removing to the North. But 
 
Sir Charles Bell. 321 
 
 he did not attach great importance to this sacrifice, as 
 he felt sure that his reputation would soon enable him 
 to establish a large connection in Edinburgh. Reason- 
 able as this hope appears, it was disappointed. His pa- 
 tients were nothing like so numerous as he had expected, 
 and the number of students at the University was gra- 
 dually declining. His class, he says, will not bring him 
 in 400Z. All seemed disheartening. The fame of his 
 great discovery was denied him, his income — never 
 equal to his merits — Avas greatly reduced, and the 
 college-life — which he had looked forward to Avith 
 pleasure — was made painful by a succession of petty 
 annoyances. Writing to Dr. Ferguson, he said : ' As 
 long as something like respect attached to my labours 
 I was content with loss of income. I put down my 
 carriage with as little feeling as I throw off my shoes. 
 I could further reduce my expenses, but not consistently 
 with a public situation ; and I have already encroached 
 on that little provision with which I came here. . . . 
 Was it not for Lady Bell, I should have no difficulty : 
 no one should hear more of me, or see me, unless they 
 lost their way in some Highland glen, and sought my 
 cottage.' 
 
 It is difficult for a sensitive nature like Bell's to 
 keep free from this feeling of despondency, when the 
 expectations of a life seem to be disappointed. But it 
 was seldom that he gave way to it. He would forget 
 the harshness of the world in the happiness of his 
 own home. No ingratitude could rob him of the plea- 
 sure which flowed from the satisfaction of having ren- 
 
 Y 
 
322 Sir Charles Bell. 
 
 dered a useful service to mankind. Those who knew 
 him best agree in saying that he was uniformly a happy 
 man, in whom the evidences of disappointment could 
 seldojn be traced. 
 
 In 1840 he started on a continental tour, and visited 
 some of the most famous medical schools of Europe. 
 At Paris, Roux, the eminent physiologist, dismissed his 
 class without a lecture, simply remarking, ' C'est assez, 
 messieurs ; vous avez vu Charles Bell.' Wherever he 
 went a hearty welcome met him. The most famous of 
 foreign philosophers were delighted to make the ac- 
 quaintance of one whose fame had long been established 
 on the Continent. In returning from Rome Sir Charles 
 was in the steamboat-ofi&ce at Basle ; a travel-worn 
 gentleman came in hurriedly. ' Are you Sir Charles 
 Bell % I am Dr. Arnold. We have been tracing you 
 for the last three days. Mrs. Arnold has been ill. 
 Will you come and see her f This was the first time 
 that these two distinguished men met, and they were 
 never together again. Within two years both were dead. 
 
 The reputation of Sir Charles Bell as an author 
 stands deservedly high, and we must briefly notice the 
 most famous of his literary works. This is unquestion- 
 ably his Treatise on the Hand. Francis Henry, Earl of 
 Bridgwater, by his will, dated February 25, 1825, left 
 8000Z. to be given to the author or authors of a work ' on 
 the power, wisdom, and goodness of God, as manifested 
 in the Creation.' Effect was given to the will in this 
 way : Eight writers of eminence were selected to con- 
 tribute each a separate treatise. Bell was one of the 
 
Sir Charles Bell. 3 23 
 
 chosen authors, and wrote his admirable Treatise on 
 the Hand. This book is universally acknowledged to 
 be one of the best expositions of the great leading 
 argument of natural theology. 
 
 Bell had previously been engaged on two works of 
 a very similar nature. His essay on Animal Mechanics, 
 pubhshed by the Society for the Diifusion of Useful 
 Knowledge, had excited great interest, and his illus- 
 trations of the Natural Theology of Paley showed his 
 fitness for dealing with this ' great argument.' The 
 bent of his mind was peculiarly adapted to such a work. 
 He always delighted to trace in the works of Nature 
 the hand of the Great Artificer. All the marvels of 
 the natural world were to him the wonderful works of 
 God, intended not only to supply our wants and excite 
 our curiosity, but to teach us to look reverently up to 
 the beneficent Author of all things. With Linnaeus he 
 held that ' whoever shall regard with contempt the 
 economy of the Creator here is as truly impious as the 
 man who takes no thought of the future.' In this 
 spirit he entered upon his work. Choosing the human 
 hand as the subject of investigation, he shows how 
 completely it demonstrates the contriving mind of God 
 by the perfection of its structure and its adaptability 
 to man's conditions. 
 
 By the aid of comparative anatomy, he points out 
 how other animals are provided with organs of pre- 
 hension suitable to the requirements of their several 
 states ; but in the hand of man alone he finds that 
 ' consummation of all perfection,' that combination of 
 
324 Sir Charles BelL 
 
 the various properties which are distributed among 
 other animals. It was the wonderful perfection of 
 this organ which led Anaxagoras to the conclusion 
 that the superiority of man was due to his hand. Bell 
 does not allow himself to be carried away by his 
 admiration to this extent. He perceives that the hand 
 corresponds to the superior mental capacities with 
 which man is endowed, and is so admirably contrived 
 as to be capable of executing whatever his ingenuity 
 suggests. But he recognises in the intellect which 
 commands rather than in the hand which obeys the 
 title of the human race to the lordship of creation. 
 Against the authority of Anaxagoras he places that 
 of Galen, and contends that man has been provided 
 with a hand, perfect alike in structure and endow- 
 ments, because he is the wisest of creatures, and 
 capable of using such a gift- 
 Space will not allow iis here to trace the argument 
 of design and adaptation which runs through the 
 whole of this excellent treatise. It shows how the 
 human hand is suited with exquisite aptitude to the 
 various conditions of man's life, and the different 
 stages of his history. In his primeval state he wanted 
 it for supplying his necessities and sustaining his in- 
 dividual life. As the condition of the race progressed 
 it had to minister to the wants of social life in labour 
 and some rude kind of art. In a still more advanced 
 state, when science and mechanical invention came to 
 man's assistance, the hand was required for very 
 different purposes. But still the same adaptability is 
 
Sir Charles Bell. 325 
 
 found: its sti-ucture and endowments are equally 
 suited to eveiy stage of human progress. Such 
 evidence of contriving skill is not to be looked at, 
 Avondered at, and then passed by ; for, as Bell sums 
 up his argument, ' what to us avail all these proofs of 
 divine power — of harmony in Nature — of design — the 
 predestined accommodation of the earth, and the crea- 
 tion of man's frame and faculties, if we are stopped 
 here ? if we perceive no more direct relation between 
 the individual and the Creator % But we are not so 
 precluded from advancement. On the contrary, rea- 
 sons accumulate at every step for a higher estimate of 
 the living soul, and give us assurance that its condi- 
 tion is the final object and end of all this machinery, 
 and of these successive revolutions.' 
 
 Even further than this he carries our thoughts. 
 Not only have our physical organs been designed by 
 a benevolent Creator with special reference to our 
 happiness and comfort, but every instinct and every 
 sense has a like end. And so we are led on to the 
 grand conclusion, that the desire of communing with 
 God, which is so deeply rooted in man's nature, is but 
 an additional proof of his being destined for a future 
 existence, and the longing after another and a vaster 
 life the promise of it. It must be so. 
 
 ' Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, 
 This longing after immortality ? 
 
 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us ; 
 
 'Tis heaven itself that points out a hereafter. 
 
 And intimates eternity to man.' 
 
^26 Sir Charles Bell. 
 
 Bell's favourite amiiBement was fishing, and he 
 used to say that the happiest thoughts Avhich found 
 expression in his writings came to him in those mo- 
 ments of recreation. ' If there be any best bits in the 
 Essay on the Hand,' he says, ' they were written after 
 a day of complete retirement and relaxation at Pans- 
 hanger or Chenies. I have tasked myself while throw- 
 ing a line how I should express myself on going to 
 the little inn to tea. It is then that one has the 
 justest and fairest views of Nature, which I believe 
 would never rise into the mind of him who has the 
 pressru'e of business upon him, at least such business 
 as mine.' Originally he had taken up fishing as a 
 sport for leisure hours, but in course of time it became 
 a passion. Nothing would please him better than to 
 receive an invitation to Lord Cowper's park, or to some 
 other place of high repute among anglers. 
 
 His perseverance is curiously illustrated by the 
 way in which he gained his skill in the piscatorial art. 
 He was at first very awkward, and learned all the 
 delicacies of the wrist in his own drawing-room in 
 the evenings. At last he became one of the most 
 expert of anglers, and the fly thrown by him would be 
 an irresistible temptation to the fish. Christopher 
 North has an allusion to Bell's skill in this sport. 'Now 
 for a fish,' he says ; ' let's show the heaviest salmon in 
 the Tweed ; let's put on a bigger and a brighter pro- 
 fessor. Would that Sir Charles Bell were here, who 
 excels in all that he tries — artist, anatomist, angler of 
 the first water!' With fishing he combined sketching, 
 
Sir Charles Bell. 327 
 
 and whenever the clahxis of duty would allow him he 
 would be off to the country with his wife and his 
 favourite dog. He disliked London. It was a place 
 to live in, he said, but not to die in. His delight was 
 to get away from the din and bustle of cities, to 
 wander among Nature's beauties in search of a scene 
 to enrich his collection of drawings ; to stand by some 
 favourite trout stream, and watch the shadow of his 
 rod as it walked the water like a thing of life. In 
 these moments of calm reflection the disappointments 
 of life were ail forgotten : his heart was full of gratitude. 
 He had suffered slightly from a disease of the heart 
 since 1827. Towai'ds the spring of 1842 it assumed 
 a more virulent form. He visited Manchester about 
 this time, and there assisted at an operation. While 
 thus employed his old complaint violently attacked 
 him. Writing to his brother, he says, • I thought I 
 should have been obliged to roll on the carpet, or leave 
 the room in the midst of it.' He knew well the danger 
 which attended these spasmodic pains. On the 27th of 
 May he visited Hallow Park, near Worcester. During 
 the night he felt ill and low-spirited, but the following 
 morning seemed well again. He walked about the 
 grounds, admiring the lovely scenery, and then wan- 
 dered with his wife into the churchyard. There he sat 
 and sketched a sweet pastoral scene — an old yew-tree, 
 some sheep feeding, the winding Severn, and some 
 distant hills. ' This is a sweet spot,' he said to his 
 wife ; ' here I should like to rest till they come to take 
 me away.' 
 
328 Sir Charles Bell. 
 
 The evening was spent in cheerfulness. Siv Charles 
 enlivened the party with graphic descriptions of the 
 medical celebrities he had known. None noticed any- 
 thing wrong about him except a medical gentleman, 
 w^io thought he observed a sudden pallor steal over his 
 face ; but it .disappeared again so quickly that he fan- 
 cied he had been mistaken. After pointing out the 
 beauties of Leonardo da Vinci's ' Last Supper,' Sir 
 Charles retired to rest apparently well and cheerful. 
 Another attack came on as soon as he retired ; but the 
 remedies which were at once applied were effectual. 
 The passage of Scripture which he selected for the ac- 
 customed ' evening reading' was the twenty-third 
 Psalm ; the last prayer was the beautiful collect for 
 ' that peace which the world cannot give.' Then he 
 went to bed and slept soundly. He awoke in the 
 morning with a spasm, which he said was caused by 
 changing his position. His wife was rising to get him 
 his medicine, when he called her to him. Resting his 
 head upon her shoulder he closed his eyes, and opened 
 them no moi-e. A medical man was hastily summoned; 
 but when he arrived he found that his services were no 
 longer of any avail. The spirit had returned unto God 
 who gave it, and all that was left was a lifeless form, 
 soon to be mingled with the clods of the valley. 
 
 How shall we estimate the life and character of this 
 remarkable man"? How rightly speak his praises'? 
 Great as was his work, he himself was greater. There 
 is a personal nobility which endears him to us more 
 than the fame of his writings or discoveries. Early in 
 
Sir Charles Bell. 329 
 
 Lis career he set a definite object before him; not 
 wealth, not social eminence, not even scientific fame. 
 Had it been any of these, his life might be called 
 a failure ; for he was long denied the credit of his 
 greatest work, and he died as poor as he began. But 
 the dearest wish of his heart was to be, as he ex- 
 pressed it to his brother, ' chief of my profession in 
 character,' and throughout his life he kept this purpose 
 steadily before him. Chief in character ! It was a 
 noble ambition — a lofty aim. But by realising it he 
 made his life a grand success, and a bright example for 
 future times. 
 
THE LAWYEE : 
 
 SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY 
 
' Do what is good, and Humanity's godlike plant thou wilt nourish ; 
 Plan what is fail-, and thou'lt strew seeds of the godlike around.' 
 
 SCHILLEE. 
 
THE LAWYER: 
 
 5/i? SAMUEL ROM ILLY. 
 
