[Illustration:

Very Truly YoursIchabod Washburn]

CAPTAINS OF INDUSTRY

OR

MEN OF BUSINESS WHO DID SOMETHINGBESIDES MAKING MONEY

_A BOOK FOR YOUNG AMERICANS_

BY

JAMES PARTON

FIFTH THOUSAND

[Illustration]

BOSTONHOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANYNew York: 11 East Seventeenth StreetThe Riverside Press, Cambridge1890

Copyright, 1884, By JAMES PARTON. 

_All rights reserved. _

_The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass. , U. S. A. _Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company. 

PREFACE. 

In this volume are presented examples of men who shed lustre uponordinary pursuits, either by the superior manner in which they exercisedthem or by the noble use they made of the leisure which success in themusually gives. Such men are the nobility of republics. The Americanpeople were fortunate in having at an early period an ideal man of thiskind in Benjamin Franklin, who, at the age of forty-two, just mid-way inhis life, deliberately relinquished the most profitable business of itskind in the colonies for the sole purpose of developing electricalscience. In this, as in other respects, his example has had greatinfluence with his countrymen. 

A distinguished author, who lived some years at Newport, has expressedthe opinion that the men who occupy the villas of that emerald isleexert very little power compared with that of an orator or a writer. Tobe, he adds, at the head of a normal school, or to be a professor in acollege, is to have a sway over the destinies of America which reducesto nothingness the power of successful men of business. 

Being myself a member of the fraternity of writers, I suppose I ought toyield a joyful assent to such remarks. It is flattering to the self-loveof those who drive along Bellevue Avenue in a shabby hired vehicle to betold that they are personages of much more consequence than the heavycapitalist who swings by in a resplendent curricle, drawn by two matchedand matchless steeds, in a six-hundred dollar harness. Perhaps they are. But I advise young men who aspire to serve their generation effectivelynot to undervalue the importance of the gentleman in the curricle. 

One of the individuals who has figured lately in the society of Newportis the proprietor of an important newspaper. He is not a writer, nor ateacher in a normal school, but he wields a considerable power in thiscountry. Fifty men write for the journal which he conducts, some of whomwrite to admiration, for they are animated by a humane and patrioticspirit. The late lamented Ivory Chamberlain was a writer whose leadingeditorials were of national value. But, mark: a telegram of ten wordsfrom that young man at Newport, written with perspiring hand in a pauseof the game of polo, determines without appeal the course of the paperin any crisis of business or politics. 

I do not complain of this arrangement of things. I think it is just; Iknow it is unalterable. 

It is then of the greatest possible importance that the men who controlduring their lifetime, and create endowments when they are dead, shouldshare the best civilization of their age and country. It is also of thegreatest importance that young men whom nature has fitted to be leadersshould, at the beginning of life, take to the steep and thorny pathwhich leads at length to mastership. 

Most of these chapters were published originally in "The Ledger" of NewYork, and a few of them in "The Youths' Companion" of Boston, thelargest two circulations in the country. I have occasionally had reasonto think that they were of some service to young readers, and I may addthat they represent more labor and research than would be naturallysupposed from their brevity. Perhaps in this new form they may reach andinfluence the minds of future leaders in the great and growing realm ofbusiness. I should pity any young man who could read the briefestaccount of what has been done in manufacturing towns by such men as JohnSmedley and Robert Owen without forming a secret resolve to do somethingsimilar if ever he should win the opportunity. 

TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

 PAGEDavid Maydole, Hammer-Maker 9

Ichabod Washburn, Wire-Maker 18

Elihu Burritt, the Learned Blacksmith 27

Michael Reynolds, Engine-Driver 36

Major Robert Pike, Farmer 43

George Graham, Clock-Maker, buried in Westminster Abbey 51

John Harrison, Exquisite Watch-Maker 58

Peter Faneuil, and the Great Hall he built 65

Chauncey Jerome, Yankee Clock-Maker 79

Captain Pierre Laclede Liguest, Pioneer 89

Israel Putnam, Farmer 96

George Flower, Pioneer 104

Edward Coles, Noblest of the Pioneers, and his Great Speech 117

Peter H. Burnett, Banker 126

Gerrit Smith 133

Peter Force, Printer 140

John Bromfield, Merchant 148

Frederick Tudor, Ice Exporter 156

Myron Holley, Market-Gardener 163

The Founders of Lowell 170

Robert Owen, Cotton-Manufacturer 180

John Smedley, Stocking-Manufacturer 188

Richard Cobden, Calico Printer 195

Henry Bessemer 206

John Bright, Manufacturer 212

Thomas Edward, Cobbler and Naturalist 224

Robert Dick, Baker and Naturalist 232

John Duncan, Weaver and Botanist 240

James Lackington, Second-Hand Bookseller 247

Horace Greeley's Start 254

James Gordon Bennett, and how he founded his "Herald" 264

Three John Walters, and their Newspaper 275

George Hope 288

Sir Henry Cole 294

Charles Summers 300

William B. Astor, House-Owner 307

Peter Cooper 313

Paris-Duverney, French Financier 332

Sir Rowland Hill 342

Marie-Antoine Carème, French Cook 349

Wonderful Walker, Parson of all Work 355

Sir Christopher Wren 363

Sir John Rennie, Engineer 372

Sir Moses Montefiore 379

Marquis of Worcester, Inventor of the Steam-Engine 385

An Old Dry-Goods Merchant's Recollections 392

PORTRAITS. 

 PAGEICHABOD WASHBURN _Frontispiece. _

CHAUNCEY JEROME 79

GERRIT SMITH 133

MYRON HOLLEY 163

JOHN BRIGHT 212

JOHN DUNCAN 240

PETER COOPER 313

SIR ROWLAND HILL 342

CAPTAINS OF INDUSTRY. 

DAVID MAYDOLE, HAMMER-MAKER. 

When a young man begins to think of making his fortune, his first notionusually is to go away from home to some very distant place. At present, the favorite spot is Colorado; awhile ago it was California; and old menremember when Buffalo was about as far west as the most enterprisingperson thought of venturing. 

It is not always a foolish thing to go out into the world far beyond theparent nest, as the young birds do in midsummer. But I can tell you, boys, from actual inquiry, that a great number of the most important andfamous business men of the United States struck down roots where theywere first planted, and where no one supposed there was room or chancefor any large thing to grow. 

I will tell you a story of one of these men, as I heard it from his ownlips some time ago, in a beautiful village where I lectured. 

