CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Date Due -smrfi 1957 % it 'KRNQV1 4-5*- ^^=#4^ toc>= 'AhIH J@_ J^-8^2QQL^ Cornell University Library CT105 .B69 Lives of poor boys who became famous / S olin 3 1924 029 777 368 Cornell University Library The original of 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/cu31924029777368 fc 1 "' A A h' LIVES POOE BOYS WHO BECAME FAMOUS. SARAH K. BOLTON. "There is property no History, only Biography." — Emerson. •'Human portraits, faithfully drawn, are of all pictures the welcomest on human walls. — Carlyle. NEW YORK: THOMAS Y. CEOWlLL & CO., 13 Astor Place. E5, /cornel^ university, 1 ^ LIBRARY ,y Copyright, By Thomas Y. Ceottell & Co. 1885. J. S. Ci/suimg & Co., Pbintebs, Boston. MY ONLY SISTER, JHrs. Raises 30. ittiller, IN REMEMBRANCE OF MANY HAPPY HOURS. PEEFAOE. f I 1HESE characters have been chosen from vari- ous countries and from varied professions, that the youth who read this book maj' see that poverty is no barrier to success. It usually develops ambi- tion, and nerves people to action. Life at best has much of struggle, and we need to be cheered and stimulated by the careers of those who have over- come obstacles. If Lincoln and Garfield, both farmer-boys, could come to the Presidency, then there is a chance for other farmer-boys. If Ezra Cornell, a mechanic, could become the president of great telegraph com- panies, and leave millions to a university, then other mechanics can come to fame. If Sir Titus Salt, working and sorting wool in a factory at nineteen, could build one of the model towns of the world for his thousands of workingmen, then there is VI PREFACE. encouragement and inspiration for other toilers in factories. These lives show that without work and will no great things are achieved. I have selected several characters because they were the centres of important historical epochs. With Garibaldi is necessarily told the story of Italian unity ; with Garrison and Greeley, the fall of slavery ; and with Lincoln and Sheridan, the battles of our Civil War. S. K. B. CONTENTS. PAGE George Peabody Merchant 1 Bayard Taylor Traveller 13 Captain James B. Eads Civil Engineer 26 James Wait Inventor 33 Sir Josiah Mason Manufacturer 46 Bernard Palissy Potter 54 Bertel Thorwaldsen Sculptor 65 Wolfgang Mozart Composer 72 Samuel Johnson Author 83 Oliver Goldsmith Poet and Writer 90 Michael Faraday Scientist 96 Sir Henry Bessemer Maker of Steel 112 Sir Titus Salt Philanthropist 124 Joseph Marie Jacquard Silk Weaver 130 Horace Greeley Editor 138 William Lloyd Garrison Reformer 156 Giuseppe Garibaldi Patriot 172 Jean Paul Eichter Novelist 187 Leon Gambetta Statesman 204 viii CONTENTS. PAGE David G. Farragut Sailor 219 Ezka Cornell Mechanic 238 Lieut.-General Sheridan Soldier 251 Thomas Cole Painter 270 Ole Bull Violinist 284 Meissonier Artist 303 Geo. W. Childs Journalist 313 Dwight L. Moody Evangelist 323 Abraham Lincoln President 342 GEORGE PEABODY. IF America had been asked who were to be her most munificent givers in the nineteenth cen- tury, she would scarcely have pointed to two gro- cer's boys, one in a little country store at Danvers, Mass. , the other in Baltimore ; both poor, both uneducated ; the one leaving seven millions to Johns Hopkins University and Hospital, the other nearly nine millions to elevate humanity. George Peabody was born in Danvers, Feb. 18, 1795. His parents were respectable, hard-working people, whose scant}' income afforded little education for their children. George grew up an obedient, faith- ful son, called a " mother-bcy " by his companions, from his devotion to her, — a title of which any boy may well be proud. At eleven years of age he must go out into the world to earn his living. Doubtless his mother wished to keep her child in school ; but there was no money. A place was found with a Mr. Proctor in a grocery-store, and here, for four years, he worked clay by clay, giving his earnings to his mother, and winning esteem for his promptness and 2 GEORGE PEABODY. honesty. But the boy at fifteen began to grow ambitious. He longed for a larger store and a broader field. Going with his maternal grandfather to Thetford, Vt., he. remained a year, when he came back to work for his brother in a dty -goods store in Newburyport. Perhaps now in this larger town his ambition would be satisfied, when, lo ! the store burned, and George was thrown out of em- ployment. His father had died, and he was without a dollar in the world. Ambition seemed of little use now. However, an uncle iu Georgetown, D.C., hearing that the boy needed work, sent for him, and thither he went for two years. Here he made many friends, and won trade, by his genial manner and respect- ful bearing. His tact was unusual. He never wounded the feelings of a buyer of goods, never tried him with unnecessary talk, never seemed im- patient, and was punctual to the minute. Perhaps no one trait is more desirable than the latter. A person who breaks his appointments, or keeps others waiting for him, loses friends, and business success as well. A young man's habits are always observed. If he is worthy, and has energy, the world has a place for him, and sooner or later he will find it. A wholesale dry-goods dealer, Mr. Riggs, had been watching young Peabody. He desired a partner of energy, perseverance, and honesty. Calling on the young clerk, he asked him to put his labor against GEORGE PEABODY. 3 his, Mr. Riggs's capital. ' ; But I am only nineteen years of age," was the reply. This was considered no objection, and the part- nership was formed. A year later, the business was moved to Baltimore. The boyish partner trav- elled on horseback through the western wilds of New York, Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia, selling goods, and lodging over night with farmers or planters. In seven years the business had so increased, that branch houses were established in Philadelphia and New York. Finally Mr. Eiggs retired from the firm ; and George Peabody found himself, at the age of thirty-five, at the head of a large and wealthy establishment, which his own energy, industry, and honesty had helped largely to build. He had bent his life to one purpose, that of making his business a success. No one person can do many things well. Having visited London several times in matters < of trade, he determined to make that great city his place of residence. He had studied finance by ex- perience as well as close observation, and believed that he could make money in the great metropolis. Having established himself as a banker at Wanford Court, he took simple lodgings, and lived without display. When Americans visited London, they called upon the genial, true-hearted banker, whose integrity they could always depend upon, and trans- acted their business with him. In 1851, the World's Fair was opened at the 4 GEORGE PEABODT. Crystal Palace, London, Prince Albert having worked earnestly to make it a great success. Con- gress neglected to make the needed appropriations for America ; and her people did not care, appar- ently, whether Powers' Greek Slave, Hoe's wonder- ful printing-press, or the McCormick Reaper were seen or not. But George Peabody cared for the honor of his nation, and gave fifteen thousand dol- lars to the American exhibiters, that they might make their display worthy of the great country which the}* were to represent. The same .year, he gave his first Fourth of July dinner to leading- Americans and Englishmen, headed by the Duke of Wellington. While he remembered and honored the day which freed us from England, no one did more than he to bind the two nations together by the great kindness of a great heart. Mr. Peabody was no longer the poor grocery boy, or the dry -goods clerk. He was fine looking, most intelligent from his wide reading, a total abstainer from liquors and tobacco, honored at home and abroad, and very rich. Should he bu}- an immense estate, and live like a prince? Should he give par- ties and grand dinners, and have servants in livery* Oh, no ! Mr. Peabody had acquired his wealth for a different purpose. He loved humanity. "How could he elevate the people ? " was the one question of his life. He would not wait till his death, and let others spend his money ; he would have the sat- isfaction of spending it himself. GEORGE PEABODY. 5 And now began a life of benevolence which is one of the brightest in our history. Unmarried and childless, he made other wives and children happy by his boundless generosity. If the story be true, that he was once engaged to a beautiful American girl, who gave him up for a former poor lover, the world has been the gainer by her choice. In 1852, Mr. Peabody gave ten thousand dollars to help fit out the second expedition under Dr. Kane, in his search for Sir John Franklin ; and for this gift a portion of the newly-discovered country was justly called Peabody Land. This same year, the town of 'Danvers, his birthplace, decided to celebrate its centennial. Of course the rich London banker was invited as one of the guests. He was too busy to be present, but sent a letter, to be opened on the day of the celebration. The seal was broken at dinner, and this was the toast, or sentiment, it contained: ''Education — a debt due from present to future generations." A check was enclosed for twenty thousand dollars for the purpose of building an Institute, with a free library and free course of lectures. Afterward this gift was increased to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The poor boy had not forgotten the home of his childhood. Four years later, when Peabody Institute was dedicated, the giver, who had been absent from America twenty years, was present. New York and other cities offered public receptions ; but he declined all save Danvers. A great procession 6 GEORGE PEABODY. was formed, the houses along the streets being decorated, all eager to do honor to their noble townsman. The Governor of Massachusetts, Ed- ward Everett, and others made eloquent addresses, and then the kind-faced, great-hearted man re- sponded : — " Though Providence has granted me an unvaried and unusual success in the pursuit of fortune in other lands, I am still in heart the humble boy who left yonder unpretending dwelling many, very many years ago. . . . There is not a youth within the sound of my voice whose early opportunities and advantages are not veiy much greater than were my own ; and I have since achieved nothing that is impossible to the most humble boj' among you. Bear in mind, that, to be truly great, it is not necessary that you should gain wealth and impor- tance. Steadfast and undeviating truth, fearless and straightforward integrity, and an honor ever unsullied by an unworthy word or action, make their possessor greater than worldly success or pros- perity. These qualities constitute greatness." Soon after this, Mr. Peabody determined to build an Institute, combining a free library and lectures with an Academy of Music and an Art Gallery, in the city of Baltimore. For this purpose he gave over one million dollars — a princely gift indeed ! Well might Baltimore be proud of the day when he sought a home in her midst. > But the merchant-prince had not fluished his giv- GEORGE PEABODY. 7 ing. He saw the poor of the great city of Loudon, living in wretched, desolate homes. Vice and pov- erty were joining hands. He, too, had been poor. He could sympathize with those who knew not how to make ends meet. What would so stimulate these people to good citizenship as comfortable and cheer- ful abiding-places ? March 12, 18G2, he called to- gether a few of his trusted friends in London, and placed in their hands, for the erection of neat, taste- ful dwellings for the poor, the sum of seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Ah, what a friend the poor had found ! not the gift of a few dollars, which would soon be absorbed in rent, but homes which for a small amount might be enjoyed as long as they lived. At once some of the worst portions of London were purchased ; tumble-down structures were removed ; and plain, high brick blocks erected, around open squares, where the children could find a playground. Gas and water were supplied, bathing and laundry rooms furnished. Then the poor came eagerly, with their scanty furniture, and hired one or two rooms for twenty-five or fifty cents a week, — cab- men, shoemakers, tailors, and needle-women. Ten- ants were required to be temperate and of good moral character. Soon tiny pots of flowers were seen in the windows, aud a happier look stole into the faces of hard-working fathers and mothers. Mr. Peabody soon increased his gift to the Lon- don poor to three million dollars, saying, " If judi- 8 GEORGE PEABODY. ciously managed for two hundred years, its accumu- lation will amount to a sum sufficient to buy the city of London." No wonder that these gifts of millions began to astonish the world. London gave him the freedom of the city in a gold box, — an honor rarely be- stowed, — and erected his bronze statue near the Royal Exchange. Queen Victoria wished to make him a baron ; but he declined all titles. What gift, then, would he accept, was eagerly asked. "A letter from the Queen of England, which I may carry across the Atlantic, and deposit as a memorial of one of her most faithful sons," was the response. It is not strange that so pure and noble a man as George Peabodj^ admired the purit}- and nobility of character of her who governs England so wisely. A beautiful letter was returned by the Queen, assuring him how deeply she appreciated his noble act of more than princely munificence, — an act, as the Queen believes, " wholly without parallel," and asking him to accept a miniature portrait of herself. The portrait, in a massive gold frame, is fourteen inches long and ten inches wide, representing the Queen in robes of state, — the largest miniature ever attempted in England, and for the making of which a furnace was especially built. The cost is believed to have been over fifty thousand dollars in gold. It is now preserved, with her letter, in the Peabody Institute near Dan vers. Oct. 25, 186G, the beautiful white marble Insti- GEORGE PEABODY. 