 In sketching the career of Su- Samuel Romilly, we feel 
 the difficulty of doing justice to the great services 
 which he rendered to English law, and the impossibility 
 of giving an adequate estimate of the surpassing ex- 
 cellences of his character. As an advocate he stood 
 preeminent among his brethren ; as a lawyer of pro- 
 found learning and sagacity his merit was disputed by 
 none ; as an orator he has furnished us with some of 
 the finest specimens of forensic and senatorial eloquence ; 
 while his noble efforts in the extensive field of law- 
 reform have won for his name an enduring place in 
 history. 
 
 There is no need to write of him in order to fix 
 his reputation : that was firmly established before his 
 labours here were ended. But the story of his life is 
 so pregnant with meaning, so suggestive, and so en- 
 couraging, that to trace the paths by which he climbed 
 
334 Sir Sai7titel Roynilly. 
 
 ' fame's steepest heights' can hardly fail to be a useful 
 employment. ' Few persons,' says Lord Brougham, 
 ' have ever attained celebrity of name and exalted sta- 
 tion, in any country or in any age, with such unsullied 
 purity of character.' The tribute is a just one. His 
 life was holy, consecrated to the service of humanity. 
 He was the champion of freedom, the consistent enemy 
 of all oppression, the friend of every virtue. None 
 questioned the sincerity of his motives, or suspected 
 his artless character. He lived his good life without 
 reproach, and his memory, like that of all the just, is 
 blessed. 
 
 A few words about the family from which he 
 sprang. His grandfather was a French Protestant, and 
 originally resided at Montpellier, in the south of France. 
 But the persecution which prevailed under the religious 
 tyranny of Louis XIV. caused him to leave his native 
 country and settle down in England. He established 
 himself in the business of a wax-bleacher at Hoxton, in 
 the neighbourhood of London. He soon afterwards 
 married the daughter of another French refugee, and 
 became the father of a very numerous family. But 
 misfortunes were in store for him. Business failed, 
 property was lost, poverty threatened to break in upon 
 his peaceful home. His spirit sank beneath the weight 
 of these calamities, and he died of a broken heart. 
 Affection was strong in that family. To sons and 
 daughters ahke the thought of being left destitute 
 was as nothing in comparison with the loss of their 
 father's presence. To one especially — the youngest 
 
Sir Samuel Romilly. 335 
 
 son — the bereavement was so severe it seemed impos- 
 sible to bear it. His grief was inconsolable ; he mom-ned 
 as one that would not be comforted. Never to gaze 
 upon that kindly face again ; never to hear the sound 
 of that familiar voice ; to recall to mind the picture of 
 all that he had loved, and to feel that henceforth it 
 was to be but a memory ; 
 
 ' To see the vacant chair, and think, 
 " How good ! how kind ! and he is gone," ' — 
 
 it was too much for his gentle heart. Within a few 
 months sorrow had robbed him of life, and the grave 
 which had just closed upon the father was reopened to 
 receive the son. 
 
 Of those which remained the youngest was Peter, 
 the father of Sir Samuel Romilly. He had been ap- 
 prenticed to a jeweller in the City, and in course of 
 time became fairly successful in the business. His 
 character has been sketched by his son in words which 
 breathe the tenderest love and filial devotion. He was 
 really a great and good man, never so happy as when 
 relieving distress and scattering ' seeds of kindness.' 
 In recounting his recollections of him, Sir Samuel says : 
 ' He used often to talk to his children of the pleasure of 
 doing good, and of the rewards which virtue found in 
 itself; and from his lips that doctrine came to us, 
 not as a dry and illusive precept, but as a heart-felt 
 truth, and as the fruit of the happiest experience.' 
 We shall see as we go on how beautifully this cha- 
 racteristic of the father was reproduced in the life of 
 
^^6 Sir Samuel RoTnilly. 
 
 the son. Peter Romilly had many children, but all 
 died in their infancy save two sons and one daughter. 
 Of these Samuel, who was born on the 1st of March 
 1757, was the youngest; and of him we must now 
 speak. 
 
 As a child, he was imaginative and sensitive to a 
 painful degree. Stories of ghosts and fiends, which, 
 with incredible folly, are so often related for the 
 amusement of children, filled his young mind with the 
 most horrible dread. Accounts of murders and acts 
 of cruelty, which he occasionally heard, would distress 
 him beyond description. Do what he would, he could 
 not drive away the recollection of them. He would 
 tremble as he lay awake in his little bed at night; and 
 yet he feared to go to sleep, lest his dreams should be 
 still more painful. ' Often,' he says, ' have I in my 
 evening prayers to God besought Him, with the utmost 
 fervour, to suffer me to pass the night undisturbed by 
 horrid dreams.' Even in manhood, long after he had 
 ceased to believe in ghosts and goblins, some of the 
 terrible thoughts of his childhood would insist on as- 
 serting their power in hours of solitude. 
 
 Another thing that troubled him as a boy was a 
 continual fear that he would be bereaved of his father. 
 The story of his uncle's sorrowful death may, perhaps, 
 have tended to increase this feeling ; but, whatever was 
 the cause, it was a continual source of anxiety. His 
 affection for his father was very deep, and every furrow 
 he discerned upon his careworn face suggested to him 
 the painful thought that soon that life, which he valued 
 
Sir SainiLel Romilly, ^^y 
 
 far more than his own, would come to an end. If he 
 was put to bed before his father returned, he woukl 
 He in sleepless anxiety, waiting and listening for the 
 familiar knock ; and suggestions of a thousand acci- 
 dents would occur to him if that knock was delayed 
 for half an hour beyond the expected time. He has 
 himself told how he was taken one night to the theatre 
 to see the famous Garrick act, but sat pensive and sad 
 throughout the performance. Something in the play 
 had reminded him that his father's life might not be 
 spared for long, and all interest in the scene before 
 him had gone. He returned home gloomy and de- 
 jected, as if from a funeral. This distressing thought 
 was unlike his fear of darkness and solitude. The one 
 he tried with all his might to throw off; the other he 
 carefully cherished. By dreading a misfortune he 
 supposed that he could avert it : he was afraid to 
 think lightly of his father's death, lest the calamity 
 should come upon him unawares. 
 
 His early education Avas extremely defective. He 
 was sent with his brother to a school kept by a French 
 refugee, who was alike incompetent to teach or to 
 govern. His insignificant attainments were quite un- 
 equal to the work of tuition, while his severity and 
 partiality entirely unfitted him for the management of 
 his pupils. The boys who attended this school were 
 principally the sons of the lower order of tradesmen ; 
 but the two Romillys Avere something superior to this 
 in his eyes : their father was a jeweller — quite a 
 genteel trade; and from the first he treated them as 
 
 z 
 
338 Sir Samuel Rom illy. 
 
 favourites. Upon other boys of less social eminence 
 lie would vent his spleen with most intemjDerate vio- 
 lence. If he had spent a sleepless night, or felt the 
 twitchings of returning rheumatism, some unfortunate 
 boy would be sure to suffer. The butcher's or the 
 barber's son would perhaps come in for the heaviest 
 share of this pedagogic severity : the Romillys were 
 more respectable, and were therefore high in the mas- 
 ter's favour. But Samuel felt indignant at such cruel 
 partiality. ' I often burned with shame,' he says, ' at 
 not being among the victims of his injustice.' How 
 characteristic is this of the great Romilly, whose elo- 
 quent voice was so often heard pleading with Wilber- 
 force for negro emancipation, and denouncing the 
 harshness of the criminal law ! 
 
 Samuel remained for several years at this school, 
 and when he left it could boast a moderate acquaint- 
 ance with what are known as the three R's, and some 
 sort of knowledge of the rules of French grammar. 
 Latin was one of the subjects which was supposed to 
 be taught in the school, and his father was anxious 
 that he should become proficient in it ; but imfortu- 
 nately his master had never found time to learn the 
 language himself, and consequently found much diffi- 
 culty in communicating a knowledge of it to others. 
 At the age of fourteen Samuel left this fount of learning, 
 and his real education began soon after. 
 
 It had originally been arrp,nged by his father that 
 he should devote his attention to the law, with a view 
 to becoming an attorney ; but this j)lan was made in 
 
Sir Samuel Roniilly. 339 
 
 entire subordination to his own wishes and inclinations, 
 Mr. Romilly having often said that he would bind none 
 of his boys to any trade or profession which they dis- 
 liked. Samuel would probably have acquiesced will- 
 ingly in his father's proposal, had it not happened that 
 among the friends of the family there was a real living 
 attorney — a certain Mr. Liddel. Now Mr. Liddel was 
 not an attractive man : his very appearance repelled 
 one. We need not describe the peculiarities of his 
 physiognomy; whatever they were, he could not help 
 them — possibly he liked them. Certain, however, it is 
 that young Romilly did not. Mr. Liddel was the last 
 man he would wish to resemble ; and Mr. Liddel was 
 an attorney. Then, too, he had a City ofBce which 
 Samuel had once visited. The outside of the house 
 looked dark and gloomy ; but it was bright and cheer- 
 ful compared with the interior. The boy gazed round 
 the room with horror : huge sheets of parchment, dusty 
 papers, and such a library ! ' I did not see a single 
 volume,' he declares, ' which I should not have been 
 deterred by its external appearance from opening.' 
 And this was an attorney's office ! It was quite enough : 
 young Romilly went home with a very decided opinion 
 about the profession. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Romilly found that the prospect of 
 a legal career was distasteful to his son, he relinquished 
 allintention of training him for it, and looked round 
 for a good commercial opening. The house of the 
 Fludyers was one of the most eminent of City estab- 
 lishments, and young Romilly was placed under tuition 
 
34° Sir Samuel Romilly. 
 
 to be fitted for the counting-house. The Fludyers 
 were related to the Komillys, and this arrangement 
 seemed to afford a good prospect of success. But it 
 came to nothing. While Samuel was being educated 
 for his duties both the partners died, and the hopes 
 founded upon their friendship necessarily came to an 
 end. Several other schemes Avere proposed, and each 
 in turn dismissed ; and ultimately it was settled that 
 Samuel, like his brother, should remain at home and 
 assist in the business, with a view to becoming a 
 partner at some future day. 
 
 For about two years he was engaged in keeping 
 his father's books. He liked this occupation for one 
 reason, and one only : it allowed him plenty of leisure. 
 Apart from this, he considered it a wearisome irksome 
 duty. His spare time he wisely employed in remedy- 
 ing the defect of his early education. He read with 
 avidity everything that came in his way — especially 
 ancient history, English poetry, and works of criticism. 
 Poetry was his favourite subject : he even tried his 
 own hand at versification, with a success which aston- 
 ished his family. In that little household he was 
 already esteemed a genius. In proportion as he pro- 
 gressed in these attainments he felt that he was un- 
 suited for his father's business. How much he wished 
 that he had been trained for a learned profession ! 
 Even yet it might not be too late, if he would but go 
 to work in resolute earnestness. He was scarcely six- 
 teen years of age : a few years would do the work, and 
 he would still be but a youth. He set to work at 
 
Sir Sam^tel Roinilly. 3 4 1 
 
 Latin, took a lesson from a master every day, and 
 studied hard. In the course of three or four years he 
 had read through ahnost all the classical writers of 
 Rome — many of them again and again. He also made 
 an attempt at Greek, but abandoned it. The difficul- 
 ties seemed so great, and the time which it would 
 require so considerable, that he thought it better to 
 study the Greek authors by means of Latin versions. 
 
 In other departments of learning he made equal 
 progress. By taking care always to have a map before 
 him when he read books of history or travel, he had 
 acquired a fair stock of geographical knowledge. He 
 also studied natural history with great delight, at- 
 tended lectures on natural philosophy, and those at 
 the Royal Academy on painting, architecture, and 
 anatomy. Thtis he qualified himself by his own exer- 
 tions to fi.ll a station in life superior to that which he 
 already occupied. 
 
 About this time a rich relation of his mother's died, 
 and left to the Romilly family something like 14,000^. 
 or 15,000/. Samuel and his brother had 2000Z. apiece. 
 Now was the time to quit an occupation he never 
 liked. He mentioned his wish to his father, who 
 readily yielded to it with his usual indulgence. It 
 was arranged that Samuel should be articled for five 
 years to one of the sworn clerks in Chancery, and at 
 the end of that time he should employ his money in 
 the purchase of a seat in the Six Clerks Office, The 
 articles were duly signed, and young Romilly entered 
 upon his duties. He had no idea beforehand what the 
 
342 Sir Samitel Romilly. 
 
 work of his new post would be like, and when he found 
 that it principally consisted of the merest routine, he 
 very quickly conceived a distaste for it. He was 
 satisfied that he would like the study of law ; but he 
 aspired to the highest branch of the profession. More 
 than once he had thought of renouncing his prospects 
 in the Six Clerks Office and qualifying himself for the 
 bar. Some had approved the plan ; others condemned 
 it ; and, as usual with him, a kindly impulse finally 
 settled it. He reflected that, by deciding for the bar, 
 he would be able to leave his little fortune in his 
 father's hands ; while if he purchased a seat in the Six 
 Clerks Office, he would have to withdraw the whole 
 of the sum. This was enough : the money should 
 remain where it was, and he Avould become a bar- 
 rister. 
 