He was an old man then; and a curious thing about him was that, althoughhe was too deaf to hear one word of a public address, even of theloudest speaker, he not only attended church every Sunday, but wasrarely absent when a lecture was delivered. 

While I was performing on that occasion, I saw him sitting just in frontof the platform, sleeping the sleep of the just till the last word wasuttered. 

Upon being introduced to this old gentleman in his office, and learningthat his business was to make hammers, I was at a loss for a subject ofconversation, as it never occurred to me that there was anything to besaid about hammers. 

I have generally possessed a hammer, and frequently inflicted damage onmy fingers therewith, but I had supposed that a hammer was simply ahammer, and that hammers were very much alike. At last I said, --

"And here you make hammers for mankind, Mr. Maydole?"

You may have noticed the name of David Maydole upon hammers. He is theman. 

"Yes, " said he, "I have made hammers here for twenty-eight years. "

"Well, then, " said I, shouting in his best ear, "by this time you oughtto be able to make a pretty good hammer. "

"No, I can't, " was his reply. "I can't make a pretty good hammer. I makethe best hammer that's made. "

That was strong language. I thought, at first, he meant it as a joke;but I soon found it was no joke at all. 

He had made hammers the study of his lifetime, and, after many years ofthoughtful and laborious experiment, he had actually produced anarticle, to which, with all his knowledge and experience, he couldsuggest no improvement. 

I was astonished to discover how many points there are about aninstrument which I had always supposed a very simple thing. I wassurprised to learn in how many ways a hammer can be bad. 

But, first, let me tell you how he came to think of hammers. 

There he was, forty years ago, in a small village of the State of NewYork; no railroad yet, and even the Erie Canal many miles distant. Hewas the village blacksmith, his establishment consisting of himself anda boy to blow the bellows. 

He was a good deal troubled with his hammers. Sometimes the heads wouldfly off. If the metal was too soft, the hammer would spread out and wearaway; if it was too hard, it would split. 

At that time blacksmiths made their own hammers, and he knew very littleabout mixing ores so as to produce the toughest iron. But he wasparticularly troubled with the hammer getting off the handle, a mishapwhich could be dangerous as well as inconvenient. 

At this point of his narrative the old gentleman showed a number of oldhammers, such as were in use before he began to improve the instrument;and it was plain that men had tried very hard before him to overcomethis difficulty. 

One hammer had an iron rod running down through the handle with a nutscrewed on at the end. Another was wholly composed of iron, the head andhandle being all of one piece. There were various other devices, some ofwhich were exceedingly clumsy and awkward. 

At last, he hit upon an improvement which led to his being able to put ahammer upon a handle in such a way that it would stay there. He madewhat is called an adze-handled hammer, the head being attached to thehandle after the manner of an adze. 

The improvement consists in merely making _a longer hole_ for the handleto go into, by which device it has a much firmer hold of the head, andcan easily be made extremely tight. 

With this improvement, if the handle is well seasoned and well wedged, there is no danger of the head flying off. He made some other changes, all of them merely for his own convenience, without a thought of goinginto the manufacture of hammers. 

The neighborhood in which he lived would have scarcely required half adozen new hammers per annum. But one day there came to the village sixcarpenters to work upon a new church, and one of these men, having lefthis hammer at home, came to David Maydole's blacksmith's shop to getone made. 

"Make me as good a hammer, " said the carpenter, "as you know how. "

That was touching David upon a tender place. 

"As good a one as I know how?" said he. "But perhaps you don't want topay for as good a one as I know how to make. "

"Yes, I do, " replied the man; "I want a good hammer. "

The blacksmith made him one of his best. It was probably the best hammerthat had ever been made in the world, since it contained two or threeimportant improvements never before combined in the instrument. 

The carpenter was delighted with it, and showed it, with a good deal ofexultation, to his five companions; every man of whom came the next dayto the shop and wanted one just like it. They did not understand all theblacksmith's notions about tempering and mixing the metals, but they sawat a glance that the head and the handle were so united that there neverwas likely to be any divorce between them. 

To a carpenter building a wooden house, the mere removal of that onedefect was a boon beyond price; he could hammer away with confidence, and without fear of seeing the head of his hammer leap into the nextfield, unless stopped by a comrade's head. 

When all the six carpenters had been supplied with these improvedhammers, the contractor came and ordered two more. He seemed to think, and, in fact, said as much, that the blacksmith ought to make _his_hammers a little better than those he had made for the men. 

"I can't make any better ones, " said honest David. "When I make a thing, I make it as well as I can, no matter who it's for. "

Soon after, the store-keeper of the village, seeing what excellenthammers these were, gave the blacksmith a magnificent order for twodozen, which, in due time, were placed upon his counter for sale. 

At this time something happened to David Maydole which may fairly becalled good luck; and you will generally notice events of the kind inthe lives of meritorious men. "Fortune favors the brave, " is an oldsaying, and good luck in business is very apt to befall the man whocould do very well without it. 

It so happened that a New York dealer in tools, named Wood, whose storeis still kept in Chatham Street, New York, happened to be in the villagegetting orders for tools. As soon as his eye fell upon those hammers, hesaw their merits, and bought them all. He did more. He left a standingorder for as many hammers of that kind as David Maydole could make. 

That was the beginning. The young blacksmith hired a man or two, thenmore men, and made more hammers, and kept on making hammers during thewhole of his active life, employing at last a hundred and fifteen men. 

During the first twenty years, he was frequently experimenting with aview to improve the hammer. He discovered just the best combination ofores to make his hammers hard enough, without being too hard. 

He gradually found out precisely the best form of every part. There isnot a turn or curve about either the handle or the head which has notbeen patiently considered, and reconsidered, and considered again, untilno further improvement seemed possible. Every handle is seasoned threeyears, or until there is no shrink left in it. 

Perhaps the most important discovery which he made was that a perfecttool cannot be made by machinery. 

Naturally, his first thought, when he found his business increasing, wasto apply machinery to the manufacture, and for some years several partsof the process were thus performed. Gradually, his machines werediscarded, and for many years before his retirement, every portion ofthe work was done by hand. 

Each hammer is hammered out from a piece of iron, and is tempered over aslow charcoal fire, under the inspection of an experienced man. He looksas though he were cooking his hammers on a charcoal furnace, and hewatches them until the process is complete, as a cook watches muttonchops. 