9 tute in Baltimore was to be dedicated. Mr. Pea- body had crossed the ocean to be present. Besides the famous and the learned, twenty thousand chil- dren with Peabody badges were gathered to meet him. The great man's heart was touched as he said, " Never have I seen a more beautiful sight than this vast collection of interesting children. The review of the finest arnry, attended by the most delightful strains of martial music, could never give me half the pleasure." He was now seventy-one years old. He had given nearly five millions ; could the world expect any more ? He realized that the freed slaves at the South needed an education. They were poor, and so were a large portion of the white race. He would give for their education three million dollars, the same amount he had bestowed upon the poor of London. To the trustees having this gift in charge he said, "With my advancing years, my attachment to my native land has but become more devoted. My hope and faith in its successful and glorious future have grown brighter and stronger. But, to make her prosperity more than superficial, her moral and intellectual develop- ment should keep pace with her material growth. I feel most deeply, therefore, that it is the dutj r and privilege of the more favored and wealthy portions of our nation to assist those who are less fortu- nate." Noble words ! Mr. Peabody's health was beginning to fail. What he did must now be done quickly. Yale College received a hundred and fifty 10 GEORGE PEABODY. thousand dollars for a Museum of Natural History ; Harvard the same, for a Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology ; to found the Peabody Academy of Science at Salem a hundred and forty thousand dol- lars ; to Newburyport Library, where the Are threw him out of employment, and thus probably broad- ened his path in life, fifteen thousand dollars ; f.wpntv-fipp thousand dollars pnph t.o various institn- GEORGE PEABODY. 11 desired to call upon him in person ; but it was too late. " It is a great mystery," said the dying man feebly ; ' ' but I shall know all soon. ' ' At midnight he passed to his reward. Westminster Abbey opened her doors for a great funeral, where statesmen and earls bowed their heads in honor of the departed. Then the Queen sent her noblest man-of-war, "Monarch," to bear in state, across the Atlantic, " her friend," the once poor boy of Danvers. Around the coffin, in a room draped in black, stood immense wax candles, lighted. When the great ship reached America, Legislatures adjourned, and went with Governors and famous men to receive the precious freight. The body was taken by train to Peabody, and then placed on a funeral car, eleven feet long and ten feet high, cov- ered with black velvet, trimmed with silver lace and stars. Under the casket were winged cherubs in silver. The car was drawn by six horses covered with black and silver, while corps of artilleiy pre- ceded the long procession. At sunset the Institute was reached, and there, surrounded by the English and American flags draped with crape, the guard kept silent watch about the dead. At the funeral, at the church, Hon. Robert C. Winthrop pronounced the eloquent eulogy, of the "brave, honest, noble- hearted friend of mankind," and then, amid a great concourse of people, George Peabody was buried at Harmony Grove, by the side of the mother whom he so tenderly loved. Doubtless he looked out upon 12 GEORGE PEABODY. this greensward from his attic window when a child, or when he labored in the village store. Well might two nations unite in doing honor to this man, both good and great, who gave nine million dollars to bless humanity. BAYARD TAYLOR. BAYARD TAYLOR. SINCE Samuel Johnson toiled in Grub Street, London, literature has scarcely furnished a more pathetic or inspiring illustration of struggle to success than that of Bayard Taylor. Born of Quaker parentage in the little town of Kennett Square, near Philadelphia, Jan. 11, 1825, he grew to boyhood in the midst of fresh air and the hard work of farm-life. His mother, a refined and intel- ligent woman, who taught him to read at four, and who early discovered her child's love for books, shielded him as far as possible from picking up stones and weeding corn, and set him to rocking the baby to sleep. "What was her amazement one day, on hearing loud cries from the infant, to find Bayard absorbed in reading, and rocking his own chair furiously, supposing it to be the cradle ! It was evident, that, though such a boy might become a fine literary man, he could not be a successful baby-tender. He was especially eager to read poetry and travels, and, before he was twelve years old, had devoured the contents of their small circulating library, as 14 BATAIW TAYLOR. well as Cooper's novels, aud the histories of Gib- bon, Robertson, and Hume. The few books which he owned were bought with money earned by sell- ing nuts which he had gathered. He read Milton, Scott, Byron, and Wordsworth; and his mother would often hear him repeating poetry to his brother after they had gone to bed. He was always plan- ning journeys in Europe, which seemed very far from being realized. At fourteen he began to study Latin and French, and at fifteen, Spanish ; and a year later he assisted in teaching at the academy where he was attending school. He was ambitious ; but there seemed no open door. There is never an open door to fame or prosperity, except we open it for ourselves. The world is too busy to help others ; and assistance usually weakens rather than strengthens us. About this time he received, through request, an auto- graph from Charles Dickens, then lecturing in this country. The boj' of sixteen wrote in his journal : "It was not without a feeling of ambition that I looked upon it; that as he, a humble clerk, had risen to be the guest of a mighty nation, so I, a humble pedagogue, might, by unremitted and ardu- ous intellectual and moral exertion, become a light, a star, among the names of my country. May it be ! ... I believe all poets are possessed in a greater or less degree of ambition. I think this is never given without a mind of sufficient power to sustain it, and to achieve its lofty object." BAYARD TAYLOR. 15 At seventeen, Bayard's schooling was over. He sketched well, and would gladly have gone to Phila- delphia to study engraving ; but he bad no money. One poem had been published in the " Saturday Evening Post." Those only who have seen their first poem in print can experience his joy. But writing poetrj' would not earn him a living. He had no liking for teaching, but, as that seemed the only thing at hand, he would try to obtain a school. He did not succeed, however, and apprenticed him- self for four years to a printer. He worked faith- fully, using all his spare hours in reading and writing poetry. Two years later, he walked to Philadelphia and back — thirty miles each way — to see if fifteen of his poems could not be printed in a book ! His ambition evidently had not abated. Of course no publisher would take the book at his own risk. There was no way of securing its publication, there- fore, but to visit his friends, and solicit them to buy copies in advance. This was a trying matter for a refined nature ; but it was a necessity. He hoped thus to earn a little money for travel, and "to win a name that the person who shall be chosen to share with me the toils of life will not be ashamed to own." This "person" was Mary Agnew, whose love and that of Bayard Taylor form one of the saddest and tenderest pictures in our literature. At last the penniless printer boy had determined 16 BAYARD TAYLOR. to see Europe. For two years he had read every thing he could find upon travels abroad. His good mother mourned over the matter, and his acquaint- ances prophesied dire results from such a roving disposition. He would go again to Philadelphia, and see if the newspapers did not wish correspond- ence from Europe. All the editors politely declined the ardent boy's proposals. Probably he did not know that " unknown writers " are not wanted. About to return home, "not in despair," he after- wards wrote, " but in a state of wonder as to where my funds would come from, for I felt certain they would come," the editor of the " Saturday Evening Post" offered him four dollars a letter for twelve letters, — fifty dollars, — with the promise of taking more if they were satisfactory. The "United States Gazette " made a similar offer, and, after selling a few manuscript poems which he had with him, he returned home in triumph, with a hundred and forty dollars in his pocket! "This," he says, "seemed sufficient to carry me to the end of the world." Immediately Bayard and his cousin started on foot for Washington, a hundred miles, to see the member of Congress from their district, and obtain passports from him. Reaching a little village on their way thither, they were refused lodgings at the tavern because of the lateness of the hour, — nine o'clock ! — and walked on till near midnight. Then seeing a house brilliantly lighted, as for a wedding, they approached, and asked the proprietor whether BAYARD TAYLOR. 17 a tavern were near by. The man addressed turned fiercely upon the lads, shouting, "Begone! Leave the place instantly. Do yon hear? Off!" The amazed boys hastened away, and at three o'clock in the morning, footsore and faint, after a walk of nearly forty miles, slept in a cart standing beside an old farm-house. And now at nineteen, he was in New York, ready for Europe. He called upon the author, N. P. Willis; who had once written a kind note to him ; and this gentleman, with a ready nature in helping others, — alas! not always found among writers — gave him several letters of introduction to newspaper men. Mr. Greeley said bluntly when applied to, "I am sick of descriptive letters, and will have no more of them. But I should like some sketches of Ger- man life and society, after you have been there, and know something about it. If the letters are good, you shall be paid for them ; but don't write until you know something." July 1, 1844, Bayard and two young friends, after paying ten dollars each for steerage passage, started out for this eventful vo} r age. No wonder that, as land faded from sight, and he thought of gentle Mary Agnew and his devoted mother, his heart failed him, and he quite broke down. After twenty- eight days they landed in Liverpool, strangers, poor, knowing almost nothing of the world, but full of hope and enthusiasm. They spent three weeks in Scotland and the north of England, and then 18 BAYARD TAYLOR. travelled through Belgium to Heidelberg. Bayard passed the first winter in Frankfort, in the plainest quarters, and then, with his knapsack on his back, visited Leipzig, Dresden, Prague, Vienna, and Munich. After this he walked over the Alps, and through Northern Italy, spending four months in Florence, and then visiting Rome. Often he was so poor that he lived on twenty cents a day. Some- times he was without food for nearly two days, writing his natural and graphic letters when his ragged clothes were wet through, and his body faint from fasting. But the manly, enthusiastic youth always made friends by his good cheer and unself- ishness. At last he was in London, with but thirty cents to buy food and lodging. But he had a poem of twelve hundred lines in his knapsack, which he sup- posed any Loudon publisher would be glad to accept. He offered it ; but it was ' ' declined with thanks." The youth had not learned that Bayard Taylor unknown, and Bayard Taylor famous in two hemispheres, were two different names upon the title-page of a book. Publishers cannot usually afford to do missionary work in their business ; they print what will sell. " Weak from sea-sickness," he says, " hungry, chilled, and without a single ac- quaintance in the great city, my situation was about as hopeless as it is possible to conceive." Possibly he could obtain work in a printer's shop. This he tried hour after hour, and failed. Finally BAY ABB TAYLOR. 