 He entered himself at Gray's Inn in May 1778, placed 
 himself under the guidance of an Equity draughtsman, 
 and set vigorously to work at his new studies. He did 
 not confine his attention solely to law-books, but found 
 recreation in his favourite classics, and in writing 
 political articles for the newspapers. When he had 
 time to spare, he would delight to go to Westminster 
 to hear a good debate, and as he walked home would 
 exercise his dialectical skill by preparing imaginary re- 
 plies to the speeches he had heard. 
 
 The energy with which he devoted himself to his 
 studies soon told upon his health, and for some time he 
 was obliged to lay aside every law-book. A journey to 
 the Continent, caused by the illness of his brother-in- 
 
Sir Samuel Romilly. 343 
 
 laAv, proved of great benefit to him, and enabled him 
 to resume his regular work on his return. This tour 
 was useful in several ways. It afforded him au oppor- 
 tunity of watching the administration of the criminal 
 law in other countries, and brought him into contact 
 with many eminent men ; notably D'Alembert and 
 Diderot. In Easter term 1783 he was called to the 
 bar; but was not able to enter upon the practical 
 duties of his profession till a few months later. His 
 brother-in-law had died in Switzerland, and he was 
 obliged to make a second journey for the purpose of 
 bringing his sister home to England, 
 
 In Michaelmas term 1783 he began his attendance 
 at the courts Avith many hopes and fears. This is a 
 critical event in the career of a barrister. He wonders 
 how long he will have to wait before he will get an 
 opportunity of displaying his talents ; how many men 
 of less capacity he will see step before him ; whether 
 his face may not grow familiar to the solicitors who 
 attend his court, as one who never has a brief, and is 
 therefore incompetent. These and many other such 
 reflections crowd in upon his mind when first he takes 
 his seat in wig and gown. Romilly had his share of 
 misgivings, and for a time found much to justify them ; 
 but he had plenty of resolution as well, and where that 
 is allied to real merit, success is almost inevitable. 
 
 Certainly he had every reason to desire success. 
 Perhaps he could hardly be called a poor man, for he 
 could claim more than 2000/. as his own ; but he had 
 fully resolved not to withdraw that from his father's 
 
j44 Sir Samuel Romilly. 
 
 bauds except in case of urgent necessity. We may, 
 therefore, fairly regarcj him as one without resources, 
 dependent solely upon his own energies. It is sur- 
 prising how many of the most distinguished ornaments 
 of the bench and bar have commenced their career in 
 this way ; and all have expressed themselves thankful 
 for it. Lord Eldon used to say that he considered it a 
 blessing to have been compelled to rely on his own ex- 
 ertions alone; Lord Erskine, it is well known, had 
 ' scarcely a shilling ' in his pocket when he accepted 
 his first retainer ; and Lord Tenterden esteemed it the 
 proudest recollection of his life that his father used to 
 shave people for a penny. Others might be mentioned 
 who traced their success at the bar to the poverty 
 which spurred them on, and afterwards took a noble 
 pleasure in owning their humble origin. There is a 
 story told about Lord Thurlow which illustrates this. 
 Some one Avishing to flatter him suggested, when he 
 was Lord Chancellor, that he might be descended from 
 Thurlow, the secretary of Cromwell. 'No, sir,' was 
 the gruff reply ; ' there were two Thurlows in our 
 country in those days— Thurlow the secretary and 
 Thurlow the carrier. I am descended from the carrier.' 
 Some sense of poverty was, in Lord Thurlow's opinion, 
 almost necessary as a stimulus in his profession. His 
 advice to a friend was, ' Spend your own fortune, marry, 
 and spend yom- wife's, and then you will have some 
 chance of succeeding in the law.' That any such ex- 
 travagance as this is at all necessary may reason- 
 ably be doubted, but it remains a fact that many of the 
 
Sir Samuel Romilly. 345 
 
 most eminent lawyers have been poor men at the com- 
 mencement of then- career. 
 
 Romilly at once joined the Midland circuit. Several 
 reasons dictated this" choice. One was, that it was 
 shorter than some of the others, and would conse- 
 quently allow him the most time for attending the 
 Court of Chancery, where he was chiefly anxious to 
 establish a reputation. Another was, that the travel- 
 ling expenses would be less, which was to him a con- 
 sideration of great importance ; but its chief recom- 
 mendation was, that it seemed less conspicuous for 
 talent than any other. There were few men belonging 
 to it of any great merit, and Romilly very naturally 
 thought that he would have the best chance of dis- 
 tinguishing himself in such a company. He has him- 
 self given a description of the chief men who composed 
 it. The leader, he says, was ' a lawyer of very pro- 
 found and extensive learning, but with a very small 
 portion of judgment.' Quite one of the old school, 
 with a most supreme contempt for all modern law. 'I 
 have heard him observe,' says Romilly, ' that the 
 greatest service that could be rendered the country 
 would be to repeal all the statutes and burn all the 
 reports which were of a later date than the Revolution.' 
 Next to him in rank was a still more remarkable man, 
 destitute of talents, learning, and almost every pro- 
 fessional qualification. Among such as these, Romilly, 
 modestly conscious of his own ability, might reason- 
 ably hope to achieve a fair success. 
 
 Several years, however, passed before he met with 
 
346 Sir Samuel Romilly. 
 
 any substantial recognition of his merits. His inde- 
 pendence and hatred of everything that was mean 
 made it impossible for him to stoop to the arts by 
 which some barristers obtain a reputation on circuit. 
 He could not flatter and pay court to the attorneys at 
 the various assize towns in order to gain an acquaint- 
 ance. Such practices, though not unfrequently in- 
 dulged in, he felt were entirely beneath the dignity 
 of his profession, and quite repulsive to his own nature. 
 There was one course open to him, however, against 
 which no such objection could lie, viz. to attend the 
 quarter sessions of some Midland county. This he 
 did, and quickly found himself engaged in nearly all 
 the business. His success at the sessions naturally 
 led to his being employed in assize cases, and in course 
 of time briefs flowed in thick and fast. His experience 
 of the Midland courts lasted altogether for about six- 
 teen years. At the end of that time his Chancery 
 business in London had grown to such an extent that 
 he was obliged to relinquish the assizes entirely, though 
 he was enjoying then a larger practice than any other 
 counsel on the circuit. 
 
 In 1784 — the year following that in which he was 
 called to the bar — Romilly became acquainted with 
 Mirabeau — that remarkable man, in whom there lay 
 verily 'a sincerity, a great free earnestness;' with 'wild 
 burstings of affection in his great heart; of fierce light- 
 ning, and soft dew of pity,' as the historian of the 
 French Revolution expresses it. Through Mirabeau 
 he became acquainted with Lord Lansdowne. This 
 
Sir Samttel Roniilly. 347 
 
 nobleman had expressed a desire to know Romilly on 
 account of his having been the author of a pamphlet 
 called A. Fragment on the Rights and Duties of Juries, 
 the merit of which his lordship fullv recognised. In 
 the first year of his acquaintanceship with Romilly he 
 twice offered him a seat in Parliament, and for a long 
 time continued to be his steady patron and friend. 
 The parliamentary honours were not accepted by 
 Romilly ; he felt that he could not enter the House as 
 member for a nomination borough without sacrificing 
 his independence, which was more precious to him 
 than any dignity. 
 
 There is another matter of interest which may be 
 mentioned in connection with this friendship. Romilly 's 
 attention was directed by Lord Lansdowne to a tract 
 by Mandan, entitled Thoughts on Executive Justice. The 
 author of this tract, basing his argument upon the 
 well-known principle that the certainty of punishment 
 is more efficacious than its severity for the prevention 
 of crimes, insisted that, in order to deter offenders, the 
 criminal law of England should be rigidly enforced in 
 every instance. The principle in the abstract is very 
 sound, but to apply it to what Romilly rightly called 
 the ' sanguinary and barbarous ' penal code which was 
 then in force involved an outrage upon humanity. The 
 tract, however, enjoyed great popularity; and Lord 
 Lansdowne, who was struck with its forcible argu- 
 ments, suggested to Romilly that he should write 
 something on the same subject. Romilly took it in 
 hand, but very quickly found that instead of support- 
 
348 Si7^ Sarmtel Romilly. 
 
 ing Mandan's suggestions he would have to oppose 
 them. This he did with great vigour and earnestness, 
 and published his pamphlet anonymously. It is called 
 Observations on a late Publication entitled ' Tliouglits on 
 Executive Justice! The writing of this little book is an 
 event of importance in Romilly's life; for it was probably 
 that which first led him to consider the necessity of 
 mitigating the undue severity of the criminal law. 
 
 One more circumstance must be alluded to while 
 speaking of Lord Lansdowne. It was at his house 
 that^Romilly first became acquainted with Anne, the 
 eldest daughter of Francis Garbett, Esq., a lady of rare 
 intelligence, to whom he was uuited in marriage on 
 the 3d January 1798. 
 
 He left the circuit, as we have seen, on account of 
 the vast increase of his practice in the Court of Chan- 
 cery. From that time it grew with remarkable rapidity. 
 In 1800 he became one of his Majesty's counsel, and 
 five years later his business exceeded that of any other 
 barrister practising in the Chancery Court. His posi- 
 tion as a lawyer was now fully established, and from 
 various quarters came testimonies to his merits. In 
 1805 the BishojD of Durham appointed him to the 
 chancellorship of his diocese ; and in the autumn of 
 the same year a proposal was made to him of still 
 greater importance. This was no less than an ofier 
 from the Prince of Wales (afterwards George IV.) of a 
 seat in the House of Commons. Romilly appreciated 
 very highly this expression of royal favour ; he was 
 anxious to go into Parliament ; and he did not wish 
 
Sir Samuel Romilly. 349 
 
 the commencement of his pohtical career to be delayed 
 much longer. But he was fully resolved not to accept 
 a seat which would limit his independence. He had 
 refused to be the nominee of the Marquis of Lans- 
 downe, and he could not become the nominee of the 
 Prince. ' It is impossible,' he wrote, ' that the little 
 talents which I possessed could ever be exerted with 
 any advantage to the public, or any credit to myself, 
 unless I came into Parliament quite independent, and 
 answerable for my conduct to God and to my country 
 alone.' 
 
 Early in 1806 he was offered the post of Solicitor- 
 General in the newly-formed Whig ministry. He 
 gladly accepted it, hoping that it would afford him an 
 opportimity of carrying out some of the schemes of 
 law-reform, which had already occupied a good share 
 of his attention. He received the usual honour of 
 knighthood, and on the 21st of March was elected to 
 serve in Parliament for the borough of Queenborough, 
 which was one of those convenient constituencies that 
 are always willing to return a Government candidate. 
 The same day that Sir Samuel Komilly took his seat 
 he was appointed a manager for the Commons in the 
 trial and impeachment of Lord Melville. The skill 
 with which he performed his duties on this great state 
 occasion, especially the admirable manner in which he 
 summed up the evidence against the accused, gave the 
 greatest satisfaction to his friends, and drew from Fox 
 a tribute of unqualified admiration. 
 
 He retained the office of Solicitor-General only for a 
 
35° Sir Samuel Romilly. 
 
 sliort time. InMarch 1807 the ministry of ' all the talents' 
 came to an end, and with it ceased Sir Samuel Romilly 's 
 brief tenure of power. Quickly following this change 
 came a dissolution of Parliament, and Sir Samuel, no 
 longer having Government influence to rely on at 
 Queenborough, was obliged to seek a seat elsewhere. 
 He obtained one in a manner common enough in those 
 days — viz. by purchase. Horsham was the name of the 
 borough, and the sum paid for the honour of repre- 
 senting it was 2000/. An extract from Romilly's diary 
 will best explain and justify his conduct in this matter. 
 • This buying of seats,' he writes, while the excitement 
 of the election was still on, ' is detestable ; and yet it 
 is almost the only way in which one in my situation, 
 who* is resolved to be an independent man, can get 
 into Parliament. To come in by a popular election in 
 the present state of the representation is quite impos- 
 sible ; to be placed there by some great lord, and to 
 vote as he shall direct, is to be in a state of complete 
 dependence ; and nothing hardly remains but to owe a 
 seat to the sacrifice of a part of one's fortune. It is 
 true that many men who buy seats do it as a matter of 
 pecuniary speculation, as a profitable way of employing 
 their money ; they carry on a political trade ; they buy 
 their seats and sell their votes. For myself, I can 
 truly say that, by giving money for a seat, I shall 
 make a sacrifice of my private property, merely that I 
 may be enabled to serve the public. I know what 
 danger there is of men's disguising from themselves 
 the real motives of their actions ; but it really does 
 
Sir Samuel Romilly. 351 
 
 appear to me that it is from this motive alone that I 
 act.' 
 
