Glass ^ Boole . 5ff GopyrigM?... yl SELF-MADE MEN. BY CHAS. C. B. SEYMOUR OpYRIC/y; N E W YORK: HARPER fifty-six had not been taken notice of by any former natural- ist. In estimating this devotion to .science, we must bear in mind the disadvantages under which he labored. By the terms of his contract with his publishers, he bound himself to supply all the drawings and letter-press necessary for the work ; notwithstand- ing which, we find him, immediately after the publication of the first volume, undertaking all the hardships and annoyances of a canvasser. On his journey, to be sure, he gained valuable speci- mens, and contributed to his general ornithological knowledge, but he was unable to proceed in the literary portion of the work. Long before the seventh volume was issued the publishers felt disheartened. The success of the work did not satisfy their ex- pectations, and to continue its publication became merely a mat- ter of professional pride with them. Wilson could not be un- mindful of this fact, and it must have pained him sadly. It is, indeed, remarkable that, in spite of these drawbacks, he perse- vered ; but they account for the willingness with which he un- dertook more than his share of the work. He was anxious to get through with it as rapidly as possible, dreading, perhaps, that the enthusiasm of the publishers might wane at any mo- ALEXANDER WILSON. 233 ment, or, at all events, desiring to relieve them of an unwelcome burden. " Independent of that part of his work which was Wilson's par- ticular province, viz., the drawing and describing of his subjects, he was necessitated," says Mr. Ord, " to occupy much of his time in coloring the plates ; his sole resource for support being in this employment, as he had been compelled to relinquish the superin- tendence of the Cyclopaedia. This drudgery of coloring the plates is a circumstance much to be regretted, as the work would have proceeded more rapidly if he could have avoided it. One of his principal difficulties, in effect, and that which caused him no small uneasiness, was the process of coloring. If this could have been done solely by himself, or — as he was obliged to seek assist- ance therein — if it could have been performed immediately under his eye, he would have been relieved of much anxiety, and would have better maintained a due equanimity, his mind being daily ruffled by the negligence of his assistants, who too often, through a deplorable want of skill and taste, made disgusting caricatures of what were intended to be modest imitations of simple nature. Hence much of his precious time was spent in the irksome em- ployment of inspecting and correcting the imperfections of others. This waste of his stated periods of labor he felt himself constrain- ed to compensate by encroachments on those hours which nature, conscious of her rights, claims as her own — hours which she con- secrates to rest — which she will not forego without a struggle, and which all those who would preserve unimpaired the vigor of their mind and body must respect. Of this intense and destruct- ive application his friends failed not to admonish him, but to their kind remonstrances he would reply that ' life is short, and without exertion nothing can be performed.' But the true cause of this extraordinary toil ivas his poverty." And thus Alexander "Wilson died from over-exertion in trying to gain a living by coloring the plates of that work which was destined to make his name illustrious. EDMUND CABTWKIGHT. Among the names of those eminent inventors who have given to the useful arts and to manufactures their present importance — who have in the most direct and perceptible way benefited the civilization of the world — the name of Edmund Cartwright, the inventor of the power-loom, deserves to be borne in warm and grateful remembrance. Although not strictly a self-made man, he owes his reputation entirely to himself, and as he obtained this at an advanced period of life, his story furnishes the instructive les- son that it is never too late to exert the highest faculties of the mind, even when they have been occupied in utterly different pursuits to those to which they are now newly called. Edmund Cartwright was born in the year 1743, at Marnham, in the county of Nottingham, England. His family was ancient and respectable, although in somewhat reduced circumstances. Being intended for the Church, Edmund had more than ordinary care bestowed on his education. After leaving the school at Wakefield, he was sent to University College, Oxford, and sub- sequently was elected a fellow of Magdalen College. When the time arrived for taking holy orders, he was appointed to the liv- ing of Brampton, near Chesterfield, and afterward of Goadby- Marwood in Leicestershire. At an early age he displayed some literary ability, and published, anonymously, a collection of poet- ical pieces. In 1770 he published, in his own name, a legend- ary poem entitled " Armida and Elvira," which was received with much favor, and passed through several editions in a short time. He wrote, also, the "Prince of Peace," and sonnets to "Emi- nent Men." After this he became a regular contributor to the "Monthly Review," and a literary correspondent with many em- inent persons. In these congenial and tranquil callings Cartwright' s life pass- ed away peacefully and profitably until his fortieth year. Hap- pening to be at Matlock in the summer of 1784, he fell in com- pany with some Manchester gentlemen, whose conversation was destined to change the whole tenor of his life. They talked of EDMUND CARTWRIGHT. 235 manufacturing, and especially of Arkwright's spinning machinery. One of the company observed that, as soon as Arkwright's pat- ent expired, so many mills would be erected, and so much cot- ton spun, that hands would never be found to weave it. To this the listener replied that Arkwright must then set his wits to work to invent a weaving-mill. This led to a conversation on the sub- ject, in which the Manchester gentlemen unanimously agreed that the thing was impracticable, and in defense of their opinion they adduced arguments which Cartwright was certainly incompetent to answer, or even to comprehend, being totally ignorant of the subject, having never, at the time, seen a person weave. He con- troverted, however, the impracticability of the thing by remark- ing that there had been lately exhibited in London an automaton figure which played at chess. "Now you will not assert, gen- tlemen," said Cartwright, " that it is more difficult to construct a machine that shall weave, than one that shall make all the vari- ety of moves that are required in that complicated game." Some time afterward, a particular conversation recalled this conversa- tion to his mind. It struck him that, as in plain weaving, ac- cording to the conception he then had of the business, there could only be three movements, which were to follow each other in suc- cession, there could be little difficulty in producing and repeating them. Full of these ideas, he immediately employed a carpenter and smith to carry them into effect. As soon as the rough model was finished, he got a weaver to put in the warp, which was of such materials as sailcloth is usually made of. To his great de- light, a piece of rough cloth was the result. His delight was un- bounded, for it proved that his theory was correct. As he had never before turned his thoughts to mechanism, either in theory or practice, nor had seen a loom at work, nor knew any thing of its construction, it will be readily supposed that his machine was a rough one. The warp was laid perpendicularly, the reed fell with a force of at least half a hundred weight, and the springs which threw the shuttle were strong enough to have thrown a Congreve rocket. It required the strength of two powerful men to work the machine at a slow rate and only for a short time. " Conceiving, in my simplicity," says Cartwright, " that I had ac- complished all that was required, I then secured what I thought a most valuable property by a patent, dated 4th of April, 1785. This being done, I then condescended to see how other people 236 SELF-MADE MEN. wove, and you will guess my astonishment when I compared their easy modes of operation with mine. Availing myself, however, of what I then saw, I made a loom, in its general principles near- ly as they are now made ; but it was not till the year 1787 that I completed my invention, when I took out my last weaving pat- ent, August the 1st of that year." Mr. Cartwright made an im- provement in this loom subsequently, by which patterns in checks could be executed with beautiful precision. Notwithstanding the obvious advantages of Mr. Cartwright's machinery, there was great difficulty in introducing it, mainly owing to the opposition of the laboring classes, who imagined that their simple lives would be ground out by the iron monster. A factory was erected at Doncaster by some of Cartwright's friends, in which he had an interest, but it was unsuccessful. Another establishment, fitted up with five hundred looms on the new prin- ciple, was set upon by an exasperated mob and utterly destroyed. The inventors of labor-saving machines have always these mass- ive difficulties to deal with and to overcome. In Cartwright's case it took some years, but he lived to see his machines in full favor, and to know that they performed the labor of two hundred thousand men. Cartwright's next invention was to comb ivool by machinery. Here, again, he was met by popular opposition, and not only this, but by fraudulent attempts to evade his rights. The machines, however, triumphed, and came into general use. Dr. Cartwright now exercised his ingenuity in a variety of ways, giving himself up entirely to the pleasant excitement of invention. He took out more patents, and received several premiums from the Society for the Encouragement of Arts and the Board of Agriculture. The steam-engine engaged much attention, and he used to tell his son (how prophetically time has proved) that, if he lived to be a man, he would see both ships and land-carriages impelled by steam. " It is also certain," says Mr. Craik, " that at that early period he had constructed a model of a steam-engine attached to a barge, which he explained, about the year 1793, in the presence of his family, to Robert Fulton, then a student of painting under West. Later in life, Cartwright engaged himself in the construction of a steam-carriage to run on common roads, but death prevented the completion of his plans. This event took place in October, 1823. He continued his mechanical and philosophical experiments up to EDMUND CARTWRIGHT. 237 the last with unabated vigor, and enjoyed excellent health, men- tal and physical. On the anniversary of his 77th year, he wrote to his brother, "I this day entered into my 77th year in as good health and spirits, thank God, as I have done on any one birth- day for the last half century. I am moving about my farm from eight o'clock in the morning till four in the afternoon, without suffering the least fatigue." Some curious things are related of Cartwright, which tend to prove that he was a very absorbed or a very forgetful man. He would sometimes lose all memory of his own inventions and oth- er productions of an early date, even when his attention was par- ticularly called to them. On one occasion a daughter repeated some lines from a poem. " They are beautiful, child ; where did you meet with them f M he asked ; and it was with the greatest astonishment he heard they were from his own poem of the "Prince of Peace." At another time, being shown the model of a machine, he examined it with great attention, and at last ob- served that the inventor must have been a man of great ingenu- ity, and that he himself should feel very proud if he had been the author of the contrivance ; nor could he be immediately con- vinced that such was actually the fact. We give these anecdotes for what they are worth, merely remarking that they are curious. Defective specifications, loose patents, and greedy imitators all combined to rob Cartwright of the just reward of his ingenuity. From his power-loom — the most important of all his inventions — he received little or nothing in the way of remuneration, cer- tainly nothing to compensate him for the loss he sustained at the fire where five hundred of these machines were destroyed. After the expiration of the patent, however, a number of manufactur- ers and merchants, who recognized his claim to the invention, presented a memorial to the Lords of the Treasury setting forth the merits of his improvements, and begging that the national bounty might be bestowed upon him. In consequence of this and other applications in his favor, the sum of fifty thousand dollars was soon after granted to him by Parliament, " in consideration of the good service he had rendered the public by his invention of weaving." This sum, large as it appears, was smaller than he had expended on his products, but it enabled him to pass the re- mainder of his life in comfortable retirement, and in a manner suited to his tastes and education. He was eighty-one years of aire at the time of his death. COUNT KUMFOKD. Benjamin Thompson, more widely known by his title of Count Rumford, was born at Woburn, in the colony of Massa- chusetts, on the 26th of March, 1753. At an early age he was sent to the public school of his native town, where he speedily acquired a knowledge of reading, writing, and arithmetic, so that in a little time the worthy pedagogue of the establishment had no more knowledge to impart to his greedy scholar. It became necessary, therefore, to remove him to a private establishment, where a more exclusive kind of tuition could be obtained. He is said to have made rapid progress in the study of astronomy, and also in the mathematics. At the age of sixteen young Thompson took hity place on the high stool of a counting-room, and became a punctual and observ- ant clerk ; but the routine of the occupation was not in accord- ance with his tastes, and he diversified it by continuing his studies in astronomy and the physical sciences. He was an extremely in- genious lad — a natural mechanic, to whom tools were as so many additional hands. Among his early achievements, his biographers dwell on an engraved label which he executed for his books, and COUNT EUMFORD. 239 which they assert was the first work of the kind ever done in America. The design was extremely luxuriant, and must have cost young Thompson an immense amount of trouble and patience. When the Stamp Act w T as repealed — this is another story related of our hero — Thompson undertook to manufacture a quantity of fireworks to fire off in honor of the American triumph. He knew all about the proper mixtures for producing the gay display, but he seems to have been strangely ignorant of the great danger of packing and preparing them. An apothecaries' shop was selected as the most handy laboratory, and Thompson set about his task with his usual earnestness. As might be expected, an explosion took place ; the unfortunate operator was seriously injured, and had to be removed to his mother's house, where he remained sev- eral weeks in a critical state. The town of Salem (where he was employed) had to go without its pyrotechnical display. When he had recovered from the effects of this accident, he re- turned to his desk ; but, in consequence of the commercial stagna- tion which followed the non-importation agreement, his employer had no farther need of a clerk, and Thompson had to seek his fortunes in a new sphere of action. During the winter of 1769, therefore, he taught a school at Wilmington, and did not resume commercial pursuits until the following year, when he received an engagement in a dry goods store in Boston. This was of short duration, and for some time he was without employment. He made the most of his spare time, however. A course of lectures were being delivered at Harvard College on experimental philoso- phy, and, although not a student of that establishment, he obtained permission to hear the course, and derived much benefit from the experiments which he saw performed, and which he repeated the moment he returned to his lodgings. In the autumn of 1770 he was intrusted with the charge of the academy at Rumford (now called Concord), and was received with great favor hi that town. Besides being accomplished, he was handsome and manly, and had an open, frank way with- him which won all hearts. He became, in consequence, a great pet with the ladies, and especially so with Mrs. Rolfe, the widow of a colonel, who possessed an estate of some magnitude for those days. She was considerably Thompson's senior, but, in spite of this drawback, retained much of the winning way of youth, and was eminently a charming person. The result was a perfectly natural one. On the 940 SELF-MADE MEN. closing of the school in 1772 Thompson and the widow proceeded together to Boston, where he invested his limbs in a magnificent suit of garments. From this city he proceeded to astonish the little world of AVoburn, and, on presenting himself before his mother, won from her the reproachful exclamation, " Why, Ben, my child ! how could you spend your whole winter's wages in this way?" Having obtained the assent of his parent, he returned to Rumford, and was immediately wedded. By right of fortune as well as right of intellect, he now became one of the aristocracy of the colonies. At that time all parties were more or less convulsed with the angry strife occasioned by the tyrannic claims of England, but Thompson does not appear to have been in the slightest degree affected with them. He abandoned himself apparently to the enjoyment of his wealth, and freely attended all the places of amusement and fash- ionable resort. He had worked hard, and now felt disposed to enjoy a little recreation. His affable manners and cultivated mind enabled him to make acquaintance with the most prominent men. Among those who became greatly attached to him was Governor Wentworth. On the first opportunity, he proved his preference by bestowing on Thompson the commission of major in a regiment of New Hampshire militia, thus raising him at once directly over the heads of all the captains and subalterns of the corps. It may have been Governor Went worth's wish to enlist the sympathies of his young friend in the cause of the mother country, and, although it is certain he did not entirely succeed, it is probable his liberal and appreciative policy was not without a result. We may safely conclude that Thompson would not have accepted the commission if his views had been very hostile to the English government. At a time when every man is supposed to be arrayed on one side or the other of a great question, moderation and neutrality are certain to excite suspicion. His brother officers in the corps, dissatisfied with the favoritism of his promotion, spread all sorts of rumors about him, and endeavored to injure his popularity. They were successful in playing on the excited feelings of the mob, and in November, 1774, Thompson received an intimation that his life was in danger, and that he would assuredly be tarred and feath- ered. There was no resource to avert the danger and indignity but to escape with the greatest precipitation. At Woburn he sought his first refuge, but the rumor of his Tory predilections had preceded him, and that quiet town was no longer safe. From COUNT RUMFOKD. 241 Woburn he removed to Charlestown, where he remained for some months, after which he removed to Boston, which was at the time garrisoned by the British army under Gage. He made a fresh attempt to return to Woburn in the following year, under the impression that the excitement against him had subsided ; but he was not long in discovering his mistake. The house in which he lived was surrounded by an armed mob, savage with the fiercest hatred against Tories, who demanded that he might be brought forth. Fortunately, a conspicuous patriot resided in the same building, and, owing to his timely intervention, the major was saved from the tender mercies of his enemies. That he deeply felt the indignities to which he was exposed, to say nothing of the danger, is proved by the course he subsequently adopted. Feeling his own innocence, he demanded from the provisional government of the colonies a trial. He was placed in arrest, and advertisements were inserted in the papers inviting all who knew any thing against him to appear. The necessity for this bold step was increased by the eagerness Thompson felt to join the cause of his country at the head of his regiment. The day of trial arrived, and the meeting-house was crowded. No specific charges were made against him, but his hostility to the American cause was argued by implication. Thus it was as- serted that he had hired two British soldiers, who had deserted, to work on his farm ; that, when he was in Boston, these men be- ing desirous to return to their allegiance, he had interceded with the British general to avert the punishment which the army award- ed to deserters, in consequence of Avhich intercession the men did return. Thompson defended himself on broad philanthropic grounds, and the court declared that it could not condemn him, but, as a concession to the popular excitement, it refused to exon- erate him entirely from blame, or give him a full acquittal. This course he denounced upon the spot, and immediately petitioned the Committee of Safety, by whom the matter was referred to the Provincial Congress. The latter refused to grant the petition. It is creditable to Thompson that, instead of seeking safety within the lines of the enemy, he retired to the camp of his own countrymen, who were by this time engaged in the siege of Bos- ton. Here he employed himself in drilling the undisciplined re- cruits, and in making himself generally useful ; but the obloquy which attached to his name could not be removed even by this 242 SELF-MADE MEN. devotion. He soon discovered that there was no hope of promo- tion for him ; that he was an object of suspicion ; and that he could not move from place to place within the lines of the army. Dispirited and wounded in his susceptibilities, it is not remarka- ble that he wearied of this hopeless struggle against prejudice, and resolved to leave an army which would not even look on him as a friend. His preparations for departure were conducted without the slightest attempt at secrecy. He converted into money all the property he could dispose of, paid oiF his debts, and about the 10th of October, 1775, left Cambridge. From that time to the close of the Revolutionary struggle his friends and relatives were without any positive tidings of his fate. After leaving Cambridge, Thompson proceeded to Newport, probably with the intention of escaping by sea. Here he found a boat belonging to the British ship Scarborough, on board of which he was received. He appears to have remained in this vessel for several days, and then took passage in her to Boston. It is incred- ible that he went to this city of his own free will ; we must rather suppose that he shipped himself on board the Scarborough under the impression that she was bound for some foreign port, and that he only discovered his mistake when it was too late to correct it. Certain it is that he went to Boston ; was landed there, and re- mained in the city during all the operations of the American army, even to the moment of their triumphal entry. So securely was he hidden, however, that his nearest friends were unconscious of his whereabouts. During his stay in Boston he renewed his acquaint- ance with the English commander-in-chief (who was himself mar- ried to an American lady), and appears to have won the confidence of that officer. We have no evidence that Thompson was em- ployed against his countrymen. If he harbored some resentment against them for the cruel way in which he had been treated, it is scarcely probable that it went to the extent of hostility to their interests, or of unnatural hatred to the country of his birth. Much as we must regret the situation in which we now find him, we can not think that there was any vengeful triumph in it. When it became necessary to evacuate Boston, it became also necessary to send dispatches to England, informing the govern- ment of that necessity. Few officers were anxious to have thJ3 unpleasant commission intrusted to them, and the commanding general was unwilling to part with men who might be serviceable COUNT KUMFOKD. 24.°, to him and the royal cause. In this emergency he had recourse to Major Thompson, to whom he intrusted his dispatches, and who immediately sailed for England in the ship that had conveyed him from Newport. In due time Thompson was introduced to Lord George Ger- maine, Secretary of State for the Colonies, and delivered his dis- patches. Lord George was struck with the personal appearance of Thompson, and, finding him well informed, offered him employ- ment in the department over which he presided, probably with the view of obtaining exact information concerning the resources and temper of the colonies. The otfer was too flattering to be rejected by Thompson in his present hapless state, and he closed with it without hesitation. No part of a man's experience is use- less. Thompson soon found that his business knowledge, picked up in the counting-room and store, were of inestimable value in a sphere which seldom employed business men. He was able to get through a vast amount of work in a very short time, and became so eminently useful and reliable, that in less than four years he was promoted to the highest place in the department. Thrown in this way among the best-informed circles of the country, with ample means to maintain his position, he found opportunity once more to return to his philosophical pursuits. He became a regu- lar attendant at the Royal Society's meetings, and soon afterward contributed to their " Transactions." When Lord Germaine retired from the administration, he did not forget the services of Thompson, but obtained for him a com- mission as major in a regiment which had been lately formed, composed mostly of American Tories who had sought refuge in England, or been employed under English colors in America. In a short time he was promoted to the rank of lieutenant colonel. He embarked for America, but, we are happy to say, returned when there was no longer an occasion to lift his hand against the land of his birth. There being no employment for his regiment, he obtain- ed leave of absence, and made a tour into Germany, with the inten- tion, it is said, of offering his services to the Emperor of Austria. On the journey he was fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of Prince Maximilian of Deux-Ponts, afterward King of Bavaria, who, learning his design to enter the Austrian army, recommend- ed him to visit Munich and inquire whether, in the employ of Ba- varia, he might not find a quicker and better scope for his talents. 244 SELF-MADE MEN. He gave him a letter of introduction to the Elector, and, armed with this, Thompson proceeded to Munich. His serene highness received him with favor, and offered him an instant appointment, holding out many inducements for him to remain ; but Thomp- son seems to have been more strongly inclined toward Austria than he at first supposed, and determined, under any circumstan- ces, to visit Vienna. In this city he remained some time, re- ceiving frequent communications from the Elector urging him to return to Munich. At length Thompson consented to do so on condition that he could obtain permission of the King of England to accept service under a foreign potentate. The permission was at once granted, and the fortunate lieutenant colonel was allowed to retire on half pay. The English government, to mark its sense of the services he had rendered, also conferred on him the honor of knighthood. Thus provided with an income for life and a title, he returned to Munich toward the close of the year 1784. He was at once appointed aid-de-camp and chamberlain to the reigning prince. Thompson's first exertions for the good of his new prince was to regenerate the army, which had, through neglect and abuse, sunk to a very low condition. In a short time he succeeded in introducing a system of discipline which was at once thor- ough and radically effective. Pie then turned his attention to the artillery force of the army, and by introducing a new system of tactics, and new contrivances for moving the carriages, etc., made it the finest corps in Europe. These labors were so suc- cessful, and so entirely in accordance with the wishes of the Elector, that he at once promoted Thompson to the Council of State, and made him also major general in the army. The sci- entific men of the electorate honored him also by admitting him as a member of the two academies of Munich and Manheim. A brief recapitulation of other honors bestowed on him during his stay in Germany may not here be out of place. In 1787 he was elected a member of the Academy of Sciences at Berlin ; he was (in Bavaria) elevated to the rank of commander-in-chief of the general staff, minister of war, and superintendent of the police of the electorate ; he was for a time chief of the regency that exer- cised sovereignty during the absence of the Elector, and was cre- ated Count of the Holy Roman Empire by Leopold. At his own solicitation, he selected as his title the name of the reeidence of his wife, and became Count of Rumford. COUNT RUMFORD. 245 A Ye now turn to Thompson's curious philanthropic and philo- sophical career. In Bavaria, at that time, begging was one of the principal conditions of life. It was a trade assiduously cultivated by a large portion of the population. So eager and pertinacious were the beggars, that they followed the citizen into his house, his store, his church. It was impossible to shake them off; they had gained courage by impunity, and actually looked on their profession as a legitimate one. Having made the army a respectable and in- dustrious body of men, Thompson now determined to reform all the sturdy beggars, and win them to ways of industry. For this purpose, he organized a general descent on the mendicant commu- nity. New- Year's day was selected for the demonstration — a day on which they came out in strong force. Before night every beg- gar in the city was under arrest. They were conducted to the town hall, where their names were taken down. They were then dismissed, with instructions to present themselves the next day at the " Military Work-house," a building in the suburbs, which Thompson had had fitted up for the purpose, where they would find well-heated rooms, a warm dinner, and a supply of work pro- vided for them. They were told that they would not be allowed to beg in the streets or elsewhere ; that persons were appointed who would inquire into their circumstances, and afford them what relief they needed. To insure the utter annihilation of the beg- ging system, the military guards stationed throughout the city were instructed to arrest all mendicants found in the streets, and to seek for those who failed to attend at the appointed place. The next day not a beggar was to be seen in all Munich ; but at the military work-shop a motley crew presented itself, ragged, hungry, fierce, and dirty. Great confusion prevailed until the various cases were classified. Some were set to work immedi- ately ; others were placed under the charge of the physician ; oth- ers were exempted from labor, and supplied with the necessary means of existence ; but no one was allowed to go out into the world again to beg. The great object of all Thompson's meas- ures was to elevate the poor wretches in their own opinion. Al- though arrested in the first instance, they were not locked up like criminals, and were simply dismissed on their promise to return the next day. In the work-shop they were not detained if they could obtain employment elsewhere. They wore, to be sure, a distinct- ive dress, but it was one of honor. According to the rules of the 24b' SELF-MADE MEN. establishment, all new-comers were comj)elled to wear their old ragged clothes until, by good conduct, they had earned the privi- leged uniform. It became necessary, in the first instance, for the purpose of instruction, to separate husband from wife, and parents from children ; but, so soon as the parents were found worthy of being trusted, the children were placed under their direction, and thus the halls of the establishment were speedily occupied with family groups. In this manner begging was eradicated, and from a wretched community of mendicants hundreds of valuable workmen were produced. When the establishment commenced operations it had twenty-six hundred residents ; in less than five years the number had decreased to fourteen hundred. In the same period, the finances were elevated from a loss of about twenty-five thousand dollars, to a profit, after paying wages to such as had shown them- selves worthy, of forty thousand dollars. These praiseworthy and successful efforts were properly appreciated by the objects for whom they were made. When the inmates of the work-house had thrown off the dirt and sloth of their former habits, they began to perceive the great good that had been done to them, and to recog- nize in Thompson a benefactor sent for their especial deliverance. He became the object of the sincerest affection. When he was seized with sickness, all the inmates of the work-house went in procession to the Cathedral, where, at their request, divine service was performed, and public prayers offered for his recovery. Four years later, when the news of his being ill at Naples reached Mu- nich, they voluntarily set apart an hour each evening to join in prayerful supplications for his recovery. It is pleasant to read of these things, and to believe they were sincere, so often does it happen in the world that those whom we would benefit are the first to turn round on us with unjust reproaches. Thompson's career in Bavaria was that of a beneficent prince, eager alike for the dignity of his country and the happiness of his subjects. All his plans were based on broad and comprehensive principles, the justice of which only needed illustration on a scale of sufficient magnitude to be at once appreciated. We must deny ourselves the pleasure of following his career, and will barely men- tion that, during the remainder of his stay in Bavaria, he estab- lished a military academy at Munich, and conducted it under his own immediate auspices for six years. Pie endeavored to improve COUNT RUMFORD. 247 the breed of horses (which at that time was very shaggy and queer), for which purpose he imported a number of fine mares and loaned them to the farmers. He attempted, in like manner, to improve the breed of cattle, and with decided success. In carrying into effect these various schemes, he was often met by the interested opposition of men who envied his popularity and position. Hav- ing the entire confidence of the prince, he was able to beat down this factitious opposition, but it added the ingredient of trouble to his many labors. He overtasked himself, and his constitution be- gan to show signs of decay. In 1794 he obtained leave of absence, and visited Italy to recruit his shattered system ; the following- year he paid a visit to England. The fame of his career had pre- ceded him, and he became popular, especially with committees for improving the condition* of the poor, who were constantly appeal- ing to him for advice. To gratify them, and render a service to the indigent classes, he published the particulars of his system in Bavaria. During his stay he enlightened the Londoners on the proper way of curing smoky chimneys, and gave them some new and correct notions concerning the radiation of heat, by which their lire-places were made more comfortable and economical. At this time, too, he introduced his cooking-stove, and, according to his plans, the first of this now familiar article was set up in America (1798). In 1796, Thompson accepted an invitation of the Secretary of State of Ireland to visit that country, for the purpose of giving his advice to various charitable institutions. A philanthropist of such a practical turn of mind was not only a rarity, but a blessing. In Dublin and other cities he superintended the erection of va- rious establishments for benevolent purposes. The now common method of heating by steam was first employed by him in a laun- dry, where the apparatus heated the irons, warmed the water, aired the clothes, and cooked the dinners of the laundresses. After his visit to Dublin, Thompson returned suddenly to Bavaria, in consequence of the critical position in which that country was placed by the war. Standing midway between the operating points of Austria and France, it seemed by no means improbable that Bavaria would be the field of battle for the contending forces. The Elector, alarmed at the state of things, was on the point of abandoning his capital when Thompson ar- rived in Munich; in deference to the latter, he deferred bis de- 248 SELF-MADE MEN. parture for eight days, and then ran away in spite of all per- suasion. Having, however, some kind of respect for Thomp- son's courage and discretion, he appointed a Council of Regency, at the head of which Thompson was placed. Within a few days the Austrian army arrived, but, to its astonishment, found the gates of the city shut. Batteries were immediately constructed and threats uttered ; but Thompson was firm, and the neutrality of the Bavarian capital was maintained. The citizens were de- lighted, and the Elector heaped new honors on his favorite when he came back, which was after all the danger was over. Thopmson remained two years longer in Bavaria ; but, finding that his health once more failed him, he concluded to return to England, the genial climate of which country had proved so beneficial in his previous sickness. As an expression of his esteem, the Elector furnished him with credentials as minister plenipotentiary and envoy extraordinary near the court of St. James. The intention was kindly, but, owing to the laws of England, which will not rec- ognize a change of allegiance in an individual, he was not recog- nized in his diplomatic capacity, and therefore failed to obtain the position the Elector had hoped to secure for him within the ex- clusive circle of the court. Instead, therefore, of wasting his time in the close and lazy at- mosphere of palaces, he devoted himself once more to scientific*, pursuits. At this time the Royal Institution was not in exist- ence, and the idea of founding it had been but just promulgated. Thompson was precisely the man to give practical importance to such a scheme. To his exertions and influence England is largely indebted for the honor which this institution — made illustrious by the names of so many men of genius — has shed on her scientific annals. While he was busily engaged in carrying out this project, he received intelligence of the death of his old friend and patron, the Elector Charles Theodore of Bavaria. His successor was the same Maximilian Joseph of Deux-ponts who had originally fur- nished him with a letter of introduction to the Bavarian court. This prince, having belonged to the opposition, did not view the popularity of Thompson with any especial favor. He was easily influenced by the representations of the latter's enemies. Thomp- son saw, therefore, that any farther residence in Bavaria would only tend to angry feeling and discomfort. These views were confirmed during a visit which he made after the peace. Al- COUNT RUMFOIU). 