I heard some curious things about the management of this business. Thefounder never did anything to "push" it. He never advertised. He neverreduced the price of his hammers because other manufacturers were doingso. 

His only care, he said, had been to make a perfect hammer, to make justas many of them as people wanted, and _no more_, and to sell them at afair price. If people did not want his hammers, he did not want to makethem. If they did not want to pay what they were worth, they werewelcome to buy cheaper ones of some one else. 

For his own part, his wants were few, and he was ready at any time to goback to his blacksmith's shop. 

The old gentleman concluded his interesting narration by making me apresent of one of his hammers, which I now cherish among my treasures. 

If it had been a picture, I should have had it framed and hung up overmy desk, a perpetual admonition to me to do my work well; not too fast;not too much of it; not with any showy false polish; not lettinganything go till I had done all I could to make it what it should be. 

In telling this little story, I have told thousands of stories. Take theword _hammer_ out of it, and put _glue_ in its place, and you have thehistory of Peter Cooper. By putting in other words, you can make thetrue history of every great business in the world which has lastedthirty years. 

The true "protective system, " of which we hear so much, is _to make thebest article_; and he who does this need not buy a ticket for Colorado. 

ICHABOD WASHBURN, WIRE-MAKER. 

Of all our manufactures few have had a more rapid development thanwire-making. During the last thirty years the world has been girdled bytelegraphic wires and cables, requiring an immense and continuous supplyof the article. In New York alone two hundred pianos a week have beenmade, each containing miles of wire. There have been years during whicha garment composed chiefly of wire was worn by nearly every woman in theland, even by the remotest and poorest. 

Who has supplied all these millions of miles of wire? A large part ofthe answer to this question is given when we pronounce the name at thehead of this article, Ichabod Washburn. In the last years of his life hehad seven hundred men at Worcester making wire, the product of whoselabor was increased a hundred fold by machinery which he had invented oradapted. 

It is curious to note how he seemed to stumble into the business just inthe nick of time. I say, _seemed_; but, in truth, he had been preparedfor success in it by a long course of experience and training. He was apoor widow's son, born on the coast of Massachusetts, a few miles fromPlymouth Rock; his father having died in early manhood, when this boyand a twin brother were two months old. His mother, suddenly left withthree little children, and having no property except the house in whichshe lived, supported her family by weaving, in which her children from avery early age could give her some help. She kept them at school, however, during part of the winter, and instilled into their minds goodprinciples. When this boy was nine years of age she was obliged, as thesaying was, "to put him out to live" to a master five miles from herhouse. 

On his way to his new home he was made to feel the difference between ahard master and a kind mother. Having a quick intelligent mind, hequestioned the man concerning the objects they passed. At length the boysaw a windmill, and he asked what that was. 

"Don't ask me so many questions, boy, " answered the man, in a harsh, rough voice. 

The little fellow was silenced, and he vividly remembered the event, thetone, and the scene, to old age. His employer was a maker of harness, carriages, and trunks, and it was the boy's business to take care of ahorse and two cows, light fires, chop wood, run errands, and work in theshop. He never forgot the cold winter mornings, and the loud voice ofhis master rousing him from sleep to make the fire, and go out to thebarn and get the milking done before daylight. His sleeping-place was aloft above the shop reached by a ladder. Being always a timid boy, hesuffered extremely from fear in the dark and lonely garret of a buildingwhere no one else slept, and to which he had to grope his way alone. 

What would the dainty boys of the present time think of going to mill ona frosty morning astride of a bag of corn on the horse's back, withoutstockings or shoes and with trousers half way up to the knees? On oneoccasion the little Ichabod was so thoroughly chilled that he had tostop at a house to get warm, and the good woman took pity on him, madehim put on a pair of long black stockings, and a pair of her own shoes. Thus equipped, with his long black legs extending far out of his shorttrousers, and the woman's shoes lashed to his feet, he presented ahighly ludicrous appearance, and one which, he thought, might haveconveyed a valuable hint to his master. In the daytime he was usuallyemployed in the shop making harnesses, a business in which he becameexpert. He served this man five years, or until he was fourteen years ofage, when he made a complete harness for one of his cousins, whichrendered excellent service for many years, and a part of it lastedalmost as long as the maker. 

Thus, at fourteen, he had completed his first apprenticeship, and hadlearned his first trade. The War of 1812 having given a sudden start tomanufactures in this country, he went to work in a cotton factory for awhile, where, for the first time in his life, he saw complicatedmachinery. Like a true Yankee as he was, he was strongly attracted byit, and proposed to learn the machinist's trade. His guardian opposedthe scheme strongly, on the ground that, in all probability, by the timehe had learned the trade the country would be so full of factories thatthere would be no more machinery required. 

Thus discouraged, he did the next best thing: he went apprentice to theblacksmith's trade, near Worcester, where he was destined to spend therest of his life. He was sixteen years of age when he began this secondapprenticeship; but he was still one of the most timid and bashful oflads. In a fragment of autobiography found among his papers after hisdeath he says:--

"I arrived at Worcester about one o'clock, at Syke's tavern where wewere to dine; but the sight of the long table in the dining-room sooverpowered my bashful spirit that I left the room and went into theyard without dinner to wait till the stage was ready. "

On reaching his new home, eighty miles from his mother's house, he wasso overcome by homesickness that, the first night, he sobbed himself tosleep. Soon he became interested in his shop and in his work, maderapid progress, and approved himself a skillful hand. Having beenbrought up to go to church every Sunday, he now hired a seat in thegallery of one of the churches at fifty cents a year, which he earned inover-time by forging pot-hooks. Every cent of his spending money wasearned in similar ways. Once he made six toasting-irons, and carriedthem to Worcester, where he sold them for a dollar and a quarter each, taking a book in part payment. When his sister was married he made her awedding present of a toasting-iron. Nor was it an easy matter for anapprentice then to do work in over-time, for he was expected to labor inhis master's service from sunrise to sunset in the summer, and fromsunrise to nine o'clock in the winter. 

On a bright day in August, 1818, his twentieth birthday, he was out ofhis time, and, according to the custom of the period, he celebrated thejoyful event by a game of ball! In a few months, having saved a littlemoney, he went into business as a manufacturer of ploughs, in which hehad some little success. But still yearning to know more of machinery heentered upon what we may call his third apprenticeship, in an armorynear Worcester, where he soon acquired skill enough to do the finerparts of the work. Then he engaged in the manufacture of lead pipe, inwhich he attained a moderate success. 