 In purchasing Horsham Sir Samuel had prudently 
 stipulated that his money should be returned to him in 
 the event of his being unseated on petition. The con- 
 dition proved a very necessary one, for after a good 
 deal of tedious litigation a committee of the House of 
 Commons decided, upon some technical ground, that 
 the election was void. It was not long before Romilly 
 obtained another seat. One of the representatives of 
 the borough of Wareham accepted the Chiltern Hun- 
 dreds, and Romilly succeeded him in Parliament. The 
 market price of Wareham was higher than that of 
 Horsham, and Romilly was obliged to hand over an 
 additional 1000^. To provide for such a contingency 
 a fund had been formed by the most distinguished 
 members of the Whig party, and it was proposed that 
 the extra expense of the new seat should be paid for 
 from this reserve. Romilly, however, would not listen 
 to the suggestion. If the sacrifice of money was neces- 
 sary for a seat, it should at least be the sacrifice of his 
 own. 
 
 We cannot forbear making an extract from the 
 letter in which he declined the offer: it is so charac- 
 teristic of his modest unassuming virtue. 'Do not,' 
 he says, ' ascribe this to any pretensions to an extra- 
 ordinary degree of delicacy; I really have no such 
 pretensions ; but where one is in doubt, it is best to be 
 on the safe side ; and as it is only a pecuniary sacrifice 
 that is to be made, it is a great satisfaction to be quite 
 
352 Sir Sanmel Roniilly. 
 
 sure that one will not hereafter have cause to repent 
 of what one has done.' He accordingly took his seat 
 for Wareham without feeling himself indebted to the 
 patronage even of his most intimate political friends. 
 Later on in his career he represented the borough of 
 Arundel, and was finally chosen to be member for the 
 city of Westminster. 
 
 But we must briefly review his labours in the field 
 of law-reform during the twelve years of his parlia- 
 mentary career. The first subject which engaged his 
 attention was the Bankruptcy Law. He introduced a 
 bill upon this subject in the first year of his Solicitor- 
 Generalship, and carried it with very little difficulty. 
 Three years later he returned to the subject, and suc- 
 ceeded in effecting a further alteration. His reforms 
 in this department met with very general approval ; 
 but to the end of his life he expressed himself greatly 
 dissatisfied. The subject is indeed one of considerable 
 difficulty. Since Romilly's time it has been entirely 
 revised, the whole multitude of statutes has been re- 
 pealed and consolidated with any quantity of fresh 
 amendments ; yet still it constitutes one of the most 
 perplexing problems which law-reformers have to 
 solve. 
 
 But we must pass over this and some other of the 
 minor questions which engaged his attention, to speak 
 of the great work which, more than all else, sheds 
 lustre upon his honoured name. From the time that 
 he wrote his pamphlet in reply to Tlioughts on Executive 
 Justice he had longed to take some steps to bring the 
 
Sii^ Sa7nuel Romilly. 353 
 
 '■ sanguinary and barbarous' penal code more into har- 
 mony with sound principle and sound policy. For 
 nearly three hundred offences, embracing all degrees 
 and varieties of guilt, the law prescribed one indis- 
 criminate penalty. Keeping company with gipsies, the 
 picking of pockets to the value of tAvelvepence, shop- 
 lifting to the value of five shillings, robbery from a 
 dwelling-house to the value of forty shillings, and 
 many other offences of an almost equally trivial nature 
 were placed on a level with the most atrocious murder. 
 The law's remedy in each case was that the culprit 
 should be hanged by the neck until he was dead. 
 That the extreme penalty was seldom enforced against 
 many of the criminals who were threatened by it, it is 
 needless to remark. It would have been too shocking 
 to humanity had it been otherwise. But the very con- 
 trivances by which mercy was extended added to the 
 evils of the system. 
 
 The maxim of Lord Coke's, that ' too severe laws 
 are never executed,' was illustrated in various ways. 
 The victims of petty thefts would not prosecute when 
 they knew that their evidence might send a man to the 
 gallows ; and juries, in violation of their oaths, but in 
 obedience to the dictates of humanity, retui'ned verdicts 
 which were ridiculously at variance with the evidence 
 laid before them. A number of cases of this kind were 
 cited by Romilly in his Observations on the Ci'iminalLaw, 
 published in 1810. He mentions the instance of a 
 woman who pleaded guilty to the charge of stealing 
 two guineas, two half-guineas, and forty-four shillings 
 
 AA 
 
354 Sir Saimiel Romilly. 
 
 in money from a private dwelling-hoiise. The jury 
 persisted in finding a verdict that she had stolen only 
 thirty-nine shillings, in order to save her from the 
 capital penalty. In another case a man stole goods 
 from a shop, .which he was proved to have afterwards 
 sold for IZ. 5s. The jmy mei'cifully determined that 
 the value of the articles was only 4s. lOcZ. These are 
 but illustrations of what was continually occurring. In 
 order to protect criminals from undue severity juries 
 deliberately disregarded their judicial oaths, and the 
 law became the abettor of its own violation. 
 
 Early in the session of 1808 Sir Samuel Romilly, 
 who had long devoted much anxious thought to this 
 subject, brought the whole question before Parliament. 
 Fearing that his effort might be entirely vain if he 
 attempted too much at once, he contented himself on 
 this occasion with passing a general censure upon the 
 severity of the penal code, and proposing the repeal of 
 the statute w^hich made pocket-picking a capital offence. 
 We can hardly realise now how it was possible for any 
 one to oppose such a measure ; yet it was with difficulty 
 that Romilly got it passed. The fact that the law's 
 extreme penalty was seldom resorted to was curiously 
 urged as a reason for making no alteration. It had been 
 said that the cruel laws to which objection was taken 
 were already ' almost abrogated in practice by the astute- 
 ness of judges, the humanity of juries, and the mercy 
 of the Crown.' To this Romilly appropriately replied : 
 ' I am far from being disposed either to censure or 
 regret this relaxation of the law. I am only inquiring 
 
Sir Sa7nuel Roinilly. 2>SS 
 
 whether statutes so dispensed with can be deemed any 
 longer essential to the well-being of the State.' After 
 a moderate concession had been made to the opponents 
 of the bill it passed in safety through both Houses of 
 Parliament. 
 
 In 1810 Romilly brotight forward a bolder proposal. 
 He introduced three bills to repeal the statutes which 
 made the crimes of stealing privately from a shop to 
 the extent of five shillings, or from a dwelling-house 
 or a vessel in a navigable river to the extent of forty 
 shillings, capital felonies. For these three bills Sir 
 Samuel Romilly pleaded in a speech of remarkable 
 power, but all in vain. One was rejected in the House 
 of Lords, another met its doom in a division in the 
 Commons, and the third, after being repeatedly post- 
 poned, had at last to be withdrawn. In the following 
 session he again brought them forward, and had the 
 satisfaction of seeing them pass the Commons ; but in 
 the Lords they were all defeated, chiefly through the 
 opposition of Lord Ellenborough. Among the felonies 
 punishable with death was the crime of stealing pro- 
 perty from bleaching-grounds. This was designed for 
 the especial protection of linen manufacturers; but 
 early in 1811 Sir Samuel Romilly presented two peti- 
 tions from the most influential men in the trade, re- 
 questing Parliament to mitigate the punishment. They 
 reasonably thought that less severity and greater cer- 
 tainty would insure them a more valuable protection. 
 Romilly at once took the matter in hand, introduced 
 two bills to abolish the capital penalty, and saw them 
 pass into law. 
 
2S^ Sir Samuel Romilly. 
 
 The following year he attacked another of the acts 
 which punished with death. This was a statute which 
 had been enacted in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, 
 making it a capital offence for soldiers or mariners to 
 wander and beg without a pass from the magistrate or 
 their commanding officer. Sir Samuel Romilly intro- 
 duced a bill, the preamble of which recited that it was 
 highly expedient that the Act of Elizabeth should be 
 repealed. It passed the Commons safely, but in the 
 Upper House Lord Ellenborough took exception to the 
 word highly in the preamble, and insisted upon its 
 being struck out. This was done ; but, as the Lord 
 Chancellor remarked, 'a statute inflicting death maybe, 
 and ought to be, repealed, if it be in any degree expedient, 
 without its being highly so.' The other peers thought 
 very much the same about it, and the bill was per- 
 mitted to pass. 
 
 The remainder of Romilly's efforts in the same 
 humane direction need not be detailed at length. The 
 bill to abolish the punishment of death for shoplifting- 
 he regularly introduced in each session, but till the 
 day of his death the odious statute remained unre- 
 pealed. He succeeded, however, in effecting several 
 other very necessary reforms, notably that of doing 
 away with the most barbarous and repulsive part of 
 the punishment of high treason. Through his influence, 
 too, parliamentary committees were appointed to in- 
 quire into the whole system of transportation, and 
 the treatment of prisoners in gaols at home. This 
 latter was a subject which had occupied public atten- 
 tion for some time past. The philanthropic Howard 
 
Sir Samuel Roniilly. '^'^'] 
 
 had done his work and gone to his rest, and the kind- 
 hearted Mrs. Fry was still pursuing her labour of love. 
 Sir Samuel Romilly had the good fortune to bo ac- 
 quainted with this noble and excellent woman, the 
 zeal of whose pure charity was a stimulus to his own 
 exertions. 
 
 In speaking of Sir Samuel Romilly's parliamentary 
 career we have confined ourselves exclusively to that 
 part of his work which fell within his province as a 
 lawyer ; but, in the broadest sense of the word, he was 
 a statesman as well. In an age peculiarly rich in 
 eloquence, all acknowledged that he stood in the front 
 rank of orators. In the memoir of Wilberforce we have 
 already referred to one of his most brilliant efforts, 
 which thrilled the House of Commons with an enthu- 
 siasm such as was seldom witnessed in that assembly. 
 Some of the best judges were of opinion that the finest 
 specimens of his oratory were of unrivalled excellence. 
 The energy of his declamation and the severity of his 
 sarcasm when oppression and vice had to be scourged, 
 the closeness and perfection of his reasoning when the 
 understanding had to be addressed, the purity of lan- 
 guage, the grace of diction, the dignity of tone and 
 gesture, all combined to render him the first of forensic 
 pleaders and ' a potent voice in Parliament.' As with 
 stately grandeur and resistless power he poured out 
 his flood of words, even those who were accustomed to 
 such displays seemed to realise afresh how the power 
 of speech can stir men's blood. 
 
 His reputation in Parliament was great : as a states- 
 
^S^ Sir Samuel Rom illy. 
 
 man he was honoured and admired. But it was in his 
 professional character that he first became known ; it 
 was as a lawyer that he gained his great name. As 
 Lord Brougham well puts it, ' He had, by the force of 
 his own learning and talents, and the most spotless 
 integrity, risen to the very heights of professional am- 
 bition before he was even heard of in Parliament ; and 
 . . . was, beyond all question or pretence of rivalry, 
 the first man in the Courts of Equity in this country.' 
 Had he been known as a lawyer only he would still 
 have achieved an enduring fame. His wonderful 
 industry— for he always rose at six, and worked in- 
 cessantly till a late hour at night — his great learning, 
 his marvellous reach of thought, his ready and reten- 
 tive memory, were the qualities which enabled him to 
 triumph over all obstacles, and become the ablest and 
 most profound lawyer of his age. There was only one 
 step higher in the rewards of professional Hfe, and to 
 that his acknowledged preeminence and pure unsullied 
 character gave him an unquestionable title. 
 