249 though received with every politeness and consideration, he soon learned that it was not the intention of the administration to give him employment. After assisting in the reorganization of the Bavarian Academy of Sciences, he bade a final adieu to the electorate, and made a tour through Germany, Italy, Switzerland, and France. Unfortunately, there is no record of his adventures in these countries. It is scarcely probable that a man so widely known could have passed from place to place without some kind of valuable experience, or without coming in contact with leading men of similar views, philanthropic and philosophical, with him- self. In Paris Thompson found a city where his reputation and sci- entific attainments gave him at once a position of importance. He appears to have been delighted with it, and with reason. In addition to the fascinations of cultivated intercourse, he discovered on the borders of the scientific world a lady who was destined to become the partner of his joys and sorrows, and the companion of his journey down the valley of life. He had lost his first wife during his absence in Europe ; Madame Lavoisier was the only woman he had met who seemed destined to fill her place in his affections. The lady was well to do, and, by virtue of her de- ceased husband's great reputation, occupied an elevated position in the best circles of Parisian society. A mutual attachment sprung up between them, which resulted in an indissoluble union. The date of the wedding is not known. In 1804 Thompson wrote to his mother to inform her of the event, and saying, "The lady I am to espouse is four years younger than myself, and is of a most amiable and respectable character." Immediately after his mar- riage he took up his residence at madame's country-seat at Au- teuil, where he was destined to pass the remainder of his days. We turn now to the record of his philosophical investigations and discoveries. Unfortunately, many of Thompson's papers (which would doubtless have thrown considerable light on these subjects) were stolen from him during a visit to London. " On my return to England," he says, "from Germany in October, 1795, after an absence of eleven years, I was stopped in my post-chaise, in St. Paul's Church-yard in London, at six o'clock in the evening, and robbed of a trunk which was behind my carriage, containing all my private papers, and my original notes and observations on philosophical subjects. By this cruel accident I have been de-i L 2 250 SELF-MADE MEN. prived of the fruits of the labors of my whole life, and have lost all that I held most valuable. This most severe blow has left an impression on my mind which I feel that nothing will ever be able entirely to remove.' ' It will be remembered that Thompson's first experiment with gunpowder was of a kind to impress the force of that combustible on his mind in an extremely unpleasant manner. To this acci- dent we may undoubtedly attribute his subsequent curiosity on the subject. From an early day down to the period of his mili- tary career in Bavaria, he was engaged in a series of philosophical investigations, having in view the projectile force of gunpowder, and how to economize it. One of his first papers, published in the " Transactions of the Royal Society," was on this subject, and the conclusions he arrived at were highly important to artillery- men, miners, and others who use gunpowder as a means of ob- taining quick and remarkable force. These conclusions were new, and immediately became the basis of practical calculations which are acted upon to the present day. A series of experiments were also performed by him in relation to the capabilities of various fabrics to absorb moisture, especially with regard to clothing. He demonstrated, what experience had already taught, that woolen goods were by far the most desirable for persons exposed to damp climates, or, when used next to the skin, for persons who were subject to profuse perspiration from heat. Experiments on light (a favorite subject with all philoso- phers, but treated practically by Thompson) followed. His in- vestigations were confined to, 1. The relative quantities of light given by oil and tallow in lamps and candles ; and, 2. The com- parative cost of the substances giving equal quantities of light. In the course of these experiments he obtained many curious re- sults then unknown to science, rendered all the more valuable by their adaptation to the ordinary purposes of life. He showed that light is not sensibly diminished by passing through moderate distances in the air ; he determined the quantities of light lost in passing through plates of glass, and by reflection from mirrors ; and determined the relative quantities of different substances con- sumed in the production of a certain quantity of light. The re- sult of his experiments was that he considered the Argand lamp the most economical. While conducting these experiments he constructed a lamp of a novel kind, the light from which was so COUNT RUMFORD, 251 intense that the workman who illuminated it for the first time could not find his way home at night, in consequence of the blind- ness produced by its extreme brilliancy. This lamp has since be- come famous, but bears the name of Bude instead of Thompson, who was its inventor. Proceeding farther in his experiments, he examined the action of light in reducing the oxides of silver and gold, phenomena to which daguerreotypists are entirely indebted for their art. He also discovered that these metals, when in so- lution, may be reduced by charcoal, ether, the essential oils, and gum. It is barely probable that the nature of these experiments and their value will be appreciated by the general reader, but they were sufficient at the time to raise Thompson's name to the high- est pinnacle of scientific fame. We have already referred to his experiments on the subject of heat, first instituted with a view to practical utility. Subsequently he continued them on philosoph- ical principles, and obtained explanations of " the more import- ant and extensive operations of nature upon the surface of the globe, and in some cases, as in that of the submarine polar cur- rents, predicted what fifty years of subsequent observation have hardly yet exhibited in its full extent." To the prosecution of his various occupations Thompson brought to bear a well-disciplined and perfectly methodical mind. He had a time for every thing, and was, in consequence, never hurried. So confirmed was he in habits of industry and method, that it was impossible to tear him from his accustomed task. His death took place on the 21st of August, 1814, at his villa in Auteuil, in the sixty-second year of his age. It was occasioned by a fever, and accelerated by his habits of method, which would not allow him, on this occasion, to desert his favorite occupations for the quiet and regimen of the sick-chamber. By marriage and otherwise he was the possessor of an ample fortune, and before and after his death made several public dis- positions of his money. He instituted prizes, liberally endowed, to be adjudged by the Eoyal Society of London and the American Academy of Sciences, for the most important discoveries of which light and heat should be the subject ; he bequeathed an annual sum of one thousand dollars, together with the reversion of other property, to Harvard University, for the purpose of founding a professorship to teach " the utility of the physical and mathemat- ical sciences, for the improvement of the useful arts, and for the 252 SELF-MADE MEN. extension of the industry, prosperity, happiness and well-being of society." Although Thompson proved by these liberal bequests that he remembered and was attached to his native country, he never saw it from the time of his first departure. At one time he was on the eve of returning, but circumstances occurred which prevented his fulfilling the intention. He had one daughter by his first wife, who visited him in England. In the immediate vicinity of Munich is a beautiful ornamental park, with artificial lakes and mountains, and a great variety of splendid trees and flowers. It is a place of recreation, and free to the public, who roam there, and enjoy the fresh breeze and the fine scenery. Thompson caused this park to be laid out and ded- icated in the way it is. The people were so thankful for the boon that they caused a monument to be erected in commemora- tion of Thompson's services in securing it. It has two principal fronts opposite to each other, ornamented with basso-relievos and inscriptions. On one side is an inscription in the German lan- guage, of which the following is a literal translation : " Stay, Wanderer. At the creative flat of Charles Theodore, Rumford, the friend of Mankind, By Genius, Taste, and Love inspired. Changed this once desert place Into Avhat thou now beholdest." On the opposite side of the monument there is a bust of Count Rumford, and the inscription : " To him Who rooted out the greatest of Public Evil 1 -, Idleness and Mendacity, Relieved and instructed the Poor, And founded many Institution?; For the education of our youth. Go, Wanderer, And strive to equal him In genius and activity, And us In gratitude." THOMAS POSEY. Thomas Posey, whose life furnishes us with another instance of the undeviating integrity and enduring patriotism of the men who struggled for liberty in our Revolution and gained it, was born on the banks of the Potomac, in Virginia, on the 9th of July, 1750. He was in humble circumstances, and received but a scanty education. When he was nineteen years of age he re- moved to the western part of Virginia, near the frontiers, where he expected to engage in some profitable employment. A few years after his removal to this locality the country became in- volved in a general war with the Indians. In 1774, an expedi- tion was undertaken against them by the British colonial govern- or, Lord Dunmore, and General Andrew Lewis. Mr. Posey re- ceived an appointment in the quarter-master's department, and marched with General Lewis's division of the army. The course of the army lay through a primitive wilderness, the fastnesses of which were yet unbroken by the foot of man. Difficulties of the most perplexing character were constantly occurring to obstruct the horses, baggage, munitions, and provisions which were under Posey's charge, but the coolness, perseverance, and industry which he displayed enabled him to reach the place of rendezvous in safe- ty. Mr. Hall justly remarks that there was more merit and brill- iancy in such an achievement than in the daring and the triumph of a successful battle, for the performance required more labor, more patient courage, more active patriotism than is usually called forth by the excitement of a battle. On the 10th of October the Indians made their appearance in great force, and an obstinate and bloody engagement immediately ensued (Point Pleasant). They were led by the famous chief Corn-stalk, a chief who, unlike most of his contemporaries, had no fear of open warfare, and attacked Lewis's position with the skill of an experienced general. The battle lasted the entire day, and was at last decided in favor of the Virginians, who lost sev- enty-five men killed, and one hundred and forty wounded. The Indian loss was of course much jrreatcr, but, in accordance with 254 SELF-MADE MEN. their invariable custom, they carried off their dead, and left it im- possible to discover what loss they had sustained. Shortly after this engagement, Lord Dunmore succeeded in effecting a treaty of peace with the Indians. The battle of Point Pleasant was. the first engagement in which Posey took part, although it is probable that at various times he had a hand in the frontier skirmishes which were incessantly waged between the settlers and the savages. He was a minute observer of all the operations of battle, and his imagination, being eminently of a military order, was fired with hot excitement. It is not remarkable, therefore, that when the war of Independence broke out, he was one of the first to enroll his name on the scroll of patriotism. At an early day he was appointed a captain in the regular service, and raised a company, which was incorpora- ted with the seventh Virginia regiment, and afterward put upon the Continental establishment. The seventh regiment distin- guished itself in a campaign against Lord Dunmore, and was sub- sequently ordered to join the army under the immediate command of General Washington. In the spring of 1777 it reached head- quarters at Middlebrook, New Jersey — a large force of the ene- my then lying at New Brunswick, a few miles distant, under the command of Lord Cornwallis. About this time General Wash- ington authorized the formation of a picked rifle regiment, to be commanded by Colonel Daniel Morgan. The latter distinguish- ed officer availed himself of the opportunity placed in his hand to select from all the army none but the best men. Among others, his choice fell upon Posey, who was at once honored with a cap- taincy. In this regiment, surrounded by master-spirits who look- ed on danger as their comrade, Posey distinguished himself equal- ly with his gallant companions. It would be unfair to say more, for every man in that regiment was a patriot. One of the prin- cipal uses of a rifle corps is to harass an enemy rather than fight him ; to engage the picket-guards, cut off the supplies, and sur- prise detached parties. Detected in such dangerous tactics, the rifleman receives no quarter, and, indeed, expects none ; but the great importance of the service renders it vitally important to have none but the most reliable men in the corps. Morgan's regiment was essentially the " crack" one of the day, and by the daring rapidity of its movements performed inestimable service in the American cause. THOMAS POSEY: 255 In the spring of 1778, Colonel Morgan being on furlough, Lieu- tenant Colonel Butler having joined his regiment, and Major Mor- ris having been killed, Captain Posey succeeded to the command of the rifle corps, now much reduced by the many actions in which it had taken part, and the hardships and privations it had endured. He continued to perform active duties until the British evacuated Philadelphia, when his detachment joined the army. Posey was promoted to the rank of major, and in 1779 was intrusted with the eleventh Virginia regiment of infantry, from which he was shortly after transferred to the command of a battalion, compos- ing part of Febiger's regiment, under the orders of General Wayne. Under this illustrious commander he distinguished himself at the assault on Stony Point (loth July, 1779}, and was the first to enter the main work of the enemy. Marshall, in his history, says that " Colonel Fleury was the first to enter the fort and strike the British standard. Major Posey mounted the works at the same instant, and was the first to give the watchword, 'The fort is ours.'' " In 1780, Posey was employed in the recruiting service, but assisted at the siege of Yorktown, where once more he witnessed the triumph of American arms. He returned to his recruiting station and organized a regiment, of which he obtained the command, having already been promoted to the rank of lieu- tenant colonel. With this regiment he repaired to Georgetown (1781-2), and served under General Wayne until the evacuation of Savannah by the British. When this event took place, Wayne, with his troops, was ordered to join General Greene in South Car- olina. Charleston was evacuated a few months afterward, and Posey was ordered, with his battalion of light infantry, to follow the enemy as -they marched out. This was his last employment in the Revolutionary war, as it was, indeed, the last occasion for his services. During the whole period in which the country was struggling for its liberties, Posey was at his post, ever foremost in the time of danger ; ever prepared for the privations, disappoint- ments, and misfortunes of that time which truly "tried men's souls." It is nothing for a man to be a patriot now. He has a country and a nationality to fight for ; but in those times, a man, if he failed, was a rebel, and suffered an ignominious death, which, to a vast number of recruits, did not carry pity with it. After the peace, Colonel Posey (who had lost his first wife) was married again (1783) to Mrs. Thornton, a young widow of con- •256 ' SELF-MADE MEN. siderable beauty and accomplishment, and immediately afterward settled in Spottsylvania county, Virginia. A family of ten chil- dren were the fruit of this marriage. In 1785 he was appointed captain of militia, and in the following year county lieutenant. He fulfilled the arduous duties of the latter appointment until 1793, when once more he entered, under the banner of General Wayne, as brigadier general, on a decisive campaign against the Indians. The expedition was successful, and much of its honor was reflected on Posey. On quitting the regular service he . settled in Kentucky, where his military reputation had preceded him, and paved the way to new honors. He was immediately elected to the Senate of the State, and was speaker of that body for four years, by virtue of his appointment of lieutenant governor. In 1809, apprehensions of war with England induced the Congress of the United States to provide for the contingency by raising an army of one hundred thousand men. The quota of Kentucky was five thousand men, and this large number was raised with the greatest possible ease. The command was intrusted to General Posey, with the rank of major general. It was an honor that any man might be proud of, for the troops were selected from the flower of the state, and represented some of the best and most patriotic families. The call, however, was premature ; and, although Posey set about his duties with the celerity and discipline of earlier days, his exer- tions were, for the moment, of no avail. The army was dis- banded. Governor Scott, of Kentucky, complimented Posey on the occasion. " While I felicitate my fellow-citizens on the pros- pect of our affairs," says that gentleman, " which has led to this event, permit me particularly to assure you that I entertain a high sense of the promptitude and zeal with which you undertook to discharge the duties of commander-in-chief of this corps. You have set an example of military spirit, at the expense of private convenience, which I hope ever to see imitated by the militia cf this state, when the interest of their country is at stake. I beg leave to renew to you my sentiments of regard, and am sincerely your friend and obedient servant." The purchase of Louisiana from the French opened a new field of enterprise for the South, and among those who determined to settle there was General Posey. Although sixty years of age, he made an exploration into the interior, and finally purchased THOMAS POSEY, 257 kind in Attakapas, and removed thither with part of his family. When, in 1812, hostilities were about to commence with Great Britain, he gave a fresh illustration of his patriotism by raising a volunteer company at Baton Rouge, of which he condescended to accept the captaincy. In the same year General Posey was elected senator in the Congress of the United States. He repair- ed to Washington, and served there until March, 1813, when he was appointed governor and commander-in-chief of the Territory of Indiana. This territory was one of the most exposed in the country ; infested by hostile Indians, and threatened by the Brit- ish. Its management required military firmness and experience, which were certainly secured in the appointment of General Posey. He fulfilled the duties of his responsible office until 1816, when the territory became a state. On* relinquishing the government of Indiana, General Posey was appointed Agent for Indian Affairs, the important duties of which office he continued to perform to the day of his death. It was the last position in which he was permitted to serve his coun- try. On the 19th of March, 1818, General Posey departed this life, after a violent attack of typhus fever. The event took place at Shawneetown, Illinois, and was occasioned by a severe cold, which terminated fatally in the way we have mentioned at the end of eight days. The consolations of religion had prepared his spirit for the final change, and when the moment arrived he was ready. Among his papers were found (in his own handwriting) a brief sketch of his life, a letter of advice to his children and grandchildren, and a letter to his wife, to be delivered after his death. "In the prime of his life," says Mr. Hall, to whom we are in- debted for some of the facts in this sketch, " General Posey was remarkable for his personal appearance ; tall, athletic, and finely formed, with singularly handsome features, his exterior was very prepossessing. His figure was dignified and graceful, and in his manners the bearing of the soldier was harmoniously blended with the ease of the refined gentleman." ISEAEL -PUTNAM. The rich and glorious military history of America is studded with bright names gathered from the dark masses of the time — men who abandoned their humble homes for the tented field, and after a while returned to their homesteads clothed in victory, amid rejoicings and patriotic ovations. Many of these names, of the richer sort too, belong of right to the biography of self-made men. Accident may make a man famous, but it does not make him patriotic. This he owes to a native principle, the product of the soil to which he belongs, and his own large and generous nature. To be more than thousands of his neighbors, to be illustrious in the annals of his country, he must call into play all the self-de- nial, all the firmness, all the clear-visioned determination of the self-made. Nothing in the world is more natural than patriotism, but nothing in the world is more difficult than being a patriot. We all know something of Israel Putnam. The romantic sto- ry of his life is one of the earliest that attaches us to our dar- ing history, and impresses it vividly on our mind. He was born at Salem, in Massachusetts, on the 7th of January, 1718, his fa- ISRAEL PUTNAM. 259 ther being a farmer. Education hi those days was not, as now, within the easy grasp of the aspiring. People in moderate cir- cumstances were unable to command more than the scantiest smattering of knowledge. Life was physical rather than intel- lectual ; men looked to their hands more than their heads. Young Israel learned a few English branches, and then turned his atten- tion to farming. He was blessed with a good constitution, and strengthened it by a hearty participation in all the manly sports of the time. When only twelve years of age he gave an indica- tion of that strength and courage which were his distinguishing characteristics later in life. It happened that he went to the city of Boston on a visit, and, while quietly trudging through the streets with his hands in his pockets and his eyes wide open, at- tracted the attention of an impudent city boy, much his superior in age* and size. This youth thought it would be capital fun to ridicule the rustic appearance and gait of Israel, and for this pur- pose followed him through the streets. Israel submitted to his sneers for a short time, and then turned on his tormentor. In a very short time he gave him a complete drubbing. In the twenty-first year of his age Israel was united in mar- riage to a Miss Pope, of Salem, and immediately afterward re- moved to Pomfret, in Connecticut, where he purchased a consid- erable tract of land, and applied himself closely to cultivation. In the enjoyment of home comfort, and in the pursuit of an hon- est and healthy independence, there is but little in his life during this period which need be recalled in a biography. One little story, however, must be preserved. In those days the neighbor- hood of Pomfret was greatly infested by wolves. So great were their depredations, that, in a single night, Putnam lost no fewer than twenty sheep and goats, besides having a number of lambs wounded. All sorts of possible means were employed to destroy these voracious robbers, and generally with success ; but there was an old she-wolf who defied all the ingenuity of the farm- ers. She paid her visits every night to the sheepfold, and, after partaking of a hearty supper, retired to her den in a neighbor- ing cavern. On one occasion she had been caught in a trap, and had left a part of her foot behind in order to effect her es- cape. The mark of the injured foot could be traced after her noc- turnal visits, especially if there had been a slight fall of snow, so that every one knew it was this defiant old lady that caused so 260 SELF-MADE MEN. much mischief every night, and perhaps initiated younger and more timid depredators. Putnam and a few of his neighbors determined to pursue the robber. Without much difficulty they discovered her den. Dogs were sent in, but they soon came forth wounded and howling ; no amount of persuasion could in- duce them to go in again. Straw and brimstone were lighted at the mouth of the cave, but the stifling fumes had no effect on the hearty constitution of the old she-wolf. After continuing their efforts until late at night, they were about abandoning their game, when Putnam proposed that his negro man should descend into the cavern and shoot the wolf. All things considered, it was not at all remarkable that the negro man declined the honor ; it is more remarkable that Putnam should have thought it neces- sary to reproach him with cowardice. Perfectly resolved not to be foiled, Putnam now undertook the dangerous task, against the wish of his friends and neighbors, who remembered how the dogs had been used, and could scarcely expect a better fate for Israel. Stripping off his coat and waistcoat, and placing a rope round his body, so that he might be drawn back at a concerted signal, he entered the cavern head foremost, holding in his hand a torch of lighted birch bark. The aperture of the den, on the east side of a very high ledge of rocks, was about two feet square ; thence it descended oblique- ly fifteen feet, and, running horizontally about ten more, gradually ascended sixteen feet, toward its termination. The sides of the cavern were of smooth solid rocks, apparently divided by some violent convulsion of nature. Its floor and top were also of stone, and when covered with ice in winter, its entrance was extremely slippery. In no place was it three feet wide, or high enough for a man to stand upright. Through this long and perilous cavern Putnam groped his way, creeping cautiously on all fours, and waving his torch, until he was arrested by a sullen and fierce growl. Peering into the darkness, he detected the glaring eye- balls of the wolf, flashing defiance on him from the extreme end of the den. Having thus explored the hunting-ground, he gave the signal, and was dragged out so precipitately by his friends (who, hearing the growl, were quite certain that something very dreadful had happened) that his clothes were torn to rags, and his body sadly lacerated. Undeterred by this little accident, he pro- ceeded to load his musket with nine buck-shot, and then for the ISRAEL PUTNAM. 261 second time entered the cave. He approached the animal nearer than before, in spite of her fierce and threatening aspect ; still nearer and nearer he crept up to her, until she seemed in the very act of springing ; then, with a steady hand and true eye, he discharged the musket full at her head. Stunned by the reper- cussion, and almost suffocated by the smoke, he was again drawn forth. He was too anxious to wait long for the result. In a few moments he descended into the cave for the third time, seized the wolf by the mane, and dragged her out. To the delight and ex- ultation of every one, she was quite dead. Putnam was thirty-seven years of age when the war which preceded the American Eevolution broke out between France and England. As a farmer, he had distinguished himself by great in- dustry and prudence, resulting necessarily in easy circumstances ; it was now that he appeared for the first time on the stage of public life. In 1755 he was appointed captain of a company in Lyman's regiment of provincials, which were among the first troops raised in Connecticut on that occasion. With Major Eogers and his company Putnam traversed the wilderness, to gain information, reconnoitre the enemy's line, capture straggling parties, cut off supplies, and generally do all the mischief in their power. Their immediate object was to obtain a correct knowl- edge of the situation and condition of the fortifications at Crown Point. A delicate task of this kind required more than mere bravery ; it demanded prudence and coolness. Putnam soon perceived that it was impossible to approach the fortifications with his company without great danger of detection by strag- glers from the garrison. He proposed, therefore, that he and Eogers should go alone, leaving their troops in some safe shelter until their return. During the evening, they advanced so near the fort that they were able to gain all the information their general needed. Once they were nearly detected ; a French- man caught hold of Eogers, and, after vainly trying to stab him, shouted out to the guard for assistance. Putnam rushed to the rescue of his companion, and, with a single blow from the butt- end of his musket, silenced his captor forever. They made their escape before the guard came up. It was probably owing to the successful issue of this reconnoitring party that Putnam, assisted by Lieutenant Durkee, was intrusted with a similar delicate op- eration. They were to reconnoitre the enemy's camp at the 262 SELF-MADE MEN. Ovens, near Ticonderoga. The French were lodged round their iires, instead of the fires being placed round the men, as in the English camp ; their sentinels were, consequently, secreted in the surrounding darkness. Ignorant of this disposition, Putnam and the lieutenant crept cautiously on their hands and knees toward the camp, when, to their great surprise, they found themselves entirely encircled by the enemy. They were quickly observed and fired upon, Lieutenant Durkee receiving a slight wound. In their hurry to escape, Putnam fell into a clay-pit, and Durkee followed. Imagining that the latter was an enemy, Putnam had raised his arm to stab him, when he recognized Durkee's voice. Springing from the pit with fresh activity, they made good their retreat, followed by a perfect storm of bullets. When Putnam loosened his canteen to give a little rum to his wounded compan- ion, he was astonished to find that it had been perforated with bullets, and all the treasured liquor gone. His blanket, too, was pierced with fourteen holes, so that he had had even a narrower escape than with the wolf. In this and similar hazardous under- takings he continued to be employed, always displaying undaunt- ed bravery, and great judgment and presence of mind. The rep- utation which he gained by these exploits won for him the appre- ciation of the Provincial Legislature of Connecticut, who, as a rec- ognition of his merits, promoted him to the rank of major in 1757. At the siege of Fort William Llenry, Putnam distinguished himself by obtaining much valuable information concerning the movements of the enemy, which, had it been acted on with prompt- ness and courage, would have averted the sad fate of that fort, and the subsequent massacre by the Indians, which has made it odious. Putnam reached the scene of carnage just as the rear guard of the French were embarking on the lake. The bodies of brutally- murdered human beings lay around him in every direction ; hund- reds of women and of children were heaped on the smouldering ruins of the barracks and fort. We can imagine the emotions of Putnam as he gazed on the scene, knowing, as he did, that if the general had but possessed an atom of his courage, all might have been averted. In view of this, posterity has forgiven him a dis- obedience to orders, which certainly occurred soon after. Putnam, with his Kangers, were stationed on a little island in Lake George, and intelligence was brought that a fatigue party, under Captain Little, was in danger of utter destruction by the French and In- ISRAEL PUTNAM. 263 dians. Without a moment's hesitation, they dashed into the wa- ter and rushed to the rescue. As they passed the fort, the gen- eral peremptorily ordered them back to quarters. Putnam was seized with sudden deafness, and did not hear the order until after Captain Little's party had been rescued from the danger which threatened it. Disobedience to orders in the army is an awful crime, but, in consideration of the service rendered, no court-mar- tial was held on the major. There are so many kinds of bravery, that it not unfrequently happens that a perfectly courageous man may display weakness on some one point. He may be afraid of having a tooth pulled, or of crossing a stream in the dark, or of going up to the top of a high ladder. One of the most natural fears, even among the bravest of the brave, is the fear of fire. In 1757, the barracks of Fort Edward took fire, and would have extended to the mag- azine, which was only twelve feet distant, and contained 300 bar- rels of gunpowder, had it not been for Putnam's individual per- severance, bravery, and coolness. He took his post on the roof of the barracks, and threw water on the flames until roasted from his position. Colonel Haviland, who had command of the fort, urged him to desist from his perilous efforts, but he begged permission to remain and continue his labors. He was now standing between the magazine and the flames, the external planks of the former frequently taking fire. A moment's delay in extinguishing the flame, wherever it appeared, would have resulted in instant destruction. Every one knew this ; but sucli was the force of good example, that not a man would desert his post at the bucket-line ; even the colonel expressed a desire that they might all be blown up together. At length the fire was happily extinguished. Putnam had labored at it for nearly two hours ; his face, his breast, his arms were terribly blistered, and when he drew off the mittens on his hands the flesh came away too, and left all the nerves exposed. It was many weeks before he was able to go out, after this heroic display of stoical courage. During the reverses of Abercrombie at Ticonderoga, Putnam performed good service, but was, of course, unable to divert the unfortunate tendency of events. The weak point of the campaign was that green English officers, who knew nothing whatever of the Indian element in warfare, and were otherwise ignorant of 264 SELF-MADE MEN. the local precautions necessary to insure safety to an army — that these fine-feathered gentlemen were placed in command, not only of the European troops, which they might understand, but also of the American auxiliaries, which they could not. Had more reliance been placed on shrewd, cool officers like Putnam, the dis- asters would certainly have been fewer. We have no intention of following the events of this period, and shall therefore merely select those in which our hero was mainly interested. One day, while Putnam, with five men, was lying in a boat near the Rapids by Fort Miller, he received a sudden warning that the Indians were upon him. Before he had time to escape, the savages fired upon the little party, and killed one of its number. There seemed scarcely a hope of retreat. On either side were the Indians, in front the Rapids, and thus what seemed to be certain death in every direction. Without a moment's hesitation, Put- nam preferred risking the Rapids. Seizing the helm, he steered straight into the vortex of the foaming waters. The boat was whirled round like a chip on the surface of a whirlpool, but his steady hand kept it in the channel, and carried it past all impedi- ments, until, like an arrow, it darted into the tranquil waters be- low. It is said that the Indians were so overcome by this exhibi- tion of cool skill that they looked on it as something supernatural, and conceived it would be an affront to the Great Spirit to kill this favored mortal with powder and ball. Up to this time we have had nothing but good luck to record of Major Putnam. On one of his reconnoitring expeditions, how- ever, he was ambuscaded, and, after a fierce struggle, captured. While the two parties were still hotly contesting the ground, he was tied to a tree, and exposed to the cross-fire of friends and foes. At length he was untied by his captors, stripped of his clothing, laden with the packs of the wounded, tightly pinioned, and in this sad plight forced to march many miles, in the midst of tri- umphant enemies, to Ticonderoga, where he was examined by the French commander-in-chief, the Marquis of Montcalm. He was afterward removed to Montreal, and treated with great humanity and indulgence. Here, through the intercession of Colonel Schuy- ler, he soon obtained his release, in an exchange of prisoners which took place between the two armies. In 1760 the English triumphs in Canada were almost perfect- ed. Montreal was the only important post remaining in the ISRAEL PUTNAM. 265 hands of the French. To reduce this, General Murray was or- dered to ascend the River St. Lawrence ; Colonel Haviland, with the second corps, was directed to penetrate by the Isle au Noix ; while 10,000 men under Amherst were to pass up the Mohawk, traverse Lake Ontario, and, by descending the St. Lawrence, unite with the other two divisions. To this latter corps was Putnam attached. In falling down the river, they came upon an unex- pected obstruction in the shape of two armed vessels, and farther progress was for the moment impossible. Putnam was the first to volunteer to clear the way. With a thousand men and fifty boats he undertook to carry the vessels by boarding. At the appointed moment the flotilla started on its way. The victory, however, was bloodless. Dismayed by the force brought against them, the crews of the armed vessels compelled their command- ers to haul down the colors. The next point of attack was the fort of Oswegatchie, situated on an island, and defended by a high abatis of black ash, projecting every where over the Avater. A mode of attack was devised by Putnam, and immediately put in operation. Each boat was surrounded with fascines, musket- proof, and a board, twenty feet long, fixed in the manner of a half draw-bridge, which was to be dropped on the pointed bush. The signal was given for the attack, but the sight of the strange machinery disconcerted the besieged, and they, like their marine compatriots, surrendered without a blow. In the rupture between Spain and Great Britain in 1762, a formidable expedition against Havana was committed to the charge of Lord Albemarle. One of the contingents was a Con- necticut regiment, one thousand strong, under the command of Putnam. The transports arrived in safety off the Queen of the Antilles, but a storm arose, and Putnam and five hundred of his party were wrecked upon a dangerous reef of rocks. By much industry and fatigue they reached the main land, where they made a fortified camp, and remained unmolested. Their presence was of infinite service in the subsequent reduction of Havana. The general peace in Europe of 1763 put an end to these large struggles, but the Indians in America were still hostile. Put- nam's great experience made him a very desirable officer against this savage foe, and, with the rank of colonel, he proceeded to the West, under General Bradstreet's command, and remained until the Indians had been brought to a state of subjection. Putnam's M 266 SELF-MADE MEN. military career seemed now at an end. He had served his coun- try gallantly and faithfully for ten years, and, laying his honors meekly on the national altar, returned to his homestead, and once more peacefully followed the plow. The obnoxious Stamp Act was Avarmly opposed by Putnam. He was one of the most active in preventing the circulation of the objectionable paper. In 1766 the act was ungraciously re- pealed, and Putnam once more resumed his agricultural labors ; but the agitation which had been provoked by the folly of the En- glish government was not destined to die ingloriously. It was perfectly understood that, although the government had abandon- ed its position from outside pressure, it did not surrender what it conceived to be a right. These matters were warmly discussed in the various states, and still more hotly in the principal cities. Putnam made frequent visits to Boston, and was known as one in whom perfect confidence might be placed when the hour of trial should arrive. On the 19th of April, 1775, the news of the bat- tle of Lexington was carried to Putnam as he was laboring in the field. He left his plow standing in the furrow, threw himself across one of the team, and, without a moment's delay, hurried to the scene of action, without even waiting to change his clothes. Two days later he attended a council of war at Cambridge, and throughout the struggle which now commenced, took an active command. At Bunker Hill the coolness and intrepidity of his action contributed in a large measure to the glory of the Ameri- can cause. It is supposed, and with every show of reason, that he had entire command of the forces on this occasion. The incidents of our glorious struggle have been so often re- hearsed, and belong so essentially to history, that in a biography of this brief kind it would scarcely be desirable to repeat them. The great hero was Washington, and whom he honored we honor. From the first Putnam secured the respect and confidence of this great man, and was frequently complimented in General Orders. Not only did he bring invincible courage and patriotism to the cause of his country, but, what was almost of equal importance in those dark days, he possessed rare tact — the faculty of making insuf- ficient means abundantly satisfactory. An illustration will suffice. Captain Macpherson, a Scotch officer of the seventeenth British regiment, had received, in the battle of Princeton, a severe wound, which every one thought would prove fatal. Putnam visited the ISRAEL PUTNAM. 267 wounded prisoner, procured surgical assistance, administered to his comforts, and solaced him in the apparent hour of death. Con- trary to every prognostication, the captain recovered ; but, prior to this, in the darkest hour of his suffering, he made a request to Putnam that a friend in the British army might be permitted to come and aid him in the preparation of his will. The general was involved in great perplexity. On the one hand, he was charita- bly anxious to gratify the dying prisoner ; on the other, he was very unwilling that an officer from the enemy's camp should spy out his own weakness. His presence of mind and natural shrewd- ness helped him out of the difficulty in an extremely amusing way. A flag of truce was dispatched, with orders not to return with the captain's friend until after dark. " By the time of his arrival lights were displayed in all the apartments of the College Hall, and in all the vacant houses in the town ; and the army, which then consisted of fifty effective men, were marched about with re- markable celerity, sometimes in close column, and sometimes in detachments, with unusual pomp and circumstance, around the quarters of the captain. It was subsequently ascertained, as we are assured by Colonel Humphreys, that the force of Putnam was computed by the framer of the will, on his return to the British camp, to consist, on the lowest estimate, of five thousand men." It is in emergencies of this kind that the native genius of a man displays itself. Decision and firmness of character were ever manifest in all that Putnam undertook to perform. We will give an instance where these qualities were displayed in a tragic man- ner. Edmund Palmer, a lieutenant in a Tory regiment, had been discovered in the American camp. To avert the fate of a spy, the commander of the British forces sent a flag of truce to Put- nam, claiming the prisoner as a British officer, and intimating that his execution would be attended with serious consequences. Putnam returned the flag with the following characteristic and perfectly dramatic note : " Head-quarters, 7th August, 1777. " Edmund Palmer, an officer in the enemy's service, was taken as a spy lurking within our lines ; he has been tried as a spy, condemned as a spy, and shall be executed as a spy, and the flag is ordered to depart immediately. "Israel Putnam. "P.S. — lie lias been accordingly executed." 268 SELF-MADE MEN. The only reverse which Putnam ever met with, in his singu- larly eventful life, was at Fort Montgomery, which, owing to in- sufficient support, he was compelled to abandon to the enemy. The subsequent movements were not in accordance with the or- ders of the commander-in-chief, and Washington consequently expressed some dissatisfaction with Putnam. A Congressional inquiry was made into the matter, and, in deference to public clamor, he was, for a time, superseded in his command. This, however, did not dampen his ardor. He returned to Connecti- cut, raised new levies, and displayed all his old activity. About this time he was the hero of a well-known exploit. One day, while visiting his outposts at West Greenwich, he was surprised by Governor Tryon with a corps of fifteen hundred men. Put- nam had only a hundred and fifty men and two pieces of artillery to defend himself against this overpowering force. With these, he took his station on the brow of a steep declivity. As the British advanced, they were received with a sharp fire from the artillery ; but, perceiving the dragoons about to charge, Putnam ordered his men to retire to a swamp inaccessible to cavalry, while he himself forced his horse directly down the precipice. His pur- suers, who were close upon him, were horror-stricken at the au- dacity of the thing, and paused breathlessly until he was out of danger. The declivity, from this circumstance, has since borne the name of Putnam's Hill. During the campaign of 1779, which terminated General Put- nam's military career, he commanded the Maryland line. Being- stationed two miles below West Point, at Buttermilk Falls, he directed the principal part of his attention to strengthening the works of that important fortress. In December, when the Amer- ican army went into winter-quarters at Morristown, New Jersey, he obtained leave of absence to visit his family for a few weeks. As he was journeying toward Hartford, on his way back to Morristown, his progress was arrested by an attack of paralysis, by which the use of his limbs on one side was lost. He was un- willing to admit the real character of the disease, and endeavored, by vigorous exercise, to throw off the torpidity. The effort was unavailing, and for the remainder of his eventful life he was an invalid. On the 17th of May, 1790, he was suddenly attacked by an inflammatory disease, and two days later died. His re- mains were borne to the grave with the usual ceremonies due to ISRAEL PUTNAM. 269 a distinguished military commander, and a feeling eulogy was pronounced on the occasion. He was consoled in the last few years of his life with the knowledge that the cause which he had espoused with such signal ardor and intrepidity had triumphed, and that he had been one of the humble instruments in the hands of a divine Providence to raise a down-trodden colony to the dignity and glory of a great nation. JOHN PKIDEAUX. The story of John Prideaux, a quaint fragment of early bi- ography, affords at once an instructive lesson, and an amusing insight into an early period of English history. Prideaux was born on the 17th of December, 1578, at Stowford, near Plym- outh, England. His father was in moderate circumstances, but, owing to the requirements of a large family, was unable to sup- ply his sons with liberal educations. John, who was the fourth, was merely taught to read and write. In spite of this drawback, he was soon destined to enter on public life. The parish clerk of Ugborough, a village about five miles from Stowford, had died, and his office was still vacant. John Prideaux was gifted with a fine voice, and, in spite of his youth, determined on applying for the situation. There was another competitor in the field — an experienced man, who had canvassed the village in a thoroughly business-like way. The parishioners determined on giving the rivals a fair trial, and arranged that one of the competitors should give out the psalms in the morning, and the other in the after- noon, and that the place should be given to the candidate who was most approved by the congregation. The result was what might have been expected — experience carried the day ; the parish- ioners decided in favor of Prideaux' s rival. It was fortunate that it so happened. In later days he used to say, " If I could have been parish clerk of Ugborough, I never should have been Bishop of Worcester." But the disappointment was a trying one, and bruised his young heart. There was a kind old lady in the vil- lage who observed the earnestness of his sorrow, and sympathized with it. She comforted the poor young fellow, and told him that "God might design him for greater things, and therefore he ought not to lament having failed in his recent attempt." She did more than this ; she placed him at the grammar-school, and maintained him there until he had acquired some knowledge of Latin and the higher branches of a solid education. A very kind and sens- ible gentlewoman was Mistress Fowell. Prideaux's thirst for knowledge was now thoroughly aroused ; JOHN PRIDEAUX. 271 the country school could not supply his wants, and he determined to perfect his education at an English University. Accordingly, quitting parents, relatives, friends, and the scenes of his childhood, he set out for Oxford, performing the journey on foot, and trust- ing entirely to his good fortune for the result. The journey was a long and dismal one, and not without danger. He suffered many privations, but, in spite of these, reached Oxford in safety. At this renowned seat of learning he repaired to Exeter College, then largely patronized by gentlemen from the county of Devon. It is probable that he had some acquaintances there, or, at all events, some family friends, who would lend him a helping hand. He was an ingenuous lad, with engaging manners, and an open, frank way of looking people in the face ; and then he was an en- thusiast not easily repulsed. To some of these causes must be attributed his success ; he obtained admission to the college. His situation at first was but an humble one, he being employed as an assistant in the kitchen and in other menial offices. There are many fine minds that would sink beneath the degrading drudgery of such a situation, but Prideaux conceived it to be no disgrace to begin on the lowest step of the ladder. He never complained, but, on the contrary, was so cheerful and happy that he obtained the good-will of every one. The consequence was, that in 159G he was admitted a poor-scholar of Exeter College, and was placed under the tuition of Mr. William Helme, an able scholar, and Bachelor of Divinity. He now applied himself to study with a vigor which would have been fatal to a man with a less robust constitution. Night and day he pored over his books, and, being gifted with a remarkably tenacious memory, was soon able to master their contents. In less than three years he obtained his degree of Bachelor of Arts (1599) ; three years later, he was elected a probationer fellow of his college (1602). In the fol- lowing year he obtained his master's degree, and soon after en- tered into holy orders. To the study of divinity he directed all his energies, and he became recognized as the best theologian in the college. His bachelor's degree in divinity was taken in 1611, his master's degree in the following year. This was, indeed, rapid promotion for a poor boy who had worked his way to learn- ing through the pots and kettles of the kitchen ; but a greater honor was in store for him; in 1612 he was elected Kector of Exeter College. Quaint old Anthony a Wood says, that " in the 272 SELF-MADE MEN. rectorship of his college he carried himself so winning and pleas- ing, by his gentle government and fatherly instruction, that it flourished more than any house in the University with scholars, as well of great as of mean birth ; so also with many foreigners that came purposely to sit at his feet to gain instruction." In 1615 Prideaux succeeded to the professorship of divinity in the University, to which office are annexed a canonry of Christ Church, and the rectory of Ewelme in Oxfordshire. In the professional chair he was a strenuous assailant of the doctrines of Arminius and Socinus, which were at that time gaining ground. His lec- tures were remarkable for vigor and perspicuity. Prince, in his account of the worthies of Devon, characterizes the style of Pri- deaux as being "manly for the strength, maidenly for the modesty, and elegant for the phrase thereof." It was also said of him that " the heroic spirit of Jewel, Rain olds, and Hooper, as though they were united in him, seemed once more to triumph, and to threaten the hierarchy of Babylon with a fatal blow." Prideaux held the professorship of Divinity for twenty-seven years, during which period he filled the dignified office of vice- chancellor five times. He was also domestic chaplain to Prince Henry, son of James I., and subsequently to King James himself, and Charles the First. These honors and preferments did not make him unmindful of his origin. He was uniformly compas- sionate to the poor, and to his parents affectionate and beneficent. The latter he delighted to surprise with unexpected visits, and by generous bounty to gladden their hearts, and cheer their path of life. In one of his visits to Devonshire for this purpose, as he passed through the parish of Ugborough, the church bell was toll- ing. On being told that it was for the funeral of an old woman who had been his godmother, he suspended his journey, accompa- nied the body to the grave, and delivered a suitable discourse upon the occasion. There is not much in an incident of this kind ; but it shows a simple nature, and an estimable trait in an ecclesiastic, who might, under such circumstances, consult dignity rather than natural impulse. Though unfeignedly pious, Prideaux was of a cheerful disposition, and loved to exhibit a chaste and elegant wit, always gay, but never bitter. He was fond of manly sports, and was an excellent archer. A man of so much distinction could not fail of preferment. On the 2d of November, 1641, he was nominated Bishop of Worces- JOHN PRIDEAUX. 