19 he spent his last twopence for bread, and found a place to sleep in a third-rate chop-house, among sailors, and actors from the lower theatres. He rose early, so as not to be asked to pay for his bed, and again sought work. Fortunately he met an American publisher, who loaned him five dollars, and with a thankful heart he returned to pay for his lodging. For sis weeks he staid in his humble quar- ters, wrote letters home to the newspapers, and also sent various poems to the English journals, which were all returned to him. For two years he sup- ported himself on two hundred and fifty dollars a year, earning it all by writing. " I saw," he says, "almost nothing of intelligent European society; but literature and art were, nevertheless, open to me, and a new day had dawned in my life." On his return to America he found that his pub- lished letters had been widely read. He was ad- vised to put them in a book; and "Views Afoot," with a preface by N. P. Willis, were soon given to the world. Six editions were sold the first year ; and the boy who had seen Europe in the midst of so much privation, found himself an author, with the prospect of fame. Not alone had poverty made these two years hard to bear. He was allowed to hold no correspondence with Mary Agnew, be- cause her parents steadily refused to countenance the young lovers. He had wisely made his mother his confidante, and she had counselled patience and hope. The rising fame possibly smoothed the 20 BAYARD TAYLOR. course of true love, for at twenty-one, Bayard be- came engaged to the idol of his heart. She was an intelligent and beautiful girl, with dark eyes and soft brown hair, aud to the ardent young traveller seemed more angel than human. He showed her his every poem, and laid before her every purpose. He wrote her, " I have often dim, vague forebodings that an eventful destiny is in store for me " ; and then he added in quaint, Quaker dialect, " I have told thee that existence would not be endurable without thee ; I feel further that thy aid will be necessary to work out the destinies of the future. ... I am really glad that thou art pleased with my poetry. One word from thee is dearer to me than the cold praise of all the critics in the land." For the year following his return home, he edited a country paper, and thereby became involved in debts which required the labors of the next three years to cancel. He now decided to go to New York if possible, where there would naturally be more literary society, and openings for a writer. He wrote to editors and publishers ; but there were no vacancies to be filled. Finally he was offered enough to pay his board by translatiug, and this he gladly accepted. By teaching literature in a young ladies' school, he increased his income to nine dollars a week. Not a luxurious amount, surely. For a year he struggled on, saving every cent possible, and then Mr. Greeley gave him a place on the " Tribune," at twelve dollars a week. He BAYARD TAYLOR. 21 worked constantly, often writing poetry at mid- night, when his day's duties were over. He made true friends, such as Stedman and Stoddard, pub- lished a new book of poems ; and in the beginning of 1849 life began to look full of promise. Sent by his paper to write up California, for six months he lived in the open air, his saddle for his pillow, and on his return wrote his charming book "El- dorado." He was now twenty-five, out of debt, and ready to marry Mary Agnew. But a dreadful cloud had meantime gathered and burst over their heads. The beautiful girl had been stricken with consumption. The May day bridal had been post- poned. "God help me, if I lose her!" wrote the young author to Mr. Stoddard from her bed- side. Oct. 24 came, and the dying girl was wedded to the man she loved. Four days later he wrote: "We have had some heart-breaking hours, talking of what is before us, and are both better and calmer for it." And, later still: "She is radiantly beautiful ; but it is not the beauty of earth. . . . We have loved so long, so intimately, and so wholly, that the footsteps of her life have forever left their traces in mine. If my name should be remembered among men, hers will not be forgotten." Dec. 21, 1850, she went beyond; and Bayard Taylor at twenty-six was alone in the world, benumbed, unfitted for work of any kind. "I am not my true self more than half the time. I cannot work with any spirit : another such winter 22 BATAR will kill me, I am certain. I shall. leave next fall on a journey somewhere — no matter where," he wrote a friend. Fortunately he took a trip to the Far East, trav- elling in Egypt, Asia Minor, India, and Japan for two years, writing letters which made him known the country over. On his return, he published three books of travel, and accepted numerous calls in the lecture-field. His stock in the "Tribune" had become productive, and he was gaining great success. His next long journey was to Northern Europe, when he took his brother and two sisters with him, as he could enjoy nothing selfishly. This time he saw much of the Brownings and Thackeray, and spent two days as the guest of Tennyson. He was no longer the penniless youth, vainly looking for work in London to pay his lodging, but the well- known traveller, lecturer, and poet. Oct. 27, 1857, seven years after the death of Mary Agnew, he married the daughter of a distinguished German astronomer, Marie Hansen, a lady of great culture, whose companionship has ever proved a blessing. Tired of travel, Mr. Taylor now longed for a home for his wife and infant daughter, Lilian. He would erect on the old homestead, where he played when a boy, such a house as a poet would love to dwell in, and such as poet friends would delight to visit. So, with minutest care and thought, ' ' Cedarerof t," a beautiful structure, was BAYARD TAYLOR. 23 built in the midst of two hundred acres. Every flower, every tree, was planted with as much love as Scott gave to " Abbotsford." But, when it was completed, the old story had been told again, of expenses going far beyond expectations, and, instead of anticipated rest, toil and struggle to pay debts, and provide for constant outgoes. But Bayard Taylor was not the man to be dis- turbed by obstacles. He at once set to work to earn more than ever by his books and lectures. With Ms characteristic generosity lie brought his parents and his sisters to live in his home, and made everybocty welcome to his hospitality. The " Poet's Journal," a poem of exquisite tenderness, was written here, and "Hannah Thurston," a novel, of which fifteen thousand were soon sold. Shortly after the beginning of our civil war, Mr. Taylor was made Secretary of Legation at Russia. He was now forty years of age, loved, well-to-do, and famous. His novels — ' ' John Godfrey's For- tunes " and the "Story of Kennett" — were both successful. The "Picture of St. John," rich and stronger than his otheV poems, added to his fame. But the gifted and versatile man was breaking in health. Again he travelled abroad, and wrote "Byways in Europe." On his return he trans- lated, with great care and study, "Faust," which will always be a monument to his learning and literary skill. He published "Lars, a Norway pastoral," and gave delightful lectures on German 24 BAYARD TAYLOR. literature at Cornell University, and Lowell and Peabody Institutes, at Boston and Baltimore. At last he wearied of the care and constant expense of " Cedarcroft." He needed to be near the New York libraries. Mr. Greeley had died, his newspaper stock had declined, and he could not sell his home, as he had hoped. There was no alternative but to go back in 1871 into the daily work of journalism in the "Tribune" office. The rest which he had longed for was never to come. For four years he worked untiringly, delivering the Centennial Ode at our Exposition, and often speaking before learned societies. In 1878, President Hayes bestowed upon him a well-deserved honor, by appointing him minister to Berlin. Germany rejoiced that a lover of her life and literature had been sent to her borders. The best of New York gathered to say good-by to the noted author. Arriving in Berlin, Emperor "William gave him cordial welcome, and Bismark made him a friend. A pleasant residence was secured, and furniture purchased. At last he was to find time to complete a long-desired work, the Lives of Goethe and Schiller. " Prince Deukalion," his last noble poem, had just reached him. All was ready for the best and strongest work of his life, when, lo ! the overworked brain and body gave way. He did not murmur. Only once, Dec. 19, he groaned, " I want — I want — oh, you know what I mean, that stuff of life!" It was too late. At fifty-three the great BAYARD TAYLOR. 25 heart, the exquisite brain, the tired body, were still. " Dead he lay among his books ; The peace of God was in his looks." Germany as well as America wept over the bier of the once poor Quaker lad, who travelled over Europe with scarce a shilling in his pocket, now, by his own energy, brought to one of the highest positions in the gift of his country. Dec. 22, the great of Germany gathered about his coffin, Ber- told Auerbach speaking beautiful words. March 13, 1879, the dead poet lay in state in the City Hall at New York, in the midst of assembled thousands. The following day the body was borne to " Cedarcroft," and, surrounded by literary as- sociates and tender friends, laid to rest. Public memorial meetings were held in various cities, where Holmes, Longfellow, Whittier, and others gave their loving tributes. A devoted student, a successful diplomat, a true friend, a noble poet, a gifted traveller, a man whose life will never cease to be an inspiration. CAPTAIN JAMES B. EADS. ON the steamship "Germanic" I played chess with the great civil engineer, Captain Eads, stimulated by the thought that to beat him was to defeat the man who had twice conquered the Missis- sippi. But I didn't defeat him. The building of a ship-canal across the Isthmus of Suez made famous the Frenchman, Ferdinand de Lesseps : so the opening-up of the mouth of the Mississippi River has distinguished Captain Eads. To-day both these men are struggling for the rare honor of joining, at the Isthmus of Panama, the waters of the great Atlantic and Pacific ; a magni- ficent scheme, which, if successful, will save annu- ally thousands of miles of dangerous sea-voyage around Cape Horn, besides millions of money. The "Great West" seems to delight in produc- ing self-made men like Lincoln, Grant, Eads, and others. James B. Eads was born in Indiana in 1820. He is slender in form, neat in dress, genial, courteous, and over sixty years of age. In 1833, his father started down the Ohio River with his family, pro- CAPTAIN JAMES B. EADS. 27 posing to settle in Wisconsin. The boat caught fire, and his scanty furniture and clothing were burned. Young Eads barely escaped ashore with his pantaloons, shirt, and cap. Taking passage on another boat, this boy of thirteen landed at St. Louis with his parents ; his little bare feet first touching the rocky shore of the city on the very spot where he afterwards located and built the largest steel bridge in the world, over the Missis- sippi, — one of the most difficult feats of engineer- ing ever performed in America. At the age of nine, young Eads made a short trip on the Ohio, when the engineer of the steam- boat explained to him so clearly the construction of the steam-engine, that, before he was a year older, he built a little working model of it, so perfect in its parts and movements, that his schoolmates would frequently go home with him after school to see it work. A locomotive engine driven by a con- cealed rat was one of his next juvenile feats in mechanical engineering. From eight to thirteen he attended school ; after which, from necessity, he was placed as clerk in a dry-goods store. How few young people of the many to whom poverty denies an education, either understand the value of the saying, "knowledge is power," or ex- ercise will sufficient to overcome obstacles. Will- power and thirst for knowledge elevated General Garfield from driving canal horses to the Presi- dency of the United States. 