 Yet the prospect of becoming Lord Chancellor 
 kindled in him no vain desire. He even doubted his 
 qualifications for the office, when every one else was 
 convinced of his fitness. But what strikes us as most 
 characteristic is the little fascination which the mere 
 dignity of the post had for him. There is a passage 
 in his diary which expresses his opinion upon this sub- 
 ject with such perfect candour that we must transcribe 
 it in full. He has been speaking of the probability 
 that his political conduct may be attributed to a desire 
 
Sir Samuel Roniilly. 359 
 
 lor the Chancellor's office, and adds : ' How little do 
 those who ascribe my conduct to such motives know 
 me ! With the utmost sincerity I can declare that I 
 have no such ambition. I am deeply impressed with 
 the conviction that that high station would add nothing 
 to my happiness, or even to my reputation. Already 
 I have attained the very summit of my wishes. The 
 happiness of my present condition cannot be increased; 
 it may be essentially impaired. I am at the present 
 moment completely independent both of the favours 
 and of the frowns of Government. The large income 
 which I enjoy, and which is equal to all my wishes, 
 has been entirely produced by my own industry and 
 exertions : for no portion of it am I indebted to the 
 Crown ; of no particle of it is it in the power of the 
 Crown to deprive me. The labours of my profession, 
 great as they are, yet leave me some leisure both for 
 domestic and even for literary enjoyments. In those 
 enjoyments, in the retirement of my study, in the 
 bosom of my family, in the affection of my relations, 
 in the kindness of my friends, in the good-will of my 
 fellow-citizens, in the uncourted popularity which I 
 know that I enjoy, I find all the good that human life 
 can supply ; and I am not, whatever others may think 
 of me, so blinded by a preposterous ambition as to wish 
 to change, or even to risk 
 
 " These sacred and home-felt delights, 
 This sober certainty of waking bliss," 
 
 for the pomp, and parade, and splendid restraints of 
 
3^0 Sir Samuel Romilly. 
 
 office ; for the homage and applause of devoted but 
 interested dependents ; for that admiration which the 
 splendour of a high station, by whomsoever pos- 
 sessed, is always certain to command ; and for a much 
 larger, but a precarious, income, which must bring with 
 it the necessity of a much larger expense. The highest 
 office and the greatest dignity that the Crown has to 
 bestow might make me miserable: it is impossible that 
 it could render me happier than I already am/ 
 
 But while shrinking from the additional responsi- 
 bility of such an office, he had fully resolved how to 
 conduct himself if it should come in his way. Since 
 his death the public have been favoured with the sight 
 of some letters containing his private thoughts upon 
 this and similar subjects. They show, as nothing else 
 could, how severe M'ere his habits of self-examination, 
 and how careful he was (as he says) ' to record against 
 himself the obligations by which he was bound.' In 
 this spirit he had laid down rules to guide him in his 
 conduct if ever he should attain to the woolsack ; but 
 the honour was not to be his. Before his political 
 friends were in a position to offer it him he had passed 
 to ' undiscovered lands.' 
 
 But let us turn away from the busy scenes of public 
 life to gaze upon the great man in that domestic retire- 
 ment which he esteemed so much better than fame or 
 dignities. There among the friends he loved it was 
 his delight to throw off all reserve and to dismiss all 
 care from his mind. There are some men who seem 
 to have no hours of social relaxation : they are slaves 
 
Sir Samuel Roinilly. 361 
 
 at all times to the habits and thoughts of their ordi- 
 nary business life. It was said of the late Lord Ten- 
 terden that he had grown so accustomed to adminis- 
 tering rebukes to counsel and witnesses in his own 
 court that he could not get out of the habit. The 
 story has been told that upon one occasion, when enter- 
 taining some friends, he inquired of a country magis- 
 trate if he would take venison. ' Thank you, my lord,' 
 was the reply, 'I am going to take boiled chicken;' 
 to which his lordship sharply retorted, 'That, sir, is 
 no answer to my question ; I ask you again if you 
 will take venison, and I will trouble you to say ye$ or 
 no without further prevarication.' Whether this inci- 
 dent ever occurred, or is simply related for the pur- 
 pose of caricature, we need not inquire. It is sufficient 
 to say that the habit of mind which it indicates is one 
 from which Eomilly was entirely free. Even in public 
 life he could not be charged with undue reserve; while 
 in private he had a wondrous capacity for social en- 
 joyment. 
 
 Apart from domestic joys, few men could have cared 
 less for pursuits of pleasiu-e. His life was devoted 
 almost entirely to professional and parliamentary 
 duties, with occasional intervals for necessary study. 
 The little spare time which this permitted him was 
 given wholly to his family and to that happy circle of 
 acquaintances by which he was surrounded. In all the 
 relations of life — as husband, father, friend — he was 
 singularly blest ; and he did not forget to express his 
 gratitude for it to the Author and Giver of all good 
 
362 Sir Samuel Romilly. 
 
 tilings. It was only a few months before the sad event 
 which destroyed all his earthly happiness that he de- 
 clared to a friend, ' It has been my good fortune never 
 to know domestic affliction.' Little did he know then 
 how close it was to his door. 
 
 But we must return to the incidents of his public 
 life. In the summer of 1818 Parliament was dissolved, 
 and the electors of Westminster requested Sir Samuel 
 Romilly to permit them to nominate him for their 
 important city. They asked not a single pledge from 
 him, and requested that he would abstain from all 
 personal attendance, trouble, and expense. He con- 
 sented to stand ; but, in accordance with the wish of 
 the electors, took no part whatever in the contest. 
 His public character, his services in the cause of free- 
 dom, justice, and humanity, were his sole claim to this 
 honour; but they were sufl&cient to overcome all oppo- 
 sition, and to place him triumphantly at the head of 
 the poll. A higher dignity than this he rightly felt 
 could not be offered to a citizen of a free State. He 
 was now at the height of his popularity. His autho- 
 rity in Parliament — won and maintained by his ability 
 and virtues alone— had reached its loftiest eminence. 
 The prestige of being the representative of a great con- 
 stituency like that of Westminster was all that had 
 been wanted ; and that had now come to him, unso- 
 licited and unexpected. But here all was to end. 
 His voice was no more to be heard in Parliament : his 
 great work was finished. 
 
 For some months past the declining health of Lady 
 
Sir Samuel Roniilly. 363 
 
 Romilly had caused him great alarm. He took her to 
 the Isle of Wight for the benefit of a milder air, and 
 while there his correspondence shows how greatly- 
 agitated his own mind was. All his happiness seemed 
 bomid up so completely with the loving partner of his 
 life — with the continuance of that domestic felicity 
 which had been his for just over twenty years — that 
 he sometimes felt the shock of separation would be 
 more than he could bear. But he knew his duty too 
 well to give way to such a fear, and manfully held up 
 against it. In a letter to a friend, dated the 27th of 
 September 1818, he says : ' Since I last wrote to you, 
 Anne has been worse, and was certainly considered by 
 both her medical attendants as being in some danger. 
 She is at present a little better, but for myself I still 
 apprehend the worst. I take care to let neither her 
 ■ nor the poor children see the anxiety I feel, but it costs 
 me a good deal. With all this, do not suppose that I 
 have not quite resolution enough to undergo every- 
 thing, and to preserve my health for my children's 
 sake.' 
 
 For a month Lady Eomilly lingered on, sometimes 
 apparently improving, but each change for the better 
 being followed by a severe relapse. The mental anguish 
 of her husband during this time was extreme. With 
 pious fortitude and resolution he strove to suppress 
 his feelings, and none probably ever knew how much 
 he really suffered. At times he feared that the weight 
 of the impending calamity would affect his reason ; but 
 when in the company of others all visible emotion was 
 
364 Sir Samuel Romilly. 
 
 restrained. On the 29tli of October Lady Romilly 
 died; and on the following day, at the urgent request 
 of his friends, Sir Samuel set out for home. He tra- 
 velled by easy stages, and arrived at his residence in 
 Russell-square on the 1st of November, 
 
 In vain he tried to suppress his sorrow; his friends 
 watched him with anxiety and alarm as he closed his 
 eyes, and wrung his hands and seemed wild with grief. 
 Then there came a change in his demeanour: throwing 
 himself upon a sofa and joining his hands together, he 
 remained calm for some moments as if in prayer. The 
 doctors who were called in watched over him with 
 anxious care ; but their efforts were vain. The mental 
 agony he had undergone had been too much for him; 
 his heart w^as broken and his reason shattered. In the 
 delirium of madness, while unwatched for a moment, 
 he sprang from his bed, and with his own hand termin- 
 ated a life which his country could ill afford to lose. 
 
 The grief was universal and profound. Not friends 
 only, but all who knew the spotless integrity of his 
 devoted public life, felt that they had sustained no 
 common bereavement. When Lord Eldon took his 
 seat on the bench the next morning, and saw the vacant 
 place, where for so many years Romilly had pleaded 
 before him, his eyes filled with tears. ' I cannot stay 
 here !' he exclaimed, and rising in great agitation, broke 
 up the court. 
 
 For those who can look now upon the event with 
 calmer feelings there remains the simple duty of point- 
 ing to the example of his noble life. No man ever 
 
Sir Sanmel Romilly. 365 
 
 served his countiy and humanity with more perfect 
 devotion or with purer motives. His dearest wish was 
 that he might benefit those about him : he felt his 
 soul elevated and ennobled the more he strove to 
 quicken his ardour for the public good. 'I appear to 
 myself,' he declared upon a most solemn occasion, ' to 
 rise above my earthly existence while I am indulging 
 the hope that I ixiay at some time prove an humble 
 instrument in the divine work of enlarging the sphere 
 of human happiness.' This was the end and object 
 of his work ; no baser motive ever found place. Now 
 he rests with the pure in heart in 
 
 ' The bosom of his Father and his Gol.' 
 
THE MAIs^ OF BUSmESS 
 
 GEOKGE MOORE. 
 
' At every moment of our lives we should be trying to find out, not in 
 what we differ with other peojile, but in what we agree with them ; and 
 the moment we find we can agree as to anything that should be done, 
 kind or good (and who but fools couldn't?), then do it; push at it 
 together; you can't quarrel in a side-bj'-side push; but the moment 
 that even the best men stop pushing, and begin talking, they mistake 
 their pugnacity for piety, and it's all over.' Ruskin. 
 
THE MAN OF BUSINESS: 
 
 GEORGE MOORE. 
 
 There seems something prosaic in leaving the records 
 of adventure and war, the memorials of science, or the 
 story of a poet's life, to speak of the dull routine of 
 business. But let us remember that even commercial 
 life is not without its romance, and the lessons it has 
 to teach have a wider application than all others. The 
 dreariness of incessant toil has been the theme of many 
 useless lamentations, and those whose lot has com- 
 pelled them to work continually have often been dis- 
 posed to envy the hours of idleness which others can 
 enjoy. But this, like most of our complainings, is as 
 unreasonable as it is wrong. We speak fretfully and 
 peevishly of the 'curse of labour,' forgetful that we 
 may rise to a height at which every curse becomes a 
 blessing. ' There is,' says Carlyle, ' a perennial noble- 
 ness and even sacredness in Work. Were he never so 
 benighted, forgetful of his high calling, there is always 
 
 BB 
 
37° George Moore. 
 
 hope in a man that actually and earnestly works: in 
 Idleness alone is there perpetual despair. Work never 
 so Mammonish, mean, is in communication with Nature ; 
 the real desire to get Work done will itself lead one 
 more and more to truth, to Nature's appointments and 
 regulations, which are truth.' Or as he has elsewhere 
 said, 'All true Work is sacred: in all true AVork, were 
 it but true hand-labour, there is something of divine- 
 ness.' Such is the way in which the wise have at all 
 times agreed to regard the ' curse of labour.' With 
 this in view, let us briefly trace the career of a working 
 man. 
 
 The father of George Moore was a small landowner 
 near Wigton in Cumberland, whose faiiiily consisted of 
 three boys and two girls. Both of the latter are still 
 living, and are now the guardians of other homes. 
 The eldest son Thomas resides at the Cumberland 
 home, and cultivates the estate which his father left 
 him. It was at this home at Mealsgate that George, 
 the second son of John Moore, was born on the 9th of 
 April 180G. The following Christmas he was baptised 
 in the parish chiu'ch at Bolton. 
 
 As soon as he was old enough he was sent to a 
 school in the neighbouring village of Bolton Gate, and 
 there he industriously applied himself to the work that 
 lay before him. Mrs. Charles Kingsley, in the Life 
 and Letters of her husband, has given us an amusing 
 description of the village school at Eversley as it was 
 when Kingsley first went there — ' a little stifling room, 
 ten feet square, where cobbling shoes, teaching, and 
 
George Moore. 371 
 
 caning went on together ;' and though such a descrip- 
 tion may at first appear a caricature, it is unfortunately 
 a very accurate description of the best educational ap- 
 pliances which many of our benighted English villages 
 could boast a few years ago. We are afraid that the 
 school at Bolton Gate to which young George Moore 
 was sent was not much better than other village 
 academies, and that very little inducement to study 
 was offered except that which proceeded from the 
 innate determination of the scholar to achieve success, 
 
 George Moore fortunately did not lack this resolu- 
 tion, and Avas therefore able to profit by even the 
 meagre tuition which the school afforded. The friends 
 who were his companions in those days soon recog- 
 nised his preeminence, and accorded to him, with 
 something of that 'hero-worship' which schoolboys 
 are so ready to offer, the dignity of leadership. They 
 found him naturally assuming a prominent place among 
 them. In the scanty studies which the school pro- 
 vided he kept the lead among many who were his 
 seniors, and in the hours of recreation and play his 
 buoyant spirits and fearless courage were the delight of 
 the whole school. 
 