273 ter, and in the following December was consecrated. The office was a dignified one, but it was beset with perils. A sense of duty rather than a love of power induced him to accept it. The tyranny of Laud, and the slavish doctrines taught by many of the prelates, had ulcerated the minds of the people, and made them loathe the mitre and all who wore it. Only eight days after the consecration of Prideaux, nearly one half of the English bish- ops were guilty of an act which, under all the circumstances, would seem to have been prompted by insanity, or by passion bor- dering on insanity. Misled by the intriguing Archbishop of York, eleven prelates signed with him that extraordinary protest, by which they took upon themselves to nullify all proceedings that might take place in Parliament during their absence. Public in- dignation was intense, and too bitter to be discriminate. Al- though Prideaux' s name did not appear in the obnoxious docu- ment, he was doomed to share the odium it occasioned. In those days there were many wise men who believed in the divine right of kings (as if there was any thing divine in brutal stupidity, tyranny, and wrong), and Prideaux was unhappily of the number. When the people took up arms against the sover- eign, Prideaux endeavored to intrench himself behind preroga- tive, and to intimidate his foes by threats of excommunication. The torrent was too strong for such puny efforts. He was plun- dered, expelled, laid under sequestration, and at last reduced to such straits that he was fain to sell his valuable library and some fragments of property to provide for the wants of his family. " Having first, by indefatigable studies," says old Anthony, " di- gested his library into his mind, he was after forced again to de^ vour all his books with his teeth, turning them, by a miraculous faith and patience, into bread for himself and his children." Pri-r deaux explains the process with wonderful equanimity and hu- mor. Being questioned about his health, he replied, " Never bet^ ter in my life, only I have too great a stomach, for I have eaten that little plate which the sequestrators left me ; I have eaten a great library of excellent books ; I have eaten a great deal of lin- en, much of my brass, some of my pewter, and now I am come to eat iron, and what will come next I know not." Prideaux survived his misfortunes for many years, and outlived the king for whom he had made so great a sacrifice. On the 20th of July, 1650, Prideaux departed this life, leaving to his offspring M 2 274 SELF-MADE MEN. a "pious poverty, God's blessing, and a father's blessing." The event drew forth various eulogiums, and Cleveland, the poet, sang his praises in exalted verse. Prideaux was twice married, and had a large family. As a writer, he has left several works, prin- cipally in the Latin tongue, which evince great learning and clear- ness. In his habits he was devout, simple-minded, humble, and virtuous. He had a horror of any thing like pride, and, as a perpetual remembrancer of his humble origin, the coarse attire in which he walked from Stowford to Oxford was hung up in his wardrobe, by the side of his episcopal robes. He was emphatic- ally a good man, and a remarkable instance of that strength of character which is the peculiar blessing of self-made men, and which, wherever and whenever manifest, rises superior to iron fortune and cruel circumstances. KOGEK WILLIAMS. The founder of religious toleration in the New World is just- ly esteemed a worthy of American history, and his name will endure so long as civilization shall have its records. Of the early history of this illustrious individual we know nothing, ex- cept that, whatever his birth and education, he had to fight his way in the world. In England, of which country he was a sub- ject (having been born in Wales in the year 1599), the independ- ence of his views, and the earnestness with which he inculcated them from the pulpit, soon raised him up an army of enemies and detractors. To escape these, he emigrated on the 1st of Decem- ber, 1630, in the ship Lion, from the port of Bristol. After a tempestuous voyage of sixty-six days, he arrived at Boston on the 5th of Februaiy, 1631, where he was received by the Church with every manifestation of delight. Williams's reputation as a powerful and earnest preacher had preceded him, and the theoc- racy of Narraganset Bay looked to him as an instrument of might sent for their special good. There is no doubt but he was, although not in the way they intended. 276 SELF-MADE MEN. It seems strange in these days to say that a man was ''re- markable" for advocating entire freedom of conscience ; yet such was the case with Roger Williams. The doctrine was new and particularly unpalatable in England. In Massachusetts it was equally offensive. He left the former country in consequence, but in the latter he was determined to fight it out. It will be seen in the sequel that the struggle was long and bitter, but triumphant. Society, as it then existed in Massachusetts, was completely under the dictation of the Church. The religious and the civil power were blended together, and the people, accus- tomed to it, and to a great extent preferring it, bent their necks or their knees, as occasion demanded. They did not think for themselves, but left that task to their pastors, believing that it was impossible to think rightly in the absence of clerkly lore. Then, if they neglected their duty, they submitted to the interpo- sition of the magistrates, who made them do all that the pastors said they ought to do. In such a community Roger Williams was not destined to be long at peace. Very shortly after his ar- rival he removed to Salem, and, in opposition to the magistrates of Boston, became minister of the church there. As his opinions became known, the opposition became more intense and irksome. Notwithstanding some popularity in Salem, he found it desirable, for the sake of peace and quietness, to remove out of the jurisdic- tion of the court of Massachusetts Bay, and seek a secluded home in the colony of Plymouth. For this purpose he migrated in the autumn of 1631, and was cordially received by the Pilgrim fa- thers; but the court of Massachusetts pursued him, and tried very hard to frighten away his congregation with rumors of her- esy. It is probable that this hostility was not without its result, for in August of 1633 we find Roger Williams returning to Salem, as if with the special object of bearding the lion in his den. His residence in Plymouth was principally remarkable for numerous excursions among the Indians, during which he studied their lan- guage, and obtained much moral power over many chiefs of tribes. " God was pleased to give me," he says, " a painful, patient spirit, to lodge with them in their filthy, smoky holes, even while I lived at Plymouth and Salem, to gain their tongue." With his second sojourn in Salem Roger Williams's eventful history properly commences. The magistrates renewed their hostility, but, in spite of this, he succeeded in obtaining the pas- ROGER WILLIAMS. 277 torship of the church. One of his first acts was to call in ques- tion the expediency of a meeting of ministers, which had been es- tablished in the colony for the discussion of questions in theology, and for other similar purposes of mutual improvement. The magistrates saw in this the indications of a wavering orthodoxy, which might at any moment inquire into their expediency. An- other offense was a pamphlet which Williams had written, but never published, " On the Nature of the Eight claimed by the Monarchs of the several Nations of Christendom to dispose of the countries of Barbarous Tribes, by virtue of discovery." In this treatise, says Governor Winthrop, " among other things, he dis- puted their right to the land they possessed, and concluded that, claiming by the king's grant, they could have no title, nor other- wise, except they compounded with the natives." Notwithstand- ing the fact that this pamphlet was simply a manuscript docu- ment in his own desk, he was required to surrender it to the authorities, and, as they considered it dangerous and offensive, he was summoned to appear before the court and receive cen- sure. Williams replied to the magistrates that his pamphlet had been written "only for the private satisfaction of the Governor of Plymouth," and, while disclaiming any intention of offending the authorities, adhered manfully to the opinions he had uttered, but sent the manuscript to be burned by the hangman, if they thought fit. This bold course appears to have mollified the authorities ; " they found the matters not to be so evil as at first they seemed." The fundamental point on which Williams differed from his contemporaries, and which was the immediate cause of the hostil- ity of the court of Massachusetts, was that of liberty of conscience. He believed "that no human power had the right to intermeddle in matters of conscience ; and that neither Church nor State, nei- ther bishop, nor priest, nor king, may prescribe the smallest iota of religious faith." Living in a community where every thing was prescribed, this doctrine was singularly sweeping and hereti- cal. It is not remarkable, therefore, that every new assertion of it was listened to by the authorities with horror and misgiving — a protest against things as they existed. His own church was satisfied, but even this was looked on with displeasure, as an evi- dence of malign influence already exerted. To increase the bad feeling, a spirit of jealousy had sprung up between Salem and Boston, and any unusual proceedings in the former found savage 278 SELF-MADE MEN. commentators in the latter. The result was that Williams had to appear constantly before the court on the most trivial charges. Eminent divines, with no stain of heterodoxy on their characters, were sent to convert the obdurate Williams ; but he was unyield- ing, and they came back with more confirmed notions of his dan- gerousness. The exaggerations which were the natural result of these interviews were repelled by straightforward declarations from Williams, denying what he did not believe, and reiterating the faith which he held. He was unmerciful on the civil power. " It extends," he maintained, " only to the bodies, and goods, and outward estates of men ;" concerning spiritual matters, " the civil magistrate may not intermeddle, even to stop a church from apos- tasy and heresy." An opportunity soon occurred for venting the displeasure of the court not only against Williams, but against Salem. The peo- ple of the latter town preferred to the court a claim for a tract of land lying in Marblehead Neck ; but the court, as a punishment for the contempt of authority the town had shown in settling Mr. Williams, refused to allow the claim. The injustice of this re- fusal excited the sturdy spirit of Williams. In conjunction with the Church, he wrote " letters of admonition unto all the church- es, whereof any of the magistrates were members, that they might admonish the magistrates of their injustice." This direct appeal from the terrible decision of the court was too flagrant to be tol- erated. The deputies of Salem were deprived of their seats un- til the letter had been satisfactorily explained, and ample apology made for its doctrines. The town of Salem, terrified by these proceedings, made the proper submission, but not before Williams had farther committed himself by urging them to renounce all communion with the other churches of the colony. Thus aban- doned by his Church and his townsmen, he stood alone to face the fierce storm which was gathering. A committee was sent to Sa- lem to deal with him and censure him ; but he refused to be dealt with and censured, and expressed himself " ready to be bound, and banished, and even to die," but not to renounce his conscien- tious convictions. In the following July he was summoned to Boston to answer the charges brought against him at the General Court, which was then in session. The following were the charges : " First, that the magistrate ought not to punish the breach of the first table otherwise than in such cases as did disturb the civil ROGER WILLIAMS. 279 peace. Secondly, that he ought not to tender an oath to an un- regenerate man. Thirdly, that he ought not to pray with such, though wife, child, etc. Fourthly, that a man ought not to give thanks after sacrament, nor after meat." These charges were the subject of long and serious debate, which terminated in allowing him and the Church in Salem " time to consider these things till the next General Court, and then either to give satisfaction or to expect the sentence." The next General Court met in October, 1635. Williams ap- peared in obedience to the summons, and stood manfully to his principles. Many of his old adherents deserted him now that the crisis had arrived. He stood alone, the majestic impersonifica- tion of Principle. The decision of the court was as follows : " Whereas, Mr. Roger Williams, one of the elders of the Church of Salem, hath broached and divulged divers new and dangerous opinions against the authority of magistrates, as also writ letters of defamation, both of the magistrates and churches here, and that before any conviction, and yet maintaineth the same without any retraction ; it is therefore ordered that the said Mr. Williams shall depart out of this jurisdiction within six weeks now next ensu- ing, which if he neglect to perform, it shall be lawful for the gov- ernor and two of the magistrates to send him to some place out of this jurisdiction, not to return any more without license of the court." This unjust decree was .endorsed by all the ministers save one; but, notwithstanding this clerical sanction, it caused much excitement, and the more moderate of the colonists viewed the act with abhorrence. It was complained soon afterward that people were "taken with an apprehension of his godliness;" that is to say, they began to look on him in the light of a martyr. This unexpected sympathy threw the court into new doubts. It was apprehended that many of his old communicants would with- draw with him, and thus, perhaps, found a new and rival colony. To prevent this, it was determined to ship the refractory clergy- man to England, and so dispose of him for good. A fresh sum- mons was served on him, demanding his presence once more be- fore the court at Boston ; but this he was unwilling or unable to respect. His health had given way under the manifold oppres- sions and persecutions to which he had been subjected. The magistrates were too eager to be thus bluffly foiled. A warrant was sent to Salem to apprehend him, and convey him on board 280 SELF-MADE MEN. an English vessel in the harbor. The officer to whom was in- trusted the unpleasant task found Mrs. Williams and her family, but Roger Williams had departed. The cold winter wind howled over the dreary landscape where he wandered, and the falling flakes of snow obliterated all traces of his footsteps. For days and days he wandered in the unbeaten tracks of the forest, across wild ridges of mountains, through treacherous mo- rasses, over still more treacherous snow-banks. " I was severely tossed," says he, " for fourteen weeks, in a bitter winter season, not knowing what bread or bed did mean." Broken in health and spirits, pursued by well-grounded fears of apprehension, scent- ed by wild beasts, can any thing more pathetic, more earnest be imagined than the picture of this true Christian patriot, toiling through the savage wilds, and sustaining himself with the one hope that he might yet succeed in removing the bandage from bigot eyes, and the one conviction that he was Right before God. During his early residence at Plymouth he availed himself of many opportunities of cultivating a friendly feeling with the In- dians, and even acquired some knowledge of their language. In his wanderings he reaped the advantage of these advances. He fell in with many tribes. " These ravens fed me in the wilder- ness," he says, and his life was doubtless preserved by their kindly hospitality. The famous chief Massasoit was more than kind. He received the toil-spent wanderer, overwhelmed him with attentions, and, when the spring came, gave him a tract of land on the See- konk River, where " he pitched, and began to build and plant." When the news of his safety reached his Salem friends, several of them flocked to his side, anxious to share his exile, and to help establish an independent colony, where toleration should be more than an empty word. All bade fair to end happily, when suddenly Williams received a communication from the Governor of Plym- outh, informing him that he was still within the bounds of the colony, and advising him to remove to the other side of the river. The advice was tendered in a friendly way, and Williams took it without hesitation. He abandoned the land he had commenced tilling, pulled down the house he had built, and, embarking in a rude Indian canoe, dropped down the stream in company with five companions. He passed round the headlands now known as Fox Point and Indian Point, up the harbor to the mouth of the Mooshanic River, and there landed. It was summer now, and ROGER WILLIAMS. 281 the foliage looked bright and beautiful in the gay sunshine. The solitude of primeval nature was unbroken save by the chirruping of birds and the murmuring of a beautiful spring at which they refreshed themselves. Roger Williams felt that he had been guided to this delicious retreat by an all-wise Providence, and with a thankful heart he called the spot Providence, and struck the first stake of the "plantations of Providence." "Rhode Island," says Mr. Bonner, in his excellent " Child's History of the United States," "is a very small state, and looks quite in- significant on the map when compared with such great states as New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio ; but when I remember that Ehode Island was the first place in the world where liberty of conscience was established, I can not think of any country in which it is more glorious to have been born." We have seen that Roger Williams attached no importance to the patents which kings were in the habit of granting, because he argued they had no right to grant what did not belong to them. He did not feel justified, however, in taking possession of the island on which he found himself without first obtaining permis- sion from the rightful owners. He went, therefore, to the sa- chems of the country, and purchased the lands " lying upon the two fresh rivers called Mooshanic and Wanasquatucket." In consideration of former kindnesses, the Indians voluntarily ceded to him all the other land lying between the above-named rivers and the Pawtuxet. In order to raise the funds needed for this purpose, and for removing his wife and family to the new settle- ment, he had to mortgage his house and land in Salem. Little did he imagine how utterly unequal the bargain would soon be- come. His ambition was to make the new settlement "a shelter for persons distressed for conscience." It was no part of his plan to assume any kind of authority over the settlers, or to take for his share more land than they had for theirs, although of right it all belonged to him. Those who came were located cheerfully, and not a penny demanded. Thus humanely and generously did this good man found the infant State of Rhode Island. As, however, some kind of obligation was needed from the many who now flocked to the settlement, the following instrument was drawn up, and adopted by each new resident : " We, whose names are here underwritten, being desirous to inhabit the town of Providence, 282 SELF-MADE MEN. do promise to submit ourselves, in active or passive obedience, to all such orders or agreements as shall be made for the public good of the body, in an orderly way, by the major consent of the pres- ent inhabitants, masters of families, incorporated together into a township, and such others whom they shall admit into the same, only in civil things." It was June, 1636, when Williams stepped on shore from his canoe ; this simple compact endured for four years, without any special interpreters. In 1640 we find men- tion of a treasurer, but of no other officer. It was a complete little family party, with a glorious, genial, generous father at its head. If Roger Williams ever bore resentment against the authori- ties of Massachusetts Bay, he soon forgot it. During the Pequot war, which ended in the extermination of the Pequot race, he ex- erted himself with remarkable bravery and ardor on their behalf, and subsequently he never missed an opportunity of proving how easily a good man may forget injury. But the authorities were not to be appeased. They saw that the disaffected of their own colony flew to Roger Williams's settlement as to a place of sanc- tuary; that they became good citizens there, and did as their conscience bade them, without bringing perdition on those around them. What was worse, they raised their voices against the bigot- ry and intolerance of the older colony, and loudly denounced every fresh act of injustice. A letter was even dictated, coming from Providence, which complained of the acts of the General Court and the prevailing spirit of the colony. The authorities became greatly incensed, and immediately passed an order that if any of the settlers of Providence should be found within the jurisdiction of Massachusetts, he should be brought before one of the magis- trates, and, if he gave his sanction to the letter, he should be sent home, and forbidden to come again into the jurisdiction, on pain of imprisonment and farther censure. The effect of this unjust act was severely felt in Providence, but no revengeful spirit was aroused in the tranquil bosom of Roger Williams. He was doomed, however, to be sorely perplexed, soon after, by a wild fellow named Gorton, who, after having been turned out of the Boston, Plymouth, and Rhode Island settlements, sought refuge at Providence. He was of course welcomed, but the sim- ple restraints of the compact we have copied were insufficient for his turbulent spirit. Gorton had his adherents, who followed ROGER WILLIAMS. 283 him in his various ejectments, and who soon got the little com- munity into a dispute. It is said that the inhabitants of Provi- dence became so incensed that they appealed to arms, and it was only by the personal intervention of Williams that a combat of the two parties was averted. The anger excited by this state of things did not soon subside. To end the dispute, the weaker par- ty sent an appeal to Massachusetts for aid — contrary, of course, to the wish of Williams. It was refused, but the appeal suggest- ed a new course of policy to the Massachusetts authority. This was none other than to assert, whenever the opportunity occur- red, complete jurisdiction over the settlement of Providence. The confederation of the colonies of New England for mutual protection took place in 1643. Plymouth, Massachusetts Bay, Connecticut, and New Haven were the parties to the union, Providence being entirely ignored. An application was subse- quently made by this settlement, and by the sister one of Ehode Island, to be included in the compact, but it was sternly refused. The settlers on the plantations were thus thrown entirely on their own resources for protection as well as support. They continued in prosperity, however, and daily received new accessions to their strength. Their neighbors constantly taunted them with their exposed position, and insisted that they were even without any ' civil power. Finding themselves thus placed, they were induced at length to unite in seeking the favor and protection of the moth- er country. The mission was intrusted to Roger Williams, who, in the summer of 1643, set sail from New York for his native land. He was received cordially, especially by Sir Henry Vane, a member of the Privy Council, who was himself a famous advo- cate of freedom of conscience. Mainly through his exertions, Williams succeeded in getting a charter for the towns of Provi- dence, Portsmouth, and Newport, entitled " The Incorporation of Providence Plantations, in the Narraganset Bay, in New En- gland." The charter was dated March 14th, 1644, and gave to the inhabitants full power " to make and ordain such civil laws and constitutions as they, or the greatest part of them, shall by free consent agree unto." The charter distinctly recognized all that was claimed for the civil government by the founder of the colony, and had the additional virtue of not going farther than was actually needed. Having accomplished all that his most san- guine wishes led him to expect, he returned to America, and ar- 284 SELF-MADE MEN. rived at Boston on the 17th of September, 1644. He brought with him a conciliatory letter to the authorities, signed by some of the most eminent men in England ; but it had no effect. The only concession they made was to allow him to pass through their territory unmolested. A far different reception awaited him in his own settlement. All the inhabitants turned out to meet him upon the road and bear him back in triumph. Owing to fresh disturbances among the Indians, and other causes, a form of government under the new charter was not agreed upon until May, 1647. Roger Williams's disinterested love was again manifested. Instead of becoming the first presi- dent of the new colony, as of right he should hvae been, he ac- cepted the subordinate office of assistant for the town of Provi- dence. We do not find such modesty among public men in our days. One of the first acts of the new Assembly was to vote a sum of one hundred pounds to defray the expenses which Roger Williams had been put to in obtaining the charter from the En- glish government. We are sorry to add that this sum was never paid in full. A code of laws was also adopted at the same meet- ing, similar in spirit to those of the mother country, but with this characteristic provision, that, " otherwise than what is herein forbidden, all men may walk as their consciences persuade them, every one in the fear of his God." The sacrifices he had made for the public service, and the in- ability or unwillingness of the colonists to reimburse him, com- pelled Williams (who had a large family) to seek an honest living in some profitable mercantile way. The fur trade was then ex- tensively carried on, and it occurred to him that, by establishing a trading-house, he might easily secure much of the Indian traffic. His popularity with the various tribes and knowledge of their lan- guage rendered him peculiarly fitted for this business. Accord- ingly, he withdrew from the town, and erected a trading-house. He was not disappointed in his expectations. The Indians were delighted to deal with a man so fair, honest, and straightforward. In a little while he established a remunerative business, which he says brought him in a hundred pounds a year profit. He was not destined long to enjoy this gleam of prosperity. A number of difficulties sprung up in the little colony, arising from the loose wording of the charter. Dissensions were rife, and ill-will grew up between man and man. The best disposed appealed to Roger ROGER WILLIAMS. 285 Williams for help ; they prayed that he would once more go to England for them, and permanently settle all the points which caused this agitation. With a wife and a large family to support, and the recollection of former losses, he was at first naturally un- willing to undertake this mission ; but when fresh and more earn- est representations were made to him, he yielded. The colonists were too poor to pay his expenses, so he sold his trading-house, and once more sailed for England. Under the auspices of Sir Henry Yane, he was again triumphant. It needed time, however, to obtain all that was required, and for a poor man time is a very expensive luxury. In order, therefore, to support his wife and family at home, he obtained employment in London as a teacher of languages. During his sojourn he received a letter from the General Assembly of Providence, thanking him for his care and diligence, and expressing the opinion "that it might tend much to the weighing of men's minds, and subjecting of persons who have been refractory to yield themselves over as unto a settled government, if it might be the pleasure of the honorable state to invest, appoint, and empower himself to come over as governor of the colony for the space of one year." A request like this was so diametrically opposed to his principles, that Williams merely put the letter in his pocket. That was the last heard of it. In the summer of 1654 he returned to Providence, and was dismayed to find the colony still in a distracted state, and its people quarreling and fighting among themselves. A meeting of the town was soon after held, and subsequently of the commissioners of all the towns, which resulted in the reorganizing of the colony, and the adoption of measures for its future prosperity and happiness. At the first general election Roger Williams was chosen president of the col- ony. His administration lasted two years, and was marked by great liberality of sentiment and firmness of character. In such a strangely-mixed community, it was not remarkable that some vexatious spirits should try to abuse the freedom which they enjoy- ed, and convert it into an irresponsible license. They were soon aroused to a perception of what liberty of conscience meant. In a quaint letter, Roger Williams gave them an insight into the kind of authority that might be exercised over them. u There goes many a ship to sea," he wrote, " with many hundred souls in one ship, whose weal and woe is common, and is a true picture of a commonwealth, or a human combination or society. It hath fall- 286 SELF-MADE MEN. en out, sometimes, that both Papists and Protestants, Jews and Turks, may be embarked in one ship; upon which supposal, I affirm that all the liberty of conscience that ever I pleaded for turns upon these two hinges : that none of the Papists, Protest- ants, Jews, or Turks be forced to come to the ship's prayers or worship, or compelled from their own particular prayers or wor- ship, if they practice any. I further add, that I never denied that, notwithstanding this liberty, the commander of this ship ought to command the ship's course, yea, and also command that justice, peace, and sobriety may be kept and practiced, both among the seamen and all the passengers. If any of the seamen refuse to perform their service, or passengers to pay their freight ; if any refuse to help, in person or purse, toward the common charges or defense ; if any refuse to obey the common laws and orders of the ship concerning their common peace and preservation ; if any shall mutiny and rise up against their commanders and officers; if any shall preach or write that there ought to be no commanders or officers, because all are equal in Christ, therefore no masters and officers, no laws nor orders, no corrections nor punishments — I say I never denied but in such cases, whatever is pretended, the commander or commanders may judge, resist, compel, and punish such transgressors, according to their deserts and merits. This, if seriously and honestly minded, may, if it so please the Father of Lights, let in some light to such as willingly shut not their eyes." In spite of this plain definition of what the authorities might do, a hot dispute arose between Roger Williams and an extremist of the name of Harris, who maintained that, according to his con- science, he "ought not to yield subjection to any human order among men." This strange being was afterward prosecuted, but with no result, the case being sent to England for adjudication. In the controversy which ensued, it is to be regretted that both Williams and Harris lost their tempers. That liberty of con- science was amply maintained, in the best sense of the word, was proved by the fact that the persecuted Quakers found a refuge in the colony, where they were amply protected, in spite of the. re- monstrances and threats of Massachusetts. In May, 1658, Roger Williams retired from the office of presi- dent, with no desire to return to it. He was, however, frequent- ly honored by civil appointments of trust and weight when great honesty and probity were needed ; and in the new charter grant- ROGER WILLIAMS. 287 ed by Charles the Second in 1663, was appointed one of the as- sistants under the governor. This charter was the one for which he had made his second visit to England. He was unable to re- main until it was completed, and his colleague, Mr. Clarke, had the honor of obtaining it from the king. " It was the first char- ter," says Mr. Gammell, " that ever bore the signature of a king, and was the astonishment of the age in which it was granted. Like that which preceded it, it secured the most perfect freedom in matters of conscience, and thus guaranteed the perpetual exer- cise of the great principles on which the colony was founded. It continued to be the fundamental law of Rhode Island for nearly a hundred and eighty years, protecting the rights and securing the happiness of a long succession of generations, and 'holding forth a lively experiment that a most flourishing civil state may stand, and best be maintained, with a full liberty in religious con- cernments.' " It was not supplanted until 1843. In 1670 Williams was again chosen assistant, and also in 1677, but declined to be re-elected. He was now advanced in life, and needed repose. It was probably with the object of securing this that he declined the solicitations of his friends ; but a man of his standing and popularity was not likely to be overlooked in or out of office. In 1672 he engaged in his celebrated Quaker con- troversy, endeavoring by argument to confute the peculiar doc- trines of this sect. It is unnecessary to add that he failed in this effort ; but it is well to remind the reader that, although he shel- tered the Quakers when they needed shelter, he was by no means their friend, and frequently displayed more temper concerning them than we can account for by his antecedents. In the sum- mer of 1675, the disastrous Indian crusade, headed by the famous King Philip, commenced. It was intended, by a confederation of all the tribes, to expel the whites from the country. The at- tempt was vigorous, and ended in the destruction of a vast amount of property, and the massacre of some five hundred of the colo- nists. At first Williams tried to exercise his wonted power over the savage minds of his enemies, but, failing in this, he girded on the sword, and commanded a train-band for the protection of the city. Unfortunately, it fell beneath the devastating hands of the Indians, and most of the public records were destroyed, thus oblit- erating much of the written testimony of this man's excellence. The remaining years of Roger Williams's life were unmarked 288 SELF-MADE MEN. by any event of historical importance, or, if such occurred, we are now without the record. It is probable that his exertions were directed mainly to the healing of old sores which still existed among the colonists, and that, like a benevolent sage, he acted the part of a public pacificator. At the time of his death he was in his eighty-fourth year, but the precise day when he departed this life is unknown. The only record of the event is found in a letter of the 10th of May, 1683, which mentions " that the Lord hath arrested by death our ancient and approved friend, Mr. Roger Williams, with divers others here." Mr. Williams was the author of several literary works, mostly of a theological and controversial character. His style was not remarkable for elegance or clearness, but it possessed a rude pio- neer strength which served all the purposes of more polished com- position. As an ecclesiastic he has been accused, and not unjust- ly, of wavering in his profession of doctrinal faith ; but this is not remarkable. His experience of extreme religious tenacity, as exhibited by the ecclesiastics of Boston, may have warned him against a similar course, and led him to doubts, and fears, and wanderings in search of the truth. One thing has never been doubted : he was a good and sincere Christian, indefatigable in his labors and unwearied in his diligence, and "one of the most disinterested men that ever lived — a most pious and heavenly- minded soul."* * Callender. WILLIAM HUT TON. The subject of this memoir was a native of England, born at Derby on the 30th of September, 1723. His parents were in very humble circumstances, and belonged to the dissenting sect. Hutton says that they were remarkable for their steady love of peace and pudding ; remarkable, also, for memory ; not given much to receive, keep, or pay money ; often sensible, always mod- est ; the males inactive, the females distinguished for capacity. William was the most ordinary-looking child of the family, and his mother used to say that she was afraid she could not love him ; but poverty — that awful test of human goodness — softened her heart, and she was true and kind to him as to the others. The family was sorely pressed at times, and more than once the poor woman sat with one infant on her knee and others nestled around her, on the cold floor, wailing for food, and when at length it arrived in scanty quantities, she surrendered her share to the more eager wants of her offspring. Time produced noth- ing but tatters and children. A lad so pitiably circumstanced was not likely to receive much education. For a very short time he was sent to school, and un- derwent the discipline of a petty tyrant, who imagined that it was necessary to break a boy's head in order to get any thing into it. At the age of seven he had to earn his own living, and was ac- cordingly apprenticed for seven years to a silk-mill. As he was too short to reach the engine, the superintendents elevated him on a pair of pattens, and on this false footing he remained until nature kindly supplied him with a few more inches. In 1733, the family received a severe blow in the death of Mrs. Hutton. It was a fatal event for the children, who found them- selves without a home, for their father took to drinking, and gave them but few of his thoughts. William did all that lay in his power, and struggled with his hard fate bravely and cheerily ; but, in spite of his attentions, he had the wretchedness of seeing his little sister perish of want and neglect. In 1737 he quitted the silk-mill, of which he gives the following dismal picture : " I N 290 ' SELF-MADE MEN. had to rise at five every morning during seven years ; submit to the cane whenever convenient to the master; be the constant companion of the most rude and vulgar of the human race, never taught by nature, nor even wishing to be taught. A lad, let his mind be in what state it would, must be as impudent as they, or be hunted down." The following year he removed to the adjacent town of Nottingham, where he found a generous, friendly uncle, and a mean, sneaking aunt — the one seriously religious, the other seriously hypocritical. He also made the acquaintance of two of his uncle's apprentices, whom he describes, the one as a rogue, the other as a greater. Under the roof of this relative it was intended that he should pass seven years of his existence in learning the business of stocking-weaving, and probably would have done so but for an event which made him naturally enough dissatisfied with the treatment he received. On one occasion (it was holiday time) William was a little behind-hand with his work. His uncle noticed it, and reproved him with want of in- dustry, giving him at the same time a task to be executed by a certain time. The day arrived, but the work was unfinished. "Could you have done the task I ordered?" asked the uncle. William, scorning to tell a falsehood, meekly replied, "I could." Instead of being pleased with this manly acknowledgment, his uncle flew into a violent rage, and fell on his nephew with a stick, repeating his blows until the lad thought he would be broken to pieces. The whole neighborhood was aroused by the clamor, and a double punishment was thereby inflicted upon the lad. The very next day a female acquaintance pointed to him derisively as the boy " who was licked last night." Stung to the quick by the publicity which had thus been given to his disgrace, he resolved on putting an end to it by flight. Concealing himself till the family were gone to meeting, he took two shillings from a glass which contained ten, and packed up his small stock of movables. His uncle having locked the door and taken the key with him, Hutton was compelled to scale an eight-feet wall to make good his escape. He was now a boy of seventeen, not elegantly dressed, nearly five feet high, and rather Dutch-built in appearance. He had a long, narrow bag of brown leather, holding about a bushel, in which was neatly packed up a new suit of clothes ; also a white linen bag, holding about half as much, containing a sixpenny loaf WILLIAM HUTTOK 291 of coarse bread, a bit of butter wrapped in the leaves of an old copy-book, a new Bible worth three shillings, one shirt, a pair of stockings, a sun-dial, and his best wig, carefully folded and laid at the top, so that it might not be crushed. The ends of the two bags being tied together, he slung them over his left shoulder, while hanging to the button of the coat was his best hat. Thus heavily caparisoned, and with two shillings *in pocket, he started on his pursuit of fortune. He carried neither a light heart nor a light load. " I considered myself," he says, " an outcast, an exuberance in the creation, a being now fitted to no purpose." He turned his steps toward his home, and from thence proceeded to Burton, at which place he disbursed the first penny from his scanty funds — not for refreshment, as one might suppose, but for the luxury of having some one to take care of his bags while he took a stroll in the town. In the evening of the same day he reached the vicinity of Lichfield. Hiding his bags under a hedge, he perambulated the city for two hours, and then returned to find a lodging for the night. Having been disappointed with respect to one barn, he went a short distance to look after another, and, imagining that his property would be safe, left it behind him. After an absence of ten minutes he returned, and, to his horror and dismay, discovered that his treasure had disappeared. Driven almost to madness by this disaster, he ran raving and lamenting about the fields, roads, and streets, asking every one he met if they had seen his bags. Midnight approached, and, disappoint- ed and broken-hearted, he threw himself on a butcher's block to rest his weary limbs. In the morning he recommenced his search, but it was in vain. Possessing nothing now but the pal- try remnants of his two shillings, he departed once more for the manufacturing towns, where he hoped and expected to obtain employ. In due time he arrived at Birmingham. There were but three stocking-makers in the place ; to these Hutton instantly applied. The first was a Quaker, who refused to have any thing to say to him on the ground that he was an apprentice who had run away from his employ. The second gave him a penny to get rid of him. The third got rid of him without the penny. Dejected, weary, and hungiy, he sat down on a door-step to rest himself and meditate on his hard fortune. While thus wretch- edly musing, two men in aprons caught sight of his woeful face, and, taking compassion on his youth, invited him to a supper of 292 SELF-MADE MEN. bread and cheese and a pint of ale. Subsequently they procured him a bed in a neighboring tavern at an expense of three cents. It does not necessarily require a fortune to perform a kind and timely act of hospitality. From Birmingham Hutton proceeded to Cov- entry, and thence to Nuneaton and Hinckley. In the latter place he fell in with a townsman, who urged him, in the most earnest manner, to return to his uncle's. Weary of his misfortunes, Hut- ton was ready to accede to any proposition. He had discovered that running away was by no means a certain escape from present evils, and that it was better to endure some things than to hazard others. A reconciliation was soon effected with his uncle, who probably felt that he had, in a moment of passion, treated his nephew with unnecessary harshness, and Hutton served the remaining term of his apprenticeship without any particular event which need be mentioned. During a part of this period he derived much bene- fit from the conversation and advice of ,an old gentleman named Webb who came to lodge with his uncle, and who seems to have taken a fancy to the young fellow. In his moments of leisure Hut- ton practiced music on an old harp which he had purchased for half a crown, and was so successful that he resolved to make a dulcimer, and borrowed one as a pattern. He was without timber or tools, or money to procure them ; but, in spite of these trifling obstacles, succeeded. By pulling to pieces a large family trunk, converting the hammer-key and plyers of the stocking-frame into a hammer and pincers, using his pocket-knife as an edge-tool, and making the remaining prong of a broken fork serve as a sprig-awl and gimlet, he obtained all that was necessary for his purpose. The instrument he turned out was of such a superb kind that an enthusiastic baker's boy purchased it for the sum of sixteen shil- lings, with which Hutton bought a coat. The career of the dul- cimer, however, was brought to an untimely end. Somehow or other the baker's apprentice could not induce it to discourse "excellent" or any other music, and one day was so enraged with what he considered the mere obstinacy of the instrument that he put it to an ignominious death by consuming it in his oven — a professional revenge which must have been grateful to his feelings. At Christmas, 1744, the term of Hutton' s apprenticeship expired. He had now served two terms of seven years each to two trades, WILLIAM HUTTON. 