28 CAPTAIN JAMES B. EADS. Over the store in St. Louis, where he was engaged, his employer lived. He was an old bachelor, and, having observed the tastes of his clerk, gave him his first book in engineering. The old gentleman's library furnished evening companions for him dur- ing the five years he was thus employed. Finally, his health failing, at the age of nineteen he went on a Mississippi Eiver steamer ; from which time to the present day that great river has been to him an all-absorbing study. Soon afterwards he formed a partnership with a friend, and built a small boat to raise cargoes of vessels sunken in the Mississippi. While this boat was building, he made his first venture in submarine engineering, on the lower rapids of the river, by the recovery of several hundred tons of lead. He hired a scow or flat-boat, and anchored it over the wreck. An experienced diver, clad in armor, who had been hired at considerable expense in Buffalo, was lowered into the water ; but the rapids were so swift that the diver, though incased in the strong armor, feared to be sunk to the bottom. Young Eads determined to succeed, and, finding it impracticable to use the armor, went ashore, purchased a whis- key-barrel, knocked out the head, attached the air- pump hose to it, fastened several heavy weights to the open end of the barrel ; then, swinging it on a derrick, he had a practical diving-bell — the best use I ever heard made of a whiskey-barrel. Neither the diver, nor any of the crew, would go CAPTAIN JAMES B. EADS. 29 down in this contrivance : so the dauntless young engineer, having full confidence in what he had read in books, was lowered within the barrel down to the bottom ; the lower end of the barrel being open. The water was sixteen feet deep, and very swift. Finding the wreck, he remained b}' it a full hour, hitching ropes to pig-lead till a ton or more was safely hoisted into his own boat. Then, mak- ing a signal by a small line attached to the barrel, he was lifted on deck, and in command again. The sunken cargo was soon successfully raised, and was sold, and netted a handsome profit, which, increased by other successes, enabled energetic Eads to build larger boats, with powerful pumps, and machinery on them for lifting entire vessels. He surprised all his friends in floating even immense sunken steamers — boats which had long been given up as lost. When the Rebellion came, it was soon evident that a strong fleet must be put upon Western rivers to assist our armies. Word came from the govern- ment to Captain Eads to report in Washington. His thorough knowledge of the "Father of Waters" and its tributaries, and his practical suggestions, secured an order to build seven gunboats, and soon after an order for the eighth was given. In forty-eight hours after receiving this authority, his agents and assistants were at work ; and suita- ble ship-timber was felled in half a dozen Western States for their hulls. Contracts were awarded to large engine and iron works in St. Louis, Pitts- 30 CAPTAIN JAMES B. EADS. burgh, and Cincinnati ; and within one hundred days, eight powerful ironclad gunboats, carrying over one hundred large cannon, and costing a mil- lion dollars, were achieving victories no less impor- tant for the Mississippi valley than those which Ericsson's famous "Cheese-box Monitor" after- wards won on the James River. These eight gunboats, Commodore Foote ably employed in his brave attacks on Forts McHenry and Donaldson. They were the first ironclads the United States ever owned. Captain Eads covered the boats with iron : Commodore Foote covered them with glory. Eads built not less than fourteen of these gun- boats. During the war, the models were exhibited by request to the German and other governments. His next work was to throw across the mighty Mississippi River, nearly half a mile wide, at St. Louis, a monstrous steel bridge, supported by three arches, the spans of two being five hundred and two feet long, and the central one five hundred and twenty feet. The huge piles were ingeniously sunk in the treacherous sand, one hundred and thirty-six feet below the flood-level to the solid rock, through ninety feet of sand. This bridge and its approaches cost eighty millions of dollars, and is used by ten or twelve railroad companies. Above the tracks is a big street with carriage-roads, street-cars, and walks for foot-passengers. The honor of building the finest bridge in the CAPTAIN JAMES B. EADS. 31 world would have satisfied most men, but not ambi- tious Captain Eads. He actually loved the noble river iu which De Soto, its discoverer, was buried, and fully realized the vast, undeveloped resources of its rich valleys. Equally well he understood what a gigantic work in the past the river and its fifteen hundred sizable tributaries had accomplished in times of freshets, by depositing soil and sand north of the original Gulf of Mexico, forming an alluvial plain five hundred miles long, sixty miles wide, and of unknown depth, and having a delta extending out into the Gulf, sixty miles long, and as many miles wide, and probably a mile deep. And yet this heroic man, although jealously op- posed for years by West Point engineers, having a sublime confidence in the laws of nature, and actuated by intense desire to benefit mankind, dared to stand on the immense sand-bars at the mouth of this defiant stream, and, making use of the jetty system, bid the river itself dig a wide, deep channel into the seas beyond, for the world's commerce. Captain Eads, who had studied the improvements on the Danube, Maas, and other European rivers, observed that all rivers flow faster in their narrow channels, and carry along in the swift water, sand, gravel, and even stones. This familiar law he ap- plied at the South Pass of the Mississippi River, where the waters, though deep above, escaped from the banks into the Gulf, and spread sediment far and wide. 32 CAPTAIN JAMES B. EADS. The water on the sand-bars of the three principal passes varied from eight to thirteen feet in depth. Many vessels require twice the depth. Two piers, twelve hundred feet apart, were built from land's end, a mile into the sea. They were made from willows, timber, gravel, concrete, and stone. Mat- tresses, a hundred feet long, from twenty-five to fifty feet wide, and two feet thick, were constructed from small willows placed at right angles, and bound securely together. These were floated into position, and sunk with gravel, one mattress upon another, which the river soon filled with sand that firmly held them in their place. The top was finished with heavy concrete blocks, to resist the waves. These piers are called "jetties," and the swift collected waters have already carried over five million cubic yards of sand into the deep gulf, and made a ship-way over thirty feet deep. The five million dollars paid by the United States was little enough for so priceless a service. 'avagj 3 > "v-i- -■:. •'■•"■**#£* BEKNAED PALISSY. BERNARD PAL1SSY. 55 travel about the country now, so he settled in the little town of Saintes. Then a baby came into their humble home. How could he earn more money, since the poor people about him had no need for painted glass? Every time he tried to plan some new way to grow richer, his daily needs weighed like a millstone around his neck. About this time he was shown an elegant enam- elled cup from Italy. " What if I could be the first and only maker of such ware in France?" thought he. But he had no knowledge of clay, and no money to visit Italy, where alone the secret could be obtained. The Italians began making such pottery about the year 1300. Two centuries earlier, the Pagan King of Majorca, in the Mediterranean Sea, was said to keep confined in his dungeons twenty thousand Christians. The Archbishop of Pisa, incited his subjects to make war upon such an infidel king, and after a year's struggle, the Pisans took the island, killed the ruler, and brought home his heir, and great booty. Among the spoils were exquisite Moorish plates, which were so greatly admired that they were hung on the walls of Italian churches. At length the people learned to imitate this Majolica ware, which brought very high prices. The more Palissy thought about this beautiful pottery, the more determined he became to attempt its making. But he was like a man groping in the dark. He had no knowledge of what composed the 56 BERNARD PALISSY. enamel on the ware ; but he purchased some drugs, and ground them to powder. Then he bought earthen pots, broke them in pieces, spread the powder upon the fragments, and put them in a fur- nace to bake. He could ill afford to build a furnace, or even to buy the earthenware ; but he comforted his young wife with the thought that as soon as he had discovered what would produce white enamel the} - would become rich. When the pots had been heated sufficiently, as he supposed, he took them out, but, lo ! the experi- ment had availed nothing. Either he had not hit upon the right ingredients, or the baking had been too long or too short in time. He must of course try again. For dajs and weeks he pounded and ground new materials ; but no success came. The weeks grew into months. Finally his supply of wood became exhausted, and the wife was losing her patience with these whims of an inventor. They were poor, and needed present income rather than future prospects. She had ceased to believe Palis- sy's stories of riches coming from white enamel. Had she known that she was marrying an inventor, she might well have hesitated, lest she starve in the days of experimenting ; but now it was too late. His wood used up, Palissy was obliged to make arrangements with a potter who lived three miles away, to burn the broken pieces in his furnace. His enthusiasm made others hopeful ; so that the promise to pay when white enamel was discovered BERNARD PALISSY. 57 was readily accepted. To make matters sure of success at this trial, he sent between three and four hundred pieces of earthenware to bis neighbor's furnace. Some of these would surely come back with the powder upon them melted, and the surface would be white. Both himself and wife waited anx- iously for the return of the ware ; she much less hopeful than he, however. When it came, he says' in his journal, "I received nothing but shame and loss, because it turned out good for nothing." Two years went by in this almost hopeless work, then a third, — three whole years of borrowing money, wood, and chemicals ; three years of con- suming hope and desperate poverty. Palissy's family had suffered extremely. One child had died, probably from destitution. The poor wife was dis- couraged, and at last angered at his foolishness. Finally the pottery fever seemed to abate, and Pal- issy went back to his drudgery of glass-painting and occasional surveying. Nobody knew the struggle it had cost to give up the great discovery ; but it must be done. Henry II., who was then King of France, had placed a new tax on salt, and Palissy was appointed to make maps of all the salt-marshes of the sur- rounding country. Some degree of comfort now came back to his family. New clothes were pur- chased for the children, and the overworked wife repented of her lack of patience. When the sur- veying was completed, a little money had been saved, but, alas ! the pottery fever had returned. 58 13ERNARD PALISSY. Three dozen new earthen pots were bought, chem- icals spread over them as before, and these taken to a glass-furnace, where the heat would be much greater. He again waited anxiously, and when they were returned, some of the powder had actually melted, and run over the earthenware. This added fuel to the flame of his hope and ambition. And now, for two whole years more, he went between his house and the glass-furnace, always hoping, always failing. His home had now become like a pauper's. For five years he had chased this will-o'-the-wisp of white enamel ; and the only result was the sorrow of his relatives and the scorn of his neighbors. Finally he promised his heartbroken wife that he would make but one more trial, and if this failed, he would give up experimenting, and support her and the children. He resolved that this should be an almost superhuman effort. In some unknown way he raised the money for new pots and three hundred mixtures of chemicals. Then, with the feelings of a man who has but one chance for life, he walked beside the person who carried his precious stock to the furnace. He sat clown before the mouth of the great hot oven, and waited four long hours. With what a sinking heart he watched the pieces as they were taken out ! He hardly dared look, because it would probably be the old story of failure. But, lo ! some were melted, and as they hardened, oh, joy unspeakable, they turned white! BERNARD PALISSY. 