At length, in 1831, being then thirty-three years old, he began thebusiness of making wire, in which he continued during the remainder ofhis active life. The making of wire, especially the finer and betterkinds, is a nice operation. Until Ichabod Washburn entered into thebusiness, wire of good quality was not made in the United States; andthere was only one house in Great Britain that had the secret of makingthe steel wire for pianos, and they had had a monopoly of themanufacture for about eighty years. 

Wire is made by drawing a rod of soft, hot iron through a hole which istoo small for it. If a still smaller sized wire is desired, it is drawnthrough a smaller hole, and this process is repeated until the requiredsize is attained. Considerable power is needed to draw the wire through, and the hole through which it is drawn is soon worn larger. The firstwire machine that Washburn ever saw was arranged with a pair ofself-acting pincers which drew a foot of wire and then had to let go andtake a fresh hold. By this machine a man could make fifty pounds ofcoarse wire in a day. He soon improved this machine so that the pincersdrew fifteen feet without letting go; and by this improvement alone theproduct of one man's labor was increased about eleven times. A goodworkman could make five or six hundred pounds a day by it. By anotherimprovement which Washburn adopted the product was increased totwenty-five hundred pounds a day. 

He was now in his element. He always had a partner to manage thecounting-room part of the business, which he disliked. 

"I never, " said he, "had taste or inclination for it, always preferringto be among the machinery, doing the work and handling the tools I wasused to, though oftentimes at the expense of a smutty face and greasyhands. "

His masterpiece in the way of invention was his machinery for makingsteel wire for pianos, --a branch of the business which was urged uponhim by the late Jonas Chickering, piano manufacturer, of Boston. Themost careless glance at the strings of a piano shows us that the wiremust be exquisitely tempered and most thoroughly wrought, in order toremain in tune, subjected as they are to a steady pull of many tons. Washburn experimented for years in perfecting his process, and he wasnever satisfied until he was able to produce a wire which he couldhonestly claim to be the best in the world. He had amazing success inhis business. At one time he was making two hundred and fifty thousandyards of crinoline wire every day. His whole daily product was seventons of iron wire, and five tons of steel wire. 

This excellent man, in the midst of a success which would have dazzledand corrupted some men, retained all the simplicity, the modesty, andthe generosity of his character. He felt, as he said, nowhere so much athome as among his own machinery, surrounded by thoughtful mechanics, dressed like them for work, and possibly with a black smudge upon hisface. In his person, however, he was scrupulously clean and nice, ahater of tobacco and all other polluting things and lowering influences. 

Rev. H. T. Cheever, the editor of his "Memorials, " mentions also that heremained to the end of his life in the warmest sympathy with the naturaldesires of the workingman. He was a collector of facts concerning thecondition of workingmen everywhere, and for many years cherished aproject of making his own business a coöperative one. 

"He believed, " remarks Mr. Cheever, "that the skilled and faithfulmanual worker, as well as the employer, was entitled to a participationin the net proceeds of business, over and above his actual wages. Heheld that in this country the entire people are one great working class, working with brains, or hands, or both, who should therefore act inharmony--the brain-workers and the hand-workers--for the equal rights ofall, without distinction of color, condition, or religion. Holding thatcapital is accumulated labor, and wealth the creation of capital andlabor combined, he thought it to be the wise policy of the largecapitalists and corporations to help in the process of elevating andadvancing labor by a proffered interest. "

These were the opinions of a man who had had long experience in all thegrades, from half-frozen apprentice to millionaire manufacturer. 

He died in 1868, aged seventy-one years, leaving an immense estate;which, however, chiefly consisted in his wire-manufactory. He had madeit a principle not to accumulate money for the sake of money, and hegave away in his lifetime a large portion of his revenue every year. Hebequeathed to charitable associations the sum of four hundred andtwenty-four thousand dollars, which was distributed among twenty-oneobjects. His great bequests were to institutions of practical and homelybenevolence: to the Home for Aged Women and Widows, one hundred thousanddollars; to found a hospital and free dispensary, the same amount;smaller sums to industrial schools and mission schools. 

It was one of his fixed convictions that boys cannot be properly fittedfor life without being both taught and required to use their hands, aswell as their heads, and it was long his intention to found some kind ofindustrial college. Finding that something of the kind was already inexistence at Worcester, he made a bequest to it of one hundred and tenthousand dollars. The institution is called the Worcester County FreeInstitute of Industrial Science. 

ELIHU BURRITT, THE LEARNED BLACKSMITH. 

Elihu Burritt, with whom we have all been familiar for many years as theLearned Blacksmith, was born in 1810 at the beautiful town of NewBritain, in Connecticut, about ten miles from Hartford. He was theyoungest son in an old-fashioned family of ten children. His fatherowned and cultivated a small farm; but spent the winters at theshoemaker's bench, according to the rational custom of Connecticut inthat day. When Elihu was sixteen years of age, his father died and thelad soon after apprenticed himself to a blacksmith in his nativevillage. 

He was an ardent reader of books from childhood up; and he was enabledto gratify this taste by means of a small village library, whichcontained several books of history, of which he was naturally fond. Thisboy, however, was a shy, devoted student, brave to maintain what hethought right, but so bashful that he was known to hide in the cellarwhen his parents were going to have company. 

As his father's long sickness had kept him out of school for some time, he was the more earnest to learn during his apprenticeship; particularlymathematics, since he desired to become, among other things, a goodsurveyor. He was obliged to work from ten to twelve hours a day at theforge; but while he was blowing the bellows he employed his mind indoing sums in his head. His biographer gives a specimen of thesecalculations which he wrought out without making a single figure:--

"How many yards of cloth, three feet in width, cut into strips an inchwide, and allowing half an inch at each end for the lap, would itrequire to reach from the centre of the earth to the surface, and howmuch would it all cost at a shilling a yard?"

He would go home at night with several of these sums done in his head, and report the results to an elder brother who had worked his waythrough Williams College. His brother would perform the calculationsupon a slate, and usually found his answers correct. 

When he was about half through his apprenticeship he suddenly took itinto his head to learn Latin, and began at once through the assistanceof the same elder brother. In the evenings of one winter he read theÆneid of Virgil; and, after going on for a while with Cicero and a fewother Latin authors, he began Greek. During the winter months he wasobliged to spend every hour of daylight at the forge, and even in thesummer his leisure minutes were few and far between. But he carried hisGreek grammar in his hat, and often found a chance, while he was waitingfor a large piece of iron to get hot, to open his book with his blackfingers, and go through a pronoun, an adjective or part of a verb, without being noticed by his fellow-apprentices. 