293 upon neither of which, as he remarks, could he exist. He con- tinued to work as a journeyman for his uncle, but the business did not interest him. He began to have an inclination for books, and to the extent of his scanty means purchased old volumes, the binding of which he repaired with much ingenuity, and the con- tents of which he devoured with eagerness. In his binding experi- ments he was encouraged by the bookseller from whom he bought his books, and his success in this business was the first step on the ladder of fortune. Before this was accomplished, he suffered, in common with thousands of others, severe privations. On one occasion, the products of the stocking-frame were at such a low ebb that he had to travel as far as Leicester to sell half a dozen pair of hose, and could find neither a purchaser nor an employer. As he "Stood before a gentleman to whom he offered his goods, he burst into tears to think that he should have served seven years to a trade at which he could not get bread. In 1746 Hutton lost his uncle, who died from the bursting of a blood-vessel. His sister Catharine then took a house, and Hutton went to board with her. With her assistance, he added the busi- ness of book-binding to the rattling of the stocking-frame. The novelty of the combination secured him many customers, princi- pally among those who were not particularly qualified to judge of the excellence of his work. He went on improving, however, and in a little time found that he needed better tools, especially for lettering. He wished also to open an account with some wholesale London house, so that he might in future purchase all his materials to the best advantage. His sister came to his assist- ance, and advanced a sum of fifteen or twenty dollars, with which the young enthusiast took his departure for the metropolis. He has left us a full account of this journey. The first day he walked fifty-one miles (he was, of course, too poor to ride), and, being un- used to so much exercise, got his feet badly blistered ; but he did not lose courage or time, and reached London on the third day. He put up at a tavern, and ordered a luxurious supper, consisting of a mutton-chop and a pint of porter ; but, notwithstanding the expensiveness of the banquet, he was unable to touch it. Fatigue had deprived him of his appetite. He did not make another ex- periment of the same kind, but breakfasted the next morning at a wheelbarrow-stand in Smithfield. During the remainder of his stay his mode of living was economical. Sometimes he had a 294 SELF-MADE MEN. halfpenny worth of soup and another of bread ; at other times, bread and cheese. Having transacted all his business satisfactorily, he tramped back to Nottingham. Where to fix his residence with the best prospect of obtaining trade was now the question which engaged his attention. His choice fell upon Southwell, fourteen miles off, which he afterward described as "a town despicable as the road to it." Here he took a shop (1749), at the rent of twenty shillings a year, intending merely to keep it open on the market-days. His stock of books was slim, but it was the best in the place, and per- haps too good. During a very rainy winter, he set out at five every Saturday morning, carried a burden of from three pounds' weight to thirty, opened store at ten, starved in it all day upon bread, cheese, and ale, took from one to six shillings, shut up at four, and, by trudging through the solitary night and the deep roads for five hours more, arrived at Nottingham by nine, where he always found a mess of milk porridge by the fire, prepared by his ■ kind sister. By perseverance and frugality, his circumstances became so much better that in the following year he determined on remov- ing to Birmingham, for which town, ever since his runaway visit, he had felt a strong predilection. In February, 1750, he jour- neyed thither, in order to see what opportunities were open to enterprise. He found that there were only three considerable booksellers in the place, and determined at once that he would take his humble chance to obtain a share of public patronage. On his journey home he met with an adventure, which we will recount in his own words. "Meaning to take Swithland on my return to Nottingham, to visit my two aunts, I was directed through Tamworth, where I spent one penny ; then through a few villages, with blind roads, to Charnwood Forest, over which were five miles of uncultivated waste, without any road. To all this I was a stranger. Passing through a village in the dusk of the evening, I determined to stop at the next public house ; but, to my surprise, I instantly found myself upon the forest. It began to rain ; it was dark ; I was in no road ; nor was any dwelling near. I was among hills, rocks, and precipices, and so bewildered that I could not retreat. I considered my situation as desperate, and must confess I lost the fortitude of a man. "I wandered slowly, though in the rain, for fear of destruc- WILLIAM HUTTON. 295 tion, and hallooed with all my powers, but met with no return. I was about two hours in this cruel state, when I thought the in- distinct form of a roof appeared against the sky. My vocifera- tions continued, but to no purpose. I concluded it must be a lonely barn ; but, had it been the receptacle of ghosts, it would have been desirable. At length I heard the sound of a man's voice, which, though one of the most terrific, gave me pleasure. I con- tinued advancing, perhaps thirty yards, using the soft persuasives of distress for admission, even under any roof, but could not pre- vail. The man replied that all his out-buildings had been de- stroyed by a mob of freeholders, as standing on the waste. He seemed to be six feet high, strong built, and, by the sound of his voice, upward of fifty. " I could not, as my life was at stake, give up the contest, but thought, if I could once get under his roof, I should not be easily discharged. Though his manner was repelling as the rain, and his appearance horrid as the night, yet I would not part from him, but insensibly, at length, wormed myself in. I was now in a small room, dignified with the name of a house, totally dark ex- cept a glow of fire, which would barely have roasted a potato had it been deposited in the centre. In this dismal abode I heard two female voices — one that of an old aunt, the other of a young wife. " We all sat close to this handful of a fire, as every one must who sat in the room. We soon became familiarized by conversa- tion, and I found my host agreeable. He apologized for not hav- ing treated me with more civility ; he pitied my case, but had not conveniences for accommodation. Hints were now given for re- tiring to rest. ' I will thank you,' said I, ' for something to eat ; I have had nothing since morning, when I left Birmingham.' ' We should have asked you to eat, but we have nothing in the house.' 'I shall be satisfied with any thing.' 'We have no eat- ables whatever, except some pease-porridge, which is rather thin — only pease and water, and which we are ashamed to offer.' 'It will be acceptable to a hungry man.' "He gave me to understand that he had buried a wife, by whom he had children grown up. Being inclined to marry again, he did not choose to venture upon a widow, for fear of marrying her debts ; he therefore had married a girl thirty years younger than himself, by whom he had two small children, then in bed. This I considered as an excuse for misconduct. 296 SELF-MADE MEN. " While supper was warming — for hot it could not be — a light was necessary ; but, alas ! the premises afforded no candle. To supply the place, a leaf was torn from a shattered book, twisted round, kindled, and shook in the hand to improve the blaze. By this momentary light, I perceived the aunt, who sat opposite, had a hare-shorn lip, which, in the action of eating, so affected me that I was obliged to give up my supper. By another lighted leaf we marched up to bed. I could perceive the whole premises consisted of two rooms, house and chamber. In the latter was one bed and a pair of bedsteads. The husband, wife, aunt, and two children occupied the first, and the bedstead, whose head but- ted against their bedside, was appropriated for me. But now an- other difficulty arose: there were no bed-clothes to cover me. Upon diligent inquiry, nothing could be procured but the wife's petticoat, and I could learn that she robbed her own bed to sup- ply mine. I heard the rain patter upon the thatch during the night, and rejoiced it did not patter upon me. " By the light of the next morning I had a view of all the fam- ily faces except the aunt's, which was covered with a slouched hat. The husband seemed to have been formed in one of nature's largest and coarsest moulds. His hands retained the accumu- lated filth of the last three months, garnished with half a dozen scabs, both perhaps the result of idleness. The wife was young, handsome, ragged, and good-natured. " The whole household, I apprehend, could have cast a willing eye upon breakfast, but there seemed a small embarrassment in the expectants. The wife, however, went to her next neighbor's, about a mile, and in an hour returned with a jug of skimmed milk and a piece of a loaf, perhaps two pounds, both of which I have reason to believe were begged ; for money, I believe, was as scarce as candles. Having no fire, we ate it cold, and with a relish. " When I left the house, I saw the devastation made by the ri- oters, a horde of monsters I have since had reason to dread. My host went with me half a mile to bring me into something like a track, when I gave him a shake of the hand, a sixpence, and my sincere good wishes. We parted upon the most friendly terms. Though I seemingly received but little, yet a favor is great or small according to the need of the receiver. I had seen poverty in various shapes, but this was the most complete. There appear- ed, however, in that lowest degree, a considerable share of con- WILLIAM HUTTON. 297 tent. The man might have married a widow and her debts with safety, for no creditor durst have sued him. Neither need he have dreaded a jail, except from the loss of liberty, for he would have risen in point of luxury. I have also seen various degrees of idleness, but none surpassed this. Those wants can not merit pity which idleness might, but will not prevent." In April Hutton commenced business in Birmingham, having rented half of a small store for the sum of one shilling per week. A stroke of luck placed him in possession of about two hundred weight of books, the refuse of a clergyman's library. This gen- tleman was benevolent and kind-hearted. He saw that Hutton was struggling with the world in an honorable way, and assisted him by letting him have the books at a nominal price, taking his note of hand as security even for this. The document was a cu- rious one, and read as follows : "I promise to pay to Ambrose Rudsdall one pound seven shillings when I am able. — William Hutton." His business prospects at first were of a very dismal kind, and, although naturally of a cheerful temper, he could not help being depressed by them ; but he never lost courage or neg- lected an opportunity. As the year progressed, his spirits rose ; he became known as a steady, persevering young man, and people liked to patronize him. At its close he had saved about twenty pounds, the result of great industry and frugality. The follow- ing year some of his friends induced him to take a house in a bet- ter location. Hutton was at first frightened at the rent, which amounted to the dreadful sum of eight pounds, but was finally persuaded. The speculation turned out an advantageous one; his customers were more numerous and of a better class ; so that, in the third year of his residence, he was able to boast that he had a smiling trade, to which he closely attended, and a happy set of acquaintances, whose society gave him pleasure. Under these circumstances, it was not remarkable that Hutton began to aspire to the comforts of a domestic circle of his own. He had made several attempts at housekeeping, but they all failed, owing to the indifference of domestics. Men's eyes get opened in this way, and it is astonishing how sharp they can look out for a wife. His first "courtings" were not eminently successful ; but after a while a neighbor sent for one of his nieces, Miss Susan Cock, a pretty and amiable woman. At the outset she did not seem to like Hutton, nor was he attracted by her. In process of time, N 2 298 SELF-MADE MEN. however, the coldness in both disappeared, and " by Christmas," he says, " our hearts had united without efforts on either side. Time had given numberless opportunities of observing each oth- er's actions, and trying the tenor of conduct by the touchstone of prudence. Courtship is often a disguise. We had seen each oth- er when disguise was useless." Forty-one years later he wrote as follows : " Three months before her death, when she was so afflicted with an asthma that she could neither walk, stand, sit, nor lie, but while on a chair, I was obliged to support her head, I told her that she had never approached me without diffusing a ray of pleasure over the mind, except whenever any little disa- greement had happened between us. She replied, ' I can say more than that. You never appeared in my sight, even in anger, with- out the sight giving me pleasure.' I received the dear remark, as I now write it, with tears." Having saved two hundred pounds, he embarked in the paper trade (in connection with his own business), and, being the only one in the town, he found it extremely lucrative. He followed it for forty years, and, according to his own admission, acquired an ample fortune. This he risked in the manufacture of the ar- ticle ; but the knavery of those around him occasioned him much loss, and the enterprise was abandoned. Prosperity continued to crown his efforts ; he became richer and richer every day. Al- though strictly exact and economical, he was not in the slightest degree niggardly. He denied neither to himself or his family any comfort or amusement which they could enjoy without injury to their future welfare. Being a man of influence in the community, he was, of course, selected for parochial and civic honors, and, like most honest men who undertake public offices for the first time, endeavored to bring- about many reforms. These labors were not fruitful, and at length he retired from the contest in disgust, finding that it was impossible to stem the torrent of corruption. Previous to this he had frequently amused himself with writing verses, which occa- sionally found their way into the magazines ; but it was not till 1780, when he was in his fifty-seventh year, that he thought of regularly appearing before the public in the character of an author. His first prose attempt was a History of Birmingham. It came out in 1782, was received favorably, and gained for the author the honor of being elected a member of the Scottish Antiquarian So- ciety. Encouraged by success, Huttqn continued his literary ca- WILLIAM HUTTON. 299 reer, and between 1782 and 1808 produced thirteen other works, which issued from the press in the following order : Journey to London, 1784 ; The Court of Bequests, 1787 ; The Hundred Court, 1788 ; History of Blackpool, 1788 ; Battle of Bosworth Field, 1789 ; History of Derby, 1790 ; The Barbers, a poem, 1793; Edgar and Elfrida, a poem, 1793; The Roman Wall, 1801 ; Remarks upon North Wales, 1801 ; Tour to Scarborough, 1803; Poems, chiefly tales, 1804; Trip to Coatham, 1808; and his "Life," a posthumous work, and the most excellent of all his productions. Many of his topographical and antiquarian works are remarkable for their exactness and research. They all dis- play considerable ability in the writer, and a pleasant vein of orig- inal geniality. His poetical productions were principally remark- able for their kindly feeling ; in other respects they are worthless. The prosperous condition in which he found himself enabled him to pursue his career as an author with attention and ease. His fortune progressed steadily. He possessed a country house of his own building, kept horses, and finally set up a carriage, and solaced himself and family with \isits to all places of inter- est. He possessed the happy faculty of enjoying to the full what he had earned, without launching into unnecessary extravagance. In 1791, however, a political storm arose, which for a time put an end to his tranquillity. It involved a general proscription of the Dissenters, to which sect Hutton belonged, and led to a series of mischievous and disgraceful riots. Mobs, of what kind soever, dislike rich men, and Hutton at once became an object of aver- sion, not only because he was rich, but because he was a Dissenter, and, as a commissioner of the Court of Requests, had been com- pelled to decide against many of the creatures who were now eag- er for his destruction. The result was as might be expected. They attacked his house, threw his furniture and extensive stock into the street, reduced the house to a mere skeleton, and made several attempts to set it on fire, which were fortunately frus- trated. On the following day they went to his country house at Bennett's Hill, in the vicinity of the town, made three bonfires of the furniture, and then gave the building to the flames. Hut- ton was not a man to quietly submit to injustice. He made an effort to resist the depredations of the mob ; but such was the consternation that prevailed among the respectable portion of the community that not a man could be got to stir in the matter. As his life was now more than ever in danger, he was prevailed upon 300 SELF-MADE MEN, to retire into the country for a time. He took lodgings at Sut- ton Coldfield ; but in the evening his landlady was seized with a panic, and begged him to quit, that her abode might not be de- stroyed. He was compelled to proceed with his family to Tam- worth, where they slept for the night, and then moved to Castle Bromwich, in order to be nearer Birmingham in case of danger. But even here he was pursued by the apprehensions of those around him. At night, some of the rioters having visited Castle Bromwich, the villagers were terrified, and advised him, for his safety's sake, to retreat to Stonnel. "I was avoided," he says, "asa pestilence. The waves of sorrow rolled over me, and beat me down with multiplied force ; every one came heavier than the last. My children were distressed ; my wife, through long afflic- tion, was ready to quit my own arms for those of death, and I myself reduced to the sad necessity of humbly begging a draught of water at a cottage ! What a reverse of situation ! How thin the barriers between affluence and poverty! By the smiles of the inhabitants of Birmingham I acquired a fortune ; by an astonish- ing defect in our police, I lost it. In the morning of the 15th I was a rich man ; in the evening I was ruined. At ten at night, on the 17th, I might have been found leaning upon a milestone upon Sutton Coldfield road, without food, without a home, with- out money, and, what is the last resort of the wretched, without hope." Shortly after this the military were called out, and the disturbances came to an end. On his return to Birmingham he was warmly welcomed by his friends, among whom were sixteen members of the Established Church, who placed their houses at his disposal; a mark of consideration which he esteemed as a proof that he was not looked on as a party man. But the per- secution of the Dissenters did not end with their temporary safe- ty. The leaders of the mob were put on trial ; but they were speedily released, and became more rampant than ever. Such was the prejudice which prevailed, that Hutton was actually un- able to obtain a home for himself and family, and was obliged to board and lodge at a tavern. He commenced a suit for damages sustained in the riot, and, after much vexatious litigation and ex- pense, obtained a verdict for about one third of the actual loss sustained. His expenses in the suit were nearly nine hundred pounds. Disgusted with this unfair treatment, he determined to retire from business (1793), and immediately resigned in favor of his son, amusing himself occasionally by assisting gratuitously in WILLIAM HUTTON. 301 the management. The increasing infirmities of his wife also de- manded more of his attention. He has left us a very touching memorandum of the way he passed his time. " My practice," says he, " had long been to rise about five, and relieve the nurse of the night by holding the head of my dear love in my hand, with the elbow resting on the knee. At eight I walked to busi- ness at Birmingham, where I staid till four, when I returned. I nursed her till eight, amused myself with literary pursuits till ten, and then went to rest." Early in 1796 Mrs. Hutton was re- leased from her sufferings. Hutton was severely affected by the event, and to the day of his death cherished the warmest venera- tion for his unfortunate partner. In his seventy-eighth year Hutton achieved a remarkable feat of pedestrianism. He had long had a desire to examine the old Roman Wall, which was erected to keep off the savage barbarians of the north, and portions of which still remain. His daughter was going on a tour, and he determined to accompany her as far as Penrith, and then explore the Wall, while she went on to the Lakes. She was to ride ; but nothing could dissuade him from making all the journey on foot. From Penrith he pushed on, through Carlisle, to the Irish Sea, followed the line of wall to Wall's End, on the North Sea, and retraced it again to Car- lisle, having twice crossed the kingdom in one week. The jour- ney from and to Birmingham was six hundred and one miles, occupied thirty-five days, and was made under a burning July sun, when the ground was not cooled by a single drop of rain. He was so delighted with the journey, and performed it with such ease, that in the course of the following year he made excur- sions to the counties of Derby, Leicester, and Northampton ; ex- plored the beauties of Matlock, and wandered among the ruins of Fotheringay Castle. He describes the scenes and adventures of this trip with his usual pleasantness and geniality. The greatest wonder he met at Matlock, he says, was Phebe Brown. She was six feet six inches in height, thirty years of age, well proportion- ed, round-faced, and ruddy. "Her step is more manly than a man's, and can cover forty miles a day. Her common dress is a man's hat, coat, with a spencer over it, and men's shoes. As she is 'zmmarried, I believe she is a stranger to the breeches. She can lift one hundred weight in each hand, and carry fourteen score ; can sew, knit, cook, and spin, but hates them all, and every ac- companiment to the female character, that of modesty excepted. 302 SELF-MADE MEN. A gentleman, at the New Bath, had recently treated her rudely. ' She had a good mind to have knocked him down.' She assured me 'she never knew what fear was.' She gives no affront, but offers to fight any man who gives her one. If she never has fought, it is, perhaps, owing to the insulter having been a coward, for the man of courage would disdain to offer an insult to a fe- male. Phebe has strong sense, an excellent judgment, says smart things, and supports an easy freedom in all companies. Her voice is more than masculine — it is deep-toned. With the wind in her favor, she can send it a mile. She has neither beard nor prominence of breast. She undertakes any kind of manual labor, as holding the plow, driving a team, thatching the barn, using" the flail, etc. ; but her chief avocation is breaking horses, for which she charges a guinea a week each. She always rides without a saddle, is thought to be the best judge of a horse or cow in the country, and is frequently employed to purchase for others at the neighboring fairs. She is fond of Milton, Pope, and Shakspeare ; also of music ; is self-taught, and performs on several instru- ments, as the flute, violin, harpsichord, and supports the bass-viol in Matlock church. She is a marks-womcm, and carries the gun on her shoulder. She eats no beef and pork, and but little mut- ton. Her chief food is milk, which is also her drink, discarding wine, ale, and spirits." For several years Hutton preserved the vigor of his mind and body. He was always employed, and never allowed either the one or the other to get rusty. At the age of eighty-four he un- derwent an operation for cancer ; the wound healed up with ra- pidity, and a cure was effected. On his ninetieth birthday he walked ten miles, and to the last maintained his habit of pedes- trianism. On the 20th of September, 1815, he sank into his last sleep without a struggle or a groan. A more perfect and esti- mable character is not to be found in the annals of biography. Hutton's daughter described her father as a man of five feet six inches high, well made, strong, and active ; a little inclined to corpulency, which did not diminish till within four or five months of his death. From this period he gradually became thin. His countenance was expressive of sense, resolution, and calmness, though, when irritated or animated, he had a very keen eye. Such was the happy disposition of his mind, and such the firm texture of his body, that ninety-two years had scarcely the power to alter his features or make a wrinkle in his face. JOHN PAUL JONES. John Paul Jones, more familiarly known as Paul Jones, a Scotchman by birth, was born on the 6th of July, 1747, at a little place called Kirkbean. His father was a gardener, and Paul followed the same calling for a few early years of his life. It may be well in this place to mention that his proper name was simply John Paul. Events which will be narrated hereafter caused him to assume the name of Jones, by which he is so widely known. Being of an adventurous and sanguine disposition, he was not long content with the humble sphere in which Nature had cast him. The sea was his escape. At the age of twelve he crossed the Frith to Whitehaven, and entered into articles of ap- prenticeship with Mr. Younger, a merchant in the American trade. Soon after, he made his first voyage in the Friendship, of White- haven, bound to the Eappahannock. He was a very studious and valuable apprentice, and the excellent qualities he manifested rec- ommended him strongly to the house by whom he was engaged. All his spare time was devoted to the study of the profession he had selected, and the general cultivation of his mind. Before the 304 SELF-MADE MEN. term of apprenticeship had expired, the house failed, and in a very generous way surrendered his indentures, instead of assigning or transferring them to some one else. Paul, thrown on his own resources, looked around for employment, and in a little while succeeded in getting an appointment as third mate of a vessel bound on a slaving voyage. In this service he subsequently rose to the rank of chief mate ; but, feeling disgust for the cruelties which it is feared are inevitable in the traffic, he relinquished it. In 1768, when returning from Jamaica to Scotland as a passen- ger, the master and mate of the brig were seized with sickness, and died of fever. In this extremity Paul assumed the command, and under his charge the vessel arrived safely in port. In return for this, the owners placed him on board the same vessel as mas- ter and supercargo for the next voyage to the West Indies. The voyage was successfully prosecuted, and the brig John (that was her name) started on a second voyage to the same regions. On the passage a difficulty arose between Paul and the carpenter of the ship, Mungo Maxwell by name, which resulted in the latter being tied up and flogged in the usual brutal style of the navy. The punishment was undoubtedly called for, but it was an unfor- tunate necessity. Maxwell left the ship, and soon after was seized with a fever, of which he died. There is no doubt now that the man owed his death entirely to the action of malignant disease, but at the time it was broadly asserted that the flogging had caused it, and in Scotland especially this cruel rumor was believed to the prejudice of Paul. The owners of the brig, however, gave him an honorable discharge when they dissolved partnership ; but, in spite of this, it is probable that he experienced difficulty in getting a new ship. In 1773 he went to Virginia, to arrange the affairs of a brother who had died there intestate and without children. He became possessed of the estate of this brother, and at once entered on the career of an agriculturist ; but, from incumbrances on the farm or other causes, he found it extremely difficult to gain a living, and when the war of the Revolution broke out, was, according to his own account, in great penury. Although he had only resided in the country for two years, he espoused its cause from the first, and tendered his services to the government. On the 2 2d of De- cember, 1775, he received a commission as lieutenant in the navy, and in this document his name first occurs as John Paul Jones, JOHN PAUL JONES. 305 Why be added the last name to his patronymic we can only sur- mise ; he gives no reason himself. It is probable that he wished to efface some of the events of his early life for which he had be- come notorious, such, for instance, as the death of the carpenter, and a brief career on the Scottish coast as a smuggler. He might have felt that it was necessary for the preservation of discipline in any position he might acquire that these circumstances should be forgotten. At the end of the first voyage Paul Jones was promoted to the command of the Alfred, but was afterward superseded on the 14th of January, 1777 — probably on account of his being a foreigner. The Marine Committee, however, expressed regret that they had not a good ship vacant for him, and Congress expressed its satis- faction with his first cruise (in which he took several prizes, and inflicted serious injury on the enemy) by giving him, a few months later, the command of a new ship called the Ranger. On the 1st of November, 1777, he sailed from Portsmouth, bound for Nantes, in France. On the passage he made two prizes, in spite of a fleet of ten sail which gave him chase. He succeeded also in getting the American flag (which he was the first to hoist on an American ship) properly saluted by a foreign power. We copy his own ac- count of this event. " I am happy in having it in my power to congratulate you on my having seen the American flag for the first time recognized in the fullest and completest manner by the flag of France. I was off their bay on the 13th instant, and sent my boat in the next day to know if the admiral would return my salute. He answered that he would return to me, as the senior American Continental officer in Europe, the same salute which he was authorized by his court to return to an admiral of Plolland, or any other republic, which was four guns less than the salute given. I hesitated at this, for I had demanded gun for gun ; therefore I anchored in the entrance of the bay, at a distance from the French fleet ; but, after a very particular inquiry on the 14th, finding that he had really told the truth, I was induced to accept of his offer, the more so as it was, in fact, an acknowledg- ment of American independence. The wind being contrary and blowing hard, it was after sunset before the Ranger got near enough to salute La Motte Piquet with thirteen guns, which he returned with nine. However, to put the matter beyond a doubt, I did not. suffer the Independence (a vessel of Jones's squadron) to salute till 306 SELF-MADE MEN. next morning, when I sent the admiral word that I would sail through his fleet in the brig, and would salute him in open day. He was accordingly pleased, and returned the compliment also with nine guns." Paul Jones sailed from Nantes for the Irish and Scotch coasts. The course he had laid down for himself, and which proved so eminently successful, was to make sudden descents on unexpected spots, and, by striking a rapid succession of small blows, in this way to stupefy and confuse the enemy. One of the first places to which he paid some attention was the port of Whitehaven, where, it will be remembered, he had commenced his maritime career. It was his intention to set fire to all the shipping, and for this purpose he made a bold attempt with two boats and thirty- one men. He only succeeded in setting fire to one ship and in spiking a few guns. There was no fighting on either side. Jones's next attempt was to seize the person of the Earl of Stirling (in whose family he once lived), imagining that the possession of this nobleman's person might be useful when exchanges were made between the two countries. The earl being absent from home, he did not succeed in his base scheme ; his men, however, plunder- ed the house, Paul waiting outside, like an experienced burglar, while his men performed the dirty work. He became properly ashamed of this transaction, and, to his credit be it said, returned the plunder. These incursions alarmed the enemy, and a ship of war called the Drake was sent in pursuit of Jones. A regular engagement took place between them, and was kept up obstinately at close quarters for more than an hour. At length the British vessel surrendered. Her captain and first lieutenant were killed, and no fewer than forty-two of the ship's company were found to have been killed or wounded, while Jones, on his side, merely lost one officer, one seaman, and six wounded. The prize was carried in safety to Brest, and the hero of the fight became a great lion. He was not without his troubles, however ; money was scarce, and the men became dissatisfied. Jones, too, was ambitious and hasty ; he wanted to get into a larger ship, and took every oppor- tunity of magnifying his own importance, which was, of course, annoying to other officers. The lieutenant, in particular, was indignant, and his indignation aroused the resentment of Jones, who made all sorts of charges against him, demanded a court- JOHN PAUL JONES. 307 martial, and did other intemperate things. The result was, that Jones's ship, the Ranger, was placed under charge of Lieutenant Simpson, and ordered back to America, and Jones himself was requested to remain in France, to be in readiness for some im- portant operations which were about to be undertaken. For five months he remained in a state of inactivity, employing his time mostly in indefatigable correspondence with every one who was in the slightest degree likely to forward his interests. He was an excellent letter-writer, clear, forcible, and persuasive ; but men in office are not easily moved by letters, even when they are written with the most masterly ability, and those of Jones's were without a result. One day, while fretting and fuming at the un- merited neglect with which he was treated by the French govern- ment — who, after having promised to furnish him with a vessel for the service of the American cause, displayed such unwilling- ness to do so — his eye fell on one of Poor Richard's proverbs. It was in Franklin's famous Pennsylvania Almanac, and was to this effect : "If you would have your business done, go ; if not, send." It occurred to him instantly that if, instead of writing letters, he were to proceed to the French capital, and spend time in personally advocating his claims, a better and more immediate result might be obtained. Without any farther delay he hurried to Paris, and not an official in that large city could call a moment his own until Jones's claims had been listened to. He hunted them like rabbits ; waited outside their holes, and pounced upon them the instant they put out their heads. No circumlocution- office could resist such direct and inveterate application. In a very few days Jones received a letter from the French minister, informing him that the ship Duras, of forty guns, was placed at his command. Paul Jones asked leave to change the name of the vessel, and, on obtaining it, rechristened the ship to the Bon Homme Richard, out of respect to Poor Richard's Almanac, which he imagined had first indicated the proper course to adopt to se- cure a result. In his first cruise, Jones conceived some bold designs against the enemy — such, for instance, as the meditated attack on the town and harbor of Leith, in Scotland ; but the squadron which was supposed to be under his command had a voice in the direc- tion of affairs, and interposed many obstacles in the way of the daring commander. On the coast of Scotland, however, he came 308 SELF-MADE MEN. across the Baltic fleet of merchantmen, under the escort of En- glish war vessels. An engagement immediately ensued. Jones engaged the frigate Serapis, and, after a terrific struggle of three and a half hours, captured her. So obstinate was the struggle, that the men on either vessel knew not which had struck until the American flag decided the question. Both ships were com- pletely torn to pieces by the engagement, and the Bon Homme Richard leaked so fearfully that the next day she went down. Nothing but the determined bravery of Jones gave him this glo- rious victory, for the Serapis had more guns and threw more metal than the Poor Richard. In other respects she was more completely armed, could sail better, and was manned with a well-disciplined crew. To conquer such a vessel was sufficient to make any man famous. Paul Jones became at once the naval hero of the day, the terror of the seas. It was the principal achievement of his life, and was subsequently commemorated by Congress, who caused a medal to be struck in honor of the hero. Without entering into great, and, to most readers, uninterest- ing details of private history, it would be impossible to follow the career of Paul Jones. He employed his time usefully in the serv- ice of the Commonwealth, his desires being far ahead of the lim- ited means of the Congress, and his importunities, in consequence, extremely unpleasant. "When the independence of the United States became duly recognized, Paul Jones looked abroad for a new field of action. He received an invitation to join the Rus- sian fleet, with the rank of rear admiral, but was disappointed in obtaining command of the fleet. He served for some little time, but, becoming irritable and unduly vainglorious, he received per- mission to retire. To revenge this, he made efforts to change his flag — to go over to Russia's enemy, Sweden. Fortunately failing, he returned to Paris, where he remained for some time, prosecut- ing his claims for prize-money. Ill health, provoked by constant irritation, ensued, and on the 18th of July, 1792, he died, in com- parative poverty and obscurity. , Paul Jones was a man of unquestionable talent and courage ; he conducted all his operations with great boldness, and calcu- lated their chances of success with extreme nicety. He was, how- ever, of an unpleasant temper, easily irritated, and remarkably offensive to those beneath him. He was absurdly vain, not very truthful, and greedy of applause. From the first he appears to JOHN PAUL JONES. 309 have entertained a great spite against Scotland, and he never re- turned to that country, where he was remembered with loathing and abhorrence. He had some relatives, however, with whom he corresponded, and also assisted pecuniarily. " The glaring defect of Paul Jones's character," says Mr. Mackenzie, in his Life, "and the foundation of many others, was his abounding vanity. This evinced itself in the stress which he laid on the honors he had re- ceived from kings and Congresses, and which, though not unmer- ited, were in no slight degree drawn forth by his own well-applied solicitation ; in the multiplication of his busts and medals ; and the constant recapitulation, with due exaggeration, of his various achievements. No hero, indeed, ever sounded his own trumpet more unremittingly or with a louder blast. This absorbing van- ity led him to claim for himself the whole glory of his victories. In all his elaborate reports of his engagements — except, indeed, during his Russian campaign, where the slight passed upon his officers became a reflection on himself — he is the hero, and the sole hero of his own tale. The only occasion on which he com- mends any of his officers is in small notes at the foot of each of their certificates, appended to his charges against Landais, and where his object is to give force to their testimony. It may be said, in excuse, that this vanity of distinction, which was the cause of his injustice in restraining him from giving credit to oth- ers, was also the exciting motive of his actions, by so powerfully stimulating him to excel. Still, his unwillingness to commend others, and award to each of his followers his just meed of praise, was a very great fault. A commander can have no more sacred duty than that which he owes in this respect to those who, even in the humblest stations, contribute to his glory." WILLIAM FALCONER This illustrious poet of the sea, a poet who possesses more fas- cination for the youthful mind than almost any other, was the son of a poor man at Edinburgh, Scotland, and was born about 1736 or 1737. His father was, at various times, a barber, a maker of wigs, and a grocer, but, in spite of these numerous pro- fessions, he remained poor, and could barely struggle against the wants of the world. There were several children in the family, but, melancholy to relate, they were all deaf and dumb with the exception of William. The latter was a lumpish, heavy-looking lad, very careless and dirty in his dress, and was commonly ad- dressed by the mellifluous name of Bubly-hash Falconer. He re- ceived only a few weeks' schooling, and was then placed, reluct- antly on his part, on board a merchant vessel at Leith. Subse- quently he became second mate on a vessel employed in the Le- vant trade, and, while on a passage from Alexandria to Venice, was shipwrecked near Cape Colonne, on the coast of Greece. The exact date when this calamity happened is not known ; only three of the crew survived, among whom was Falconer. The event made such a powerful impression on his mind, that he gave it poetic shape and utterance in his remarkable poem of " The Shipwreck." In 1751 Falconer commenced his poetical career, although at that time a common sailor. He wrote an elegy, and a few mis- cellaneous poems, such as most young men compose, which ap- peared in the Gentleman's Magazine without creating any re- markable consternation in the literary world. In 1762 he pub- lished his poem of "The Shipwreck," dedicating it to the Duke of York, who, as an old salt, felt not a little proud of the work, coming as it did from an humble, untutored sailor. The poem attracted immediate attention, and was hugely commended in the Monthly Review. We quote a portion of the criticism : " The main subject of the poem is the loss of the ship Britannia, bound from Alexandria to Venice, which touched at the island of Can- dia, whence, proceeding on her voyage, she met with a violent WILLIAM FALCONEK. 