 It frequently happens that the characteristics of 
 boyhood are very uncertain indications of what the 
 man in his maturity will be like. The wasted manhood 
 of a purposeless life has often been preceded by a frank 
 ingenuous childhood, in which every thought seemed 
 sacred in its innocence, and every impulse born 'of 
 loyal nature and of noble mind;' while, on the other 
 
372 George Moore. 
 
 hand, many a youtliful genins has been mistaken for a 
 fool, pronounced morose and sulky, and thrust aside as 
 a hopeless dullard. 
 
 The wise are careful how they prophesy future 
 eminence from the promise of boyhood, and the inac- 
 curate forecasts of those who make the venture have 
 become proverbial. Still, there are instances where a 
 successful manhood has seemed to be the natural pro- 
 duct of those qualities which marked the period of 
 childhood, and it was so with George Moore. Whether 
 engaged at his lessons or at play, alone or with his 
 companions, the same qualities were always to be 
 observed : energy, courage, and persevering activity 
 were the characteristics of the lad at the village school, 
 and these were the means by which he rose from com- 
 parative obscurity, and obtained the power he used so 
 well. 
 
 From the first he was intended for trade, and at 
 the age of fourteen was apprenticed to Mr. Messenger, 
 a draper of Wigton. In this employment he remained 
 for four years, performing the duties assigned to him 
 conscientiously and well. His master admired his dili- 
 gence, and the customers who came to the shop were 
 pleased with the young man's attention. But he had 
 ambitions which Wigton could not satisfy. He was 
 determined to achieve a remarkable commercial success. 
 He saw that others had been enabled by perseverance to 
 make their names famous and their influence felt, and, 
 knowing that he possessed the qualities of heart and 
 mind essential to success, he resolved to succeed. His 
 
George Moore. 373 
 
 was not a mind to rest idly satisfied witli the position 
 in which he found liimself at the starting-point of life. 
 While faithfuhy discharging the duties which lay be- 
 fore him, he restlessly aspired for something beyond. 
 An eminent statesman, whose own career is a briUiant 
 example of the way in which a lofty ambition may 
 achieve its purpose, has said: 'I give that counsel 
 which I have ever given to youth, and which I believe 
 to be the wisest and the best, — I tell them to aspire. 
 I believe that the man who does not look up will look 
 down : and that the spirit that does not dare to soar 
 is destined perhaps to grovel.' This was the opinion 
 of George Moore. He always held that if a man was 
 to make his way in the Avorld he must ' aim high ;' and 
 accordingly he fixed his own standard at a lofty 
 eminence. Before him Avas the ideal of a successful 
 merchant wisely employing his Avealth, and to the 
 realisation of that ideal he moved with undeviating 
 step. 
 
 His first step was to get from Wigton to London ; 
 to leave his native country, with all the associations 
 which had endeared it to him, and to seek a fortune 
 for himself in the great city. His stepmother, anxious 
 to do all she could to assist the youth in his design, 
 obtained for him a situation in the retail house of 
 Messrs. Flint, Ray, Nicholson, & Co., of Grafton House, 
 Soho ; and George, at the age of eighteen, found him- 
 self amidst all the bustle and excitement of a fashion- 
 able West- end shop. His first year in London was 
 sufficient to convince him that he had not yet found 
 
374 George Moore. 
 
 his right place. There was a vast difference between 
 the business of Grafton House and that which he had 
 been used to at Wigton ; but as soon as the novelty of 
 the change wore off he began to yearn for something 
 greater. In order to obtain the eminence upon which 
 he had set his mind, he felt that he must exercise his 
 energy in a larger field than in a retail establishment : 
 he must enter a wholesale house. 
 
 His determination to get on would alone have been 
 sufficient to keep him restless until he was able to 
 display his activity in an appropriate sphere ; but be- 
 fore he left the firm of ]\Iessrs. Flint, Ray, Nicholson, & 
 Co., an additional incentive to perseverance was added 
 to his ambition. George Moore was in love ! And what 
 is more, he was in love with the daughter of one of his 
 employers ! One day, not long after the young man 
 had taken his place at Grafton House, Soho, Mrs. Ray 
 paid a visit to the establishment in company with her 
 daughter. This young lady, who had only seen some 
 eight summers, was no doubt very fascinating and 
 lovely, and the heart of the young man behind the 
 counter was very sensitive to emotions of tenderness. 
 How far George Moore was able to calmly pursue his 
 duties while Miss Ray remained in the shop we are not 
 able to say, nor can we tell whether Miss Ray had yet 
 been taught to modestly avert her glance if she found 
 herself an object of attentive observation. All we can 
 say is that when the purpose of the visit was accom- 
 plished, and the ladies had taken their departure, young 
 Moore remarked to a shopman who was standing by, 
 
George Moore. 375 
 
 ' If ever I marry, that girl shall be my wife !' Here the 
 incident ends : the sequel must be told by and by. At 
 present the young lady goes her way, innocent perhaps 
 of the conquest she had made ; and the aspiring young 
 shopman goes his way too, with one more purpose 
 in life — one more motive to urge him to his destiny. 
 
 Moore now intimated to Mr. Ray — not that he was 
 in love with his daughter, for that would have been 
 dangerous in the extreme — but that he was anxious to 
 obtain employment in a wholesale warehouse. Mr. Ray 
 kindly undertook to use his influence, and very shortly 
 the young man had the satisfaction of learning that a 
 situation had been secured for him in the warehouse of 
 Messrs. Fisher & Co. of Watling-street, This firm was 
 then regarded as the first in the trade, and Moore 
 began to feel that he was fairly on the road to success 
 when he entered the well-known house as warehouse- 
 man at a salary of 40/. per annum. 
 
 Messrs. Fisher & Co. had recently opened a branch 
 establishment in America when the new warehouseman 
 entered on his duties, and several of the most valuable 
 hands had been sent across the Atlantic to conduct 
 the new business. This change opened a path for 
 advancement more readily perhaps than would other- 
 wise have been the case, and George Moore was soon 
 able to improve his position. It was always his plan 
 to do thoroughly whatever work he had before him; 
 and that, too, not for the sake of advancement, though 
 the prospect of it was always present to his mind. 
 His religious impressions at this time were perhaps not 
 
2)1^ George Moore. 
 
 very deep ; but this much he had at least learnt — that 
 whatever his hand found to do he was to do with 
 his might. This persistent attention to duty for its 
 own sake seldom passes unrecognised among men of 
 business. Even the employer, who acknowledges no 
 higher principle of duty than that of ' eye-service ' in 
 his own commercial dealings, prefers to repose his 
 trust in those who will always work with the same 
 energy and attention, regardless of his presence or his 
 absence. Moore was a man of this stamp. Wherever 
 he had work to do, he could be trusted to do it well ; 
 and the recognition of this attention quickly brought 
 him promotion. 
 
 At the age of twenty-one he was selected to be a 
 town traveller. In the life of a man who has resolved 
 to devote himself to commerce this is an important 
 event. So long as he remains in the warehouse he 
 may feel that there is something mechanical in the un- 
 eventful routine of his daily work ; but as soon as he 
 goes out as the representative of his firm all this is 
 changed. He finds himself thrown upon his own re- 
 sources. He realises a responsibility which he was 
 perhaps unconscious of before. Above all, he knows 
 that he Avill be a failure unless he works with unflag- 
 ging energy and perseverance. All these thoughts 
 were present to the mind of George Moore when he 
 first called upon the cnstomers of his firm. He knew 
 that the opportunity of showing his capacity was now 
 presented to him, and that his success in life would 
 depend upon the use he made of his chance. 
 
George Moore, 2i77 
 
 We have already spoken of the chief characteristics 
 which distinguished him in his boyhood— his energy, 
 courage, and perseverance. These quahties are essen- 
 tial to the success of a commercial traveller, and George 
 Moore possessed them to a large extent. He also 
 possessed another qualification, not less important — a 
 complete acquaintance with eveiy part of his trade. 
 Thus equipped, he started on his new work resolved to 
 make his mark. His success was complete. Of course 
 he had difficulties to encounter, and was obliged to con- 
 tend with those manifold disappointments which beset 
 the path of every young traveller. But his resolution 
 was superior to every obstacle, and his firm soon found 
 that they had made a wise choice in selecting him for 
 their representative. Not only was he able to achieve 
 a measure of success equal to that of older travellers, 
 but it was soon found that his orders were larger and 
 more numerous than those of any other representative. 
 From that time George Moore became the most likely 
 man for the next promotion, and for this he had not 
 long to wait. 
 
 After he had held the post of town traveller for a 
 few years, a vacancy occurred on the country ground. 
 A new representative was wanted for Ireland, and the 
 successful town traveller was at once chosen. His 
 predecessor, it would seem, had lately been taking- 
 things rather easily. There was as much to do as he 
 could comfortably get through ; the connection of the 
 house was a large one, and he had not made any very 
 energetic attempts to extend it. Moore went to the 
 
37^ George Moore. 
 
 work fresh, young, and vigorous. He opened new 
 accounts where his predecessor had been content to 
 rely on the old ones only, and pushed the trade with 
 such energy — yet judiciously withal — that his success 
 in the country soon became as conspicuous as his suc- 
 cess in town had been. His firm watched with pleased 
 astonishment the rapid progress he was making, while 
 he exerted every nerve to increase the amount of his 
 returns. 
 
 The life of a country commercial traveller was then 
 very different from what it is now. The means of 
 locomotion were slower, the competition was less 
 keen. There are few travellers now who can afford to 
 trust to the reputation of their houses for obtaining 
 orders : they must depend mainly on their own exer- 
 tions. The representative who preceded George Moore 
 is said to have attached great importance to the name 
 of his firm, and to have adopted the very enticing con- 
 clusion that the same amount of energetic persistency 
 was not required in his case as would be wanted with 
 the representative of an unknown firm. Moore be- 
 longed to the new school : he knew that there was 
 plenty of competition to encounter, and that to be suc- 
 cessful he must trust more to himself than to the name 
 of his house. He knew this and acted upon it, but was 
 quite willing to give the credit of his success to the 
 firm. ' It is the lace,' he used to say, ' not the seller of 
 it, that does the work; people can't do without Fisher's 
 goods, and I only supply their wants.' No traveller 
 who does his work even passably well has an easy time 
 
George Moore. 379 
 
 of it. But George Moore worked desperately hard : 
 he was ever pushing forward. 
 
 An incident which impressed upon him the import- 
 ance of losing no time is worth recording. A firm had 
 recently sprung into existence of the name of Grou- 
 cock, Copestake, & Co., and as their class of trade was 
 similar to that of Messrs. Fisher & Co., their represen- 
 tatives of course evinced a friendly rivalry. But the 
 rivalries of commercial life, like those of politics, are 
 seldom permitted to interfere with personal friendship, 
 and Mr. Moore was on terms of personal intimacy with 
 the opponent from Groucock, Copestake, & Co. One 
 day they chanced to meet in a town where they were 
 engaged on business, and as they were both bound for 
 Liverpool they agreed to start together the following- 
 day. Punctual to the moment Mr. Moore was ready 
 to set out ; but the friend and rival had not made his 
 appearance. ISFo time could be lost. Moore could not 
 afford to delay his departure beyond the appointed 
 time, so he started alone. It can easily be imagined 
 how as the coach rolled along he would alternately 
 think of the advantage which he would derive from 
 being first on the ground and of the chagrin which his 
 rival would feel at being left behind. Perhaps with 
 these reflections would be mingled a hope that his 
 opponent would learn a needed lesson of punctuality. 
 Thus moralising or chuckling with delight he arrived 
 at Liverpool, unpacked his samples, and started off to 
 see his customers. At his first call the secret came 
 out. The representative of Messrs. Groucock, Cope- 
 
o 
 
 80 Georp-e Moore. 
 
 stake, & Co., he was told, liad been there before him, 
 and as his samples were so similar, the order had been 
 given to him. Moore at once perceived that the ap- 
 pointment his friend had made was only a trick to 
 deceive him while he got the lead. He hurried on to 
 another customer and another, but at each place the 
 same news met him — his rival had got the orders. 
 
 Presently the two travellers met, and the sharj) 
 one, delighted at his own ingenuity, apologised very 
 graciously for not keeping his appointment, and asked 
 Mr. Moore to take supper with him. But Mr. Moore 
 had already decided upon the course he would take, 
 and Avhen supper-time came he did not put in an 
 appearance. Many a joke was no doubt made at his 
 expense that night by the customers who had met to 
 enjoy his rival's hospitality ; but if they could have 
 looked into one of the ' stock-rooms' of that hotel, they 
 would have found the object of their mirth busily en- 
 gaged in packing up the goods which he had set out 
 with such care and glee a few hours before. The night 
 was far spent before the work was done, but it was 
 completed at last ; and when the early coach for Man- 
 chester started the following morning Mr. Moore was 
 seated in it. The tables were turned. In due course 
 of time the rival reached Manchester as well, and found 
 a reception awaiting him similar to that which had 
 greeted Mr. Moore at Liverpool. 
 