So he worked his way until he was out of his time, when he treatedhimself to a whole quarter's schooling at his brother's school, where hestudied mathematics, Latin and other languages. Then he went back to theforge, studying hard in the evenings at the same branches, until he hadsaved a little money; when he resolved to go to New Haven, and spend awinter in study. It was far from his thoughts, as it was from his means, to enter Yale College; but he seems to have had an idea that the veryatmosphere of the college would assist him. He was still so timid thathe determined to work his way without asking the least assistance from aprofessor or tutor. 

He took lodgings at a cheap tavern in New Haven, and began the very nextmorning a course of heroic study. As soon as the fire was made in thesitting-room of the inn, which was at half-past four in the morning, hetook possession, and studied German until breakfast-time, which washalf-past seven. When the other boarders had gone to business, he satdown to Homer's Iliad, of which he knew nothing, and with only adictionary to help him. 

"The proudest moment of my life, " he once wrote, "was when I had firstgained the full meaning of the first fifteen lines of that noble work. Itook a short triumphal walk in favor of that exploit. "

Just before the boarders came back for their dinner, he put away all hisGreek and Latin books, and took up a work in Italian, because it wasless likely to attract the notice of the noisy crowd. After dinner hefell again upon his Greek, and in the evening read Spanish untilbed-time. In this way he lived and labored for three months, a solitarystudent in the midst of a community of students; his mind imbued withthe grandeurs and dignity of the past, while eating flapjacks andmolasses at a poor tavern. 

Returning to his home in New Britain, he obtained the mastership of anacademy in a town near by: but he could not bear a life whollysedentary; and, at the end of a year, abandoned his school and becamewhat is called a "runner" for one of the manufacturers of New Britain. This business he pursued until he was about twenty-five years of age, when, tired of wandering, he came home again, and set up a grocery andprovision store, in which he invested all the money he had saved. Sooncame the commercial crash of 1837, and he was involved in the widespreadruin. He lost the whole of his capital, and had to begin the world anew. 

He resolved to return to his studies in the languages of the East. Unable to buy or find the necessary books, he tied up his effects in asmall handkerchief, and walked to Boston, one hundred miles distant, hoping there to find a ship in which he could work his passage acrossthe ocean, and collect oriental works from port to port. He could notfind a berth. He turned back, and walked as far as Worcester, where hefound work, and found something else which he liked better. There is anAntiquarian Society at Worcester, with a large and peculiar library, containing a great number of books in languages not usually studied, such as the Icelandic, the Russian, the Celtic dialects, and others. Thedirectors of the Society placed all their treasures at his command, andhe now divided his time between hard study of languages and hard laborat the forge. To show how he passed his days, I will copy an entry ortwo from a private diary he then kept:--

"Monday, June 18. Headache; 40 pages Cuvier's Theory of the Earth; 64pages French; 11 hours forging. 

"Tuesday, June 19. 60 lines Hebrew; 30 pages French; 10 pages of Cuvier;8 lines Syriac; 10 lines Danish; 10 lines Bohemian; 9 lines Polish; 15names of stars; 10 hours forging. 

"Wednesday, June 20. 25 lines Hebrew; 8 lines Syriac; 11 hours forging. "

He spent five years at Worcester in such labors as these. When work athis trade became slack, or when he had earned a little more money thanusual, he would spend more time in the library; but, on the other hand, when work in the shop was pressing, he could give less time to study. After a while, he began to think that he might perhaps earn hissubsistence in part by his knowledge of languages, and thus save muchwaste of time and vitality at the forge. He wrote a letter to WilliamLincoln, of Worcester, who had aided and encouraged him; and in thisletter he gave a short history of his life, and asked whether he couldnot find employment in translating some foreign work into English. Mr. Lincoln was so much struck with his letter that he sent it to EdwardEverett, and he having occasion soon after to address a convention ofteachers, read it to his audience as a wonderful instance of the pursuitof knowledge under difficulties. Mr. Everett prefaced it by saying thatsuch a resolute purpose of improvement against such obstacles excitedhis admiration, and even his veneration. 

"It is enough, " he added, "to make one who has good opportunities foreducation hang his head in shame. "

All this, including the whole of the letter, was published in thenewspapers, with eulogistic comments, in which the student was spoken ofas the Learned Blacksmith. The bashful scholar was overwhelmed withshame at finding himself suddenly famous. However, it led to hisentering upon public life. Lecturing was then coming into vogue, and hewas frequently invited to the platform. Accordingly, he wrote a lecture, entitled "Application and Genius, " in which he endeavored to show thatthere is no such thing as genius, but that all extraordinary attainmentsare the results of application. After delivering this lecture sixtytimes in one season, he went back to his forge at Worcester, minglingstudy with labor in the old way. 

On sitting down to write a new lecture for the following season, on the"Anatomy of the Earth, " a certain impression was made upon his mind, which changed the current of his life. Studying the globe, he wasimpressed with the _need_ that one nation has of other nations, and onezone of another zone; the tropics producing what assuages life in thenorthern latitudes, and northern lands furnishing the means ofmitigating tropical discomforts. He felt that the earth was made forfriendliness and coöperation, not for fierce competition and bloodywars. 

Under the influence of these feelings, his lecture became an eloquentplea for peace, and to this object his after life was chiefly devoted. The dispute with England upon the Oregon boundary induced him to go toEngland, with the design of traveling on foot from village to village, preaching peace, and exposing the horrors and folly of war. Hisaddresses attracting attention, he was invited to speak to largerbodies, and, in short, he spent twenty years of his life as a lecturerupon peace, organizing Peace Congresses, advocating low uniform rates ofocean postage, and spreading abroad among the people of Europe thefeeling which issued, at length, in the arbitration of the disputebetween the United States and Great Britain; an event which posteritywill, perhaps, consider the most important of this century. He heardVictor Hugo say at the Paris Congress of 1850:--

"A day will come when a cannon will be exhibited in public museums, justas an instrument of torture is now, and people will be amazed that sucha thing could ever have been. "

If he had sympathetic hearers, he produced upon them extraordinaryeffects. Nathaniel P. Rogers, one of the heroes of the Anti-slaveryagitation, chanced to hear him in Boston in 1845 on his favorite subjectof Peace. He wrote soon after:--