311 storm that drove her on the coasts of Greece, where she suffered shipwreck near Cape Colonne, three only of the crew being left alive. The ship putting to sea from the port of Candia, the poet takes an opportunity of making several beautiful marine descrip- tions, such as the prospect of the shore, a shoal of dolphins, a water-spout, the method of taking an azimuth, and working the ship. In the second canto, the ship having cleared the land, the storm begins, and with it the consultation of the pilots and oper- ations of the seamen, all which the poet has described with an amazing minuteness, and has found means to reduce the several technical terms of the marine into smooth and harmonious num- bers. Homer has been admired by some for reducing a catalogue of ships into tolerably flowing verse, but who, except a poetical sailor, the nursling of Apollo, educated by Neptune, would ever have thought of versifying his own sea language ? What other poet would ever have dreamed of reef-tackles, halliards, clew-gar- nets, buntlines, lashings, laniards, and fifty other terms equally obnoxious to the soft sing-song of modern poetasters ? " Many of his descriptions are not inferior to any thing in the .ZEneid, many passages in the third and fifth books of which our author has had in view. They have not suffered by his imitation, and his pilot appears to much greater advantage than the Palinu- rus of Virgil. Nor is the poet's talent confined to the description of inanimate scenes ; he relates and bewails the untimely fate of his companions in the most animated and pathetic strains. The close of the master's address to the seamen, in the time of their greatest danger, is noble and philosophical. It is impossible to read the circumstantial account of the unfortunate end of the ship's crew without being deeply affected by the tale, and charm- ed with the manner of the relation." Poets in our days labor in vain for praise like this. We may well ask ourselves if it was entirely deserved. Falconer's poem had unquestionable merit, not the least of which was its novelty. It has taken its place among the classics of English literature ; but to compare it with Virgil requires an effort of unscrupulous kindness not common in this degenerate age. In 1763 Falconer was appointed purser of the Glory frigate of 32 guns. Soon after, he married a young lady of the name of Hicks, and lived with her in great harmony and happiness until the time of her death. When the Glory was laid up in ordinary, 312 SELF-MADE MEN. Falconer employed himself in the compilation of a valuable ma- rine dictionary (1769), and soon after adopted the profession of literature, with the usual conveniences — that is to say, a garret and debts. He struggled on, however, and at length was fortu- nate enough to receive a proposal from Mr. Murray, the booksel- ler, to join with him in taking Mr. Sandby's business, opposite St. Dunstan's Church, London. He did not accept this proposition, but the fact of its having been made shows that, at this time, he had at least one influential friend. In 1769 a third edition of the "Shipwreck" was called for, but before its publication the author had been appointed purser of the Aurora frigate (probably weary of literature), bound for India, and on the 30th of September he took his departure. The vessel was never heard of more. It has been supposed that she perished by fire, but the more general opinion seems to be that she foundered in the Mozambique Channel. Burns alludes to the event with feeling. " Falconer," says he, " the unfortunate author of the ' Shipwreck,' which you so much admire, is no more. After weathering the dreadful catastrophe he so feelingly describes in his poem, and after weathering so many hard gales of fortune, he went to the bottom with the Aurora frigate." In person, Falconer was about five feet two inches in height, of a thin, light make, with hard features, and a weather-beaten complexion. His hair was brown, and he was marked with the small-pox. In his common address, it is said, he was blunt and forbidding, but quick and fluent in conversation. His observation was keen, and his judgments acute and severe. His natural temper was cheerful, and he used to amuse his companions, the seamen, with acrostics which he made on their favorite nymphs. He was a good and skillful seaman. As for education, he assured Governor Hunter that it was confined to reading, English, and arithmetic. In his voyages he had picked up a little colloquial knowledge of Italian and Spanish, and such other languages as are spoken on the shores of the Mediterranean. That he was esteemed by his messmates is shown in a passage of a little work called the "Journal of a Seaman," written in 1755, and published by Murray in 1815. "How often," says the author, "have I wished to have the asso- ciate of my youth, Bill Falconer, with me, to explore these beau- ties, and to read them in his sweet poetry. But alas ! I parted with him in old England, never, perhaps, to meet more in this WILLIAM FALCONER. 313 world. His may be a happier lot, led by a gentler star ; he may pass through this busy scene with more ease and tranquillity than has been the fortune of his humble friend Penrose." Falconer's reputation as a poet rests almost entirely on his poem of the "Shipwreck," and this, to be enjoyed, requires a young and ardent imagination, indifferent to faults of style and defects of measure, and intent merely on the stirring incidents of danger, which are depicted with unusual minuteness and force. The poem will always be popular, for the subject is one which possesses a never-failing interest. Considering the educational and social difficulties under which the author labored, it is a work of extraordinary power, and evinces poetic genius of a high and commanding order. O SIR HUMPHREY DAYY. One of the many sons of science to whom the world is largely- indebted, not only for philosophical disquisitions and great learn- ing, but for practical and useful inventions of every-day utility, is the illustrious gentleman whose name is at the head of this article. He belongs in an eminent degree to our series. With very few advantages of birth and education, he rose to eminence mainly through his own exertions. We shall trace his history chiefly from the loving memorials of his brother, Dr. John Davy. Sir Humphrey Davy was the eldest son of Robert and Grace Davy, and was born at Penzance, in Cornwall, on the 17th of December, 1778. He was a precocious child, and gave evidence of the possession of unusual faculties. When scarcely five years old he made rhymes, and recited them in the Christmas gambols, attired in some fanciful dress prepared for the occasion by a play- ful girl who was related to him. His disposition as a child was remarkably sweet and afFectionate. His father followed the pro- fession of a carver in wood, and, although not in affluent circum- stances, was able to send his son to the grammar-school of Truro, SIR HUMPHREY DAVY. 315 where he acquired a rudimental education. At the age of seven- teen he was apprenticed to an apothecary in Penzance, and, with none of the usual vacillation of youth, set about a complete course of study. The following memorandum, copied from a note -book of this year, will show that he was not afraid of hard work : PLAN OF STUDY. 1. Theology, or Eeligion, ") (Taught by Nature, Ethics, or Moral Virtues,) (. " by Kevelation. 2. Geography. 3. My Profession: 1. Botany; 2. Pharmacy; 3. Nosology; 4. Anatomy; 5. Surgery; 6. Chemistry. 4. Logic 5. Language: 1 . English ; 2. French; 3. Latin. 4. Greek ; 5. Italian ; C Spanish ; 7. Hebrew. 6. Physics : 1 . The Doctrines and Properties of Natural Bodies ; 2. Of the Operations of Nature ; 3. Of the Doctrines of Fluids ; 4. Of the Properties of organized Matter ; 5. Of the Organization of Matter ; 6. Simple Astronomy. 7. Mechanics. 8. Ehetoric and Oratory. 9. History and Chronology. 10. Mathematics. The study of chemistry, like that of mathematics, is irresistible to certain minds, and Davy soon found himself completely ab- 316 SELF-MADE MEN. sorbed in its pursuit. The activity and suggestiveness of his mind outstripped all formula. He entered upon speculations and inquiries far in advance of the rudiments he was studying. These, in due time, assumed a practical guise in the shape of es- says, and, being crude and imperfect, excited the ire of the re- viewers. " These critics," he writes, " perhaps do not understand that these experiments were made when I had studied chemistry only four months, when I had never seen a single experiment executed, and when all my information was derived from Nichol- son's Chemistry and Lavoisier's Elements." The early experiments of this philosopher were performed in a small bed-room in Mr. Tomkins's house, with a laboratory con- sisting of vials, wine-glasses, tea-cups, tobacco-pipes, and earthen crucibles ; his materials chiefly the mineral acids, the alkalies, and the other articles common to an apothecary's shop. He had no furnace, and, when he needed heat, was compelled to go into the kitchen, where you may rest assured the cook did not thank him for his devotion to science. Notwithstanding these draw- backs, he made rapid progress in the study of chemistry and the relative sciences, and before he had reached his twentieth year was remarkable for the exactness of his information on many learned subjects. He now left Penzance, having obtained the situation of superintendent of the Pneumatic Institution which had been established at Clifton for the purpose of trying the me- dicinal effects of various gases. Davy remained here for some time, and was quite enthusiastic about the prospects of curing disease by the use of various gases hitherto unknown to medicine. He describes his occupation as " useful to mankind; pursuits which promise me, at some future time, the honorable meed of the applause of enlightened men." This prophetic feeling of dis- tinction was soon about to be realized. The Royal Institution had been founded a short time previously, after a plan of Count Rumford's, for the purpose of diffusing a knowledge of science and of its application to the common purposes of life, and of ex- citing a taste for science among the higher ranks. In conse- quence of the expected retirement of the professor of chemistry, a successor was sought for, and the choice fell upon Davy. The duties on which he entered were those of assistant lecturer on chemistry and director of the laboratory ; but, according to the terms on which he accepted the situation, this was merely a tern- SIR HUMPHREY DAVY. 317 porary arrangement, and to last only until he should deem him- self fit to fill the professor's chair. On the 31st of May, 1802, he was formally appointed to the office, and, notwithstanding his youth, immediately attracted the attention of the philosophical world. His lectures were eagerly attended by the distinguished in science, literature, and position. Compliments, invitations, and presents were showered upon him in abundance from all quarters ; his society was courted by all, and all appeared proud of his ac- quaintance. His youth, his simplicity, his natural eloquence, his happy illustrations, and well-conducted experiments, were the in- troductions which gave him welcome every where. In 1803 Davy was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, and for ten sessions delighted the institution and enriched its Transactions with his lectures. His scientific labors during this time may be divided into two portions, the earlier one terminating with his great dis- covery of the decomposition of the fixed alkalies, the result and reward of his electro-chemical researches ; the latter in the re- establishment of the simple nature of chlorine. During the first portion of the period, among a great variety of objects of research, his attention was more particularly directed to the following : First, the investigation of astringent vegetables, in connection with the art of tanning ; secondly, the analysis of rocks and minerals, in connection with geology ; thirdly, the com- prehensive subject of agricultural chemistry ; and, fourthly, gal- vanism, and electro-chemical science. In the year 1812, unso- licited by Davy, the prince regent conferred on him the honor of knighthood. It was intended, doubtless, as a mark of respect to a man of unusual genius, and was so accepted. In those days men of genius were flattered by such little trifles. In these later times they despise them. A few days after this event Davy mar- ried a charming widow, Mrs. Appreece by name. Honors were showered on him ; this happiness he achieved. It is unnecessary and uninteresting in the present day to re- count the innumerable distinctions that were bestowed on Davy by the learned bodies of Europe ; to say when he was appointed a corresponding member of this society, and an honorary member of that. It is sufficient for our purpose that he was accepted and received as a man of mark in the scientific world, and to hasten to what he accomplished to give him this distinction. One of the fruits of his researches was the " safety-lamp," now 318 SELF-MADE MEN. familiar to every eye. The object which this simple instrument so happily accomplishes is the prevention of explosions of fire- damp in mines. From innumerable experiments, Davy found that this gas required to be mixed with a very large quantity of at- mospheric air to produce an explosion ; that it was the least read- ily combustible of all the inflammable gases, or required the high- est temperature, being neither exploded nor fired by red-hot char- coal or red-hot iron ; and, farther, that the heat it produced when inflamed was less than from any other inflammable gas, and, con- sequently, that the expansive effect from heat attending its ex- plosion was also less. He found that on mixing one part of car- bonic acid gas or fixed air with seven parts of an explosive mix- ture of fire-damp, or one part of azote with six parts, their power of exploding was destroyed. He found that in exploding a mix- ture in a glass tube of one fourth of an inch in diameter and a foot long, more than a second was required before the flame reach- ed from one end to the other ; and that in tubes of one seventh of an inch in diameter, explosive mixtures could not be fired when they opened into the atmosphere ; and that metallic tubes pre- vented explosion better than glass tubes. These were the facts from which the discovery of the safety-lamp was made. In rea- soning upon the various phenomena, it occurred to Davy that, as a considerable heat was required for the inflammation of the fire- damp, and as it produced, in burning, a comparatively small de- gree of heat, the effect of carbonic acid and azote, and of the sur- faces of small tubes in preventing its explosion, depended upon their cooling powers, upon their lowering the temperature of the exploding mixture so much that it was no longer sufficient for its continuous inflammation. Pie says, " This idea, which was con- firmed by various obvious considerations, led to an immediate re- sult — the possibility of constructing a lamp in which the cooling powers of the azote or carbonic acid formed by the combustion, or the cooling power of the apertures through which the air en- tered and made its exit, should prevent the communication of ex- plosion." The prosecution of this idea led to the invention of the safety-lamp — a cage of wire gauze, which actually made pris- oner the flame of the fire-damp, and in its prison consumed it ; and while it confined the dangerous explosive flame, it permitted air to pass and light to escape ; and though, from the combustion of the fire-damp, the cage might become red hot, yet still it acted SIK HUMPHREY DAVY. 319 the part of a safety-lamp, and restrained the flaming element within its narrow bounds, simply by presenting a surface of net- work, the temperature of which, under ordinary circumstances, could not be raised sufficiently to explode the surrounding atmos- phere of fire-damp, or to allow the flame within to pass unextin- guished. Another useful and valuable discovery was made by Davy, namely, a method of preserving the copper sheathing of ships from the corrosive action of salt water. The principle of protection was found to be perfect, but in its practical application some diffi- culties arose which Davy did not live to obviate, although he made some valuable suggestions toward that end. Many other useful and eminently practical discoveries were made by Davy, especially in the tanning business, which in those days was carried on with hereditary rather than chemical skill. The experimental charac- ter of his mind led him naturally into new fields of investigation, and it is but justice to say that whatever he approached he ben- efited. Few men possessed a more practical yet thoroughly re- fined taste than Davy. Philosophers not unfrequently lose them- selves in the abstruseness of the subjects they investigate, but with him this was never the case. He was a man of the world ; keenly observant ; mindful of its wants, and anxious to lend all the force of his character and genius to the onward progress of civilization. He was of a contented and beautiful disposition, fond of innocent amusements, and especially delighted with the ever-varying aspects of nature. He had traveled much, and, at the time when death overtook him, was on the Continent, endeav- oring to regain in genial climes the health he had lost by too close application. It was during this time that he recomposed his de- lightful little book on fly-fishing, called " Salmonia," a work which justly ranks next to old Izaak Walton's for variety of informa- tion and charming picturesqueness of detail. Pie was also en- gaged on another work called " The Last Days of a Philosopher," since given to the world. He was a voluminous writer, and it may be doubted if any modern philosopher has contributed more largely to the literature of science than he. Sir Humphrey Davy died at Geneva on the 30th of May, 1829. He had only arrived in that city the day before, and having been attacked by apoplexy after he had gone to bed, expired at an early hour in the morning. EOBEET DODSLEY. "I knew Darteneuf well, for I was his footman." Such was the characteristic admission of the subject of this memoir, uttered to that severest of critics, Dr* Johnson, and at a time, too, when the name of Dodsley was a passport to much excellent society. An individual blessed with such strength of character presents many excellent traits worthy of imitation, and we give his biog- raphy as an essential element of self-made success. Robert Dodsley was born in 1703 at Mansfield, in Notting- hamshire. Nothing is known of his parents, except that they were poor, and unable to give him more than an ordinary rudi- mental education. Early in life he became a male servant, or footman, in the service of the Honorable Mr. Lowther, and con- tinued in that somewhat degrading employment for many years, wearing a livery, and exhibiting his calves in the most approved fashion of the day. He was steady and observant, and his nat- ural abilities gave him some little distinction beyond that awarded to his station. Having made some attempts at versification, he found patrons who induced him to publish them, and exerted themselves to procure a handsome list of subscribers. The title of this work, which was published in 1732, was, "The Muse in Livery. A Collection of Poems. By R>. Dodsley, Footman to a Person of Quality at Whitehall." The contents of the volume were not remarkable for poetic beauty -or for exactness of meas- ure, but, heralded in such a candid way, they attracted attention, and induced Dodsley to prepare another work for the press, called " The Toy Shop." This was a dramatic satire on the fashionable follies of the day, and had merit. Pope (to whom it was shown) expressed himself warmly in its favor, and exerted himself to get it brought out on the stage. In 1735 it was produced at Covent Garden Theatre, and at once achieved a signal success. There was now a fair prospect for Dodsley in the literary world. Many men have adopted the profession of letters with much smaller capital. But, although a poet, he was of a practical turn of mind, and could see that commerce was better than literature in a pe- EOBEKT DODSLEY. 321 cuniary point of view. To combine the two was his ardent wish, and, with the profits of his play and other assistance, he determ- ined to do so. With this object in view, he opened a bookseller's store in Pall Mall, London (1735), and by politeness and atten- tion succeeded in making it a daily resort of the most eminent authors. Pope was his great literary patron, and his countenance was, of course, a powerful auxiliary. In a short time Dodsley became celebrated for the fairness of his dealings and the liberal- ity with which he conducted his business, and soon had the most famous and most prosperous publishing house in the British me- tropolis. Among the works of sterling merit which in the early part of his career he ushered into the world, was Johnson's "Lon- don," the copyright of which he purchased after several other houses had declined to have any thing to do with it. Nor was his own pen idle. In 1737 he produced "The King and the Miller of Mansfield," a farce founded on a traditionary story of English history. It was acted at Drury Lane, and was quite as successful as his first effort. In the following year he wrote a sequel to this piece, called " Sir John Cockle at Court," and sub- sequently two other pieces, all of which have been forgotten, and need not be mentioned here. In 1748 he collected these produc- tions into a volume with the unassuming title of "Trifles," add- ing to the number a pantomime on a new plan. He was fond of dramatic composition, and made it the vehicle for holding pleasant communion with the public. Beside his original compositions, Dodsley was engaged in planning and publishing many other works. It was he who suggested to Johnson the idea of an En- glish Dictionary. In 1750 Dodsley produced an original work, which was at once a source of profit and reputation to him. It was called " The Economy of Human Life," and professed to be a transla- tion from an Indian manuscript by an ancient Brahmin. For some reason, into which it is unnecessary to grope, the work was universally ascribed to the Earl of Chesterfield. It had a con- siderable share of merit, and enjoyed a wide reputation, having been translated in France by several publishers. Indeed, its repu- tation was so great that many imitations followed its advent, one of which boldly assumed to be a second part by the author of the first. In 1754 Dodsley tried his skill. in an elaborate poetical composition, the subject being Public Virtue. The public failed 02 322 SELF-MADE MEN. to display a proper interest in virtue, and Dodsley satirically re- marked that it was not a subject to interest the age. In 1757 he published " Melpomene, or the Regions of Terror and Pity. An Ode." The poem contained some fine passages, and was success- ful. It is considered the best of his poems. In the following January he produced a tragedy called " Cleone," with applause. Bennet Langton relates that Dodsley one day began to read "Cleone" to Johnson, who displayed obvious signs of uneasiness. At the end of an act, however, he said, " Come, let's have some more ; let's go into the slaughter-house again, Lanky. But I am afraid there is more blood than brains." Yet he afterward said, " When I heard you read it, I thought higher of its powers of lan- guage ; when I read it myself, I was more sensible of its pathetic effect ;" and then he paid it a high compliment. "Sir," said he, " if Otway had written this play, no other of his pieces would have been remembered." This anecdote gives us a good insight into the very unequal character of Dodsley's writing, leaving the reader uncertain whether to condemn or to praise, but finding justification for either extreme. "Cleone" was the last of his poetical effusions. Having acquired a handsome fortune, Dods- ley retired from the active pursuit of business. A predisposition to gout was perhaps one of the reasons why he did so, for busi- ness was unquestionably pleasure with him. Of this disease he died on the 25th of September, 1764, in the 61st year of his age. He was buried in the Abbey Church of Durham, and the follow- ing just epitaph is inscribed on his tombstone : " If you have any respect for uncommon industry and merit, regard this place, in which are deposited the remains of Mr. Robert Dodsley, who, as an author, raised himself much above what could have been expected from one in his rank of life, and without a learned education ; and who, as a man, was scarce exceeded by any in integrity of heart, and purity of manners and conversation. He left this life for a better, September 25th, 1764, in the 61st year of his age." ANTONIO CANOVA. Antonio Canova, the most remarkable sculptor of modern times, whose works lend grace, beauty, and durability to the homes of the nineteenth century, was a native of Possagno, a village sit- uated at the foot of the Venetian Alps, where he was born in 1757. He was descended from a family of sculptors, the arts descending from father to son in Italy like the titles of the privi- leged classes. His father had some little reputation, but young Antonio derived no advantage from it, for he was an orphan at the age of three years. A grandfather adopted the lonely boy, and gave him some instruction in the rudiments of art, employ- ing him in the quarries and in the workshop of the old stone- mason. His grandmother was most kind and affectionate, and neglected no opportunity of encouraging the lad. Not only for fame, but for fortune, she was desirous that her grandson should stride beyond the narrow limits of the stone-cutting room. At an early age he modeled in clay, and shaped little fragments of marble into easily-recognized objects. He was enthusiastic, and loved his adopted profession. Nothing afforded him so much de- 324 SELF-MADE MEN. light as being left alone with a few tools and a piece of marble. They were all the companions he needed. Progress was the necessity of such a disposition. So early as his ninth year young Canova could command the wages of a work- man, and was a favorite even at that. His grandfather was proud of him, and, whenever any repairs were to be done to the neigh- boring palaces, took the youthful journeyman with him. His re- markable talents were not long in attracting notice. A Signor Falieri, a gentleman of cultivated tastes, interested himself in the lad, and volunteered to take him into his house in order that he might enjoy advantages of an education which his grandfather's humble means utterly denied him. A story has been told that Canova first attracted the attention of the Falieri family by model- ing a lion in butter for that gentleman's table, but it is very ques- tionable if this story has any actual foundation in truth. After receiving some general instruction in the family of the Falieri, he was placed under Torretto, one of the best Venetian sculptors. He accompanied this distinguished artist to Venice, and remained under his tuition until the time of his death, which occurred two years later. By this event Canova was left with- out any guidance or restraint, at a moment, too, when both were most needed. His patron, Falieri, once more came to his assist- ance, and secured him admission into the studio of the sculptor Gio Ferrari, who was engaged at the time on a series of statues for the Casa Tiepolo at Carbonara. With this maestro Canova continued for about twelve months, and saw sufficient to convince him that the conventionalities of art were a restraint on genius, and impeded the natural suggestions of a poetic temperament. From these conventionalities he determined to cut loose, and ex- plore the wide and ever-remunerative paths of nature. His first known works were two baskets of fruit, still to be seen on the first landing-place of the Farsetti Palace, now the Hotel della Gran Brettagna, at Venice. The performance did not give prom- ise of that excellence which Canova afterward attained, but it was perhaps a step in the right direction. An effort of a more ambitious kind was the group called Or- pheus and Eurydice, part of which was completed, and the whole designed before his sixteenth year. This composition, executed in soft stone, was publicly exhibited in Venice on the occasion of the festival of the Ascension, and attracted considerable attention. ANTONIO CANOVA. 325 The following year he executed the same subject in marble, hav- ing obtained his first important commission for that group. Much of his time was still occupied with studies. He divided his day into three parts : the morning he devoted to study in the Acad- emy or Galleries, the afternoon to the labor of the workshop, and the evening to the improvement of his mind in general knowl- edge. " I labored," he says in one of his letters, " for a mere pit- tance ; but it was sufficient ; it was the fruit of my own resolu- tion, and, as I then flattered myself, the foretaste of more honor- able rewards, for I never thought of wealth." Having thus obtained some popularity, and being still a favor- ite with his old patron Faliero, he found ready employment on busts. He also modeled his group of "Daedalus and Icarus," a work which may be said to have laid the foundation of his future fame, and which was immediately beneficial, inasmuch as it in- duced his patron to insist that he should repair to Rome, and in that ample theatre of the arts extend his studies and his fame at the same time. In October of the year 1779 Canova reached the Eternal City, and enjoyed the delicious sensations which all devotees must experience in that vast emporium of plastic mas- terpieces. He received a cordial welcome from the artists of the day, and was warmly praised for his " Dcedalus and Icarus" group, which he took with him as a specimen of what he could do. " On the first exhibition of this work," says his biographer, " he was surrounded by the most distinguished artists and critics then residing at Eome, who contemplated the group with silent astonishment, not daring to censure what, although at variance with the style then followed, commanded their admiration and re- vealed the brightest prospects. The embarrassment of the young artist was extreme, and he frequently spoke of it afterward as one of the most anxious moments of his life. From this state of anxiety he was, however, soon relieved by the almost unanimous approbation of the spectators. Even the critics praised — an ef- fort which they are not willing to make in the cause of medioc- rity. They saw in the production of the young man much sim- plicity, expression, and unaffected truth to nature. From that day Canova had a position among the highest. More than this, he received the kindly advice of the best critics and connoisseurs, and was able to detect errors in his own style which he was not too proud or too foolish to rectify." 326 SELF-MADE MEN. The Venetian embassador at Rome became an admirer and pa- tron of the sculptor. He placed at his command a block of fine marble, and suggested a subject for a group — Theseus, conqueror of the Minotaur. The work was conducted throughout in the palace of the embassador, and every kind of assistance was ren- dered to the artist. In this work Canova followed those true principles by which he had proposed to himself to be guided in his works — a composition by which a new path was opened to all productions of imitative art. The embassador, who watch- ed the progress of the work with true art enthusiasm, obtained a cast of the head of Theseus as soon as it was ready, and dis- played it to a party of artists and critics who were assembled in his house. He took the precaution not to inform them whence it came, and they uttered a profound opinion that it was of Gre- cian origin, varying, however, on some points of merit. Several thought they had seen the marble from which it had been taken, not being able to recollect exactly where it was. Delighted and flattered with the result of his experiment, the embassador led them into the studio of the artist, and placed them before the en- tire group. Their surprise was only exceeded by their admira- tion. They saw and acknowledged that a new era in art had commenced. Important employment was now not difficult to obtain. He re- ceived a commission to execute the monument of Pope Clement the Fourteenth for the church of the SS. Apostoli in Home. This fine work was exhibited in 1787, and established Canova's claim to the highest rank in his profession. Before it was completed, Can- ova had commenced Clement the Thirteenth's monument for St. Peter's, a splendid work of genius and executive skill. A story is told in Rome of Canova putting on a monk's dress and cowl, and in this disguise mixing with the crowd, to hear the criticisms that were made when the work was first exposed to public view. Canova's powers of imagination were superb, and in works de- manding their exercise he was unsurpassed. In the mere mechan- ical portions of his business he had many superiors. His busts were not considered remarkable. It is not strange, therefore, that he devoted himself to subjects requiring an exercise of the higher order of genius. To recapitulate the works which he produced in rapid succession would be tedious and unnecessary. Of statues and groups he executed forty ; of busts, eleven ; of ANTONIO CANOVA. 327 monuments, sixteen ; of bas reliefs (principally in models), fifteen. Many of these productions were of colossal proportions, and most of them of the size of life. To accomplish so much, Canova ap- plied himself with unflagging industry to his vocation. In his habits he was regular and moderate. He rose early, and imme- diately proceeded to his studio, where he worked on his models for a time, and then proceeded with the chisel. In the mere manual labor of the sculptor Canova introduced some innova- tions, which account in a great measure for the multiplicity of his works. Up to this time it was customary for the artist to execute all his own work, from the rough hewing of the marble to the last touch of the chisel. Much valuable time was neces- sarily expended in the first operation without any commensurate result, for an ordinary stone-cutter was quite as capable of saw- ing off a piece of marble as Canova himself. It occurred to the latter, therefore, that, by making the models similar in size to the statues, he could employ a number of dexterous assistants, who would relieve him of all the mechanical drudgery of the business. He made the experiment, and succeeded. Every sculptor of the present day has his studio liberally supplied with assistants. Canova traveled, when young, over part of Germany, and was twice in Paris. At his last visit, when sent there by the Roman government to superintend the removal of the works of art which had been seized by the French army, and which the allies had decided should be restored to Italy, he proceeded to England, chiefly for the purpose of seeing the Elgin marbles, of which he expressed the highest admiration. His reception in that country was extremely cordial, and was a subject of much pleasure to him. On his return to Rome he received a patent of nobility, and was created Marquis of Ischia. With a republican feeling remarkable as it was creditable, he never adopted this title, but to the last called himself Antonio Canova — a far preferable name than the Marquis of Ischia in many people's estimation. It is worthy of remark in this connection, that one of Canova's best works was executed for America. It was the sitting statue of Washington, in marble, executed for the United States, and forwarded to America in 1820. In the month of May, 1822, Canova went to Naples to inspect some preparations for a colossal work, and returned to Rome with a tendency to disorder in his stomach, which was always badly 328 SELF-MADE MEN. affected by that climate. Not having entirely recovered from this attack, he determined on a visit to his native place, and on the 17th of September arrived at Possagno. Unfortunately, the journey was too severe for his constitution, and aggravated the complaint under which he labored. He was very ill on his ar- rival, but did not take to his bed, expecting relief from his na- tive air and the waters of Recodro. All was unavailing. On the 4th of October Canova arrived at Venice, intending to stay there a few days ; but, continuing to get gradually worse, he re- ceived the last offices of religion, and resigned himself to die with the utmost constancy and serenity, uttering only short sentences of a pious character to those who attended him. Approaching his end, he said to those who moistened his dying lips, " Good, very good; but it is in vain." His last words were, "Pure and lovely spirit." These he uttered several times just before he ex- pired. He spoke no more ; but his visage became, and continued for some time, highly radiant and expressive, as if his mind was absorbed in some sublime conception, creating powerful and un- usual emotions in all around him. Canova was a man of the most amiable and conciliatory man- ners, extremely friendly and gentle toward his fellow-artists, and encouraging and liberal toward the numerous students who filled his studio. To several of the latter, whose means were scanty, he gave pensions, to enable them to prosecute their studies. He also established out of his own purse a handsome premium for sculpture in the Academy of St. Luke at Rome, of which he was president. In personal appearance Canova was rather below the common stature, and toward the close of his life stooped as he walked. Plis features were strongly-marked, but well-formed, his nose aquiline, and his eyes deeply set and full of expression. The general expression of his countenance was genial and pleas- ing. Concerning the merit of his works, a competent critic remarks that, in execution and the whole treatment of his marble, Canova was unrivaled ; but those who judge of sculpture by the pure principles of Greek art (or, in other words, of nature, selected and exhibited in its finest and most approved forms), will discover in many of his works some affectation, both in the attitudes and expression, and a littleness in some of the details, which are not in accordance with the simplicity and breadth of style of the best ANTONIO CANOVA. 329 productions of the ancients. Admitting this to be the case (par- ticularly in some of his later performances), still his works evince so great a progress in art, and in many respects approach so much more nearly than those that had for a long period preceded them to the excellence of ancient sculpture, that Canova must be con- fessed to be one of the great regenerators of the art; and his name, as the restorer of a purer style of design, will always be held in honor by those who wish to see sculpture practiced upon true principles. PHILIP VAYRINGE. Mechanical genius of a high order is a gift so rare in the world, that the few men who have possessed it in an eminent degree are certainly worthy of remembrance. The subject of this sketch, although unknown in the present century, was in his day con- sidered remarkable enough to merit the appellation of the Lotha- ringian Archimedes. Philip Vayringe was a native of Lorraine, born in 1684 at Nouilloupont, a small village which is situated in the department of the Meuse, between Longwy and Verdun. He was one of a large family, and at an early age experienced harsh treatment from a step-mother, which induced him to run away from home. It was his intention on this occasion (he was ten years old, and could scarcely spell his name correctly) to make a pilgrimage to Rome ; but, before he got very far on his way, he met two of his schoolfellows, who prevailed on him to return to the paternal roof. Philip, however, became so enam- ored of the town of Metz, through which they passed, that he gave his companions the slip, and made up his mind to remain there. Strolling about the town, he was first attracted by the operations of a locksmith, who sat working at his bench near the open window. Observing the youth's curiosity, the artisan spoke to him, asked him some commonplace questions, and finally wound up by offering to take him into his employ at the liberal stipend of tenpence a month. Philip accepted the terms on condition that he should be allowed to try to make a lock. The permission was, of course, readily granted, and he succeeded so well that an addition was at once made to his wage. In six months he had become so familiar with the business that he found no difficulty in getting employment at three times the price paid him by his first master. In the following winter he returned to Nouilloupont, residing this time with a brother-in-law, who was at once a gunsmith and edge-tool maker. Philip was, of course, useful in such a shop, but a circumstance soon occurred which diverted his attention from the fabrication of locks. A clock was brought in to be re- PHILIP VAYRINGE. 331 paired, and its delicate mechanism filled Philip with admiration. It was only left in the shop for an hour and a half, but in this short time he had fixed all the parts in his mind, and knew ex- actly on what principle it worked. A few months afterward he made a successful copy of this clock, much to the astonishment of the simple villagers. He was now determined to be a clock- maker, and, with twenty-five shillings in his purse, started for Nancy, the capital of Lorraine. There was but one clock-maker in the place, and, as he had three sons, there was no opening for Philip. He was fortunate, however, in finding a friend in a Pa- risian master locksmith and worker in iron, who had come to Nan- cy to fabricate a highly-ornamental gate for the choir of the Ben- edictine church. This person having shown him his designs, Philip requested that he would teach him how to draw similar ones with a pen, and carry them into execution. His kind friend immediately offered to take him into his employ at a salary of ten shillings a month, and to give him all the instruction in his power. He was thus employed for twelve months. In the mean time, he did not forget the subject of horology. His employer possessed the unusual treasure of a watch, so valuable in those days that it was actually the first Philip had seen. Anxious to penetrate the mystery of its intricate workings, he begged permis- sion to examine it. His request was complied with by his kind friend, who seemed to place implicit confidence in the ingenuity of the youth. Philip hurried home in triumph, and in no time had the watch to pieces, and discovered the object of all its move- ments, making drawings of those which he could not sufficiently remember. He succeeded in putting the fragments together again, and in restoring the watch to its owner in perfectly good condi- tion. The result of his various investigations was an extremely ingenious clock, which he made in his leisure moments, and for which he had to fabricate tools. It was nine inches in height and six in width, and had four different movements : hours, quarters, striking, and chimes. The chimes played an air every hour, while the image of the Savior, followed by the twelve apostles, passed across a gallery. Nearly a year was spent in forming this complicated piece of mechanism, but it brought him much renown, and, better still, was indirectly the means of procuring him a very advantageous wife, a charming young orphan of fourteen (he was twenty-seven), with two thousand dollars in cash. They lived 332 SELF-MADE MEN. long and happily together, and did the state some service by bringing into the world no fewer than nineteen children. About a year after his marriage he started in business on his own account. His shop was distinguished by a sign of his own invention, which, he tells us, was admired as a masterpiece. It was probably a piece of mechanism, but he has left us no descrip- tion of its character or appearance. Having borrowed some tools, he immediately set about making a watch, similar to the one he had borrowed from his Parisian friend and employer. He accom- plished his task successfully in eighteen days. Customers soon became numerous, but he found that a Parisian reputation was necessary, and he determined, therefore, to visit the capital of Prance. Furnished with letters of introduction to several of the most important watch - makers in the metropolis, he set out. Many men would have deemed a limited apprenticeship desirable under such circumstances, and Vayringe was of that opinion, but he limited the apprenticeship to one day; that is to say, he re- quested a person to whom he was recommended to allow him to work in his shop for a single day. He found out all he wanted in that time, and, having visited the shops of the most eminent watch-makers, purchased tools and materials, and amused him- self with contemplating the wonders of Versailles, he returned to his home after a fortnight's absence. The first thing he did on his return was to imitate the machin- ery he had seen in the workshops of Paris, adding many improve- ments of his own which were of obvious utility. His reputation was now established, and business pressed in upon him in the most satisfactory manner. With increased resources, he gave free rein to his invention, and indulged in the fabrication of many cu- rious machines not actually useful or actually useless. Among other things, he endeavored, like all ingenious men of his time, to solve the problem of perpetual motion. While thus occu- pied, he succeeded in making many very simple movements, and, "among others, those of an eight -day clock with only three wheels, and which nevertheless struck the hours and half hours, and repeated them, and, besides, indicated the revolution and the various phases of the moon." He finished, also, a watch which repeated the hours and quarters, though it had merely the wheels of a common watch. He worked likewise at all sorts of mathe- matical instruments, both for engineers and geographers. PHILIP VAYRINGE. 