59 He hastened home with unsteady step, like one in- toxicated, to tell his wife the overwhelming truth. Surely he could not stop now in this great work ; and all must be clone in secret, lest other potters learn the art. Fears, no doubt, mingled with the new-born hopes of Mrs. Palissy, for there was no regular work before her husband, and no steady income for hun- gry little mouths. Besides, he must needs build a furnace in the shed adjoining their home. But how could he obtain the money? Going to the brick- yard, he pledged some of the funds he hoped to receive in the future, and brought home the bricks upon his back. Then he spent seven long months experimenting in clay vessels, that he might get the best shapes and quality to take the enamel. For another month, from early morning till late at night, he pounded his preparations of tin, lead, iron, and copper, and mixed them, as he hoped, in proper proportions. When his furnace was ready, he put in his clay pots, and seated himself before the mouth. All day and all night, he fed the fire, his little children bringing him soup, which was all the food the house afforded. A second clay and night he watched the results eagerly ; but the enamel did not melt. Covered with perspiration, and faint from loss of sleep and food, with the desperation of hope that is akin to despair, for six days and six nights, catching scarcely a moment of sleep, he watched 60 BERNARD PALISSY. the earthen pots ; but still the enamel did not melt. At last, thinking that his proportions in his mixtures might have been wrong, he began once more to pound and grind the materials without letting his furnace cool. His clay vessels which he had spent seven months in making were also useless, so he hastened to the shops, and bought new ones. The family were now nearly frantic with poverty and the pottery madness of the father. To make matters quite unbearable, the wood had given out, and the furnace-fires must not stop. Almost wild with hope deferred, and the necessities of life press- ing upon him, Palissy tore up the fence about his garden, and thrust it into the furnace-mouth. Still the enamel did not melt. He rushed into the house, and began breaking up the table and chairs for fuel. His wife and children were horrified. They ran through the streets, crying out that Palissy was tearing the house down, and had become crazy. The neighbors gathered, and begged him to desist, but all to no purpose. He tore up the floors of the house, and threw them in. The town jeered at him, and said, "It is right that he die of hunger, seeing that he has left off following his trade." He was exhausted and dried up by the heat of the fur- nace ; but still he could not yield. Finally the enamel melted. But now he was more crazy than before. He must go forward, come what might. With his family nearer than ever to starvation, he hired an assistant potter, promising the old BERNARD PALISSY. 61 promise, — to pay when the discovery had been perfected. The town of Saiutes must have become familiar with that promise. An innkeeper boarded the potter for six months, and charged it to Palissy, to be paid, like all the other bills, in the future. Probably Mrs. Palissy did not wish to board the assistant, even had she possessed the necessary food. At the end of the six months the potter departed, receiving, as pay, nearly all Palissy's wearing-apparel, which probably was scarcely worth carrying away. He now felt obliged to build an improved furnace, tearing down the old one to recover the bricks, nearly turned to stone by the intense heat. His hands were fearfully bruised and cut in the work. He begged and borrowed more money, and once more started his furnace, with the boast that this time he would draw three or four hundred francs from it. When the ware was drawn out, the credit- ors came, eager for their share ; but, alas ! there was no share for them. The mortar had been full of flints, which adhered to the vessels ; and Palissy broke the spoiled lot in pieces. The neighbors called him a fool ; the wife joined in the maledic- tions — and who could blame her? Under all this disappointment his spirit gave way, and he fled to his chamber, and threw himself upon the bed. Six of his children had died from want during the last ten years of struggle. What agony for the fond mother ! "I was so wasted in person," 62 BERNARD PALISST. he quaintly wrote afterwards, "that there was no form nor prominence of muscle on my arms or legs ; also the said legs were throughout of one size, so that the garters with which I tied my stockings were at once, when I walked, down upon my heels, with the stockings too. I was despised and mocked by all." But the long lane turned at last. He stopped for a year, and took up his old work to support his dying family, and then perfected his discovery. For five or six years there were many failures, — the furnaces were too hot, or the proportions were wrong ; but finally the work became very beautiful. His designs from nature were perfect, and his color- ing marvellous. His fame soon spread abroad ; and such nobles as Montmorenci, who stood next in rank to the King, and counts and barons, were his patrons. He designed tiles for the finest palaces, ideal heads of the Saviour, and dainty forms from Greek mythology. Invited by Catherine de Medicis, wife of King Henry II., Palissy removed to Paris, and was thenceforward called "Bernard of the Tuileries." He was now rich and famous. "What a change from that day when his half-starved wife and children fled along the streets of Saintes, their furniture broken up for furnace-fires ! And yet, but for this blind devotion to a single object, he would have remained a poor, unknown glass-painter all his life. While in Paris, he published two or three books BERNARD PALISSY. 63 which showed wide knowledge of history, mines, springs, metals, and philosophy. He founded a Museum of Natural History, and for eight years gave courses of lectures, attended by all the learned men of the day. When his great learning was com- mented upon, he replied, "I have had no other book than the sky and the earth, known to all." A wonderful man indeed ! All his life Palissy was a devoted Huguenot, not fearing to read his Bible, and preach to the people daily from it. Once he was imprisoned at Bor- deaux, and but for his genius, and his necessity to the beautifying of palaces and chapels, he would have been put to death. When he was seventy-six, under the brutal Henry III., he was shut up in the Bastille. After nearly four years, the curled and vain monarch visited him, and said, " My good man, you have been forty-five years in the service of the Queen my mother, or in mine, and we have suffered you to live in your own religion, amidst all the executions and the massacres. Now, however, I am so pressed by the Guise party and my people, that I have been compelled, in spite of myself, to imprison these two poor women and you ; they are to be burnt to-morrow, and you also, if you will not be converted." "Sire," answered the old man, "you have said several times that you feel pity for me ; but it is I who pity you, who have said, ' I am compelled.' That is not speaking like a King. These girls and G4 BERNARD PALISSY. I, who have part in the kingdom of heaven, we will teach you to talk royally. The Guisarts, all your people, and yourself, cannot compel a potter to bow down to images of clay." The two girls were burnt a few months afterward. The next year, 1589. Henry III. was stabbed by a monk who knelt before his throne ; and the same year, Palissy died in the Bastille, at the age of eighty. THOEWALDSEN. BERTEL THORWALDSEN. ot«y assiduity or by absence, it shall be done. Do not injure me by withdrawing your friendship, or punish me for aiming to be more than a friend by making me less." The girl showed this to her father, who replied that love made philosophers say very foolish things. She hesitated about accepting him, and went away to the seaside to consider it ; but the ardent lover followed, determined to learn the worst if need be. They walked on the cliffs overhanging the ocean, and Faraday wrote in his journal as the day drew near its close, " My thoughts saddened and fell, from the fear I should never enjoy such happiness again. I could not master my feelings, or prevent them from sinking, and I actually at last shamed myself by moist eyes." He blamed himself because he did not know " the best means to secure the heart he wished to gain." He knew how to fathom the depths of chemical combinations, but he could not fathom the depths of Sarah Barnard's heart. At last the hour of her decision came ; and both were made supremely happy by it. A week later he wrote her, " Every moment offers me fresh proof of the power you have over me. I could not at one time have thought it possible that I, that any man, could have been under the dominion of feelings so MICHAEL FARADAY. 105 undivided and so intense : now I think that no other man can have felt or feel as I do." A year later they were married very quietly, he desiring their wedding day to be "just like any other day." Twenty-eight years later he wrote among the im- portant dates and discoveries of his life, " June 12, 1821, he married, — • an event which, more than any other, contributed to his earthly happiness and healthful state of mind. The union has nowise changed, except in the depth and strength of its character." For forty-seven years " his dear Sarah " made life a joy to him. He rarely left home ; but if so, as at the great gathering of British Scientists at Birming- ham, he wrote back, " After all, there is no pleas- ure like the tranquil pleasure of home ; and here, even here, the moment I leave the table, I wish I were with you in quiet. Oh, what happiness is ours ! My runs into the world in this way only serve to make me esteem that happiness the more." And now came twent}' years in science that made Faraday the wonder and ornament of his age. Elected an F.R.S., he began at once twelve lec- tures in Chemical Manipulation before the London Institution, six on Chemical Philosophy before the Royal Society, published six papers on electro- magnetism, and began a course of juvenile lectures which continued for nineteen years. This was one of the beautiful things of Faraday's life, — a great man living in a whirl of work, yet taking time to 106 MICHAEL FARADAY. make science plain to the young. "When asked at what age he would teach science, he replied that he had never found a child too young to understand him. For twenty years he lectured at the Royal Academy at Woolwich, became scientific adviser to the government with regard to lighthouses and buoys, not for gain, but for the public good, drew all London to his eloquent lectures with his brilliant experiments, Prince Albert attending with his sons ; and published one hundred and fifty-eight scien- tific essays and thirty series of " Experimental Researches in Electricit}-," which latter, says Dr. Gladstone, " form one of the most marvellous mon- uments of intellectual work ; one of the rarest treasure-houses of newly-discovered knowledge, with which the world has ever been enriched." He not only gathered into his vast brain what other men had learned of science, but he tested every step to prove the facts, and became, says Professor Tyndall, " the greatest experimental phil- osopher the world has ever seen." He loved science as he loved his family and his God, and played with Nature as with a petted child. When he lectured, ' ; there was a gleaming in his eyes which no painter could copy, and which no poet could describe. His audience took fire with him, and every face was flushed." In his earlier discoveries in compressing gases into liquids, he obtained from one thousand cubic feet of coal gas one gallon of fluid from which he MICHAEL FARADAY. 107 distilled benzine. In 1845 the chemist Hofman found this same substance in coal-tar, from which come our beautiful aniline dyes. After eighteen years of studying the wonderful results of Galvani's discovery at the University of Bologna, that the legs of a dead frog contract under the electric current; and of Volta, in 1799, with his voltaic pile of copper, zinc, and leather, in salt- water ; and of Christian Oersted at the University of Copenhagen ; and Ampere and Arago, that electricity will produce magnets, Faraday made the great dis- covery of magneto-electricit}-, — that magnets will produce electricity. At once magneto-electric ma- chines were made for generating electricity for the electric light, electro-plating, etc. This discovery, says Professor Tyndall, " is the greatest experi- mental result ever attained by an investigator, the Mont Blanc of Faraday's achievements." Soon after he made another great discovery, that of electric induction, or that one electric current will induce another current in an adjoining wire. Others had suspected this, but had sought in vain to prove it. The Bell telephone, which Sir William Thompson calls " the wonder of wonders," depends upon this principle. Here no battery is required ; for the vibration of a thin iron plate is made to generate the currents. After this, Faraday proved that the various kinds of electricity are identical ; and that the electricity of the Voltaic pile is pro- duced by chemical action, and not by contact of 108 MICHAEL FARADAY. metals, as Volta had supposed. The world mean- time had showered honors upon the great scientist. Great Britain had made him her idol. The Cam- bridge Philosophical Society, the Institution of Civil Engineers, of British Architects, of Philosophy and of Medicine, and the leading associations of Scot- land had made him an honorary member. Paris had elected him corresponding member of all her great societies. St. Petersburg, Copenhagen, Stock- holm, Berlin, Palermo, Modena, Lisbon, Heidelberg, Frankfort, and our own Boston and Philadelphia had sent tokens of admiration. Eminent men from all the world came to see him. How proud his mother must have felt at this wonderful success ! She was not able to enter into her son's pursuits from lack of early education ; but she talked much about him, calling him ever, " my Michael " ; and would do nothing whatever without his advice. He supported her in her declining years ; and she seemed perfectly happy. His father had died in his boyhood ; but Faraday ever honored his occupation. He used to say, " I love a smith-shop, and anything relating to smithing. My father was a blacksmith." He was now forty-nine. The overtaxed brain refused to work longer. Memory was losing her grasp, and but for the sweet and careful presence of Sarah Faraday, the life-work would doubtless have been finished at this time. She took him to Switzerland, where he walked beside the lakes and MICHAEL FAR AD AY. 109 over the mountains with " my companion, dear wife, and partner in all things." For four years he made scarcely an}- experiments in original research, and then the tired brain seemed to regain its wonted power, and go on to other discoveries. An Italian philosopher, Morichini, was the first to announce the magnetizing power of the solar rays. Mrs. Somerville covered one-half of a sewing- needle with paper, and exposed the other half to the violet rays. In two hours the exposed end had acquired magnetism. Faraday, by long and difficult experiments, showed the converse of this : he mag- netized a ray of light, — an experiment " high, beau- tiful, and alone," says Mr. Tyndall. He also showed the magnetic condition of all matter. He was always at work. He entered the labora- tory in the morning, and often worked till eleven at night, hardly stopping for his meals. He seldom went into society, for time was too precious. If he needed a change, he read aloud Shakspeare, Byron, or Macaulay to his wife in the evening, or corres- ponded with Herschel, Humboldt, and other great men. In the midst of exhausting labors he often preached on the Sabbath, believing more earnestly in the word of God the more he studied science. When he was sixty-four the great brain began to show signs of decline. Belgium, Munich, Vienna, Madrid, Rome, Naples, Turin, Rotterdam, Upsala, Lombardy, and Moscow had sent him medals, or made him a member of their famous societies. 110 MICHAEL FARADAY. Napoleon III. made him commander of the Legion of Honor, a rare title ; and the French exhibition awarded him the grand medal of honor. The Queen asked him to dine with her at Windsor Castle, and, at the request of Prince Albert her husband, she presented him with a lovely home at Hampton Court. At seventy-one he wrote to Mrs. Faraday from Glasgow, " My head is full, and my heart also ; but my recollection rapidly fails. You will have to resume your old function of being a pillow to my mind, and a rest, — a happy-making wife." Still he continued to make able reports to the government on lighthouses, electric machines, steam-engines, and the like. And then for two years the memory grew weaker, the body feebler, and he was, as he told a friend, "just waiting." He died in his chair in his study, August 25th, 1867, and was buried in Highgate Cemetery. "Westminster Abbey would have opened her doors to him, but he requested to be buried " in the simplest earthly place, with a gravestone of the most ordinary kind." On a plain marble slab in the midst of clustering ivy are his name and the dates of his birth and death. One feels a strange tenderness of heart as he stands beside this sacred spot where rests one, who, though elected to seventy societies, and offered nearly one hundred titles and tokens of honor, said he "would remain plain Michael Faraday to the last." MICHAEL FARADAY. Ill Wonderful man ! great in mind, noble in heart, and gentle in manner, having brought a strong nature under the most complete discipline. His energy, his devotion to a single object, his untiring work, and his beautiful character carried the black- smith's son to the highest success. SIR HENRY BESSEMER. A LITTLE way from London, England, at Den- mark Hill, looking toward the Crystal Palace, is a mansion which is fit for royalty. The grourids, covering from thirty to forty acres, are beautifully terraced, dotted here and there with lakelets, foun- tains, and artificial caverns, while the great clumps of red rhododendron, yellow laburnum, pink haw- thorne, and white laurel make an exquisitely colored picture. The home itself is spacious and inviting, with its elegant conservatory and rare works of art. The owner of this house, Sir Henry Bessemer, is cordial and gracious ; and from his genial face and manner, no one would imagine that his life had been one long struggle with obstacles. Born in Charlton, a little county town in Hert- fordshire, Jan. 19, 1813, he received the rudiments of an education like other boys in the neighborhood. His father, Anthony Bessemer, an inventor, seeing that his son was inclined to mechanics, bought him, in London, a five-inch foot-lathe, and a book which described the art of turning. Day after day, in the quiet of his country home, he studied and practised turning,- and modelling in clay. SIS HEN MY BESSEMER. 113 At eighteen years of age he went to London, "knowing no one," he says, "and myself unknown, — a mere cipher in a vast sea of human enterprise." He soon found a place to work as modeller and de- signer, engraving a large number of original designs on steel, with a diamond point, for patent-medicine labels. A year later he exhibited one of his models at the Royal Academy. His inventive brain and observing eye were always alert in some new direc- tion. Having ascertained that the Government lost thousands of pounds annually by the transfer of adhesive stamps from old deeds to new ones, he determined to devise a stamp which could not be used twice. For several months he worked earnestly, at night after his daily tasks were over, and in secret, think- ing how richly the Government would reward him if he succeeded. At last he produced a die of unique design, which perforated a parchment deed with four hundred little holes. He hastened to the Stamp officials to show his work. Thej - were greatly pleased, and asked him which he preferred for his reward, a sum of money, or the position of Super- intendent of Stamps, with a salary of three or four thousand dollars a year. He delightedly chose the the latter, as that would make him comfortable for life. There was another reason for his delight ; for being engaged to be married, he would have no solicitude now about daily needs : life would flow on as smoothly as a river. 114 SIR HENRY BESSEMER. At once lie visited the young lady, and told her of his great success. She listened eagerly, and then said, "Yes, I understand this; but surely, if all stamps had a date put upon them, they could not at a future time be used without detection." His spirits fell. He confessed afterward that, ' ' while he felt pleased and proud of the clever and simple suggestion of the young lady, he saw also that all his more elaborate system, the result of months of toil, was shattered to pieces by it." "What need for four hundred holes in a die, when a single date was more effective? He soon worked out a die with movable dates, and with frankness and honor pre- sented it before the Government officials. They saw its preferableness : the new plan was adopted by Act of Parliament ; the old stamps were called in and new ones issued ; and then the young in- ventor was informed that his services as Superin- tendent of Stamps, at three thousand dollars a year, were not needed. But surely the Government, which was to save a half million dollars a year, would repay him for his months of labor and thought ! Associations, like individuals, are very apt to forget favors, when once the desired end is attained. The Premier had re- signed ; and, after various promises and excuses, a lawyer in the Stamp Office informed him that he made the new stamp of his own free will, and there was no money to be given him. " Sad and dis- pirited, and with a burning sense of injustice over- SIR HENRY BESSEMER. 115 powering all other feelings," says young Bessemer, " I went my way from the Stamp Office, too proud to ask as a favor that which was indubitably my right." Alas ! that he must learn thus early the selfishness of the world ! But he took courage ; for, had he not made one real invention? and it must be in his power to make others. When he was twenty-five he produced a type-casting machine ; but so opposed was it by the compositors, that it was finally aban- doned. He also invented a machine for making figured Utrecht velvet ; and some of his productions were used in the state apartments of Windsor Castle. A little later his attention was accidentally called to bronze powder, he having bought a small portion to ornament his sister's album. The powder, made in Germany, cost only twenty -two cents a pound in the raw material, and sold for twenty-two dollars. Here was a wonderful profit. Why could he not discover the process of making it ? He worked for eighteen months, trying all sorts of experiments, and failed. But failure to a great mind never really means failure ; so, after six months, he tried again, and — succeeded. He knew little about patents, had been recently defrauded by the Government ; and he determined that this discovery should be kept a secret. He made a small apparatus, and worked it himself, sending out a travelling-man with the product. That which cost him less than one IK! SIR HENRY BESSEMER. dollar was sold for eighteen. A fortune seemed now really within his grasp. A friend, assured of his success, put fifty thou- sand dollars into the business. Immediately Besse- mer made plans of all the machinery required, sent various parts to as many different establishments, lest his secret be found out, and then put the pieces of his self-acting machines together. Five assis- tants were engaged at high wages, under pledge of secrecy. At first he made one thousand per cent profit ; and now, in these later years, the profit is three hundred per cent. Three of the assistants have died ; and Mr. Bessemer has turned over the business and the factory to the other two. The secret of making the bronze powder has never been told. Even Mr. Bessemer's oldest son had reached manhood before he ever entered the locked room where it was made. For ten years the inventor now turned his atten- tion to the construction of railway carriages, centri- fugal pumps, etc. His busy brain could not rest. When frequent explosions in coal-mines occasioned discussion throughout the country, he made, at large expense, a working model for ventilating mines, and offered to explain it to a committee of the House of Commons. His offer was declined with thanks. A little investigation on the part of great statesmen would have been scarcel}" out of place. At the great exhibition in London in 1851, he exhibited several machines, — one for grinding and SIR HENRY BESSEMER. 117 polishing plate glass, and another for draining, in an hour, an acre of land covered with water a foot deep. The crowd looked at them, called the inven- tor "the ingenious Mr. Bessemer," and passed on. Two years later he made some improvements in war implements, and submitted his plans to the "Woolwich Arsenal ; but they were declined, without thanks even. Some other men might have become dis- couraged ; but Mr. Bessemer knew that obstacles only strengthen and develop men. The improved ordnance having been brought to the knowledge of Napoleon III., he encouraged the inventor, and furnished the money to carry forward the experiments. While the guns were being tested atVineenues, an officer remarked, "If you cannot get stronger metal for your guns, such heavy pro- jectiles will be of little use." And then Mr. Besse- mer began to ask himself if he could not improve iron. But he had never studied metallurgy. This, however, did not deter him ; for he immediately obtained the best books on the subject, and visited the iron-making districts. Then he bought an old factory at Baxter House, where Richard Baxter used to live, and began to experiment for himself. After a whole year of labor he succeeded in greatly improving cast-iron, making it almost as white as steel. Could he not improve steel also? For eighteen months he built and pulled down one furnace after another, at great expense. At last "the idea struck 118 SIB HENRY BESSEMER. him," he says, of making cast-iron malleable by forcing air into the metal when in a fluid state, cast-iron being a combination of iron and carbon. When oxygen is forced in, it unites with the carbon, and thus the iron is left nearly pure. The experi- ment was tried at the factory, in the midst of much trepidation, as the union of the compressed air and the melted iron produced an eruption like a volcano ; but when the combustion was over, the result was steel. Astonished and delighted, after two years and a half of labor, Bessemer at once took out a patent ; and the following week, by request, Aug. 11, 1856, read a paper before the British Association, on ' ' The manufacture of malleable iron and steel without fuel." There was great ridicule made be- forehand. Said one leading steel-maker to another, " I want you to go with me this morning. There is a fellow who has come down from London to read a paper on making steel from cast-iron without fuel ! Ha! ha! ha!" The paper was published in the "Times," and created a great sensation. Crowds hastened to Baxter House to see the wonderful process. In three weeks Mr. Bessemer had sold one hundred thousand dollars worth of licenses to make steel by the new and rapid method. Fame, as well as great wealth, seemed now assured, when lo ! in two months, it being found that only certain kinds of iron could be worked, the newspapers began to ridi- SIR HENRY BESSEMER. 