"I had been introduced to Elihu Burritt the day before, and was muchinterested in his original appearance, and desirous of knowing himfurther. I had not formed the highest opinion of his liberality. But onentering the hall my friends and I soon forgot everything but thespeaker. The dim-lit hall, the handful audience, the contrast of bothwith the illuminated chapel and ocean multitude assembled overhead, bespeak painfully the estimation in which the great cause of peace isheld in Christendom. I wish all Christendom could have heard ElihuBurritt's speech. One unbroken, unabated stream it was of profound andlofty and original eloquence. I felt riveted to my seat till he finishedit. There was no oratory about it, in the ordinary sense of that word;no graces of elocution. It was mighty thoughts radiating off from hisheated mind like the sparkles from the glowing steel on his own anvil, getting on as they come out what clothing of language they might, andthus having on the most appropriate and expressive imaginable. Not awaste word, nor a wanting one. And he stood and delivered himself in asimplicity and earnestness of attitude and gesture belonging to hismanly and now honored and distinguished trade. I admired the touch ofrusticity in his accent, amid his truly splendid diction, whichbetokened, as well as the vein of solid sense that ran entirely throughhis speech, that he had not been educated at the college. I thought ofploughman Burns as I listened to blacksmith Burritt. Oh! what a dignityand beauty labor imparts to learning. "

Elihu Burritt spent the last years of his life upon a little farm whichhe had contrived to buy in his native town. He was never married, butlived with his sister and her daughters. He was not so very much richerin worldly goods than when he had started for Boston with his propertywrapped in a small handkerchief. He died in March, 1879, aged sixty-nineyears. 

MICHAEL REYNOLDS, ENGINE-DRIVER. 

Literature in these days throws light into many an out-of-the-waycorner. It is rapidly making us all acquainted with one another. Alocomotive engineer in England has recently written a book upon his art, in order, as he says, "to communicate that species of knowledge which itis necessary for an engine-driver to possess who aspires to take highrank on the footplate!" He magnifies his office, and evidently regardsthe position of an engineer as highly enviable. 

"It is very _natural_, " he remarks, "for those who are unacquainted withlocomotive driving to admire the life of an engine-man, and to imaginehow very pleasant it must be to travel on the engine. But they do notthink of the gradations by which alone the higher positions are reached;they see only on the express engine the picturesque side of the resultof many years of patient observation and toil. "

This passage was to me a revelation; for I had looked upon an engineerand his assistant with some compassion as well as admiration, and haveoften thought how extremely disagreeable it must be to travel on theengine as they do. Not so Michael Reynolds, the author of this book, whohas risen from the rank of fireman to that of locomotive inspector onthe London and Brighton railroad. He tells us that a model engineer "ispossessed by a master passion--a passion for the monarch of speed. " Suchan engineer is distinguished, also, for his minute knowledge of theengine, and nothing makes him happier than to get some new light uponone of its numberless parts. So familiar is he with it that his eardetects the slightest variation in the beats of the machinery, and cantell the shocks and shakes which are caused by a defective road fromthose which are due to a defective engine. Even his nose acquires apeculiar sensitiveness. In the midst of so much heat, he can detect thatwhich arises from friction before any mischief has been done. At everyrate of speed he knows just how his engine ought to sound, shake, andsmell. 

Let us see how life passes on a locomotive, and what is the secret ofsuccess in the business of an engineer. The art of arts inengine-driving is the management of the fire. Every reader is aware thattaking care of a fire is something in which few persons become expert. Most of us think that we ourselves possess the knack of it, but notanother individual of our household agrees with us. Now, a man bornwith a genius for managing a locomotive is one who has a high degree ofthe fire-making instinct. Mr. Reynolds distinctly says that a man may bea good mechanic, may have even built locomotives, and yet, if he is nota good "shovel-man, " if he does not know how to manage his fire, he willnever rise to distinction in his profession. The great secret is tobuild the fire so that the whole mass of fuel will ignite and burnfreely without the use of the blower, and so bring the engine to thetrain with a fire that will last. When we see an engine blowing offsteam furiously at the beginning of the trip, we must not be surprisedif the train reaches the first station behind time, since it indicates afierce, thin fire, that has been rapidly ignited by the blower. Anaccomplished engineer backs his engine to the train without any sign ofsteam or smoke, but with a fire so strong and sound that he can make arun of fifty miles in an hour without touching it. 

The engineer, it appears, if he has an important run to make, comes tohis engine an hour before starting. His first business, on an Englishrailroad, is to read the notices, posted up in the engine house, of anychange in the condition of the road requiring special care. His nextduty is to inspect his engine in every part: first, to see if there iswater enough in the boiler, and that the fire is proceeding properly;then, that he has the necessary quantity of water and coal in thetender. He next gets into the pit under his engine, with the propertools, and inspects every portion of it, trying every nut and pin withinhis reach from below. Then he walks around the engine, and particularlynotices if the oiling apparatus is exactly adjusted. Some parts require, for example, four drops of oil every minute, and he must see that theapparatus is set so as to yield just that quantity. He is also to lookinto his tool-box, and see if every article is in its place. Mr. Reynolds enumerates twenty-two objects which a good engineer will alwayshave within his reach, such as fire implements of various kinds, machinist tools, lamps of several sorts, oiling vessels, a quantity offlax and yarn, copper wire, a copy of the rules and his time-table; allof which, are to be in the exact place designed for them, so that theycan be snatched in a moment. 

One of the chief virtues of the engineer and his companion, the fireman, is one which we are not accustomed to associate with their profession;and that is cleanliness. On this point our author grows eloquent, and hedeclares that a clean engineer is almost certain to be an excellent onein every particular. The men upon a locomotive cannot, it is true, avoidgetting black smudge upon their faces. The point is that both the menand their engines should be clean in all the essential particulars, sothat all the faculties of the men and all the devices of the engineshall work with ease and certainty. 

"There is something, " he remarks, "so very degrading about dirt, thateven a poor beast highly appreciates clean straw. Cleanliness hath acharm that hideth a multitude of faults, and it is not difficult totrace a connection between habitual cleanliness and a respect forgeneral order, for punctuality, for truthfulness, for all placed inauthority. "

Do you mark that sentence, reader? The spirit of the Saxon race speaksin those lines. You observe that this author ranks among the virtues "arespect for all placed in authority. " That, of course, may be carriedtoo far; nevertheless, the strong races, and the worthy men of allraces, do cherish a respect for lawful authority. A good soldier is_proud_ to salute his officer. 