 This incident well illustrates the secret of his success. 
 He was a pushing man in the most expressive sense of 
 the term, not easily to bs taken ofFhis guard, and ready 
 
George Moore. 381 
 
 to encounter the keenest competition. He was indeed 
 a formidable rival, and all who came into collision with 
 him knew it to their cost. No one felt this more than 
 the representative who, by stealing a march upon him 
 at Liverpool, had lost the lead at Manchester. His 
 house was comparatively a new one, and though its 
 method of business was entirely satisfactory, he found 
 it impossible to make way against Fisher's traveller. 
 The prestige of the older house would alone have made 
 progress difficult, but when to this was united the 
 .influence of their energetic traveller, it seemed a hope- 
 less task to attempt to surpass them. The representa- 
 tive of Messrs. Groucock, Copestake, & Co. explained 
 to his employers how serious the difficulty was against 
 which they had to contend, and advised that they 
 should endeavour to obtain the services of Mr. Moore 
 for themselves. The matter was taken into consider- 
 ation, and resulted in permission being given to the 
 traveller to offer to Mr. Moore a substantial increase 
 in his salary if he would transfer his services to the 
 other house. 
 
 Mr. Moore saw that he was wanted, and that it 
 would be wise to wait until better terms were offered. 
 He therefore declined the offer. The firm were disap- 
 pointed at his refusal, and offered a yet higher salary, 
 but still he would not accept it. The senior partner 
 then took the matter up himself, and personally offered 
 500Z. a year. This was a tempting bait. From Messrs. 
 Fisher & Co. he had been receiving ' something like 
 150/. a year: it was proposed therefore to more than 
 
382 George Moore. 
 
 treble his present salary. But dazzling as the offer 
 was, Mr. Moore did not permit it to mislead his judg- 
 ment. He knew what his real worth was, and meant 
 to have his price. We have all admired the consum- 
 mate audacity of the younger Pitt declaring at the age 
 of twenty-two that he would accept no ser\ace under 
 the Crown which fell short of the rank of a Cabinet 
 Minister. No less surprisingly audacious was the reply 
 of George Moore to the oifer of Mr. Groucock. He 
 said that he had made up his mind not to relinquish 
 his present employment for anything less than a part- 
 nership. This was quite beyond everything the firm had 
 meant to suggest, and no doubt they anxiously debated 
 among themselves as to whether they could not dis- 
 pense with the services of their opponent. This, how- 
 ever, they found was impossible ; Mr. Moore's support, 
 or at least the withdrawal of his opposition, had become 
 essential to the success of the firm, and accordingly, 
 as he could not be induced to abate his demands, they 
 were obliged to agree to his terms. The deed of part- 
 nei'ship was soon drawn up, and in the year 1830 the 
 firm, which was soon to become a leading house, assumed 
 the name of Groucock, Copestake, Moore, & Co. 
 
 The terms of the partnership were roughly as fol- 
 lows : During thi-ee years Mr. Moore was to have a 
 fourth of the profits ; at the end of that time it should 
 be open to further consideration whether the partner- 
 ship should be continued ; but if continued, Mr. Moore 
 should then have an equal share — that is, a third of the 
 total profits. With this understanding Mr. Moore com- 
 
George Moore. 383 
 
 menced his labours with the new firm, fully resolved 
 that when the three years were expired he should be 
 of such importance to his partners that they would 
 not be able to do without him. And so it happened. 
 Wherever he went the same success waited upon him. 
 The trade of his firm rapidly grew and developed, and 
 soon he had the satisfaction of finding that the house 
 of which he was a member was rapidly assuming a 
 position inferior to none in the mercantile world. At 
 the end of the three years his partners were only too 
 pleased to carry out the completion of their agreement 
 by allotting to him an eqiial share in the profits of the 
 firm. 
 
 But now another thought takes possession of his 
 mind, or rather one which has never been absent since 
 he was eighteen years old comes prominently to the 
 front. During the years in which he has been strug- 
 gling to make a position in the world he has had 
 much to think of, many cares, anxieties, and business 
 troubles ; but amidst them all, one bright image has 
 ever been present to his mind. And if the work has 
 seemed hard, or the way toilsome, he has only had to 
 recall to memory that 'phantom of dehght' which filled 
 his youthful soul with the ardour of love. Now the 
 time seems to have come for accomplishing his long- 
 cherished design. Business is prosperous ; his success 
 apparently certain. Miss Ray shall know the reason 
 which has made him struggle so hard. The story is 
 told; the suit successfully urged; and in the year 1839 
 he receives the reward of his perseverance by being 
 
384 George Moore. 
 
 united in mamage to the daughter of his first London 
 eixiployer. 
 
 His business prosperity continued to steadily in- 
 crease from this time, but his health was beginning to 
 suffer. Naturally a strong robust man, he had been 
 able to endure without concern an amount of labour 
 and care which would have told disastrously on weaker 
 men ; but there is a limit to even the strongest man's 
 capacity of endui-ance. and George Moore had nearly 
 reached that limit. In 1844 his strength was so much 
 impaired that he was advised to seek rest and a change 
 of scene by crossing the Atlantic. He started on the 
 17th of August from Liverpool in the Great Western 
 steamer, bound for New York. 
 
 Two days after the departure of the vessel he made 
 an entry in his journal which gives us an accurate idea 
 of the way in which his time was spent during the 
 voyage : — ' Laid down the following rules, which I hope 
 to be able to keep : rise at half-past seven ; walk on 
 deck till breakfast; read at least six chapters in the 
 Bible the first thing after breakfast ; then walk on deck 
 for an hour till lunch ; afterwards write for an hour ; 
 then walk on deck for another hour ; then read any 
 books I have till dinner ; between dinner and tea walk 
 and talk, and take stock of the passengers, being some 
 of all sorts here; after tea, whist till ten, and then 
 turn in.' Li this way, with some occasional variations, 
 the fourteen days of the voyage were spent, and New 
 York reached on the last day in August. 
 
 One pf his first acts in New York was to visit the 
 
George Moore. 385 
 
 various stores, aiicl notice the way in which business 
 was conducted. On the whole, he was by no means 
 favourablyimpressed with the American trading system, 
 remarking that the lower class especially ' take any 
 price they can get.' The magnificent establishment of 
 Mr. Alexander Stewart in the Broadway he particu- 
 larly mentions as one which was conducted on admir- 
 able principles; and he could scarcely have failed to 
 notice how great a resemblance there was between his 
 •own career and that of Mr. Stewart. 
 
 The life of this prosperous American merchant might 
 almost be called an American romance. Like George 
 Moore, he started with a capital of 600^., determined to 
 succeed — and determined to succeed lionestly. His plan 
 was to sell goods at a profit of ten per cent ; never to 
 attempt to get more ; and always to tell people that 
 he got no less. ' Ten per cent, and no lies,' he made 
 his motto, and resolved to trust to the public to deal 
 lionestly with a man who was prepared to deal honestly 
 with them. The success which attended this experi- 
 ment proved that the proverb is true that ' honesty is 
 the best policy,' though it has a far more substantial 
 foundation to rest upon. He always paid ready money 
 in his purchases, and always required it from others. 
 The great financial panic of 1873, which menaced and 
 even destroyed the prosperity of so many American 
 merchants, was nnable to affect his stability. And 
 when he died in April 1876 — five months before the 
 melancholy termination of Mr. Moore's career — he left 
 a princely fortune which excited astonishment by its 
 
 CO 
 
386 George Moore. 
 
 magnitude, thougli it had many times been diminished 
 by acts of noble and generous beneficence. Mr. Moore 
 might Avell be pleased as he walked among the shops 
 and warehouses of the great American city, and saw so 
 much that he disliked, to feel that there was at least 
 one merchant there whose honest heart and wise am- 
 bition were kindred to his own. 
 
 There were other things in America which Mr. 
 Moore disliked besides the commercial system. His 
 sense of decorum was particularly shocked at the ab- 
 sence of judicial dignity. ' We visited the sessions- 
 house,' he notes in his diary, ' where there is no distinc- 
 tion between judges, counsel, or prisoners — all are in 
 plain dress, spitting about in all corners.' From the 
 States a visit was paid to Canada, and New York and 
 Boston were called at on the way home. At the latter 
 city his friend, who was driving, had the misfortune to 
 run against a cart in the dark, and both had a very nar- 
 row escape from serious danger. Fortunately nothing 
 worse than a few bruises resulted from the mischance. 
 
 He left Boston with feelings of regret, having been 
 greatly pleased with its business and society. His 
 testimony to the social character of the American 
 people, written at the end of his journey, is candid and 
 sincere. ' I am bound to add,' he says, ' contrary to 
 the general opinion formed in England, that I met with 
 the most open, frank, communicative people I ever 
 came in contact with ; and further, I am bound to add, 
 I frequently had occasion to blush for my own ignor- 
 ance, both about Europe and America.' On Friday, 
 
George Moore. 387 
 
 1st November, he set sail from Boston, and, after the 
 usual fortnight's voyage, fomid himself back in Liver- 
 pool. During the four months of his absence from 
 England he kept a journal, in which were carefully- 
 recorded all the incidents of the journey. This he had 
 printed in 1845, and privately circulated amongst 
 friends. It is affectionately dedicated to his wife. 
 
 We have spoken of this American trip as a plea- 
 sure excursion, and such it undoubtedly was ; but 
 his restless mind would not permit it to be devoted 
 to pleasure only, and he was able to feel when he 
 returned that, while he had attained the primary object 
 of his voyage, he had accomplished other useful pur- 
 poses as well. His health, if not thoroughly renovated, 
 was yet greatly improved, and the American connection 
 of the firm was vastly extended. 
 
 As soon as he was back he threw himself with 
 vigour into the business again, and persuaded his 
 partners to build a lace-manufactory at Nottingham. 
 This was the commencement of a development which 
 was to result in the establishment of branches and 
 factories in Manchester, Paris, New York, Philadelphia, 
 and other places. 
 
 The next time he had to seek rest and change 
 abroad he went to Italy. This was in 1858, when the 
 journey was rendered necessary by domestic bereave- 
 ment. Mrs. Moore had for some years been suffering 
 from a painful illness, and its fatal termination was felt 
 very acutely by the widower. A short journey through 
 Italy served to partially relieve his mind, and he re- 
 
388 Geo7'ge Moore. 
 
 turned to London to devote himself with the old 
 energy to business. 
 
 We may here appropriately pause in the narrative, 
 to take a general view of the character of George 
 Moore and of the position he had at this time attained. 
 Hitherto we have said very little about his religious 
 disposition, but we must not pass it by without notice. 
 It sometimes happens that the commencement of a 
 religious life can be distinctly discerned at one par- 
 ticular period in a man's career. But we must not 
 always expect to make this discovery. With many it 
 is a gradual development, scarcely perceptible in the 
 stages of its growth. Piety, like the fragrant blossom 
 which unfolds its petals to the genial influence of the 
 sun, will often grow to maturity and strength silently 
 and unobserved, fostered by the sweet associations of 
 home and the ennobling power of friendship. The 
 religious life of George Moore added to its growth in 
 both ways. Trained from infancy in that fear of God 
 which is the beginning of wisdom, he continued through 
 youth and early manhood to remain faithful to that 
 early instruction. But in 1851, or somewhere about 
 that time, an incident occurred which gave to his faith 
 a fresh vitality. From the time when he resigned his 
 situation with Messrs. Fisher & Co. he became very 
 intimate with his new partners, but especially with the 
 head of the firm, Mr. Groucock, with whom he was on 
 terms of very close friendship. About the time of which 
 Ave speak Mr. Groucock was taken seriously ill, and 
 though every care was lavished upon him the malady 
 
George Moore. 389 
 
 proved fatal. Throughout his sickness Mr. Moore was 
 constantly at his bedside, and to both the same thought 
 was present — how little use was success in life or the 
 accumulation of wealth if the last sleep could not be 
 slept in peace. Neither, perhaps, had very seriously 
 considered the matter before; but now the hand of 
 death seemed heavy on one, and both felt that if that 
 hand relaxed its grasp life would henceforth have a 
 deeper meaning and a new importance. We have 
 already said that Mr. Groucock succumbed to his illness ; 
 but his friend lived on to profit by the impressions he 
 had received. From that time life had a reality and 
 purpose which he had only partially realised before. 
 Not that he ceased to be the aspiring merchant, or grew 
 careless about riches. Far otherwise. ' The parsons,' 
 he said, in addressing some children at Wigton, 'will tell 
 you a good deal about money ; but my opinion is that 
 it is a good thing to make plenty of money, if you only 
 make a proper use of it,' He still pressed on to realise 
 the ambitious projects of his youth ; but it was in order 
 that his influence might be exercised for good, and his 
 wealth be employed in works of love and charity. 
 