119 cule the new invention, and scientists and business men declared the method visionary, and worse than useless. Mr. Bessemer collected a full portfolio of these scathing criticisms ; but he was not the man to be disconcerted or cast down. Again he began the labor of experimenting, and found that phosphorus in the iron was the real cause of the failure. For three long years he pursued his investigations. His best friends tried to make him desist from what the world had proved to be an impracticable thing. Sometimes he almost distrusted himself, and thought he would give up trying, and then the old desire came back more strongly than ever. At last, suc- cess was really assured, but nobody would believe it. Every one said, "Oh, this is the thing "which made such a blaze two or three years ago, and which was a failure." Mr. Bessemer took several hundredweight of the new steel to some Manchester friends, that their workmen might try it, without knowing from whence it came. They detected no difference between this which cost thirty dollars a ton, and what they were then using at three hundred dollars a ton. But nobody wanted to buy the new steel. Two years went by in this fruitless urging for somebody to take up the manufacture of the new metal. Finally, Bessemer induced a friend to unite with him, and they erected works, and began to make steel. At first the dealers would buy only twenty 120 SIR HENRY BESSEMER. or thirty pounds ; then the demand steadily in- creased. At last the large manufacturers awoke to the fact that Bessemer was underselling them by one hundred dollars a ton, and they hastened to pay a royalty for making steel by the new process. But all obstacles were not yet overcome. The Government refused to make steel guns ; the ship- builders were afraid to touch it ; and when the engineer of the. London and North-western Railway was asked to use steel rails, he exclaimed, excitedly, ' ' Mr. Bessemer, do you wish to see me tried for manslaughter ? " Now, steel rails are used the world over, at the same cost as iron formerly, and are said to last twenty times as long as iron rails. Prejudice at last wore away, and in 1866, the "Bessemer process," the conversion of crude iron into steel by forcing cold air through it for fifteen or twenty minutes, was bringing to its inventor an income of five hundred thousand dollars a year! Fame had now come, as well as wealth. In 1874, he was made President of the Iron and Steel Insti- tute, to succeed the Duke of Devonshire. The Institute of Civil Engineers gave him the Telford Gold Medal; the Society of Arts, the Albert Gold Medal. Sweden made him honorary member of her Iron Board ; Hamburg gave him the freedom of the city ; and the Emperor of Austria conferred upon him the honor of Knight Commander of the Order of Francis Joseph, sending a complimentary letter in connection with the jewelled cross aud cir- SIR HENRY BESSEMER. 121 cular collar of the order. Napoleon III. wished to give him the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor, but the English Government would not permit him to wear it ; the Emperor therefore presented him in person with a gold medal weighing twelve ounces. Berlin and the King of Wurternburg sent him gold medals. In 1879 he was made Fellow of the Koyal Society, and the same year was knighted by Queen Victoria. In 1880 the freedom of the city of Lon- don was presented to him in a gold casket ; the only other great discoverers who have received this dis- tinction being Dr. Jenner, who introduced vaccina- tion, and Sir Rowland Hill, the author of penny postage. In the United States, which gives no ribbons or decorations, Indiana has appropriately named a flourishing town after him. It is estimated that Sir Henry Bessemer's one discovery of making steel has saved the world, in the last twenty-one years, above five thousand mil- lion dollars. When his patent expired in 1870, he had received in royalties over five million dollars. In his steel works at Sheffield, after buying in all the licenses sold in 1856, when the new process seemed a fail- ure, the profits every two months equalled the original capital, or in fourteen years the company increased the original capital eighty-one times by the profits. ' How wise it proved that the country lad did not obtain the permanent position of superintendent of stamps, at three thousand dollars a year ! 122 SIR HENRY BESSEMER. Rich beyond his highest hopes, the friend of such eminent and progressive men as the King of the Belgians, who visits Denmark Hill, Sir Henry has not ceased his inventions. Knowing the terrors of sea-sickness, he designed a great swinging saloon, seventy feet by thirty, in the midst of a sea-going vessel named the "Bessemer." The experiment cost one hundred thousand dollars, but has not yet proved successful. In 1877, when sixty-four years old, he began to devote himself to the study of Herschel's works on optics, and has since con- structed an immense and novel telescope, which magnifies five thousand times. The instrument is placed in -a comfortable observatory, so that the investigator can either sit or stand while making his observations. "The observing room, with its floor, windows, and dome, revolve and keep pace auto- matically with every motion of the telescope." This is accomplished by hydraulic power. No wonder that Bessemer has been called the "great captain of modern civilization." He has revolutionized one of the most important of the world's industries ; he has fought obstacles at every step, — poverty, the ridicule of the press, the indifference of his countrymen, and the cupidity of men who would steal his inventions or appro- priate the results. He has earned leisure, but he rarely takes it. His has been a life of labor, prose- cuted with indomitable will and energy. He has taken out one hundred and twenty patents, for SIR HENRY BESSEMER. 123 which the specifications and drawings fill seven large volumes, all made by himself. The world has at last come to know and honor the boy who came to London at the age of eighteen, " a mere cipher in a vast sea of human enterprise." He has made his way to greatness unaided, save by his helpful wife. SIR TITUS SALT. I SPENT a day, with great interest, in visiting the worsted mills and warehouses at Saltaire, just out from Bradford, England, which cover about ten acres. The history of the proprietor, Sir Titus Salt, reads like a romance. A poor boy, the son of a plain Yorkshire man, at nineteen in a loose blouse he was sorting and washing wool ; a little later, a good salesman, a faithful Christian worker and the superintendent of a Sunday school. At thirty-three, happening to be in Liverpool, he observed on the docks some huge pieces of dirty- looking alpaca wool. They had loug laiu in the warehouses, and, becoming a nuisance to the own- ers, were soon to be reshipped to Peru. Young Salt took away a handful of the wool in his hand- kerchief^ scoured and combed it, and was amazed at its attractive appearance. His father and friends advised him strongly to have nothing to do with the dirty stuff, as he could sell it to no one ; and if he attempted to make cloth from it himself, he ran a great risk of failure. Fiually he said, " I am going into this alpaca affair right and left, and I'll either make myself a man or a mouse." SIE TITUS SALT. SIR TITUS SALT. 125 Returning to Liverpool, he bought the whole three hundred bales for a small sum, and toiled diligently till proper machinery was made for the new material. The result was a great success. In three years over two million pounds of alpaca wool were imported, and now four million pounds are brought to Brad- ford alone. Employment was soon furnished to thousands, laborers coming from all over Great Britain and Germany. Ten years later Mr. Salt was made mayor of Bradford ; ten years after this a member of Parliament, and ten years later still a baronet by Queen Victoria, — a great change from the boy in his soiled coarse blouse, but he deserved it all. He was a remarkable man in many ways. Even when worth his millions, and giving lavishly on every hand, he would save blank leaves and scraps of paper for writing, and lay them aside for future use. He was an early riser, always at the works before the engines were started. It used to be said of him, " Titus Salt makes a thousand pounds before others are out of bed." He was punctual to the minute, most exact, and unostenta- tious. After he was knighted, it was no uncommon thing for him to take a poor woman and her baby in the carriage beside him, or a tired workman, or scatter hundreds of tracts in a village where he hap- pened to be. Once a gypsy, not knowing who he was, asked him to buy a broom. To her astonish- ment, he bought all she was carrying ! The best of his acts, one which he had thought 126 SIR TITUS SALT. out carefully, as he said, " to do good to his fellow- men," was the building of Saltaire for his four thou- sand workmen. When asked once what he had been reading of late, he replied. "Alpaca. If you had four or five thousand people to provide for every day, you would not have much time left for reading."' Saltaire is a beautiful place on the banks of the river Aire, clean and restful. In the centre of the town stands the great six-story mill, well-ventilated, lighted, and warmed, five hundred and forty-five feet long, of light-colored stone, costing over a half million dollars. The four engines of eighteen hun- dred horse-power consume fifteen thousand tons of coal per year. The weaving shed, .covering two acres, holds twelve hundred looms, which make eighteen miles of fabric per day. The homes of the work-people are an honor to the capitalist. They are of light stone, like the mill, two stories high, each containing parlor, kitchen, pantry, and three bedrooms or more, well ventilated and tasteful. Flower beds are in every front yard, with a vegetable garden in the rear. No broken carts or rubbish are to be seen. Not satisfied to make Saltaire simply healthful, by proper sanitary measures, and beautiful, for which Napoleon III. made him one of the Legion of Honor, Mr. Salt provided school buildings at a cost of $200,000, a Congregational church, costing $80,000, Italian in style, — as are the other buildings, — a hospital for sick or injured, and forty-five pretty almshouses, SIR TITUS SALT. 127 like Italian villas, where the aged and infirm have a comfortable home. Each married man and his wife receive $2.50 weekly, and each single man or woman $1.87 for expenses. Once a year Mr. Salt and his family used to take tea with the inmates, which was a source of great delight. Believing that " indoor washing is most pernicious, and a fruitful source of disease, especially to the young," he built twenty-four baths, at a cost of $35,000, and public wash-houses. These are sup- plied with three steam engines and six washing machines. Each person bringing clothes is provided with a rubbing and boiling tub, into which steam and hot and cold water are conveyed by pipes. The clothes are dried by hot air, and can be washed, dried, mangled, and folded in an hour. In Sweden, I found the same dislike to having washing done in the homes, and clothes are usually carried to the public wash-houses. Perhaps the most interesting of all Mr. Salt's gifts to his workmen is the Saltaire Club and Insti- tute, costing $125,000 ; a handsome building, with large reading-room supplied with daily papers and current literature, a library ,i lecture-hall for eight hundred persons, a " School of Art," with models, drawings, and good teachers, a billiard -room with four tables, a room for scientific study, each student having proper appliances for laboratory work, a gymnasium and drill-room nearly sixty feet square, an armory for rifle-practice, and a smoking-room, 128 SIR TITUS SALT. though Mr. Salt did not smoke. The membership fee for all this studj- and recreation is only thirty seven cents for each three months. Opposite the great mill is a diniug-hall, where a plate of meat can be purchased for four cents, a bowl of soup for two cents, and a cup of tea or coffee for one cent. If the men prefer to bring their own food, it is cooked free of charge. The manager has a fixed salary, so that there is no temptation to scrimp the buyers. Still another gift was made to the work-people ; a park of fourteen acres, with croquet and archery grounds, music pavilion, places