333 In 1720 Vayringe was appointed watch-maker and mechanist to Duke Leopold of Lorraine, and removed from Nancy to Lune- ville, the capital of that province. Here he occupied himself not only with clocks and watches, but with astronomical instruments, and several models of hydraulic machines, the simplicity and pow- erful action of which were much praised. One of the models, that of a machine to throw five jets of water to a height of six- ty feet, was afterward carried into effect in the ducal gardens of Luneville. In the year 1721 Vayringe had occasion to visit the British metropolis on business for the duke, and became an in- mate in the house of the celebrated Desaguliers. This accidental circumstance was of great advantage to him, and he improved the occasion with avidity. Desaguliers taught him geometry and al- gebra, and explained minutely the properties and management of all the instruments and machines by which he himself illustrated his annual courses of experimental philosophy. More than this, he caused a similar apparatus to be made for Vayringe. After a residence of thirteen months in London he was recalled to Lune- ville. The duke was so delighted with the instruments he brought with him, that he gave Vayringe instructions to complete the set by making what were necessary for the full illustration of a complete course of philosophy. In pursuance of this order, Vayringe produced a variety of works, one of the most curious of which was a planisphere, on the Copernican system, " above which," says he, "the planets, supported by steel wires, perform- ed their courses, according to the calculations of the most cele- brated astronomers." This was, in fact, a kind of orrery, an in- strument which had been shown and explained to him by Desa- guliers during his visit to the English capital, and which was then new to the world of science. The duke was so astonished by this masterpiece of ingenuity that he considered it to be a worthy present for the emperor, and Vayringe was accordingly dispatched with it to Vienna. The emperor was equally delight- ed, and he rewarded the maker with a massy gold medal afld chain, and a purse containing two hundred ducats. On his return to Luneville he found M. de Boifranc, architect of the King of France, who was anxious for him to proceed to Paris to superintend the construction of a steam-engine for a mine in Peru. When this important job was finished, he returned to Luneville, and employed himself in the manufacture of many 334 SELF-MADE MEN. curious philosophical machines, especially an orrery. In 1729, Duke Leopold, his patron, died, and for a time some of his most extensive works were discontinued. In the following year Leo- pold's successor remodeled the Academy of Luneville, and ap- pointed Vayringe professor of experimental philosophy. His lec- tures immediately attracted much attention, and were, like Duval's in the same establishment, largely attended by foreigners. His popularity continued undiminished as long as the house of Lor- raine held the government of its hereditary dominions ; but in 1737, political arrangements between France and the emperor transferred the duchy to Stanislaus, and eventually to France, and in exchange gave to the duke the sovereignty of Tuscany. Despots think nothing of " swopping" whole generations of men. "I was," says Vayringe, "soon a witness to the evacuation of Lorraine. I saw her highness the Duchess Regent, and the two august princesses, her daughters, tear themselves from their pal- ace, their faces bathed with tears, their hands raised toward heaven, and uttering cries expressive of the most violent grief. It would be utterly impossible to depict the consternation, the regrets, the sobs, and all the symptoms of despair to which the people gave way at the aspect of a scene which they considered as the last sigh of the country. It is almost inconceivable that hundreds of persons were not crushed under the wheels of the carriage, or trodden under the feet of the horses, in throwing themseves blindly as they did before the vehicles to retard their departure. While consternation, lamentations, horror, and con- fusion were reigning in Luneville, the inhabitants of the rural districts hurried in multitudes to the road by which the royal family was to pass, and, throwing themselves on their knees, stretched out their hands to them, and implored them not to abandon their people." Vayringe accompanied the duke to his future territories, although earnestly entreated to remain by the new sovereign of Lorraine. It was an unfortunate step for him. In Lorraine mechanical genius was appreciated and understood, but in Tuscany no one cared about such things. The Grand Duke did, indeed, continue his patronage to the artist, but his example was not followed by his court or his subjects. After a miserable sojourn of eight years in his new home, Vayringe wrote in the following melancholy vein : " I had figured to myself," he says, " that Tuscany having been, as it were, the cradle of gen- PHILIP VAYKINGE. 335 uine experimental philosophy, a taste for that science would have been preserved, as in the time of the Galileos, Torricellis, and the Academy del' Cimento, and that, consequently, the lectures which I had delivered at Luneville would be still more attractive at Florence." But his conjectures were erroneous; he found the young men addicted to gallantry, the ladies to coquetry, and every one to triviality, not unmixed with sensuality. He published a syllabus of all the experiments he had made in Lorraine, but the Florentine public paid no attention to it, and it fell dead. "It is true," he writes, " that my being a foreigner contributed in no small degree to this indifference. I was given to understand that Italy, in all ages, had possessed the privilege of teaching other nations, and was not at all accustomed to take lessons from them. It may with truth be said that this miserable prejudice, together with the spirit of trifling and parsimony of which I have spoken, are the rocks on which the Academy of Lorraine has been wrecked. Transferred to Tuscany at an immense expense, and having the same professors who had rendered it so flourishing, it has there been wholly deserted. The school of experimental philosophy, one of the most curious and complete in Europe, has shared the same fate, though the cost of the lectures which were given there was reduced to less than half the sum that was paid at Luneville. Thus the talent for mechanics which Providence has bestowed on me has become totally useless as far as regards the public, in con- sequence of the indifference of my new fellow-citizens, and the state of inaction in which they have left me to stagnate." Circumstances of this depressing nature were too much for the sanguine temperament of an inventor, whose imagination, at the best of times, is too sensitive and warm. He became careless of himself, like all dissatisfied people, and felt disposed to brave all sorts of dangers. On one occasion he was indiscreet enough to expose himself to the deadly malaria of that pestiferous district called the Maremma. A slow fever was the result, which, after eighteen months' duration, ended in dropsy. He diearty of five Indians, who inflicted dangerous wounds on two of their number, and taught them to proceed with greater caution. . 486 SELF-MADE MEN. King James's mysterious box was duly opened, and they learned that the council — invested with power to elect presidents for a year — was to consist of Bartholomew Gosnold, Captain John Smith, Edward Wingfield, Christopher Newport, John Ratcliffe, John Martin, and George Kendall. Affairs of importance were to be examined by a jury, but determined by the decision of a majority of the council, in which the president had two votes. On the 13 th of May following the colonists fixed on a site for their city, and called it Jamestown. The members of the council were duly sworn, and Mr. Wingfield elected the first president. Although Smith was expressly mentioned in the royal charter as one of the council, he was excluded by the other members of that body. It is probable that his talents and popularity were viewed with distrust and jealousy. Whatever the cause, Smith consider- ed it unworthy of notice. The stern work of raising a city in the forest now commenced. The industrial music of the hammer, the anvil, and the saw was heard from morning till night. Smith and Newport, with twenty others, were dispatched to discover the source of the river on the banks of which they had commenced building. They proceeded up the river six days, passing many native villages, until they arrived at the falls. Here they visited the renowned chief Powhatan, with whom they exchanged civili- ties and promises of friendship. Their farther progress being in- terrupted by the rapids, they put about and prepared to return home. The behavior of the natives was kind and hospitable un- til they had got within twenty miles of Jamestown : their con- duct then began to excite suspicion. On returning to the colony the reason became apparent. An attack had been made on the town, and, owing to the defenseless state of the place, through the culpable negligence of Governor Wingfield, the natives had gained an advantage, and now evidently looked forward to the total extermination of the whites. Made wiser by experience, the governor now fortified the place, and, a few days after the return of Smith, the savages sued for peace. The ships which had brought out the colonists soon weighed anchor, and sailed for home, leaving the little band to shift for themselves as best they could. The white streak of their wakes had scarcely disappeared from the waters when a terrible sickness broke out among the settlers, so that very few could walk or stand. Scarcity of provisions contributed largely to the sufferings of the CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 487 poor creatures. The common food was scarcely fit for human beings to eat, and the rations were much too scanty. To add to their troubles and heighten the horrors of famine, it was discovered that the governor was a greedy hog, and had laid up stores of nice things for himself, while his poor companions were starving and rotting around him. One half of the colonists died in this miser- able way, and the remainder, like sensible men, deposed the bad governor, and elected Captain John RatclifFe in his stead. Noth- ing could be more desperate than the condition of the small gar- rison. Their provisions were exhausted ; the fisheries yielded but a small and uncertain supply, and they were in momentary expect- ation of an attack from the hostile Indians in the vicinity. The latter apprehension, however, was soon removed, for the savages took pity on their wretchedness, and, instead of attacking, actu- ally brought them liberal supplies of fruits, vegetables, and game. The new governor, however, did not turn out much better than his predecessor. He lacked the force of character and strength of judgment essential to such a crisis. Smith was pre-eminently endowed with these qualities, and it was but natural, therefore, that the harassed and desponding settlers should look to him as their only hope. He commenced setting things to rights with characteristic energy. By his own industry he stimulated the industry of others, and by pointing out what had to be done in a quiet, solicitous way, he got it done expeditiously and well. In a short time he had procured lodgings for every one but himself. The most knotty question to be solved was how to procure pro- visions sufficient to hold out until the harvesting time came round again. He determined to go on a trading excursion, and endeavor to procure a supply from the Indians. Accordingly, he fitted out the shallop, manned it with all the spare hands he could muster, and dropped down the river. The natives were well informed of the abject state of the settlement, and, when Smith spoke about barter, they only laughed at him, evidently rejoiced at the pros- pect of a speedy destruction of the whites. Smith was not the right kind of person to laugh at with impunity, and the moment he found that all fair means were of no avail, he changed his tactics. The word was given to fire, and then, suddenly running the boat ashore, the natives were so frightened and astonished that they scampered away in all directions. This was precisely what Smith wanted. Without a moment's delay, he marched 488 SELF-MADE MEN. straight into their village, and discovered plentiful heaps of corn. His companions wanted to help themselves without any kind of parleying, but Smith, who looked to the future as well as the present, would not consent to the pillage. Presently the Indians, to the number of sixty or seventy, painted all sorts of colors, and bearing in front their most redoubtable idol, returned to the spot, and boldly attacked the English. A discharge of musketry soon taught the poor wretches that their idol was of no avail against the white man's gunpowder. A number lay stretched upon the ground, and the remainder hastily retreated, leaving their false god behind them. Shortly afterward they sent a priest to treat with the victors for the restoration of the idol. Smith told them that, if six of the tribe would come unarmed, and aid him in load- ing his boat, he would not only restore to them their okee, or idol, but make them large presents besides of beads, copper, and hatch- ets. This was agreed to, and the natives soon returned, bringing with them venison, common fowls, turkeys, and bread. The success of this first expedition led to several others, in all of which Smith's tact, decision, and firmness were eminent. But he labored for an improvident set of fellows, who were much too willing to depend on his trading voyages, rather than work for their own daily bread. Indeed, when we reflect on the many vexations that their idleness must have caused our hero, we are forced to admire the estimable generosity which actuated him in not only working, but exposing himself to danger for their main- tenance. One would certainly think that such a capital fellow could have no enemies ; but he had, and mean ones too. Fore- most among these were Wingfield and Kendall, who had been living in disgrace, and watching the growth of Smith's popularity with jealous spite. They took advantage of his absence on one occasion to conspire with some disorderly malcontents and escape to England in the bark, which, by Smith's direction, had been fitted up for a trading voyage, to be undertaken the next year. They had already, in part, executed their design when Smith re- turned, for they were actually on board, and the pinnace was pre- paring to descend the stream. Smith brought them to in prompt style. He assembled his men on the beach, invited the deserters to return to their duty, and, when they refused, gave them a vol- ley as a persuader. A brisk action ensued, and it was only when Kendall had fallen that the others surrendered. CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 489 It was Smith's misfortune shortly after this to fall into the hands of the Indians. They set upon him unexpectedly, and; before he had time to protect himself, wounded him in the thigh with an arrow. Notwithstanding this impediment, he made a gallant resistance, and would have escaped from their clutches but for another accident. In retreating with his face to the foe, he backed into a morass, and stuck fast up to the waist in peat. None of the Indians dared approach him, even in that helpless position, and it was only when he was half dead with cold and had thrown away his arms that they drew him out. He was, of course, conducted to the chief of the tribe, and, having been con- demned to death, was tied to a tree for immediate execution. Without losing the slightest particle of his customary self-posses- sion, he pulled out a small pocket compass which he happened to have with him, and presented the instrument to the chief, accom- panied with a speech, which, as it might be his last, he did not strive to make particularly short. In return for this, the chief released him from the tree, but sent him a prisoner to one of the villages. He was to be reserved for a more epicurean death: they intended to get him into fine condition, and then eat him ; at least so poor Smith imagined, from the profusion of food with which he was supplied. He was kept in suspense for a long time, but at last, when tolerably plump, they conducted him to the resi- dence of the famed Powhatan, who received him with imposing ceremony, " seated on a kind of throne, elevated above the floor of a large hut, in the midst of which was a fire. He (Powhatan) was clothed with a robe of raccoon skins. Two young women, his daughters, sat one on his right and the other on his left, and on each side of the hut there were two rows of men in front, and the same number of women behind. When Smith was brought home, they all set. up a great shout." Smith was indulged with another feast in the palace of this dusky monarch, but, considering the mysterious preparations that were going on, it is scarcely proba- ble that he had a very hearty appetite. It became certain that his fate was now to be decided, and equally certain that the de- cision was against him. The fatal preliminaries were soon ar- ranged. A couple of ominous-looking stones were brought in, and placed before Powhatan. Upon one of these unpleasant pillows Smith was compelled to lay his head. Rascally-looking chiefs then approached with heavy clubs raised in the air, ready X 2 490 SELF-MADE MEN. to dash out his brains at the word of command. At this moment Pocahontas, the favorite daughter of the great chief, interceded for the prostrate prisoner, and begged piteously for his life. Finding that Powhatan was inexorable, she determined, with true Indian fortitude, to perish herself, rather than give up her point. She rushed to the stone, placed her own pretty head upon that of the prisoner, and told them that they should kill her before they touched him. Moved by this scene, Powhatan, her father, grant- ed Smith his pardon, and shortly afterward agreed that he should be sent to Jamestown, provided he would give them two great guns and a grindstone by way of ransom. The chief was ready to bestow on him a large tract of country, and to regard him as his son, immediately on receipt of these valuable articles. After this romantic incident Smith got on very well with the Indians, and was able to procure constant supplies of provisions. Pocahontas, his beautiful protectress, paid frequent visits to the settlement, and on several occasions, when little difficulties ap- peared to be growing up between the king and the settlers, her gentle intercession brushed away the angry clouds and restored quiet. The hungry fellows of the colony had to be fed by hand, like so many ravens, and, as the ships from the Old Country did not come in with great regularity, they were often reduced to great straits. The subject of our memoir was their sole dependence. At the proper moment he fitted out the boat, and sailed away into the interior in search of provisions, never coming back empty-handed. In one of these expeditions he discovered the Bay of Chesapeake, and afterward explored it minutely, and constructed a map, which was wonderfully accurate, all things considered. Wherever he went he was respected and feared by the natives, but, on the other hand, the moment his back was turned, the colonists began schem- ing and quarreling, and making their wretched lives still more miserable. The only creditable thing they did, by way of atone- ment, was to elect Captain John Smith their president, in place of RatclifFe, who, like his predecessor, turned out an idle, greedy fellow. But even this they afterward repented, for Smith, know- ing that safety and abundance depended entirely on their own exertions, set them all to work, some to collect pitch, tar, and soap-ashes, and others to hew timber in the woods. They who were discontented, says the quaint historian, drowned the noise of CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 49 1 every third blow by a curse, which induced the president to make a rule against swearing. Every man's oaths tittered during the day were to be counted, and for each offense he was to have a gallon of water poured down his sleeve. So effectual was this punishment, that scarcely a profane expression was heard in a week. Notwithstanding all his protestations, constant watchful- ness had to be exercised toward Powhatan, who was treacherous, and disposed to be revenged on the whites whenever the oppor- tunity occurred. The readiest way of doing this was to starve them out. Experience had taught him that they were improvi- dent, and always in need of corn. He issued orders that none should be supplied. Every kind of persuasion was used in vain, until at length Captain Smith determined that he should be brought to reason in a summary way. Accordingly, with forty-six men in the pinnace and two barges, he set out to meet the wily chief. Every where they heard warnings of Powhatan's treachery, but they went on their way, and, when they came to his village, sent him a friendly message. He came in no pleasant mood ; told them that they were uninvited ; that his subjects had no corn, and that he could give only forty baskets of grain in exchange for forty swords. In the end, a collision took place between the English and the Indians. The latter endeavored to cut off the former by surprise, and were only prevented by the faithful conduct of the beautiful Pocahontas, who came and warned them of their danger. From Powhatan Smith proceeded to another Indian town, where the chief conceived a cunning plot to murder the party. Being in one of the native houses, Smith saw a great concourse of sav- ages without, and their chief near the door, asking him to come forth and receive a present. Such an ambush was a trifle too playful for the keen military eye of Smith, and, instead of popping into it, he desired his companions to keep careful watch on all the entrances. Then, seizing his opportunity, he darted out, caught the old chief by the beard, leveled a pistol at his breast, and led him trembling into the midst of his assembled tribe. This daring act struck terror into the whole multitude. They gave up their leader's arms, and cast down their own ; while Smith, still hold- ing his captive by the hair, addressed him in a speech, half of conciliation, half of threats, which had the desired result, for a quantity of provisions were brought, and all parties returned to their homes in apparent amity. 492 SELF-MADE MEN. We have not the space to follow Smith in all his bold adven- tures, although they are eminently interesting, and characterized by the noble bearing, courage, and disinterestedness of his chival- ric nature. It must suffice that under his rule the colony became as prosperous as it was possible for it to become with such a strange population of worthless, ill-tempered, idle fellows. Quan- tities of tar, pitch, and soap ashes were collected ; a successful ex- periment was made in the manufacture of glass ; twenty new houses were built, with a more convenient church ; and nets for fishing were manufactured. To defend themselves, the colonists also erected two or three wooden forts, or block-houses, and, to provide for the next year, planted nearly forty acres with vegeta- bles and grain. Altogether the prospects were cheering to every one except the London speculators, who, not having received large cargoes of virgin gold or bags full of precious stones, were great- ly dissatisfied with the way things had been managed. To such an extent did they carry their dissatisfaction, that in 1609 they obtained a new charter from the king, annulling the former one. Immediately afterward they dispatched nine ships, with 500 emi- grants, to take possession of the colony, and regulate it according to the latest system of colonial wisdom. When the proper offi- cers had arrived, Smith made preparations to return to England. The magnanimity of his character was illustrated in the cheerful assistance he rendered to his successors, many of whom were pig- headed and insolent, and very jealous of Smith's popularity. Those poor creatures who had worked and suffered in the colony were very sorry when they heard that their brave president was about to leave them, and they tried all they could to get him to stay ; but Smith suffered severely from an accident he had met with, occasioned by the explosion of a bag of gunpowder, and felt sure that if he did not go back and get good medical advice he would infallibly die. So Captain John Smith, after a wonderfully active and wonderfully troubled career of more than two years, took his departure for the land of his fathers. Immediately aft- erward the colony sunk into a state of great confusion ; " large parties were cut off by the savages ; a division of authority pro- duced entire disorganization ; improvidence wasted the stores which had been accumulated, and the settlers fell into the last stage of abasement and misery. Within six months after the loss of their virtuous president, the number at Jamestown was not CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 493 more than sixty, including women and children. They had to feed on roots, herbs, acorns, walnuts, and berries, with now and then a scanty supply of fish. They ate their starch, and at last even the skins of their horses. ' Nay, so great,' says the narra- tor, ' was our famine, that a salvage we slew and buried, the poor- er sort took him up again and ate him, and so did divers one an- other, boyled and stewed with roots and herbs. And one among the rest did kill his wife, powdered her, and had eaten part of her before it was known, for which he was executed, as he well deserved. Now, whether she was better roasted, boyled, or car- bonadoed, I know not ; but of such a dish as powdered wife I never heard.' " Their miseries were fortunately terminated by the arrival of Sir Thomas Gates and Sir George Somers, with 150 men and a quantity of provisions. We hear nothing of Captain John Smith for several years after his return to England. It is certain that he was much sought after by the lion-hunters, and that he became very famous for his strange adventures. It is also certain that some of the incidents of his strange life were worked into a dramatic form, and repre- sented at the theatres, much to the annoyance of our hero. In 1614 Ave find him once more embarked for the New World, but not for Virginia. This time his enterprising spirit sought new laurels in the cold and barren ground of New England. There were two ships in the expedition, one commanded by himself, and the other by Captain Thomas Hunt. On the 30th of April they arrived at the coast of Maine, and immediately commenced look- ing for mines of gold. As they did not succeed in their search, they turned their attention to the next most improbable product of the country, and went about in boats to capture whales. Fi- nally they abandoned both pursuits, and devoted their attention to the catching and curing of codfish. While the crew were thus employed, Captain Smith, with eight men in a small boat, sur- veyed and examined the whole coast from Penobscot to Cape Cod, trafficking with the Indians for furs, and twice fighting with them. He constructed a map of the country, and, after six months' absence, once more returned to England. In the follow- ing year our restless hero embarked once more for the Western World, but, when about a hundred and twenty leagues from port, he encountered a violent storm, which so shattered his vessel that he had to return and procure another one. On the 24th of June, 494 SELF-MADE MEN. 1615, he started once more in a small bark of sixty tons, manned by thirty men, and carrying with him sixteen settlers. Soon after his departure he was chased by an English pirate, but succeeded in getting away on friendly terms. Near Fayal he came across two French pirates. His crew were panic-stricken, and wanted him to surrender ; but he scorned the idea, and told them that he would rather blow up the ship than yield while he had any pow- der left. So he blazed away with his four little guns, and con- trived to make his escape. Near Flores he was chased, and, sad to say, overtaken by four French men-of-war. For some strange reason Smith was kidnapped, and kept on board the French frig- ate while she cruised about snapping up prizes. In the mean time the crew of his own vessel put about, and returned to the port whence they came. Smith had no opportunity of making his escape until one stormy night, while the vessel of his captors was lying at anchor in the harbor of Rochelle. When it was quite dark he dropped into a boat, and with the fragment of a handspike in place of oars, floated away on the fierce waters. A strong current carried him out to sea, and all night he was rock- ed about in one of the most fearful tempests that had been known on that coast for many years. A kind and watchful Providence surely shielded him on that sad night, for, when he was car- ried in by the morning tide, he discovered that the French ship from which he had escaped had been wrecked, and the captain and half the crew drowned ; yet his poor little cockle-shell out- lived the fury of the elements ! On landing at Rochelle he lodged a complaint with the judge of the Admiralty, but without any satisfactory-result. Shortly afterward he returned to En- gland, and in 1616 published the narrative of his two voyages to New England, which he had written, in a great measure, while a prisoner on board the French vessel. Although he made many efforts to return to the country in which he was so deeply inter- ested, and which owed all its prosperity to his presence, and all its misfortunes to his absence, he was never able to do so. As a speculation, the New World had been ruinous to the capitalists who embarked in it, and there was no disposition to risk more. The remainder of his life was therefore passed in England, but in what way we know not. Mr. Hillard, in his Memoir, say's, " The death of Captain Smith occurred in 1631, at London, in the fifty- second year of his age. We know nothing of the circumstances CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 495 which attended it, and we are equally ignorant of his domestic and personal history, with whom he was related and connected, where he resided, what was the amount of his fortune, what were his habits, tastes, personal appearance, manners, and conversation, and, in general, of those personal details which modest men com- monly do not record about themselves. From the fact that he expended so much money in the great objects of his life, and par- ticularly in the publication and distribution of his pamphlets, we may infer that he was independent in his circumstances, if not wealthy. For his labors and sacrifices he never received any pe- cuniary recompense. In a statement addressed to his majesty's commissioners for the reformation of Virginia, and written, prob- ably, about 1624, he says that he has spent five years, and more than five hundred pounds, in the service of Virginia and New En- gland ; * yet,' he adds, ' in neither of those countries have I one foot of land, nor the very house I builded, nor the ground I digged with my own hands, nor ever any content or satisfaction at all, and though I see ordinarily those two countries shared before me by them that neither have them, nor know them but by my de- scriptions.' " JAMES BRINDLEY. To this individual the world is indebted for one of its most val- uable and economical means of internal communication. James Brindley, a self-made man, was the founder of canal navigation. The first undertaking of the kind was projected in 1759, under the patronage of the Duke of Bridge water, and the subject of this memoir was the man by whose talents the scheme was carried into execution. James Brindley was born in 1716 at Tunstead, or at Thornsett, in Derbyshire. His father was a spendthrift, who cared more for his own enjoyment than for the prosperity of his family. Conse- quently, Brindley was denied the advantages of an education, and at an early age had to obtain employment on the neighboring farms. When he was seventeen he apprenticed himself to a millwright, and soon displayed so much expertness that he was frequently left for whole weeks to execute works concerning which he had received no instruction from his master. His mechanical ingenu- ity was great, and when he experienced a difficulty, his inventive genius assisted him to get out of it. In every thing he undertook, he displayed so much ready skill that the millers considered it a favor to obtain his services in preference to those of his master. JAMES BRINDLEY. 497 In due time lie set up for himself as a millwright, and by his ingenious inventions and contrivances acquired a widely-spread reputation, extending even to the metropolis. He was employed in the construction of the most complicated machinery, and seldom undertook a task of the kind without introducing some important improvements of his own. From pursuits of this kind Brindley was called away to others of much greater importance. The Duke of Bridgewater was owner of an estate at Worsley, about seven miles from Manches- ter, beneath the soil of which were immense mines of coal, from which no profit accrued to him, because the cost of land-carriage was so heavy that it prevented the coal from being brought into the market. To remedy this evil, the duke obtained acts of Par- liament (1758-9) enabling him to form a navigable canal from Worsley to Manchester. Brindley's reputation had reached the duke's ears, and he selected him as a fitting person to carry out his scheme. The enterprise was one of remarkable difficulty, and had to be prosecuted in the face of prejudice and sneers. To avoid the waste of water which the lockage would occasion, the canal was to be on a dead level, and, to effect this, tunnels must be perforated, enormous embankments raised, and an aque- duct of three arches thrown over the navigable river Irwell, at an elevation of little less than fifty feet. The audacity of this last idea — carrying water over water — exposed Brindley to so much ridicule, that for a moment he lost confidence in himself, and begged the duke to consult some other engineer, and convince himself that he was not insane. A learned man was accordingly sent for, and the matter proposed to him. He ridiculed the idea, and, when the height and dimensions were communicated to him, exclaimed, " I have often heard of castles in the air, but never before was shown where any of them were to be erected." Such a self-sufficient ignoramus was properly estimated by the duke ; he disregarded his opinion, and directed Brindley to proceed. The Worsley canal was soon in successful operation ; the impos- sible aqueduct was begun and completed in twelve months. This triumphant demonstration was the making of Brindley as an engineer, and at no distant period turned the attention of the public to the subject of opening water communication with various parts of the kingdom. The Duke of Bridgewater immediately de- termined to continue his canal to the tideway of the Mersey, at 498 SELF-MADE MEN. Iluncorn, so as to connect Liverpool and Manchester by water in a thoroughly practical way. The distance to be accomplished was thirty miles, and there were two rivers and many deep and wide valleys to be crossed, the one by aqueducts, the other by broad and lofty embankments. Notwithstanding these obstacles, the undertaking was completed in five years. There were but ten locks on the whole line, and these were constructed on such easy principles that they could be worked with little or no delay. The next in order to the Bridgewater canals was that which the proprietors designed to call the Trent and Mersey Canal, but to which Brindley gave the name of the Grand Trunk, because he was convinced that many branches would be extended from it, as was subsequently the case. This work was ninety- three miles in length, united the ports of Hull and Liverpool, and required seventy-six locks, three aqueducts, and five tunnels to carry it through the route. Here was an opportunity for the display of the highest engineering skill, and Brindley availed himself of it with avidity. An eminence called Harecastle Hill was considered the great obstacle of the line. Brindley made up his mind that it should be tunneled, and, notwithstanding innumerable difficulties, arising from the nature of the soil, succeeded in boring the hill at the distance of seventy yards from the surface. The tunnel is more than a mile and a half long. Now that the entire practicability of canal navigation had been fully established, Brindley found himself overwhelmed with busi- ness. His enthusiasm led him to undertake more than he could well attend to without encroaching on his constitution. He was destined to fall a martyr to the cause in which he was engaged. For some years previous to his death he suffered constantly from intermittent fever, aggravated, of course, by frequent exposure to moist, unwholesome atmospheres. His system became complete- ly worn out, and on the 27th of September, 1772, he died, in the fifty-sixth year of his age. The character of Brindley was quiet, modest, and unassuming. Devoted entirely to his occupations, and accustomed to find every resource within himself, he did not cultivate society, or feel much at home in it. His appearance was rather against him than oth- erwise, being boorish and provincial ; but his conversation is de- scribed as pleasing, and strongly colored with the warm imagina- tion of a man who would not see an impossibility. During the latter years of his life, his whole soul was absorbed in specula- JAMES BRINDLEY. 499 tions respecting canals ; lie meditated on them not only by day, but dreamed of them by night. Most of his schemes were remark- able for their vastness and practicability, but, in common with other ingenious men, he had his wild dreams of the impracticable. To this order belonged his scheme for uniting Ireland to England by means of a navigable canal. He had such faith in aqueducts that he believed even the sea might be spanned by them. A funny circumstance is recorded concerning the fixity of his ideas on these subjects. While he was under examination before a committee of the House of Commons, he spoke so slightingly of rivers that a member asked him for what purpose he supposed them to have been created. "To feed navigable canals," replied Brindley. Once, and but once in his life, he saw a play. It happened while he was in London, and for several days afterward he complained that it had confused his ideas and unfitted him for business. So strong and disagreeable was the effect produced, that he declared nothing on earth should ever induce him to see another play. When any extraordinary difficulty occurred to Mr. Brindley in the execution of his works, having little or no assistance from books, or the labors of other men, his resources lay within him- self. In order, therefore, to be quiet and uninterrupted while he was in search of the necessary expedients, he generally retired to his bed ; and he has been known to lie there one, two, or three days, till he had attained the object in view. He would then get up, and execute his design without any drawing or model. Indeed, it never was his custom to make either, unless he was obliged to do it to satisfy his employers. His memoiy was so re- markable, that he often declared he could remember and execute all the parts of the most complex machine, provided he had time, in his survey of it, to settle in his mind the several departments, and their relations to each other. His method of calculating the powers of any machine invented by him was peculiar to himself. He worked the question for some time in his head, and then put down the results in figures. After this, taking it up again in this stage, he worked it further in his mind for a certain time, and set down the results as before. In the same way he still proceeded, making use of figures only at stated periods of the question. Yet the ultimate result was generally true, though the road he trav- eled in search of it was unknown to any one but himself; and perhaps it would not have been in his power to have shown it to another. THOMAS HOLCKOFT was the son of a shoemaker, and was born in London on the 10th of December, 1745. The paternal Holcroft was, in many respects, a remarkable character. He possessed a passion for making experiments in "all sorts of businesses ; he dealt in greens and oysters as well as shoes, and, finding that this was not suffi- cient, he added the undignified calling of horse-dealer. For this latter business he conceived a strong affection, which manifested itself in an ardent desire to teach Master Thomas to ride. When the latter was very young, his father discarded his petticoats, and placed him in pantaloons, in order that he might straddle a horse in the proper way. One accomplishment led to another. The elder Holcroft conceived a fresh notion that his son was a great musical genius, and immediately placed him under the tuition of a violin player. What progress he made in the instrument is unknown, but he says himself that at the age of seven he had wholly forgotten all he had learned. About this time a change took place in his father's circum- stances, and he left London in great embarrassment. The fam- THOMAS HOLCROFT. 501 ily removed to Berkshire, where Thomas obtained a small amount of schooling. This was the most remarkable era in his life, and he notes it with enthusiasm. He made such rapid progress, and gave such extraordinary evidence of a remarkable memory, that his father was completely astonished, and made him a show-child. He imposed heavy tasks on him too, and set him eleven chapters of the Bible to learn every day. A neighboring farmer caught the youth with his Bible in his hand, and asked him if he could read already. Holcroft answered yes, began at the place where the book was open, read fluently, and afterward told him that, if he pleased, he should hear the tenth chapter of Nehemiah. At this the farmer seemed still more amazed, and, wishing to be convinced, bade him read. After listening till he found he could really pronounce the uncouth Hebrew names so much better and more easily than he supposed to be within the power of so young a child, he patted his head, gave him a penny, and said he was an uncommon boy. " It would be hard to say," writes Holcroft, " whether his praise or his gift was the most flattering to me." After a short residence in Berkshire, Holcroft's family led a wandering sort of life, and eventually settled once more in Lon- don, in very straitened circumstances. So poor were they, in- deed, that Mrs. Holcroft had to turn peddler, and vended pins, nee- dles, tape, etc., through the streets, accompanied by her son, who trotted after her. Notwithstanding these exertions, it seemed impossible to make a living in the metropolis, and the family started on a peddling tour through the provinces. They came at length to a village which Holcroft thought remarkably clean, and which Mr. Holcroft pronounced to be the handsomest in the king- dom. " We must haye been very poor at this time," says the au- thor, " for it was here that I was sent one day by myself to beg from house to house. Young as I was, I had considerable readi- ness in making out a story, and on this day my little inventive faculties shone forth with much brilliancy. I told one story at one house, and another at another, and continued to vary my tale just as the suggestions arose. The consequence was, I moved the good people exceedingly. One called me a poor fatherless child ; another exclaimed, ' What a pity ! I had so much sense ;' a third patted me on the head, and prayed God to bless me, that I might make a good man. The result of this expedition was that I brought away as much as I could carry to the place of 502 SELF-MADE MEN. rendezvous appointed by my parents. There I astonished them by again reciting the false tales I had so readily invented. My father seemed greatly alarmed, and, fearing that I was in danger of growing up a liar and a vagrant, declared I should never go on such errands again." It was fortunate for Holcroft that he had such a father. Indeed, this parent, although eccentric in the ex- treme, and of decidedly vagrant habits, was a good man, and at all times and in all places made his son repeat his prayers and catechism morning and night, and on Sundays read the prayer- book and Bible. He was fond of exercising his son's memory. On one occasion, a copy of the celebrated ballad, " Chevy Chase," came into his possession. " Well, Tom, can you get that song by heart V he asked. The boy replied yes, and was then promised a bribe of a halfpenny if he committed it in three days. The task was performed (like many others of a similar kind), and Tom be- came a wealthy man in his own estimation. The next business in which we find Mr. Holcroft was that of carrier. He procured two or three asses, and Tom was set to drive them from place to place. In this employment he suffered many hardships and privations. The bad nourishment he met with, the cold and wretched manner in which he was clothed, and the excessive weariness he endured in following the animals day after day, and being obliged to drive creatures perhaps still more weary than himself, were miseries much too great for his lit- tle heart, and filled it with sorrows which he remembered poign- antly years and years afterward. At times he had to travel great distances on foot, and in one instance walked thirty miles. When near the end of this wearisome journey, his little legs refused to carry him farther, and a kind countryman picked him up and carried him to his destination. When he was about twelve years of age he obtained a situation as stable-boy at Newmarket, and entered on what he calls " a new existence." Being new to the trade, a good many tricks were played off on him. "I do not recollect one half of the tricks that are played off upon new-comers," he writes, "but that with which they begin, if I do not mistake, is to persuade their victim that the first thing necessary for a well-trained stable-boy is to borrow as many vests as he can, and in the morning, after he has dressed and fed his horse, to put them all on, take a race of two or three miles, return home, strip himself stark naked, and immediately THOMAS HOLCROFT. 