On some English railroads both engineers and engines are put to testsmuch severer than upon roads elsewhere. Between Holyhead and Chester, adistance of ninety-seven miles, the express trains run without stopping, and they do this with so little strain that an engine performed the dutyevery day for several years. A day's work of some crack engineers is torun from London to Crewe and back again in ten hours, a distance ofthree hundred and thirty miles, stopping only at Rugby for three minuteson each trip. There are men who perform this service every working daythe whole year through, without a single delay. This is a very greatachievement, and can only be done by engineers of the greatest skill andsteadiness. It was long, indeed, before any man could do it, and evennow there are engineers who dare not take the risk. On the Hudson Riverroad some of the trains run from New York to Poughkeepsie, eighty miles, without stopping, but not every engineer could do it at first, and veryoften a train stopped at Peekskill to take in water. The water is thedifficulty, and the good engineer is one who wastes no water and nocoal. 

Mr. Reynolds enumerates all the causes of accidents from the engine, many of which cannot be understood by the uninitiated. As we read themover, and see in how many ways an engine can go wrong, we wonder that atrain ever arrives at its journey's end in safety. At the conclusion ofthis formidable list, the author confesses that it is incomplete, andnotifies young engineers that _nobody_ can teach them the innermostsecrets of the engine. Some of these, he remarks, require "years ofstudy, " and even then they remain in some degree mysterious. Nevertheless, he holds out to ambition the possibility of final success, and calls upon young men to concentrate all their energies upon thework. 

"Self-reliance, " he says, "is a grand element of character: it has wonOlympic crowns and Isthmian laurels; it confers kinship with men whohave vindicated their divine right to be held in the world's memory. Letthe master passion of the soul evoke undaunted energy in pursuit of theattainment of one end, aiming for the highest in the spirit of thelowest, prompted by the burning thought of reward, which sooner or laterwill come. "

We perceive that Michael Reynolds possesses one of the prime requisitesof success: he believes in the worth and dignity of his vocation; and inwriting this little book he has done something to elevate it in theregard of others. To judge from some of his directions, I should supposethat engineers in England are not, as a class, as well educated or asintelligent as ours. Locomotive engineers in the United States rank veryhigh in intelligence and respectability of character. 

MAJOR ROBERT PIKE, FARMER. 

I advise people who desire, above all things, to have a comfortable timein the world to be good conservatives. Do as other people do, think asother people think, swim with the current--that is the way to glidepleasantly down the stream of life. But mark, O you lovers of ingloriousease, the men who are remembered with honor after they are dead do notdo so! They sometimes _breast_ the current, and often have a hard timeof it, with the water splashing back in their faces, and the easy-goingcrowd jeering at them as they pant against the tide. 

This valiant, stalwart Puritan, Major Robert Pike, of Salisbury, Massachusetts, who was born in 1616, the year in which Shakespeare died, is a case in point. Salisbury, in the early day, was one of the frontiertowns of Massachusetts, lying north of the Merrimac River, and close tothe Atlantic Ocean. For fifty years it was a kind of outpost of thatpart of the State. It lay right in the path by which the Indians ofMaine and Canada were accustomed to slink down along the coast, oftentraveling on the sands of the beaches, and burst upon the settlements. During a long lifetime Major Pike was a magistrate and personage in thattown, one of the leading spirits, upon whom the defense of the frontierchiefly devolved. 

Others were as brave as he in fighting Indians. Many a man could acquithimself valiantly in battle who would not have the courage to differfrom the public opinion of his community. But on several occasions, whenMassachusetts was wrong, Major Pike was right; and he had the couragesometimes to resist the current of opinion when it was swollen into araging torrent. He opposed, for example, the persecution of the Quakers, which is such a blot upon the records both of New England and oldEngland. We can imagine what it must have cost to go against this policyby a single incident, which occurred in the year 1659 in Robert Pike'sown town of Salisbury. 

On a certain day in August, Thomas Macy was caught in a violent storm ofrain, and hurried home drenched to the skin. He found in his house fourwayfarers, who had also come in for shelter. His wife being sick in bed, no one had seen or spoken to them. They asked him how far it was toCasco Bay. From their dress and demeanor he thought they might beQuakers, and, as it was unlawful to harbor persons of that sect, heasked them to go on their way, since he feared to give offense inentertaining them. As soon as the worst of the storm was over, theyleft, and he never saw them again. They were in his house about threequarters of an hour, during which he said very little to them, havinghimself come home wet, and found his wife sick. 

He was summoned to Boston, forty miles distant, to answer for thisoffense. Being unable to walk, and not rich enough to buy a horse, hewrote to the General Court, relating the circumstances, and explaininghis non-appearance. He was fined thirty shillings, and ordered to beadmonished by the governor. He paid his fine, received his reprimand, and removed to the island of Nantucket, of which he was the firstsettler, and for some time the only white inhabitant. 

During this period of Quaker persecution, Major Pike led the oppositionto it in Salisbury, until, at length, William Penn prevailed uponCharles II. To put an end to it in all his dominions. If the history ofthat period had not been so carefully recorded in official documents, wecould scarcely believe to what a point the principle of authority wasthen carried. One of the laws which Robert Pike dared openly to opposemade it a misdemeanor for any one to exhort on Sunday who had not beenregularly ordained. He declared that the men who voted for that law hadbroken their oaths, for they had sworn on taking their seats to enactnothing against the just liberty of Englishmen. For saying this he waspronounced guilty of "defaming" the legislature, and he was sentenced tobe disfranchised, disabled from holding any public office, bound to goodbehavior, and fined twenty marks, equal to about two hundred dollars inour present currency. 

Petitions were presented to the legislature asking the remission of thesevere sentence. But even this was regarded as a criminal offense, andproceedings were instituted against every signer. A few acknowledgedthat the signing was an offense, and asked the forgiveness of the court, but all the rest were required to give bonds for their appearance toanswer. 