for boating and swimming, and walks with berftitiful flowers. No saloon has ever been allowed in Saltaire. Without the temptation of the beer-shops, the boys have grown to intelligent manhood, and the girls to vir- tuous womanhood. Sir Titus Salt's last gift to his workmen was a Sunday-school building costing $50,000, where are held the " model Sunday schools of the country," say those who have attended the meetings. No wonder, at the death of this man, 40,000 people came to his burial, — members of Parliament, clergymen, workingmen's unions, and ragged schools. No wonder that statues have been erected to his memory, and that thousands go every year to Saltaire, to see what one capitalist has done for his laborers. No fear of strikes in his workshops ; no socialism talked in the clean and pretty homes of the men ; no squalid poverty, no depraving ignorance. SIR TITUS SALT. 129 That capital is feeling its responsibility in this matter of homes for laborers is one of the hopeful signs of the times. "We shall come, sometime, to believe with the late President Chadbourne, " The rule now commonly acted upon is that business must be cared for, and men must care for themselves. The principle of action, in the end, must be that men must be cared for, and business must be subser- vient to this great work." If, as Spurgeon has well said, " Home is the grandest of all institutions," capital can do no bet- ter work than look to the homes of the laborer. It is not the mansion which the employer builds for himself, but the home which he builds for his em- ploy^, which will insure a safe country for his chil- dren to dwell in. If discontent and poverty surround his palace, its foundations are weak; if intelligence has been disseminated, and comfort promoted by his unselfish thought for others, then he leaves a goodly heritage for his children. JOSEPH MARIE JACQUARD. THE small world which lives in elegant houses knows little of the great world in ding} - apart- ments with bare walls and empty cupboards. Those who walk or ride in the sunshine often forget the darkness of the mines, or the tiresome treadmill of the factories. Over a century ago, in Lyons, France, lived a man who desired to make the lives of the toilers brighter and happier. Joseph Jacquard, the son of a silk- weaver who died early, began his young manhood, the owner of two looms and a comfortable little home. He had married Claudine Boichon, the daughter of a goldsmith who expected to give his daughter a marriage portion, but was unable from loss of property. Jacquard loved her just as devot- edly, however, as though she had brought him money. A pretty boy was born into their home, and no family was happier in all France. But the young loom-owner saw the poor weavers working from four in the morning till nine at night, in crowded rooms, whole families often bending over a loom, their chests shrunken and their cheeks sallow JOSEPH MAUIE JACqUAED. 131 from want of air and sunlight ; and their faces dull and vacant from the monotony of unvaried toil. There were no holidays, no walks in the fields among the flowers, no reading of books, nothing but the constant routine which wore out body and mind together. There was no home-life ; little children grew pinched and old ; and mothers went too early to their graves. If work stopped, they ate the bread of charity, and went to the almshouse. The rich people of Lyons were not hard-hearted, but they did not think; they were too busy with their parties and their marriages ; too busy buying and selling that they might grow richer. But Jacquard was always thinking how he could lighten the labor of the silk- weavers by some invention. The manufacture of sill?: had become a most important industry. Seventeen hundred years before Christ the Chinese had discovered the making of silk from silk-worms, and had cultivated mulberry- trees. They forbade anybody to export the eggs or to disclose the process of making the fabric, under penalty of death. The Roman Emperor Justinian determined to wrest this secret from China, and thus revive the resources of his empire. He sent two monks, who ostensibly preached Chris- tianity, but in realit}- studied silk- worms, and, secret- ing some eggs in two hollow reeds, returned to Justinian, and breaking these canes, laid the eggs on the lap of the beautiful Empress Theodora. From this the art spread into Italy, and thence into France. 132 JOSEPH MARIE JACQUAED. The more Jacquard thought how he could help the silk-weavers of France the more he became absorbed, and forgot that money was needed to support his family. Soon the looms had to be sold at auction, with his small home. The world ridi- culed, and his relatives blamed him ; but Claudine his wife encouraged him, and prophesied great fame for him in the future. She sold her little treasures, and even her bed, to pay his debts. Finally, when there was no food in the house, with tears in his eyes, Jacquard left his wife and child, to become a laborer for a lime-burner in a neighboring town. Claudine went to work in a straw-bonnet factory ; and for sixteen years they battled with poverty. Then the French Revolution burst upon Lyons in 1793. Her crime before such murderers as Robes- pierre and Marat was that she was the friend of Louis XVI. Sixty thousand men were sent against her by the so-called Republicans, who were com- manded to utterly destroy her, and write over the ruins, "Lyons made war upon liberty; Lyons is no more." Six thousand persons were put to death, their houses burned, and twelve thousand exiled ; among them Jacquard. His only child, a brave boy of sixteen, had joined the Republican ranks, that he might fight against the foreign armies of England, Austria, and Naples, who had determined, under Pitt, to crush out the new government. At the boy's earnest request his father enlisted with him, and together they marched JOSEPH MARIE JACQUARD. 133 toward the Rhine. In one of the first battles a cannon-ball struck the idolized son, who fell expir- ing in Jacquard's arms. Covered with the blood of his only child, he dug a grave for him on the battle- field ; and exhausted and heart-broken went to the hospital till his discharge was obtained. He returned to Lyons and sought his poor wife. At last he found her in the outskirts of the city, living in a hay-loft, and earning the barest pittance by spreading out linen for the laundresses to dry. She divided her crusts with her husband, while they wept together over their irreparable loss. She soon died of grief, but, with her last words, bade Jacquard go forward in developing his genius, and have trust in God, who would yet show him the way of suc- cess. Blessed Claudine ! A sweet, beautiful soul, shining like a star in the darkness of the French Ee volution. Jacquard with all earthly ties severed went back to the seclusion of inventing. After his day's work was done as a laborer, he studied on his machine for silk-weaving. Finally, after seven years, — a long time to patiently develop an idea, — he had pro- duced a loom which would decrease the number of workmen at each machine, by one person. The model was placed at the Paris Industrial Exposition in 1801 ; and the maker was awarded a bronze medal. In gratitude for this discovery he went to the image of the Virgin which stood on a high hill, and for nine days ascended daily the steps of the 134 JOSEPH MARIE JACQUAED. sacred place. Then he returned to his work, and seating himself before a Vaucanson loom, which contained the germ of his own, he consecrated him- self anew to the perfecting of his invention. Jacques de Vaucanson, who died when Jacquard was thirty years old, was one of the most celebrated mechanicians of France. His automatons were the wonder of the age. He exhibited a duck which, when moved, ate and drank like a live one. The figure would stretch out its neck for food, and swal- low it: walk, swim, dabble in the water, and quack most naturally. His musician, playing the flageolet with the left hand, and beating the tamborine with the right, executing many pieces of difficult music with great accuracy, was an astonishment to every- body. He had been appointed inspector of silk- factories at Lyons, and, because he made some improvements in machines, he was pelted with stones hy the workmen, who feared that they would thereby lose their labor. He revenged himself by making a machine which wove, brocaded, and colored at the same time, and was worked by a donkey ! It remained for Jacquard to make the Vaucanson loom of the utmost practical use to Lyons and to the world. After a time he was not only able to dis- pense with one workman at each loom, but he made machinery do the work of three men and two women at each frame. The city authorities sent a model of this machine to Paris, that the Emperor Napoleon JOSEPH MARIE JACQUARD. 135 might examine it. So pleased was he that he at once sent for Jacquard to come to Paris. The latter had previously invented a machine for making fishing-nets, now used in producing Nottingham lace. When brought before Bonaparte, and Carnot the Minister of the Interior, the latter asked, "Is it you then, who pretend to do a thing which is im- possible for man, — to make a knot upon a tight thread?" Jacquard answered the brusque inquiry by setting up a machine, and letting the incredulous minister see for himself. The Emperor made Jacquard welcome to the Conservatoire des Arts et Metiers, where he could study books and machines to his heart's content, and gave him a pension of about twelve hundred dollars for his discovery. When he had, with his own hands, woven a magnificent brocaded silk dress for the Empress Josephine, he returned to Lyons to set up the Jacquard looms. His name began to be lauded everywhere. Claudine's prophecies had at last come true. She had given her life to help him ; but she could not live to share his honors. Soon, however, the tide of praise turned. Whole families found themselves forced into the street for lack of work, as the looms were doing what their hands had done. Bands of unemployed men were shouting, "Behold the traitor! Let him provide for our wives f^nd children now driven as mendicants from door to door ; or let him, the destroyer of the 13G JOSEPH MARIE JACQUARD. peoples' labor, share in the death which he has pre- pared for us ! " The authorities seemed unable to quell the storm, and by their orders the new loom was broken in pieces on the public square. " The iron," says Jacquard, "was sold as old iron; the wood, for fuel." One day he was seized by a crowd of starving workmen, who knocked him down, and dragged him to the banks of the Ehone, where he would have been drowned at once, had Dot the police rescued him, bleeding and nearly dead. He left the city overwhelmed with astonishment and sorrow. Soon Switzerland, Germany, Italy, and America were using the Jacquard looms, largely increasing the manufacture and sale of silk, and therefore the number of laborers. The poor men of Lyons awoke to the sad fact, that by breaking up Jacquard's machines, they had put the work of silk- weaving into other hands all over the world ; and idleness was proving their ruin. They might have doubled and trebled the number of their factories, and benefited labor a thousand-fold. The inventor refused to take out a patent for himself, nor would he accept any offers made him by foreigners, because he thought all his services belonged to France. He loved the working people, who, for twenty years, were too blind to see it. He removed to a little home and garden at Oullins, near Lyons, the use of which had been given him for life, where he could hear the sound of his precious looms on which he had worked for sixty JOSEPH MARIE JACqUAED. 137 years, and which his city had at last adopted. Here he attended his garden, and went every morning to early church, distributing each day some small pieces of money to poor children. As old age came on, Lyons realized the gratitude due her great inventor. A silver medal was awarded him, and then the grand distinction of the cross of the Legion of Honor. People from the neighboring towns visited Oullins, and pointed out with pride the noble old man at eighty-four, sitting by his garden-wall, dressed like a workman in his long black tunic, but wearing his broad red ribbon with his cross of honor. Illustri- ous travellers and statesmen visited him whose fame was now spread through Europe and America. Toiuette, a faithful servant who had known and loved Claudine, watched over the pure-hearted Jacquard till death came, Aug. 7, 1834. Six years after, Lyons, which once broke his machine and nearly killed him, raised a beautiful statue of him in the public square. The more than seventy thou- sand looms in the city, employing two hundred thousand workmen, are grander monuments even than the statue. The silk- weavers are better housed and fed than formerly. The struggling, self-sacri- ficing man, who might have been immensely rich as well as famous, was an untold blessing to labor and to the world. HORACE GEEELEY. o>9