503 be covered up in a warm dunghill, which is the method, they assure him, which the grooms take when they sweat themselves down to ride a race. Should the poor fellow follow these direc- tions, they conclude the joke with pails full of cold water, which stand ready for the purpose of cooling off. Another of their diver- sions used to be that of hunting the owl. To hunt the owl is to persuade a booby that there is an owl found at roost in a corner of the farm ; that a ladder must be placed against a hole, through which, when the persons shall be pleased to hoot and hunt him, as they call it, he must necessarily fly, as the door is shut, and every other outlet closed ; that the boy selected to catch the owl must mount the ladder on the outside, and the purblind animal, they say, will fly directly into his hat. The poor candidate for sport mounts to his place, thoughtless of any thing but fun. The chaps within, laughing and shouting, pretend to drive the ill-starred bird nearer and nearer to the hole, when all at once they discharge the contents of pails and tubs upon the devoted head of the expect- ing owl-catcher, who is generally precipitated in fright and terror from the ladder into some soft, but not very agreeable preparation below." Against these traps for the unwary young Hoi croft re- ceived timely warning, and averted their dire effects. He remain- ed in this employment for upAvard of three years. The life of a stable-boy in a sporting town is not calculated to develop any latent literary ability that he may happen to possess, but young Holcroft found time to read a few books. Swift and Addison afforded him much delight, and books of piety, if the author were but inspired with zeal, fixed his attention wherever he met with them. John Bunyan he ranked among the most divine authors he had ever read. He contrived to improve his education too, and out of his scanty income (four pounds a year) paid five shil- lings a quarter for singing lessons, and five shillings a quarter for instruction in arithmetic. The former he practiced in a hayloft, the latter he studied with an old nail and the back of the stable door. In the mean time Mr. Holcroft had established himself in Lon- don, and was once more at work in his cobbler's stall. Tom made up his mind to abandon stable-life and repair to the me- tropolis. He despised his companions for the grossness of their ideas, and the total absence of every pursuit in which the mind had any share. The little knowledge he possessed exposed him 504 SELF-MADE MEN. to their ridicule : this he could avoid in the quiet shop of his fa- ther. He carried out his idea ; arrived in London, learned his father's business, and became an expert workman. He could command the highest wages, but did not become rich. Every penny he could spare was spent in the purchase of books, and a great deal of time was consumed in mastering their contents. In 1765 Mr. Holcroft married, and soon after opened a school for teaching, children to read in Liverpool. Not being successful in this undertaking, he abandoned it, and returned to London. Once more he resumed the shoemaking business ; but its sedentary nature injured his health, and brought on a return of his old en- emy, asthma, a complaint with which he had been troubled from youth. He was compelled to quit the bench, and seek other and more congenial employment. With this object, in view, he repeat- ed his Liverpool experiment and opened a school, but with no better luck. After living three months on potatoes and butter- milk, and having only one scholar, he discontinued his labors. About this time he commenced his literary career. A few es- says from his pen found their way into the Evening Post, and the editor paid him for them at the rate of five shillings a column ; not a large remuneration, but grateful to the feelings and wel- come to the pocket of the young author. His means were now at their lowest ebb, and he was compelled to take a situation in the family of Granville Sharpe. He did not retain this long, for his habits were not the habits of a servant. Thrown out of em- ployment, and reduced to a state of the extremest poverty, he was on the point of embarking for British India as a common soldier in the ranks of the Indian army, when a friend persuaded him to join a band of strolling players. With this company he traversed Ireland, where he first appeared on the stage, and every part of England. His success was not extraordinary, and, as a general thing, he received more censure than praise ; but, for want of bet- ter employment, he continued in the profession for seven or eight years, suffering much misery, and at times almost reduced to a state of starvation. Only one advantage accrued from his con- nection with the players : he was able to prosecute a successful course of reading, and make himself extensively acquainted with English literature. What was of immediate advantage to him was the acquaintance he succeeded in forming with Garrick, the famous actor, and Mrs. Siddons. With such associations, his THOMAS HOLCROFT. 505 thoughts naturally took one direction. He became ambitious to write for the stage. Some early compositions, of little merit, were favorably received, and he persevered. A farce, called the " Crisis," achieved a decided success, and from this time he con- tinued to apply himself unceasingly to literary pursuits. He be- came eminent as a dramatist, and wrote extensively for the book- sellers. In the interest of the latter he went to France, and made several translatious of works which he selected for the purpose. His knowledge of the French language and of German, howsoever picked up, was perfect. Among the important works which he translated were the writings of Frederick the Great, in twelve large volumes, and the curious and entertaining works of Lavater, the celebrated physiognomist of Germany. His contributions to the stage were numerous, and one work in particular, " The Road to Rum," carried his fame to all corners of the world where the En- glish language was spoken. It is a favorite with American au- diences to the present day, and is a commendable work in every respect. During his stay in France Mr. Holcroft imbibed much of the liberalism of the day, and when he returned to England became an active reformer. He wrote much for the people, and contrib- uted largely to the alarm of the government — an alarm which re- sulted in the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act (1794). Infor- mations were filed against Holcroft and eleven of his associates, and they were seized and committed to the Tower to await their trial on a charge of high treason. In October the trials came on at the Old Bailey. The day had arrived when the great ques^- tion whether the people were to have any share in the govern- ment, even to speak against its abuse or in favor of its reform, was to be decided. Thomas Hardy, a celebrated English demo- crat, was the first placed in the dock. Mr. Erskine was his coun- sel, and for seven hours he harangued the jury with matchless eloquence. " I claim no merit with the prisoner for my zeal," he said, in his peroration ; " it proceeds from a selfish principle inhe- rent in the human heart. I am counsel, gentlemen, for myself. In every word I utter, I feel that I am pleading for the safety of my own life, for the lives of my children after me, for the happi- ness of my country, and for the universal condition of civil soci- ety throughout the world." Excitement was at its height, and the crown yielded. The prisoners were ordered to be set at lib- Y 506 SELF-MADE MEN. erty ; " the acclamations of the Old Bailey reverberated from the farthest shores of Scotland, and a whole people felt the enthusi- astic transports of recovered freedom." Holcroft continued his efforts in the cause of constitutional reform without farther mo- lestation. The remainder of Holcroft' s life was passed in arduous literary labor. He visited Hamburg and Paris, where he made researches in various departments of letters. In the latter capital he re- mained about two years, and subsequently published an elaborate work concerning it, which enjoys a high position in literature. He was methodical and industrious, and accomplished great tasks with ease and completeness. His mental activity was extraordi- nary — so excessive, at times, that it interfered with his general health ; but his intellect remained unimpaired to the last, and he died in March, 1804, in his sixty-ninth year. The life of Thom- as Holcroft is calculated (we quote his own words) " to excite an ardent emulation in the breasts of youthful readers, by showing them how difficulties may be endured, how they may be over- come, and how they may at last contribute, as a school of instruc- tion, to bring forth hidden talent." ROBERT BLOOMFIELD, who has been described as the "most spiritual shoemaker that ever handled an awl," was born in the county of Suffolk, England, in the year of freedom, 1776. His parents were in extremely poor circumstances, and at an early age his father died. To provide the means of support for herself and children, Mrs. Bloomfield opened a small school in the village, and it was under her roof that Robert gained most of the knowledge he possessed. For a few months he went to an academy of a better kind, but a single quarter was probably the extent of his course. When Robert was eleven years of age he went to live with his uncle, Mr. Austin, a reputable farmer, who treated him kindly, but paid him no wages. His mother supplied him with clothes so long as she was able, but was at length compelled to look to two elder sons, who were shoemakers in London, to assist her. She accordingly wrote to them upon the subject, and it was at length resolved that Robert should go to London, where one brother promised to initiate him into the mysteries of St. Crispin, 508 SELF-MADE MEN. and the other to clothe and support him until he was able to gain his own living. The mother was pleased with this arrangement, and made a pilgrimage to great smoky 1 London in order to place her darling boy in the custody of his elder brothers. She charged them, as they valued a mother's blessing, to set good examples for him, and "never to forget that he had lost his father." The brothers were in humble circumstances, and lodged and labored in a little garret, which served them for every purpose. " As we were all single men lodgers at a shilling per week, our beds were coarse, and all things far from being clean and snug, •like what Robert had been accustomed to at home. Robert was our man to fetch all things to hand. At noon he brought our dinners from the cook-shop, and any one of our fellow-workmen that wanted to have any thing brought in would send Robert, and assist in his work, and teach him, as a recompense for his trouble. Every day, when the boy from the public house came for the pew- ter pots, and to learn what porter was wanted, he always brought the yesterday's newspaper. The reading of this newspaper we had been used to take by turns, but, after Robert came, he mostly read for us, because his time was of the least value." The task was an agreeable one, but not unattended with difficulty. The little fellow tumbled across words which he had never read before, and which bothered him immensely. His brother George took compassion on his perplexity, and bought a Dictionary, for which he paid the enormous sum of fourpence. Robert soon became master of its contents, and was able to read the newspaper with- out impediment. He was considered so good that the workmen got books for him to read to them. " I, at this time," says George Bloomfield, "read the London Magazine, and in that work about two sheets were set apart for a review. Robert seemed always eager to read this review. Here he could see what the literary men were doing, and learn how to judge of the merits of the works which came out, and I observed that he always looked at the Poet's Corner. One day he repeated a long song which he had composed to an old tune. I was much surprised that he should make such smooth verses, so I persuaded him to try whether the editor of our paper would give them a place in the Poet's Corner. He succeeded, and they were printed." After this success he contributed a number of pieces to the same magazine, and felt all the exaltation which a young author may be expected to expe- ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. 509 rience under such circumstances. His mind seemed to act with redoubled activity, and his powers increased with every fresh ef- fort, as the true literary mind is sure to do. Shortly after this Robert changed his lodgings, and was thrown into the society of a man of the name of Kay, who, being a read- er himself, possessed several books, among which were " The Sea- sons," " Paradise Lost," and some novels. The first was Robert's especial delight, and he perused and reperused it until he had it nearly by heart. It was to this work that he was indebted for his idea of the "Farmer's Boy," a poem to which Bloomfield owes his reputation. In his eighteenth year he paid a visit to his native place, and the tutored eye of the poet discovered new beau- ties* in the scenes which had surrounded him from youth, and which came back to him with a freshness and vigor indescribable. He returned to London, and subsided for a while into his usual occupations. He made an arrangement with the landlord of his brothers, who was also a shoemaker, and became his apprentice. Not only did he apply himself diligently to the duties of his sta- tion, but with some enthusiasm. He became an excellent work- man, and worked hard for many years. His amusements were reading, music, and the composition of verses. Being now in a position to marry, he selected an appropriate helpmate and removed to Coleman Street, where, in the garret, he followed his trade, as one among many journeymen. There, amid the din of hammers and voices, the noise and confusion of thoughtless men, the jokes and sneers of the illiterate, Robert Bloomfield composed his great poem, the " Farmer's Boy." Flav- ing no facilities for writing, he composed and remembered about six hundred lines before he put a single word to paper. At length the manuscript was finished, and the author, palpitating with anxiety, commenced his tour of the publishers, but no one would undertake its publication. The obscurity of the author and the length of the poem alike contributed to this result. The editor of the " Monthly Magazine" gives the following account of Rob- ert's visit to his office : "He brought his poem to our office, and, though his unpolished appearance, his coarse handwriting, and wretched orthography afforded no prospect that his production could be printed, yet he found attention by his repeated calls, and by the humility of his expectations, which were limited to half a dozen copies of the Magazine. At length, on his name being 510 SELF-MADE MEN. mentioned where a literary gentleman, particularly conversant in rural economy, happened to be present, the poem was finally ex- amined, and its general aspect excited the risibility of that gen- tleman in so pointed a manner, that Bloomfield was called into the room, and exhorted not to waste his time and neglect his em- ployment in making vain attempts, and particularly in treading on ground which Thomson had sanctified. His earnestness and confidence, however, led the editor to advise him to consult his countryman, Mr. Capel LofFt, to whom he gave him a letter of introduction. On his departure, the gentleman present warmly complimented the editor on the sound advice which he had given the poor fellow, and it was naturally conceived that an industri- ous man was thereby likely to be saved from a ruinous infatua- tion." Undismayed by this cold treatment, Bloomfield hurried off with his manuscript to Mr. LofFt. That gentleman took the trouble of examining the poem, and did not throw it down with disgust when he came to a badly-spelled word (stumbling-blocks of a very frequent kind in Bloomfield' s manuscript). Mr. Lofft declared the poem to be eminently worthy of publication, and exerted him- self in procuring a publisher so successfully, that Messrs. Vernor and Hood purchased the manuscript for fifty pounds. Bloomfield was astonished. He had offered it to the Monthly Magazine for five or six copies of that cheerful publication. The poem made its appearance in due time, and achieved an immediate success. Several editions were issued in rapid succession, and in a short time upward of twenty-five thousand copies were disposed of. The publishers behaved generously to the author (considering that he had no farther claim upon them), and presented him with a check for £200. In addition to this, he received much kindness from persons in position. The Duke of Grafton presented him with a life annuity of a shilling a day, and obtained for him a sit- uation in a government office ; but ill health compelled him to relinquish it, and return to an avocation to which his constitu- tion had become better accustomed. Subsequently he made an unsuccessful effort to establish himself in the bookselling busi- ness. By this failure he lost the little money he had accumu- lated, and was reduced to poverty. Continued ill health added to his distress, and for many long years he dragged out a sickly existence, "as miserable," says Professor Wilson, "as the exist- ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. 511 ence of a good man can be made by the narrowest circumstances." After much bodily suffering, aggravated by the causes we have mentioned, Kobert Bloomfield died on the 19th of August, 1823, at the age of fifty-seven years. He left a widow and four chil- dren, and debts to the amount of £200, which sum was raised by the exertions of his benevolent friends and admirers, among whom was the poet-laureate Sou they. The works of Bloomfield are pervaded with the most amiable and benevolent feeling. In his descriptions he is simple, natural, and pathetic. He is always alive to the pure suggestions of na- ture, and his sentiments are lofty, virtuous, and healthful, with- out being strained and spasmodic. English literature is indebted to him for one of the finest poems illustrative of English rural life. The merit of the " Farmer's Boy" has been recognized and endorsed by the literary world in the most ample manner. It has been published and republished in every form, and maintains its position to the present day. An edition was published in Germany the year following its first appearance in London. At Paris, a translation, entitled "Le Valet du Fermier," was made by Etienne Allard ; one was made into Italian ; and in 1805, an ex- tremely curious edition in Latin was published in London, with the title " ' Agricolae Puer, poema Eoberti Bloomfield celeberrimum, in versus Latinos redditum,' auctore Gulielmo Clubbe, LL.D." Bloomfield's subsequent publications fully maintained the reputa- tion achieved by his first. In his " Rural Tales, Ballads, and Songs," his " Good Tidings, or News from the Farm," his " Wild Flowers," and his "Banks of the Wye," will be found exquisite touches of poetic beauty. SIE EICHAKD AKKWKIGHT. Three quarters of a century ago, a man was splendidly dressed if he displayed a linen shirt, and a woman felt proud of her neat ankles if she could show them in spotless cotton hose. Woolen habiliments were the order of the day. The nimble fingers of the domestic circle fabricated all that was needful for the adorn- ment of the person. In the long winter nights, the humming of the spinning-wheel was heard in every cottage home, and tales of love were whispered to its music, and mighty meshes were thrown around gallant hearts. In those days, the possession of a town- bought skirt or coat was evidence of wealth, and the happy own- er became the object of public curiosity. Critical damsels exam- ined the weft and the woof with exact eyes, and failed not, on the first opportunity, to imitate their excellence. England was cele- brated then as now for her manufactures. Her woolen goods were sent to all parts of the world, and were marvels of neatness and durability. In 1764, the total value of exported English cot- ton goods was little beyond two hundred thousand pounds, while that of woolen was more than ten times the amount. In the SIR RICHARD ARKWRIGHT. 513 present day the case is precisely and wonderfully reversed. The woolen manufactures have sunk down to comparative unimport- ance, and the cotton manufactures have become the staple of the kingdom, employing directly and indirectly millions of men, wom- en, and children, and yielding an enormous revenue to the country. Richard Arkwright, the subject of this memoir, was the illus- trious and memorable instrument that effected this great and as- tonishing change, and gave to his country an importance which it is scarcely possible it would have obtained but for his genius. Toward the end of the seventeenth century the demand for cot- ton goods began to increase, and, owing to the difficulty of pro- duction, far exceeded the supply. The English cottons in those days had only the weft of cotton, the warp or longitudinal threads of the cloth being of linen. No one dreamed of making the latter of cotton, because, by hand-labor, it was impossible to make the thread strong enough for the purpose. Notwithstanding these drawbacks, the demand for cotton goods kept on steadily increas- ing. It was natural, therefore, that the manufacturers should en- deavor to find out a means whereby a greater supply could be ob- tained with less difficulty and labor, and, consequently, at a less expense. Machinery was, of course, thought of, and many inge- nious men set their wits to work to discover a way to spin several threads at one and the same time, instead of slowly twisting a thread. About the year 1764, Mr. Hargreaves, a native of Black- burn, in Lancashire, succeeded in producing a machine — since called the spinning-jenny — whereby the object desired could be effected. For this piece of ingenuity Hargreaves was rewarded by a mob, who broke into his house and destroyed his machine. The outrage was repeated several times, but in the end the spin- ning-jenny gained the day. So far one of the principal obstacles of the manufacture was removed; but Hargreaves's invention, al- though highly valuable, was still insufficient. It could not give to the warp the hardness and firmness which it required, and which Arkwright succeeded in effecting. It is necessary to men- tion these things before proceeding with our memoir. Richard Arkwright was the son of poor parents, and the young- est of a family of thirteen. He was born on the 23d of Decem- ber, 1732, at Preston, in Lancashire, England. The indigent cir- cumstances of his parents rendered it impossible for them to be- stow on their son even a simple education. It was not until late Y 2 514 SELF-MADE MEN. in life that he learned to read and write. He was brought up to the humble profession of barber, and established himself at Bol- ton. It is probable that he followed this vocation for many years. The class of customers he had was not likely to enrich him in a very rapid manner. It is said that he occupied an underground cellar, and put up a sign at the entrance, on which was inscribed, "Come to the subterraneous barber; he shaves for a penny." This invitation was so attractive in those days that his customers became numerous, and the other barbers of the place found that to compete with Arkwright they must reduce their prices to his standard. Arkwright was not to be outdone. He made another reduction, and startled the town with the promise of "a clean shave for a halfpenny." In the year 1760-61 he gave up his cel- lar, and became an itinerant dealer in hair. Wigs were then gen- erally worn, and the immense quantity of hair which was required for them was collected by men who devoted themselves to the business, and traveled from place to place. This enterprise turned out a very profitable one, and in a few years he succeeded in col- lecting a little property. It was something more than good for- tune that enabled him to do so. He had succeeded in making a new chemical hair dye, and, by using it adroitly, was able to please all his customers, and supply all demands. Arkwright experi- enced no scarcity of peculiar colors. Arkwright had a strong bent for mechanics ; and, now that he had a little leisure time and sufficient money, he devoted himself to mechanical experiments. They were, unfortunately, directed to a fallacious point — the discovery of perpetual motion — and made such inroads into his funds that in a short time, although a burgess of Preston, he was reduced to a state of poverty. Plis wife, impatient at what she conceived to be a wanton waste of time and money, seized some of his models and destroyed them, hoping thus to remove forever the cause of their privations. She committed a fatal error. Arkwright could never excuse or for- give such a wanton piece of cruelty, and shortly afterward sep- arated from her in consequence of it. In 1767 Arkwright became acquainted at Warrington with a man named Kay, a clockmaker, who assisted our hero in con- structing some portions of his perpetual motion machinery, and afterward in making parts of other machines to which Arkwright's attention was at this time directed. His connection with Kay SIR RICHARD ARKWRIGHT. 515 turned out very unfortunate, and for a time had an injurious ef- fect on his reputation. Kay, many years after, having been dis- missed from Arkwright's employment, abused his employer in a merciless manner, and even went so far as to state, in a court of law, that his so-called inventions were only plagiarisms on inven- tions made by a man named Highs. After many mortifications and difficulties, Arkwright completed his first cotton machine, but, being without money, he was still at a loss how to bring it into use. He determined on making an ef- fort in his native town, Preston. To Preston, therefore, he re- paired, and his machine was fitted up in the parlor of the gram- mar school-house. To bring forward a labor-saving machine in a town where every man, woman, and child lived by the exercise of manual labor, was a dangerous experiment. The fate of poor Hargreaves was before Arkwright, and, as the indignation of the mob began to find expression, he wisely determined on packing up his machine, and carrying it to some less dangerous locality. In company with Kay, our hero removed to Nottingham. He was here fortunate enough to secure the co-operation of men of capi- tal, who were shrewd enough to see the manifold advantages of his invention. A partnership was entered into between Need, Strutt, and Arkwright, and in 1769 the latter obtained for his invention the expensive protection of letters patent. In later years he obtained several other patents, and it will be well to ex- plain here for what they were obtained. The machinery which they protected consisted of various parts, his second specification enumerating no fewer than ten different contrivances. The most important of these was a device for drawing out the cotton from a coarse thread to one perfectly fine and hard, thus rendering it fit for warp as well as weft. Nothing could be more beautiful or more effective than this contrivance, which, with an additional provision for giving the proper twist to the thread, constitutes what is called the water-frame or throstle. Arkwright claimed this as his own invention, admitting, with regard to some of the other parts, that he was rather the improver than the inventor. The original spinning machine for coarse thread — called the spin- ning-jenny — he acknowledged to be the invention of Hargreaves, but the water-frame or throstle, and all the other ingenious com- binations whereby mechanical spinning was perfected and ren- dered infallible, belonged to him, and he felt justified in obtain- 516 SELF-MADE MEN. ing patents for them. Any one who has been in a cotton fac- tory, and observed the marvelous precision with which the deli- cately-elaborated machinery performs its various functions, can understand what kind of application, energy, talent, and genius were needed to bring it to its present perfection. It was not the inspiration of a moment, but the application of years that tri- umphed over the roughness of mechanical motion. Even after he had succeeded in forming his partnership with Messrs. Need and Strutt, his success was far from being secured. For a long time the speculation was unprofitable and disheartening. He tells us himself that it did not begin to pay till it had been per- severed in for five years, and had swallowed up a capital of more than twelve thousand pounds. The first spinning machine on Arkwright's plan was erected at Nottingham, and was worked by horse-power. This being found insufficient, water was resorted to ; and in 1771, a factory on a far larger scale than the first was built on the River Derwent, at Cromford, near Wirks worth, in Derbyshire ; from this circum- stance the machine received its name of the water-frame and the thread-water-twist. Now commenced Arkwright's persecutions. While there was nothing to be snatched from him, people were glad enough to give him the hand of fellowship ; but so soon as the halfpenny barber raised himself above the commonest chin, every one was ready to aim a blow at him. The easiest way of doing this was to assail the originality of his contrivances, and to assert they were all more or less plagiarized from others. The Lancashire cotton manufacturers were, of course, anxious to over- throw Arkwright, and to dispose of a powerful rival. They re- fused to buy his materials, although confessedly the best in the market, and by a series of petty but vexatious oppositions, did every thing in their power to make Arkwright and his associates unpopular with the trade, with the public, and with the working community. In 1779 this spitefulness bore fruits. The mob rose in arms against machinery, and prowled about the manufac- turing districts, destroying all they could find. A large mill built by Arkwright at Birkacre, near Chorley, was destroyed by a mob, in the presence of a powerful body of police and military, without any of the civil authorities requiring their interference to prevent the outrage, The inmates defended the mill as long as they were able, and on the first day drove the rioters back, with the loss of SIR RICHARD ARKWRIGHT. 517 two men killed and eight wounded. It was not till the latter re- turned with greatly increased numbers that they accomplished their purpose. Nor was this the only blow he suffered. Man- ufacturers who used his machines, and paid for the privilege with a very ill grace, refused to do so any longer, on the old pretext that the inventions were not his. To put a stop to this, Ark- wright, in 1781, brought actions against the pirates. They de- fended themselves on the plea that the specification of the in- ventions was obscure and unintelligible, and consequently that the patent was void. No attempt was made to show that the in- ventions were not original. Their plea was valid in law, and, much to the disgust of all right-minded people, Arkwright lost the day. At first he thought of making an appeal to Parliament ; but, after preparing a case, which he submitted to the public, he abandoned this intention, but in 1785 brought another action against the infringers of his patent, and succeeded in getting a verdict. The cotton-spinners, who had been profiting by Ark- wright' s genius without giving him any thing in return, were greatly incensed. They formed powerful combinations against what they were pleased to call Arkwright's monopoly, and finally commenced proceedings against the patentee to try the validity cf his patent. They asserted that the patent was a great incon- venience to the public ; that when the patent was granted the in- vention was not a new one ; that the invention was not Ark- wright's, and that the specification was imperfect. The trial lasted from nine o'clock in the morning until half past twelve at night, and many witnesses were examined — among others, Kay, who said all he could to injure his former employer. Principally on the evidence of this man, the jury returned a verdict annihi- lating the patent, which Arkwright tried in vain to set aside. Thus, after years and years of steady application and thought, he found himself thrown on the mercy of his enemies, destitute of every kind of legal protection, and surrounded by men who were all too ready to thrust their hands into his pockets and his repu- tation, and leave him to perish, ruined and broken-hearted. But his enemies were doomed to grievous disappointment. Arkwright was made of stuff which did riot shrink with the spiteful sprink- lings of cold water. Goaded by injustice, he turned round on his enemies, and astonished them by an opposition which soon carried every thing before it. In a short time his partnership 518 SELF-MADE MEN. with Need and Strutt came to an end, and the mill at Cromford passed into his own hands. He connected himself with other manufactories, and soon obtained such a control of the trade that prices were fixed by him, and controlled all the other cotton-spin- ners. "The most marked traits in the character of Arkwright," says Mr. Baines, "were his wonderful ardor, energy, and perse- verance. He commonly labored in his multifarious concerns from five in the morning till nine at night ; and when considerably more than fifty years of age, feeling that the defects of his educa- tion placed him under great difficulty and inconvenience in con- ducting his correspondence and in the general management of his business, he encroached upon his sleep in order to gain an hour each day to learn English grammar, and another hour to improve his writing and orthography. He was a severe economist of time, and, that he might not waste a moment, he generally trav- eled with four horses, and at a very rapid speed. His concerns in Derbyshire, Lancashire, and Scotland were so extensive and numerous as to show at once his astonishing power of transacting business, and his all-grasping spirit. In many of these he had partners, but he generally managed in such a way that, whoever lost, he himself was a gainer. So unbounded was his confidence in the success of his machinery, and in the national wealth to be produced by it, that he would make light of discussions on taxa- tion, and say that he would pay the national debt. His specula- tive schemes were vast and daring ; he contemplated entering into the most extensive mercantile transactions, and buying up all the cotton in the world, in order to make an enormous profit by the monopoly." A man of such strength of character requires but little protec- tion. When once he has found the path to fortune, he is sure to pursue it to the temple of the goddess. He was able to lace all opposition, and to reap a rich reward for his ingenuity, in spite of the illiberality of the laws which refused him protection. In 1786 he was appointed high sheriff of Derbyshire, and for delivering an address to the king, suggested by the escape of that individual from assassination, received the trumpery honor of knighthood, and be- came Sir Eichard Arkwright. He did not long enjoy the distinc- tion which had thus fallen on him by chance. For many years he had suffered from that terrible malady, asthma. The seden- tary life which this demands, aggravated by incessant application SIR RICHARD ARKWRIGHT. 519 to business, brought on a complication of disorders, of which he died on the 3d of August, 1792, in the sixtieth year of his age. The fortune he left behind is said to have amounted to the sum of half a million sterling. Whatever may have been the objec- tions raised to his inventions during his lifetime, it is now uni- versally conceded that Arkwright succeeded in establishing the cotton manufactures in England, and in benefiting millions of human beings by giving them the means of honest employment. He also secured to his country its most important branch of com- merce by giving it machinery whereby it could excel other coun- tries in production, excellence, and cheapness. " No man," just- ly observes Mr. M'Culloch, " ever better deserved his good for- tune, or has a stronger claim on the respect and gratitude of pos- terity. His inventions have opened a new and boundless field of employment ; and while they have conferred infinitely more ben- efit on his native country than she could have derived from the absolute dominion of Mexico and Peru, they have been univer- sally productive of wealth and enjoyments." HENKY KIEKE WHITE. It is seldom that the life of a poet affords so unalloyed a pleas- ure as that furnished by the subject of this sketch. The pleasure is in the total absence of vice which it presents, and not in the career of the individual, for that was brief and unhappy. A more chaste and admirable man never lived. Henry Kirke White was the son of a butcher, and was born at Nottingham, England, on the 21st of March, 1785. From his earliest days he displayed the susceptibilities of a poetic tempera- ment, and was passionately fond of reading. " I could fancy," said his eldest sister, " I see him in his little chair, with a large book upon his knee, and my mother calling 'Henry, my love, come to dinner,' which was repeated so often without being re- garded that she was obliged to change the tone of her voice be- fore she could rouse him." At the age of six he was placed under the care of the Rev. John Blanchard, who kept the best school in Nottingham, where he learned writing, arithmetic, and French, and he continued there for several years. He was, even in those early days, a remarkable child. It is said that, when about seven, HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 521 lie was accustomed to go secretly into his father's kitchen, and teach the servant to read and write ; and, to encourage her, he composed a tale of a Swiss emigrant, which he gave her. In his eleventh year he wrote a separate theme for each of the twelve or fourteen boys in his class, and the excellence of the various pieces obtained his master's applause. Notwithstanding these indications of intellectual superiority, Henry's father insisted that he should be brought up to the butch- ering business. Even while he was at school, one day in every week, and his leisure hours on the others, were employed in carry- ing meat to his father's customers. Fortunately, his mother was not enamored of her husband's business, and, seeing the natural inclinations of her son, determined that they should not be utterly thwarted by a life which could not fail to be repulsive to his in- stincts. The alternative which she selected was scarcely better than the evil. Young Henry was placed at a stocking-loom, with the view of bringing him up to the hosiery business. His parents were still too poor to think of giving him a profession. It may be easily imagined that this new business failed to interest his imagination or satisfy his taste. He could not bear the idea, he says, of spending some years of his life in shining and folding U p stockings. He poured his complaints into the willing ear of his mother ; he wanted, he said, something to occupy his brain, and he should be wretched if he continued longer at this trade, or, indeed, in any thing except one of the learned professions. In an "Address to Contemplation," which he wrote at this time, he describes his feelings : "Why along The dusky track of commerce should I toil. When, with an easy competence content, I can alone be happy where, with thee, I may enjoy the loveliness of Nature, And loose the wings of fancy ? Thus alone Can I partake the happiness of earth ; And to be happy here is man's chief end, Eor to be happy he must needs be good." He continued his remonstrances so earnestly, and importuned so incessantly, that his parents at length obtained his release from the hosier's loom, and placed him in the office of Messrs. Coldham & Enfield, town clerk and attorneys of Nottingham, some time in 522 SELF-MADE MEN. May, 1799, he being in his fifteenth year at the time. These gentlemen required a premium, and, as his parents were too poor to pay the sum required, it was agreed that he should serve two years before his articles commenced. A few months after this arrangement had been entered into, Kirke White wrote to his brother in London, saying, "It is now nearly four months since I entered into Mr. Coldham's office, and it is with pleasure I can assure you that I never yet found any thing disagreeable, but, on the contrary, every thing I do seems a pleasure to me, and for a very obvious reason — it is a business which I like, a business which I chose above all others ; and I have two good-tempered, easy masters, but who will, nevertheless, see that their business is done in a neat and proper manner." "A man that under- stands the law is sure to have business ; and in case I have no thoughts — in case, that is, that I do not aspire to hold the honor- able place of a barrister, I shall feel sure of gaining a genteel live- lihood at the business to which I am articled." In his spare mo- ments at home and at the office he devoted his attention to Latin, and in ten months was able to read Horace with tolerable facility, and had even made some progress in Greek. Mr. Southey, in his admirable memoir of Kirke White, gives an astounding account of his mental application. Though living with his family, he nearly estranged himself from their society. At meals, and during the evenings, a book was constantly in his hands ; and as he refused to sup with them, to prevent any loss of time, his meal was sent to him in his little apartment. Law, Greek, Latin, Italian, Span- ish, and Portuguese, chemistry, astronomy, electricity, drawing, music, and mechanics, by turns engaged his attention, and, though his acquirements in some of these studies were very superficial, his proficiency in many of them was far from contemptible. His papers on law evince so much industry, that, had that subject alone occupied his leisure hours, his diligence would have been commendable. He was a tolerable Italian scholar, and in the classics he afterward attained reputation ; but of the sciences, and of Spanish and Portuguese, his knowledge was not, it may be inferred, very great. His ear for music was good, and, although he did not give much attention to the art, he could play pleasingly on the piano. It is said that he composed the base as he went on, which probably means that, like a good many other performers, he could do more with one hand than the other. HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 523 A man never devotes himself to intense study without a wor- thy object. White was determined to break loose from the fet- ters of iron fate, and to be the architect of his own fortunes in some high sphere of human usefulness. We have seen, in his letter to his brother, that he already aimed at forensic distinc- tion, as being preferable to the drudgery of the attorney's office. He regarded the law as a pursuit which might end in riches, but he had another which he hoped would terminate in honor. The Muses had been his companions from earliest childhood, and he wooed them now with the devotion of a serious, intelligent lover. The literary society of his native town was not extensive, but it made up for the paucity of its members by the dignity with which they comported themselves. They formed a learned asso- ciation, and excluded all rash enthusiasts from the privilege of membership. Several times was White refused admission within the charmed realms ; but at length the Fates were propitious, and he was appointed to the " Chair of Literature." White took his revenge by delivering an inauguration address of two hours and three quarters in length. A magazine, called the " Monthly Preceptor," was shortly aft- erward established, which proposed prize themes for young per- sons. Kirke White tried his hand with success, and carried off several of the prizes. After this he contributed to other period- icals. It was, as we have said, his hope to become a barrister or ad- vocate, and for this purpose he improved every opportunity. But a constitutional deafness now began to manifest itself, and sor- rowfully he had to admit to his own conscience that the imped- iment was fatal to his hopes of distinction. From conscientious motives, his thoughts were instantly turned toward the Church. His literary companions were all more or less inclined to De- ism, and this fact led to inquiries which terminated in full con- viction of religious truth. It is instructive, says Sir Harris Nic- olas, in his sketch, to learn to w r hat circumstances such a person as Kirke White was indebted for the knowledge il which causes not to err." This information occurs in a letter from him to a Mr. Booth in August, 1801 ; and it also fixes the date of the happy change that influenced every thought and every action of his future life, which gave the energy of virtue to his exertions, soothed the asperities of a temper naturally impetuous and irrita- 524 SELF-MADE MEN. ble, and enabled him, at a period when manhood was full of hope and promise, to view the approaches of death with the calmness of a philosopher and the resignation of a saint. After thanking Mr. Booth for the present of Jones's work on the Trinity, he thus describes his religious impressions previous to its perusal, and the effect it produced : " Religious polemics, indeed, have seldom formed a part of my studies ; though, whenever I happened acci- dentally to turn my thoughts to the subject of the Protestant doc- trine of the Godhead, and compared it with Arian and Socinian, many doubts interfered, and I even began to think that the more nicely the subject was investigated, the more perplexed it would appear, and was on the point of forming a resolution to go to heaven in my own way, without meddling or involving myself in the inextricable labyrinth of controversial dispute, when I re- ceived and perused this excellent treatise, which finally cleared up the mists which my ignorance had conjured around me, and clearly pointed out the real truth." From this moment he de- voted himself entirely to the services of religion, and determined to enter the ministry, if that happy promotion could be achieved. His friends were, of course, opposed to any change in his profes- sion, believing, as they had every reason to believe, that he would attain distinction in the law. But he was deaf to their remon- strances, and firm in his resolution to dedicate the rest of his life to the Church. The first thing that was absolutely necessary was to procure means to proceed to the University. For this purpose he ventured on the hazardous experiment of preparing a volume of poems for the press, the sale of which, he hoped, would place him in the possession of funds. Like all young authors of that time, he needed a patron or patroness to whom the book might be dedicated. He applied to the Countess of Derby, who declined on the ground that she never accepted a compliment of that character. Her ladyship probably looked on literature as a low, vulgar thing, beneath her consideration. He then addressed the Duchess of Devonshire, and a letter, with the manuscript, was left at her house. After a number of dis- heartening delays the required permission was granted, and the book came out in 1803. It is curious to know that, although a copy was transmitted to the duchess, she paid no attention to it, and neither rewarded the author with its price in kindness or money. The author was naturally nervous about his first pro- HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 525 duction, and sent imploring letters to the Reviewers, depreciating his own effort, and bespeaking a little kindliness. It is unneces- sary to add that this step was ill-judged and useless. It is no part of a Reviewer's duty to consult the feelings, be they modest or otherwise, of an author. The Monthly Review pitched into the young poet, and selected some of the worst lines to strengthen its position that the book did not justify any sanguine expecta- tions. White was sorely distressed by this article, and writing to a friend said, " I am at present under afflictions and conten- tions of spirit heavier than I ever yet experienced. I think at times I am mad, and destitute of religion ; my pride is not yet subdued ; the unfavorable review (the ' Monthly') of my unhap- py work has cut deeper than you could have thought, not in a literary point of view, but as it affects my respectability. It rep- resents me actually as a beggar, going about gathering money to put myself at college, when my book is worthless, and this with every appearance of candor. They have been sadly misinformed respecting me ; this Review goes before me wherever I turn my steps ; it haunts me incessantly, and I am persuaded it is an in- strument in the hands of Satan to drive me to distraction. I must leave Nottingham. If the answer of the Elland Society be unfavorable, I purpose writing to the Marquis of Wellesley, to offer myself as a student at the academy he has instituted at Fort William, in Bengal, and at the proper age to take orders there. The missionaries at that place have done wonders already ; and I should, I hope, be a valuable laborer in the vineyard. If the mar- quis take no notice of my application, or do not accede to my proposal, I shall place myself in some other way of making a meet preparation for the holy office, either in the Calvinistic Acad- emy, or in one of the Scotch universities, where I shall be able to live at scarcely any expense." The criticism referred to was un- just as it was ungenerous, and elicited from Mr. Southey, the poet, an encouraging letter, expressing his opinion of the merits of the book, and giving him some kind and timely advice. With the approbation of a man so distinguished, White thought no more of the Reviewer. " I dare not say all I feel respecting your opin- ion of my little volume," he wrote in reply. " The extreme acri- mony with which the Monthly Review (of all others the most im- portant) treated me, threw me into a state of stupefaction. I re- garded all that had passed as a dream, and I thought I had been 526 SELF-MADE MEN. deluding myself into an idea of possessing poetic genius, when, in fact, I had only the longing, without the afflatus. I mustered res- olution enough, however, to write spiritedly to them ; their an- swer, in the ensuing number, was a tacit acknowledgment that they had been somewhat too unsparing in their correction. It was a poor attempt to salve over a wound wantonly and ungen- erously inflicted. Still I was damped, because I knew the work was very respectable, and therefore could not, I concluded, give a criticism grossly deficient in equity, the more especially as I knew of no sort of inducement to extraordinary severity. Your letter, however, has revived me, and I do again venture to hope that I may still produce something which will survive me. With regard to your advice and offers of assistance, I will not attempt, because I am unable, to thank you for them. To-morrow morning I depart for Cambridge ; and I have considerable hopes that, as I do not enter into the University with any sinister or interested views, but sincerely desire to perform the duties of an affection- ate and vigilant pastor, and become more useful to mankind — I therefore have hopes, I say, that I shall find means of support in the University ; if I do not, I shall certainly act in pursuance of your recommendations, and shall, without hesitation, avail myself of your offers of service and of your directions. In a short time this will be determined, and when it is, I shall take the liberty of writing to you at Keswick, to make you acquainted with the re- sult." By the united efforts of his friends 3 White was presented with a sizarship at St. John's College, Cambridge. On the 10th of April, 1804, he expressed his gratification at this event in the fol- lowing devout strain : " Most fervently do I return thanks to God for this providential opening : it has breathed new animation into me, and my breast expands with the prospect of becoming the minister of Christ where I most desired it, but where I almost feared all probability of success was nearly at an end. * * * I re- turn thanks to God for keeping me so long in suspense, for I know it has been beneficial to my soul, and I feel a considerable trust that the way is now about to be made clear, and that my doubts and fears on this head will in due time be removed." As a preparation for the college course, White placed himself with a private tutor for a year, and, while under that gentleman's care, he studied with such indiscreet fervor that fears were excited not HENKY KIRKE WHITE. 