 Having risen to eminence in the city where he 
 went, when a youth of eighteen, to carve out his own 
 fortune, he longed to renew his acquaintance with the 
 home at which his childhood had been spent. Cumber- 
 land had never lost its charm for him, and while busy 
 in the pursuit of commerce he had looked forward to the 
 time when he would be able to renew his acquaintance 
 with all the associations which had delighted his boy- 
 
39° George Moore. 
 
 hood. Close to the family estate Avas the remnant of 
 an old mansion, suiTOunded by extensive grounds. 
 This, which was known as the Whitehall Estate, George 
 Moore purchased for about 40,000/., and at great cost 
 had thoroughly renovated. The grounds were laid 
 out in fresh order, and the house itself almost entirely 
 rebuilt ; but some of the antique remains — such as an 
 immense chimneypiece — were retained in their old 
 places. The church of Allhallows was situated on the 
 estate, and connected with it was a mausoleum, in 
 which the remains of Mrs. Moore were laid. Over her 
 tomb a memorial of sculptured marble may be seen; 
 and in the market-place at Wigton a handsome drink- 
 ing fountain, of polished granite, adorned with groups 
 in bronze, executed by Mr. Woolner, was erected in 
 honour of her memory. 
 
 In 1861 Mr. Moore was married to Miss Agnes 
 Breeks of Warcop, Westmoreland, and from this date 
 his time was largely spent at Whitehall. His old 
 neighbours were glad to find him once more among 
 them, and he did not forget that his native county had 
 a claim upon his wealth and time. There are many 
 men who gain a reputation for benevolence in public 
 life — whose names appear on numerous subscription- 
 lists, and whose time even is devoted to many works 
 of ostentatious philanthropy — whose treatment of 
 neighbours in the quiet of a country home is yet not 
 Avithout reproach. EsjDecially is this the case Avhen 
 the benevolent man has risen from some humble rank 
 of society. He is reluctant to mix A^dth the people 
 
George Moore. 391 
 
 who knew liim in the days which preceded his pros- 
 perity; he would prefer not to acknowledge the ac- 
 quaintanceship of those who were the companions of 
 his boyhood. Moore was not a man of that stamp. 
 It was always a source of gratification to him to know 
 that the position he had attained for himself enabled 
 him to benefit those who had been his friends when 
 lie was an obscure country lad. 
 
 It has been told on the authority of the Dean of 
 Carlisle that when the rich merchant once visited Rose 
 Castle he was accosted by the old woman who kept 
 the poultry, who reminded liim that she was an old 
 schoolfellow, and George Moore, in the most unaffected 
 and friendly manner, expressed himself pleased at re- 
 newing the acquaintance. A simple incident of this 
 kind gives us an insight into the character of the man, 
 and shows us that beneath the bluntness of a some- 
 what rugged exterior there was a native generosity 
 and nobleness which could not fail to excite in those 
 who knew him a deep and affectionate regard. The 
 Archbishop of Canterbury has paid this tribute to his 
 memory : ' He forgot no one who had been kind to 
 him in his youth.' Many more elaborate eulogies have 
 been uttered over self-made men, but none which 
 .speaks of truer worth. 
 
 In his own county no one ever appealed in vain to 
 him for help : even an appeal was frequently unneces- 
 sary — it was enough for him to know that help was 
 wanted. An instance of this unsolicited generosity 
 has been recorded by the Dean of Carlisle. Help was 
 
39 2 George Moore. 
 
 sadly wanted for the Carlisle Infirmary : its funds were 
 loM'-, and there seemed no prospect of increasing them, 
 No application was made to George Moore — perhaps 
 the appeals to him had been so frequent that his friends 
 scarcely liked to ask again ; but an allusion to it 
 happened to appear in the newspaper. ' One morning,'' 
 says the Dean, ' I rose much perplexed and troubled, 
 and came down to the breakfast-table and saw a letter. 
 I opened it indifferently. It was from Mr. Moore, and 
 it said : " I see you are in some difficulty about sup- 
 porting your infirmary. I send you a cheque for a 
 thousand pounds." ' It was so with every local asso- 
 ciation which sought to improve the health or morals 
 or education of the people. None failed for lack of 
 support : his purse was ever at their service. Let us 
 not omit to add that in all these works of charity and 
 beneficence, from 1861 until the time of his death, his 
 efforts were made easy and cheerful by the loving and 
 sympathetic assistance of his wife. 
 
 We have dwelt upon his work in Cumberland be- 
 cause it was there that he delighted to find exercise 
 for his kindly disposition ; but it was in the great city 
 that his munificence was chiefly known to the world 
 at large. But here, again, we find that he always re- 
 cognised the greatest force in the claims which were 
 nearest home. No effort was spared which could con- 
 duce to the comfort and good of those who were depen- 
 dent upon him. In the vast establishment at Bow 
 Churchyard, every provision was made for the religious 
 and intellectual culture of the young men employed. 
 
George Moore. 393, 
 
 A chaplam was regularly engaged to conduct daily 
 worship, and a personal interest was taken in the reli- 
 gions welfare of every servant of the firm. Several 
 yonng men who have shown a fitness for the post have 
 been enabled by the kind assistance of Mr. Moore tO' 
 take orders in the Church. A large and well-stored 
 library was provided, affording means of useful recrea- 
 tion, and frequent lectures have been given by eminent 
 men. All these facilities for the profitable employment 
 of spare time have been highly appreciated by those 
 for whose benefit they were designed. He who was- 
 the means of introducing them has now passed away ; 
 but the work, which was a good one, will continue ; 
 and we may not only be sure that the servants of the 
 firm will continue to receive assistance in their reli- 
 gious and mental progress, but we may also hope that 
 in many other warehouses so admirable an example 
 will be followed. 
 
 Another body which he felt had a special claim 
 upon him was that of commercial travellers. Though 
 risen to be the head of a large firm, he did not forget 
 that the foundation of his prosperity had been laid 
 while he was a member of that industrious body ; and 
 like all who have spent much time ' on the road,' his- 
 sympathy continued to be with his busy companions. 
 He took an active part in the formation of the Com- 
 mercial Travellers' Schools, and used to say that he 
 had ' walked many a pair of boots off his feet in going 
 up and down provincial and manufacturing towns, ask- 
 ing for subscriptions, enlisting supporters, and getting 
 
394 George Moore. 
 
 ■up deputations,' His energy bore its usual fruit. The 
 handsome building at Pinner was erected, and the 
 institution has continued to receive the zealous sup- 
 port of the commercial body. Mr. Moore remained its 
 treasiu'er to the day of his death, and bequeathed it a 
 legacy of 1500/. 
 
 One of the rules of this school is that religious 
 instruction shall be its ' unalterable basis,' and to this 
 condition Mr. ]\Ioore attached great importance. He 
 fully recognised that secular education alone was 
 utterly insufficient to rightly mould the character of 
 children, and refused to be a party to anj^ scheme of 
 instruction from which the religious element was elim- 
 inated. In one instance he had promised a donation 
 of 1000/. to some schools — the Middle Class Schools — 
 when he heard that biblical instruction was to be 
 •excluded. He at once said that he must withhold his 
 subscription, and was only induced to change his 
 decision when the managers brought their rules into 
 harmony with his wishes. In all his educational gifts 
 and endowments he was guided by this policy. When- 
 ever he offered a prize or founded a scholarship he 
 always insisted that proficiency in the Scriptures 
 should be a condition of its attainment. 
 
 Various estimates have been made as to the amount 
 which he annually subscribed to the many charitable 
 institutions dependent upon him, and some of the 
 estimates are of gigantic proportions ; but none can 
 adequately represent the extent of his beneficence. 
 'Those who knew him best are the readiest to bear 
 
George Moo7'-e. 395 
 
 testimony to the number of gifts which were given 
 under a promise of secrecy. His last letter to London 
 IS said to have been one addressed to a friend, asking 
 him to search out and provide for a boy in a London 
 warehouse, whose family had suddenly been reduced 
 to poverty ; and none but the friend to whom the 
 letter was written was to know the source of the 
 charity. We are often disposed to make a rather 
 invidious distinction between those who bestow their 
 gifts publicly amidst popular applause, and those who 
 ' do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.' The 
 distinction is frequently a just one, but between the 
 two dispositions there is no necessary antipathy. It 
 is sometimes best that the left hand should not know 
 what the right hand doeth ; at other times it is well 
 that the light of a good example should shine before 
 men. In the case of George Moore both methods were 
 adopted. The public gift was allowed to excite a 
 healthy emidation, and in private the hand of charity 
 was not withheld. One who had opportunities of 
 observing his conduct has said, that he would some- 
 times sit a whole day in his counting-house signing 
 cheques for any worthy object that could be brought 
 before his notice. 
 
 We seem so naturally to regard George Moore as 
 the successful man of business and the philanthropist 
 that it would be out of place to dwell at length 
 upon his social habits. Even these, however, were 
 directly connected with his works of charity. He was 
 fond of entertaining all who took an interest in the 
 
39^ George Moore. 
 
 institutions he supported, and would sometimes have 
 guests of very different kinds meet beneath his roof. 
 On one occasion he had the Archbishop of Canterbury 
 and the Bishop of AVinchester to meet Mr. Spurgeon. 
 Though himself a Churchman, no sectarian differences 
 were permitted to separate him from his Nonconformist 
 friends in any of the good works he undertook. He 
 was not unconscious of the differences which divided 
 Christians from each other ; but he knew that beneath 
 their differences was a substantial agreement, and that 
 all were alike anxious to produce ' the fruit of good 
 works.' 
 
 Like Peabod};^, to whom in many respects he bore a 
 strong resemblance, he always declined to be a candi- 
 date for parliamentary or municipal honours, though 
 frequently pressed by his friends to do otherwise. In 
 1844 he was elected Sheriff for the City of London 
 without his consent, and rather than serve he paid the 
 penalty of 500/. 
 
 As the close of his career drew nigh, the duties of 
 charity multiplied fast upon him ; for the prosperity of 
 his firm has been steadily progressive, and his genero- 
 sity has been extended in the same proportion. In 
 1868 he built Christ Church, Somers-town, and the 
 adjoining schools entirely at his own cost ; and as an 
 indication of the interest he took in Clmrch develop- 
 ment, it may be mentioned that one of his last dona- 
 tions was 6000/. to the Society for the Education of 
 Young Men for the Church of England. Early in 1871 
 a fund was raised at the Mansion House for the relief 
 
George Moore. 397 
 
 of the sufFering inhabitants of Paris, where the siege 
 had just terminated, and George Moore was appointed 
 to go in company with Colonel H. Stuart Wortley to 
 administer it. He started from England on Feb. 3d 
 with sixty-eight tons of provisions, and personally super- 
 intended the distribution of it in the French capital. 
 His exertions in this humane enterprise told seriously 
 on his health, and it is doubtful whether he ever fairly 
 recovered his strength. 
 
 But he was destined to close his career in the per- 
 formance of an act of charity. At Carlisle there was a 
 nursing institution which stood in need of help ; George 
 JMoore heard of its necessity, and having satisfied him- 
 jself that it was worthy of support, determined not only 
 to contribute towards its expenses, but to attend a 
 meeting and speak on its behalf as well. For this 
 purpose he went to Carlisle, and was walking along 
 English-street, when two horses, which had escaped 
 from a livery-stable, came rushing along. One ran upon 
 the pavement as Mr. Moore was passing, and knocked 
 him down. He was taken up insensible ; Sir William 
 Gull was telegraphed for, and all available medical 
 skill was hastily summoned, but in vain. He lingered 
 till the afternoon of the following day (November 21, 
 1876), and then quietly passed to his rest. The visita- 
 tion of death was sudden, it came without hint or 
 -warning ; but it mattered not, for it found him at his 
 ^ork and ready to start on the journey. 
 
 It is not without purpose that we have chosen 
 
398 George Moore. 
 
 George Moore for tlie subject of our final sketch. It 
 lias been our endeavour throughout to show how 
 blessed is the lot of the man Avho consecrates all his 
 energies and powers to the service of his fellows. We 
 have sought for illustrations of this in the paths of 
 science, on the field of battle, and at the bedside of the 
 sick and suffering; in the heroic self-denial of the tra- 
 veller, in the training of youth, in the lofty utterances 
 of poetic inspiration, and in the fiery contentions of the 
 senate. In all we have found the highest endowments 
 solemnly dedicated to the highest purposes. But xn. 
 George Moore we seem to specially notice the kind 
 human heart exercised in works of benevolence. We 
 see a life which more resembles the lot of others. No 
 extraordinary genius, but a plain pushing man of busi- 
 ness. Surely this may be allowed to suggest the re- 
 flection to ns that in the ordinary paths of life there 
 are duties for ordinary men to do : that to make the 
 world better is not the sole prerogative of genius or 
 the peculiar mission of illustrious men ; but that each 
 of us may help, ay, and help with inestimable potency, 
 if the law of kindness is written in our hearts. 
 
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