527 for his health only, but for his intellect. On a former occasion he had brought on a severe attack of illness in the same way, and a similar penalty awaited him now. "I fear," he wrote, "my good genius, who was wont to visit me with nightly visions in woods and brakes, and by the river's marge, is now dying of a fen ague, and I shall thus, probably, emerge from my retreat, not a hair-brained son of imagination, but a sedate, black-letter- ed bookworm, with a head like an etymologicon magnum." He recovered after a while, and applied himself with great assidu- ity to the study of theology. In October, 1805, Kirke White became a resident member of St. John's College, Cambridge, and was soon distinguished for his classical knowledge ; but it was at a fearful sacrifice. By neglecting to provide for the healthful re- quirements of the body, he had so enfeebled it that the seeds of disease took easy root, and now, while on the threshold of fame, he found his footsteps totter and his mind grow numb. He was told that the only chance of prolonging his life was to fly to a milder climate, and abandon study altogether. Such advice was not likely to be valued by one who looked on fame as dearer than existence, and was willing to perish so long as he perished at the wheel. He continued his pursuits unintimidated by the warn- ings of his friends. During the first term he became a candidate for one of the University scholarships, but the increased exertion he underwent was attended by results that obliged him to retire from the contest. " At this moment," says his biographer, " the general college examination approached, and thinking that, if he failed, his hopes would be blasted forever, he taxed his energies to the utmost, during the fortnight which intervened, to meet the trial. He became so sick in consequence that he was considered unable to go to the hall to be examined. His tutor, Mr. Catton, touched by the tears of his pupil, urged him to use stimulants during the six days of the examination. He did so, and was pro- nounced the first man of his year. Soon after this event he went to London for relaxation, was received cordially in literary cir- cles, and returned to Cambridge in improved health. Unwarned by the past, he plunged into his old habits of study, and, as a necessary consequence, had a relapse. In a letter to a friend he describes his condition : " I have had a recurrence of my old com- plaint within this last four or five days, which has quite unnerved me for every thing. The state of my health is really miserable. 528 SELF-MADE MEN. I am well and lively in the morning, and overwhelmed with nerv- ous horrors in the evening. I do not know how to proceed with regard to my studies. A very slight overstretch of the mind in the daytime occasions me not only a sleepless night, but a night of gloom and horror. The systole and diastole of my heart seem to be playing at ball — the stake my life. I can only say the game is not yet decided ; I allude to the violence of the palpitation. I am going to mount the Gog-Magog Hills this morning in quest of a good night's sleep. The Gog-Magog Hills for my body, and the Bible for my mind, are my only medicines. I am sorry to say that neither are quite adequate." He rallied again, but seems to have been aware that his end was not far distant, and determ- ined to spend the next vacation at Nottingham. In April he proceeded to that town, and on the 7th wrote a very melancholy account of himself: "It seems determined upon by my mother that I can not be spared, since the time of my stay is so very short, and my health so very uncertain. The people here can scarcely be persuaded that any thing ails me, so well do I look ; but occasional depressions, especially after any thing has occurred to occasion uneasiness, still harass me. My mind is of a very peculiar cast. I began to think too early ; and the indulgence of certain trains of thought, and too free an exercise of the imagina- tion, have superinduced a morbid kind of sensibility, which is to the mind what excessive irritability is to the body. Some cir- cumstances occurred on my arrival. at Nottingham which gave me just cause for inquietude and anxiety ; the consequences were insomnia, and a relapse into causeless dejections. It is my busi- ness now to curb these irrational and immoderate affections, and, by accustoming myself to sober thought and cool reasoning, to re- strain these freaks and vagaries of the fancy. When I am well I can not help entertaining a sort of contempt for the weakness of mind which marks my indispositions. Titus when well, and Ti- tus when ill, are two distinct persons. The man when in health despises the man when ill for his weakness, and the latter envies the former for his felicity." On his return to college his pros- pects seemed to brighten in every thing save health. He was again pronounced first at the great examination ; he was one of the three best theme-writers, whose merits were so nearly equal that the examiners could not decide between them ; and he was a prizeman both in the mathematical and logical or general exam- HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 529 ination, and in Latin composition. His college offered him a pri- vate tutor free of expense, and Mr. Catton obtained exhibitions for him to the value of sixty-one pounds per annum, by which he was enabled to give up the pecuniary assistance he had received from his friends. The highest honors of the University were within his grasp, but it was ordained that death should stay his hand. In July he was seized with an attack which threatened his life, but from this he recovered. In September he went to London on a visit to his brother, but returned to college in a few weeks, in a state that precluded all chance of prolonging his exist- ence. Toward the middle of the month (October, 1806), a friend informed his brother of his actual state. He hastened to him, but when he arrived he was delirious, and, although reason re- turned for a short time, he sunk into a low state, and on Sunday, the 19th, quietly expired. He was in his twenty-second year at the time of the unhappy event. In whatever light, says Sir Harris Nicolas, the character of this unhappy youth be contemplated, it is full of instruction. His talents were unusually precocious, and their variety was as aston- ishing as their extent. Besides the poetical pieces which have given his name a lasting interest to English literature, and his scholastic attainments, his ability was manifested in various other ways. His style was remarkable for its clearness and elegance, and his correspondence and prose pieces show extensive informa- tion. To great genius and capacity he united the rarest and more important gifts of sound judgment and common sense. It is usually the misfortune of genius to invest ordinary objects with a meretricious coloring that perverts their forms and purposes, to make its possessor imagine that it exempts him from attending to those strict rules of moral conduct to which others are bound to adhere, and to render him neglectful of the sacred assurance that "to whom much is given from him will much be required." Nature, in Kirke White's case, appears, on the contrary, to have determined that she would, in one instance at least, prove that high intellectual attainments are strictly compatible with every social and moral virtue. At a very early period of his life religion became the predominant feeling of his mind, and she imparted her sober and chastened effects to all his thoughts and actions. The cherished object of every member of his family, he repaid their affection by the most anxious solicitude for their welfare, offering Z 530 SELF-MADE MEN. his advice on spiritual affairs with impressive earnestness, and indicating, in every letter of his voluminous correspondence, the greatest consideration for their feelings and happiness. For the last six years he deemed himself marked out for the service of his Maker — not like the member of a convent, whose duties consist only in prayer, but in the exercise of that philanthropy and prac- tical benevolence which ought to adorn every parish priest. To qualify himself properly for the holy office, he subjected his mind to the severest discipline ; and his letters display a rational piety and an enlightened view of religious obligations which is even superior to the fervor of his poetical pieces. Kirke White's sacred poetry is extensively known, and, being the best of its kind, will preserve a place in English literature. Its great merits are the feeling and natural pathos with which the author writes. He speaks directly from his heart so simply that all who have hearts must be touched. His command of language is copious, but he lacks imagination and metaphorical color. He is pathetic, plaintive, and agreeable, and recalls associations which most people have experienced and like to have recalled. That he touched a tuneful chord in the human breast is evidenced by the fact that his works have gone through many hundred editions, and are, perhaps, better read than any contemporary poet. Kirke White was buried in the church of " All Saints," Cam- bridge, and a tablet was erected to his memory by Mr. Francis Boot, of Boston, a liberal-minded American gentleman. The tab- let has a medallion by Chantrey, and an inscription by Professor Smyth, of which the following is a copy : "Warm'd with fond hope and learning's sacred flame, To Granta's bowers the youthful poet came ; Unconquer'd powers the immortal mind display'd, But, worn with anxious thought, the frame decay'd : Pale o'er his lamp, and in his cell retired, The martyr-student faded and expired. Oh ! genius, taste, and piety sincere, Too early lost 'midst studies too severe ! Foremost to mourn was generous Southey seen ; He told the tale, and show'd what White had been : Nor told in vain ; for o'er the Atlantic wave A wanderer came, and sought the poet's grave ; On yon lone stone he saw his lonely name, And raised this fond memorial to his fame." JAMES WATT. James Watt, the world's most illustrious mechanic, was born at Greenock, Scotland, on the 19th of January, 1736. His father enjoyed a good social position, and was held in high esteem by his fellow-townsmen, having been appointed one of the magistrates of the town. The subject of our memoir received the rudiments of his education in his native place, the delicacy of his health prohib- iting a resort to other and more distant academies. The natural studiousness of his disposition was perhaps increased by this weak- liness. Reading supplied the place of rougher and less serviceable exercises. So tenacious was his memory, that at a very early age he was well informed on many subjects of a scientific character, especially those branches which were connected more or less with mechanics. Except that he was a quiet, amiable, studious youth, we know nothing of any particular importance concerning the early years of his life. At the age of eighteen he was sent to London to be apprenticed to a maker of mathematical instru- ments, but, in little more than a year, the feebleness of his health compelled him to abandon this profession and return to 532 SELF-MADE MEN. his home. He appears to have had a liking for the business, however, and probably practiced it until he felt that he knew enough to start for himself. This he did at Glasgow in 1757, and was appointed mathematical instrument maker to the college. He retained this situation for many years, and was able greatly to improve himself in every department of knowledge. One of his principal occupations was the repairing of the scientific appa- ratus of the college. The dexterity with which he did this, and the amount of knowledge he possessed on most mechanical sub- jects, brought him into friendly contact with the various profess- ors. They met in his little room, and discussed subjects of nat- ural philosophy, and no doubt theorized largely on all the leading topics of the day. One of young Watt's most frequent visitors was Mr. (afterward Dr.) Robison, who at that time was specu- lating on the possibility of applying steam as a motive power to wheel carriages. Watt had himself made some experiments on the elasticity of steam, assured that vast forces were yet to be secured from it. The steam-engine was then but slightly known, and, owing to its many imperfections, still more slightly used. Some recent improvements made by Newcomen only served to indicate what might be accomplished. While the two friends were discussing the matter, a model was sent in to be repaired by the professor of natural philosophy. On examination, it proved to be a miniature copy of Newcomen's improved engine. This treasure was eagerly examined by Watt, and criticised with tech- nical exactitude. In a very little while he discovered the reason why the model would not work, and at the same time saw that, however admirably it might perform its functions, it was still an imperfect machine. With the view of remedying its defects, he commenced an extensive series of experiments. The boiler and the generation of steam were the first objects of his attention. He was soon rewarded with many valuable discoveries. The rapidity with which water evaporates, he found, depended on cer- tain causes which were before unknown to him. He also ascer- tained the quantity of coals necessary for the evaporation of any given quantity of water ; the heat at which water boils under various pressures, and many other particulars of a similar kind, many of which had never before been determined. When he had disposed of these questions, he turned his attention to the cylin- der, which he declared to be radically defective. In Newcomen's JAMES WATT. 533 engine, it had to be cooled after every stroke of the piston, in order to condense the waste steam. This was effected in an ingenious way, by the injection of a small jet of cold water into the cylinder, but it occasioned a great waste of power and an extravagant ex- penditure of fuel. If, argued Watt, the cylinder, instead of being thus cooled for every stroke of the piston, could be kept perma- nently hot, a fourth part of the heat which had been hitherto ap- plied would be found sufficient. The question now was how this desirable object could be accomplished. It was his constant theme, walking, sleeping, dreaming. All the faculties of his suggestive mind were directed to the solution of the great and important problem. After brooding over it for some time, he abandoned the idea of getting rid of the waste steam in the vessel where it had been nsed ; he could discover no possible way of doing so in a complete and thorough manner. The next question was how to dispose of it. At last it occurred to him that it might be pos- sible to draw it off into another vessel, and so got rid of without inconvenience. This happy idea was the first step toward the vast improvements which he afterward made. In the course of one or two days, according to his own account, he had all the apparatus arranged in his own mind. The plan was extremely simple, and on that account more practicable and valuable. He proposed to establish a communication by an open pipe between the cylinder and another vessel, the consequence of which evident- ly would be, that when the steam was admitted into the former, it would flow into the latter, so as to fill it also. If, then, the portion in this latter vessel only should be subjected to a con- densing process by being brought into contact with cold water, or any other convenient means, what would follow? Why, a vacuum would be produced, into which more steam would imme- diately rush from the cylinder ; that likewise would be condensed, and so the process would go on till all the steam had left the cylin- der. In this way, the main cylinder would be kept nearly at an equal temperature. When these views were tested by experiment, the result was found to answer Watt's most sanguine expectations. A great saving of fuel and a vast increase of power were effected. But the genius of the inventor had many serious obstacles to over- come. One of these was the difficulty of making the cylinder air- tight. In the old engines, this was effected by covering the top with water, the dripping down of which into the space below, 534 SELF-MADE MEN. where it merely assisted condensation, was of little importance, but, now that the condensation was carried on in a separate ves- sel, it became highly necessary to prevent any thing entering the cylinder except the virgin steam. The admission of air tended to cool the cylinder, especially in the lower parts, while Watt's great object was to keep it dry and warm, and at an equal temperature throughout. It must be remembered, also, that at this time the top of the cylinder was entirely open ; a column of steam thrust up the piston, and the weight of the atmosphere thrust it down again. It now occurred to Mr. Watt that the proper way to effect the object he had in view was to completely close the cylinder, leaving only room for the piston-rod to work up and down. The hole necessary for this purpose was padded with hemp and satu- rated with oil, so that the natural adhesion of atmospheric air to the piston-rod was wiped away in its descent downward. The next thing was to provide a compensating power for the atmos- pheric air, whose downward pressure had hitherto been essential to the action of the engine. This he accomplished by introducing a column of steam in the top of the cylinder, so that when the piston had been pressed up by the column from below, it was pressed down again by the column from above, and thus main- tained the regularity of its motions by a double-acting steam power. Some minor improvements were afterward added, but what we have described were the radical features of Mr. Watt's first and great reform. The strength, precision, velocity, and controllability of the steam-engine were by these great inventions rendered of practical benefit to the human race. It came into his hands a toy ; it left them a mighty instrument of beneficent Progress. The subsequent improvements made by Watt were equally val- uable and astonishing. Like a mighty lion-tamer, he seemed to delight in exhibiting the docility of the brute force he had sub- dued. "In the present perfect state of the engine," says Dr. Ar- nott, in his Elements of Physics, "it appears a thing almost en- dowed with intelligence. It regulates with perfect accuracy and uniformity the number of its strokes in a given time, counting, or recording them, moreover, to tell how much work it has done, as a clock records the beats of its pendulum. It regulates the quan- tity of steam admitted to work ; the briskness of the fire ; the sup- ply of water to the boiler ; the supply of coals to the fire ; it opens and shuts its valves with absolute precision as to time and manner ; JAMES WATT. 535 it oils its joints; it takes out any air which may accidentally enter into parts which should be vacuous ; and, when any thing goes wrong which it can not of itself rectify, it warns its attendants by ringing a bell. Yet, with all these talents and qualities, and even when exerting the power of six hundred horses, it is obedient to the hand of a child. Its aliment is coal, wood, charcoal, or other combustible ; it consumes none while idle ; it never tires, and wants no sleep ; it is not subject to malady when originally well made, and only refuses to work when worn out with old age ; it is equally active in all climates, and will do work of any kind ; it is a water-pumper, a miner, a sailor, a cotton-spinner, a weav- er, a blacksmith, a miller, etc., etc. ; and a small engine in the character of a steam pony may be seen dragging after it on a rail- road a hundred tons of merchandise, or a regiment of soldiers, with greater speed than that of our fleetest coaches. It is the king of machines, and a permanent realization of the genii of East- ern fable, whose supernatural powers were occasionally at the command of man." "Watt did not escape the usual experience of inventors, or what Mr. Wilkins Micawber playfully describes as " the pressure of pe- cuniary liabilities." His own means were limited, and, in order to prosecute many of his experiments, he had to obtain the as- sistance of friends. If Dr. Roebuck was one of these, he certainly was a very greedy friend, for he made advances on the hard con- ditions that two thirds of the profits should be made over to him. Watt's first patent was obtained on these terms (1769). An en- gine was immediately afterward erected at the doctor's works. It was found to answer tolerably well, but various alterations were needed, and, consequently, a fresh advance of funds was nee-, essary. However willing Dr. Eoebuck may have been to assist Watt on the two-thirds principle, he was now unable to do so. He found himself involved in his business, and completely inca- pable of making farther advances. For nearly five years Watt abandoned the prosecution of his various plans, and sought a liv- ing by pursuing the profession of civil engineer. He seems to have waited in expectation of Dr. Roebuck's coming prosperity ; but, finding that this was rather a slow process, he resolved to close with a proposal which had boon made to him through his friend, Dr. Small, of Birmingham, that he should remove to that town, and enter into partnership with the eminent hardware man- 536 SELF-MADE MEN. ufacturer, Mr. Bolton, of the Soho Works. In a short time an ar- rangement was made with Dr. Roebuck, and Watt took his de- parture for what was destined to be the scene of all his future triumphs. The new firm of Bolton & Watt commenced the man- ufacture of steam-engines in the year 1775, and immediately erect- ed a specimen machine on their premises, to which they invited the attention of all persons interested in, or likely to be benefited by the patent. " They then proposed to erect similar engines wherever required, on the very liberal principle of receiving, as payment for each, only one third of the saving in fuel which it should effect, as compared with one of the old construction." Small as this compensation appeared to be, it soon amounted to an enormous revenue, and at last excited the cupidity of other manufacturers, who tried to infringe the patents (of which Watt & Bolton had several), and, of course, to evade payment to the pat- entees. Six or seven years were spent in litigation, during which time all sorts of attempts were made to snatch the laurels from Watt's brow, but without avail. In 1799, a unanimous decision of all the judges of the Court of King's Bench established the va- lidity of his claims, and thus disposed of opposition forever. Watt's inventive genius found occupation in many other ways beside the perfecting of the steam-engine. An apparatus for cop- ying letters, now in common use ; a method of heating houses by steam ; a new composition for the purposes of sculpture, having the transparency and nearly the hardness of marble ; a machine for multiplying copies of busts and other works in carving and statuary, are enumerated among his minor inventions. In 1800 Mr. Watt withdrew from business, and, although con- stantly in feeble health, enjoyed nineteen years of domestic fe- licity in the bosom of his family. He died on the 25th of Au- gust, 1819, highly respected by all who knew him, and honored to the present day as one of England's greatest benefactors. During his career he received frequent testimonials of esteem from the learned societies of Europe. In 1784 he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh ; in 1785, a member of the Royal Society of London ; in 1787, a corresponding member of the Ba- tavian Society; in 1806 he received from Glasgow the degree of Doctor of Laws ; and in 1808 he was elected, first, a correspond- ing member, and afterward an associate of the Institution of France. JAMES WATT, 537 Mr. Watt was in the strictest sense a cultivated man. Tliere was hardly a physical science or an art with which he was not pretty intimately acquainted. He was familiar with several mod- ern languages, and well read in literature. " Perhaps no indi- vidual in his age," says Mr. Jeffrey, " possessed so much, and such varied and exact information ; had read so much, or remembered what he had read so accurately and well. He had infinite quick- ness of apprehension, a prodigious memory, and a certain recti- fying and methodizing power of understanding, which extracted something precious out of all that was presented to it. His stores of miscellaneous knowledge were immense, and yet less astonish- ing than the command he had at all times over them. It seemed as if every subject that was casually started in conversation had been that" which he had been last occupied in studying and ex- hausting, such was the copiousness, the precision, and the admi- rable clearness of the information which he poured out upon it without effort or hesitation. Nor was this promptitude and com- pass of knowledge confined in any degree to the studies connected with his ordinary pursuits. That he should have been minutely and extensively skilled in chemistry and the arts, and in most of the branches of physical science, might, perhaps, have been con- jectured ; but it could not have been inferred from his usual oc- cupations, and probably is not generally known, that he was cu- riously learned in many branches of antiquity, metaphysics, med- icine, and etymology, and perfectly at home in all the details of architecture, music, and law." Z2 WILLIAM COB.BETT. One of the most remarkable self-made men that England can boast is William Cobbett, the subject of the present sketch. From the author's own voluminous writings we are able to gather most of the materials of his eventful life, especially from that entertain- ing work, the Life of Peter Porcupine. It is unfortunate, however, that Mr. Cobbett never thought it worth while to dwell minutely on the early incidents of his life, and our information on that in- teresting era is necessarily imperfect and broken. We will en- deavor to string together what we can in the author's own words. William Cobbett was born in the town of Farnham, Surrey, England, in the spring of the year 1762. His father was a small tenant farmer, of very limited education and humble means, but he was considered learned for a man in his rank of life. He un- derstood land-surveying well, and was often chosen to draw the plans of disputed territory, and, being honest, industrious, and frugal, was a man of consideration among his neighbors. William says that he does not remember the time when he did not earn his own living. His first occupation was driving the WILLIAM COBBETT. 539 small birds from the turnip-seed, and the rooks from the peas. His next employment was weeding wheat, and leading a single horse at harrowing barley. Hoeing peas followed, and thence he arrived at the honor of joining the reapers in the harvest, driving the team, and holding the plow. All the family were strong and laborious, and the father used to boast that he had four sons, the eldest of whom was but fifteen years old, who did as much work as any three men in the parish of Farnham. William says that he had some faint recollection of going to school to an old woman, who, he fancies, did not succeed in the arduous undertaking of teaching him his alphabet. In the winter evenings, however, his father taught him to read and write, and gave him some instruc- tion in arithmetic and grammar. From his infancy Cobbett displayed great fondness for rural occupations, which he describes as " healthy, rational, and heart- cheering pursuits, in which every day presents something new, in which the spirits are never suffered to flag, and in which industry, skill, and care are sure to meet with their due reward ;" to which he adds, " I have never, for any eight months together, during my whole life, been without a garden." Under the influence of this healthful passion, he left home at the age of eleven with the de- termination of seeing Kew Gardens, of which he had heard r o much that he could not rest. He describes the incident admira- bly. "At eleven years of age my employment was clipping of box edgings and weeding beds of flowers in the garden of the Bishop of Winchester at the Castle of Farnham. I had always been fond of beautiful flowers, and a gardener, who had just come from the king's gardens at Kew, gave such a description of them as made me instantly resolve to work in these gardens. The next morning, without saying a word to any one, off I set, with no clothes except those upon my back, and with thirteen halfpence in my pocket. I found that I must go to Eichmond, and I accord- ingly went from place to place, inquiring my way thither. A long day — it was in June — brought me to Richmond in the afternoon. Two pennyworth of bread and cheese, and a pennyworth of small beer which I had on the road, and a halfpenny which I had lost somehow or other, left threepence in my pocket. With this for my whole fortune, I was trudging through Richmond in my blue smock frock, and my red gaiters tied under my knees, when, staring about me, my eye fell upon a little book in a bookseller's window, 540 SELF-MADE MEN. on the outside of which was written, 'Tale of a Tub; price 3d' The title was so odd that my curiosity was excited. I had the threepence, but then I could have no supper. In I went and got the little book, which I was so impatient to read that I got over into a field at the upper corner of Kew Garden, where there stood a haystack. On the shady side of this I sat down to read. The book was so different from any thing that I had read before — it was something so new to my mind, that, though I could not at all understand some of it, it delighted me beyond description, and it produced what I have always considered a birth of intellect. I read on till it was dark, without any thought of supper or bed. When I could see no longer, I put my little book in my pocket, and tumbled down by the side of the stack, where I slept till the birds in Kew Gardens awaked me in the morning, when off I started to Kew, reading my little book. The singularity of my dress, the simplicity of my manner, my confident and lively air, and, doubtless, his own compassion besides, induced the gardener, who was a Scotchman, to give me victuals, find me a lodging, and set me to work." It is not known how long he remained at Kew. We lose sight of him until 1782, when, having gone to visit a re- lation who lived in the neighborhood of Portsmouth, he first be- held the sea. Every young lad falls in love with that element, and Cobbett was no exception to the rule. He saw the English fleet riding at anchor, and his heart expanded with national pride. The next morning he walked down to the beach, got into a boat, and in a few minutes was on board the Pegasus man-of-war. Here he endeavored to enlist in the naval service, but without success. The captain advised him to go home, but he was not so easily dissuaded. He made an attempt to get his name enrolled in another vessel, but here again the captain advised him to go home. Very reluctantly he did so ; but his peace of mind was . gone. He dreamed of the sea, and of traveling round the world. Farnham — even England — became too small for him. He de- termined to escape. Accordingly, on the 6th of May, 1783, he sallied forth to seek adventures. " I was dressed in my holiday clothes, in order to accompany two or three lasses to Guildford Fair. They were to assemble at a house about three miles from my home, where I was to attend them ; but, unfortunately for me, I had to cross the London turnpike-road. The stage-coach had just turned the summit of a hill, and was rattling down toward WILLIAM COBBETT. 541 ine at a merry rate. The notion of going to London never entered my mind till this very moment, yet the step was completely de- termined on before the coach came to the spot where I stood. Up I got, and was in London about nine o'clock in the evening. It was by mere accident that I had money enough to defray the expenses of this day. Being rigged out for the fair, I had three or four crown and half crown pieces (which most certainly I did not intend to spend), besides a few shillings and halfpence. This, my little all, which I had been years in amassing, melted away like snow before the sun when touched by the fingers of the inn- keepers and their waiters. In short, when I arrived at Ludgate Hill, and had paid my fare, I had but about half a crown in my pocket." Fortunately, he had succeeded in making the acquaint- ance of a passenger — a hop merchant from Southwark — who knew his father, and who was disposed to lend a helping hand to the young man. He invited him to his house, which he told him he might look upon as his home till something turned up. In the mean time he wrote to his father, advising him of what had taken place. The latter desired Cobbett to return immediately, but a mistaken sense of false delicacy prevented his doing so. At length a situation as copying clerk in a lawyer's office was obtained for him, and for nearly a year he went through the wretched drudgery of that occupation — the only portion of his life, he says, which was " totally unattended with pleasure." It is not easy to escape from a lawyer's office into a higher sphere of usefulness, and to this cir- cumstance we may perhaps attribute Cobbett's lengthened experi- ment in the gloom and wretchedness of the law. One fine spring morning in 1784, while strolling through St. James's Park, to cheer himself " with the sight of the trees, the grass, and the water," he read an advertisement inviting all loyal young men to serve their country, and reap honor and riches in that patriotic undertaking. Any life was welcome to Cobbett, provided it did not revolve on the high stool of an attorney's office. Without troubling himself about inquiries, he took the king's shilling, and became a private in the 54th regiment. He remained about a year at Chatham, during which time he learned his duties thor- oughly, and occupied his leisure in reading and study. Lie says that during this year he learned more than he had ever done be- fore. "Whatever books came in his way (and he subscribed to a circulating library) he read with avidity, but, it is to be feared, 542 SELF-MADE MEN. with little profit. Knowledge is not gained by skimming over the gilded surface of novels, dramas, poems, etc. One branch of knowledge, however, he searched to the bottom — the grammar of his mother tongue. Cobbett procured a copy of Lowth's Gram- mar, and applied himself to the study of it with unceasing assi- duity. It was a considerable time before he could comprehend all that he read, but the light shone in upon him at last. " The pains I took," he says, " can not be described. I wrote the whole grammar out two or three times. I got it by heart. I repeated it every morning and every evening, and when on guard. I im- posed on myself the task of saying it all over once every time I was posted sentinel. To this exercise of my memory I ascribe the retentiousness of which I have since found it capable ; and to the success with which it was attended, I ascribe the perseverance that has led to the acquirement of the little learning of which I am master." A few months after his enlistment, the detachment to which he belonged sailed for Halifax, Nova Scotia, previous to which he had been promoted to the rank of corporal. From Nova Scotia he proceeded with his regiment to St. John's and New Brunswick. By the end of his third year in the army he was promoted to the rank of sergeant major over the heads of thirty sergeants — no slight compliment to his abilities and attention. He refers to this period of his life : " Before my promotion a clerk was wanted to make out the morning report of the regiment. I rendered the clerk unnecessary ; and, long before any other man was dressed for the parade, my work for the morning was all done, and I my- self was on the parade, walking, in fine weather, perhaps for an hour. My custom was thus : to get up, in summer, at daylight, and in winter at four o'clock ; shave, dress, even to the putting on my sword-belt over my shoulder, and having my sword lying on the table before me ready to hang by my side. Then I ate a bit of cheese, or pork and bread. Then I prepared my report, which was filled up as fast as the companies brought me in the materials. After this I had an hour or two to read before the time came for my duty out of doors, unless when the regiment or part of it went to exercise in the morning." While at New Brunswick Cobbett made the acquaintance of his future wife. She was then but thirteen years of age, and his attention was directed to her by seeing her, one frosty morning at WILLIAM COBBETT 543 daybreak, scouring out the washing-tub before her father's door. " That's the girl for me," said Cobbett to his companions. " From the day that I first spoke to her, I never had a thought of her ever being the wife of any other man more than I had a thought of her being transformed into a chest of drawers ; and I formed my resolution at once to marry her as soon as we could get permis- sion, and to get out of the army as soon as I could ; so that this matter was at once settled as firmly as if written in the book of Fate." About six months after arriving at this determination the object of his affection left for England ; and "now it was," says Cobbett, " that I acted a part becoming a real and sensible lover. I was aware that when she got to that gay place, Woolwich (her father was in the artillery), the house of her father and mother, necessarily visited by numerous persons not the most select, might become unpleasant to her, and I did not like, besides, that she should continue to work hard. I had saved 150 guineas, the earnings of my early hours in writing for the paymaster, the quar- ter-master, and others, in addition to the savings of my own pay. I sent her all my money before she sailed, and wrote to her to beg of her, if she found her home uncomfortable, to hire a lodging with respectable people ; and, at any rate, not to spare the money by any means, but to buy herself good clothes, and to live with- out hard work until I arrived in England." Owing to a difficulty with Spain, Cobbett was unable to get his discharge for four years. At the end of that time he landed at Portsmouth, and immediately set out in search of his lady-love. He found her working very hard in a private family as a servant- of- all -work. As soon as the greetings were over (that is to say, over for a moment or two), the dear little girl ran to her box and produced the 150 guineas untouched. In a few months they were man and wife, and ten years later he wrote that to " her gentle- ness, prudence, and fortitude I owe whatever I enjoy of pleasure, of fortune, or of reputation." Immediately after the honeymoon (March, 1792) he made a trip to France, where he remained for six months. It was his intention to have staid longer, but the events of the Revolution were hurrying on, and Cobbett thought it would be most prudent to leave the country. From Havre de Grace he embarked for America, and landed at New York in Oc- tober, 1792. It is not very clear what was his intention in coming to Amer- & ,544 SELF-MADE MEN. ^ <