Another curious incident shows the rigor of the government of that day. According to the Puritan law, Sunday began at sunset on Saturdayevening, and ended at sunset on Sunday evening. During the March thaw of1680, Major Pike had occasion to go to Boston, then a journey of twodays. Fearing that the roads were about to break up, he determined tostart on Sunday evening, get across the Merrimac, which was then amatter of difficulty during the melting of the ice, and make an earlystart from the other side of the river on Monday morning. The gallantmajor being, of course, a member of the church, and very religious, wentto church twice that Sunday. Now, as to what followed, I will quote thetestimony of an eye-witness, his traveling companion:--

"I do further testify that, though it was pretty late ere Mr. Burrows(the clergyman) ended his afternoon's exercise, yet did the major stayin his daughter's house till repetition of both forenoon and afternoonsermons was over, and the duties of the day concluded with prayer; and, after a little stay, to be sure the sun was down, then we mounted, andnot till then. The sun did indeed set in a cloud, and after we weremounted, I do remember the major spake of lightening up where the sunset; but I saw no sun. "

A personal enemy of the major's brought a charge against him ofviolating the holy day by starting on his journey _before_ the settingof the sun. The case was brought for trial, and several witnesses wereexamined. The accuser testified that "he did see Major Robert Pike rideby his house toward the ferry upon the Lord's day when the sun was abouthalf an hour high. " Another witness confirmed this. Another testified:--

"The sun did indeed set in a cloud, and, a little after the major wasmounted, there appeared a light where the sun went down, which soonvanished again, possibly half a quarter of an hour. "

Nevertheless, there were two witnesses who declared that the sun was notdown when the major mounted, and so this worthy gentleman, thensixty-four years of age, a man of honorable renown in the commonwealth, was convicted of "profaning the Sabbath, " fined ten shillings, andcondemned to pay costs and fees, which were eight shillings more. Hepaid his fine, and was probably more careful during the rest of his lifeto mount on Sunday evenings by the almanac. 

The special glory of this man's life was his steadfast and braveopposition to the witchcraft mania of 1692. This deplorable madness wasin New England a mere transitory panic, from which the people quicklyrecovered; but while it lasted it almost silenced opposition, and itrequired genuine heroism to lift a voice against it. No country ofEurope was free from the delusion during that century, and some of itswisest men were carried away by it. The eminent judge, Sir WilliamBlackstone, in his "Commentaries, " published in 1765, used thislanguage:--

"To deny the existence of witchcraft is to flatly contradict therevealed word of God, and the thing itself is a truth to which everynation has in its turn borne testimony. "

This was the conviction of that age, and hundreds of persons wereexecuted for practicing witchcraft. In Massachusetts, while the manialasted, fear blanched every face and haunted every house. 

It was the more perilous to oppose the trials because there was amingling of personal malevolence in the fell business, and an individualwho objected was in danger of being himself accused. No station, no age, no merit, was a sufficient protection. Mary Bradbury, seventy-five yearsof age, the wife of one of the leading men of Salisbury, a woman ofsingular excellence and dignity of character, was among the convicted. She was a neighbor of Major Pike's, and a life-long friend. 

In the height of the panic he addressed to one of the judges an argumentagainst the trials for witchcraft which is one of the most ingeniouspieces of writing to be found among the documents of that age. Thepeculiarity of it is that the author argues on purely Biblical grounds;for he accepted the whole Bible as authoritative, and all its parts asequally authoritative, from Genesis to Revelation. His main point wasthat witchcraft, whatever it may be, cannot be certainly proved againstany one. The eye, he said, may be deceived; the ear may be; and all thesenses. The devil himself may take the shape and likeness of a person orthing, when it is not that person or thing. The truth on the subject, heheld, lay out of the range of mortal ken. 

"And therefore, " he adds, "I humbly conceive that, in such a difficulty, it may be more safe, for the present, to let a guilty person live tillfurther discovery than to put an innocent person to death. "

Happily this mania speedily passed, and troubled New England no more. Robert Pike lived many years longer, and died in 1706, when he wasnearly ninety-one years of age. He was a farmer, and gained aconsiderable estate, the whole of which he gave away to his heirs beforehis death. The house in which he lived is still standing in the town ofSalisbury, and belongs to his descendants; for on that healthy coastmen, families, and houses decay very slowly. James S. Pike, one of hisdescendants, the well-remembered "J. S. P. " of the "Tribune's" earlierday, and now an honored citizen of Maine, has recently written a littlebook about this ancient hero who assisted to set his fellow-citizensright when they were going wrong. 

GEORGE GRAHAM, CLOCK-MAKER, BURIED IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

It is supposed that the oldest clock in existence is one in the ancientcastle of Dover, on the southern coast of England, bearing the date, 1348. It has been running, therefore, five hundred and thirty-six years. Other clocks of the same century exist in various parts of Europe, theworks of which have but one hand, which points the hour, and requirewinding every twenty-four hours. From the fact of so many large clocksof that period having been preserved in whole or in part, it is highlyprobable that the clock was then an old invention. 

But how did people measure time during the countless ages that rolledaway before the invention of the clock? The first time-measurer wasprobably a post stuck in the ground, the shadow of which, varying inlength and direction, indicated the time of day, whenever the sun wasnot obscured by clouds. The sun-dial, which was an improvement uponthis, was known to the ancient Jews and Greeks. The ancient Chinese andEgyptians possessed an instrument called the Clepsydra (water-stealer), which was merely a vessel full of water with a small hole in the bottomby which the water slowly escaped. There were marks in the inside of thevessel which showed the hour. An improvement upon this was made abouttwo hundred and thirty-five years before Christ by an Egyptian, whocaused the escaping water to turn a system of wheels; and the motion wascommunicated to a rod which pointed to the hours upon a circleresembling a clock-face. Similar clocks were made in which sand was usedinstead of water. The hour-glass was a time-measurer for many centuriesin Europe, and all the ancient literatures abound in allusions to therapid, unobserved, running away of its sands. 

The next advance was the invention of the wheel-and-weight-clock, suchas has been in use ever since. The first instrument of this kind mayhave been made by the ancients; but no clear allusion to its existencehas been discovered earlier than 996, when Pope Sylvester II. Is knownto have had one constructed. It was Christian Huygens, the famous Dutchphilosopher, who applied, in 1658, the pendulum to the clock, and thusled directly to those more refined and subtle improvements, which renderour present clocks and watches among the least imperfect of all humancontrivances. 

George Graham, the great London clock-maker of Queen Anne's and Georgethe First's time, and one of the most noted improvers of the clock, wasborn in 1675. After spending the first thirteen years of his life in avillage in the North of England, he made his way to London, anintelligent and well-bred Quaker boy; and there he was so fortunate asto be taken as an apprentice by Tompion, then the most celebratedclock-maker in England, whose name is still to be seen upon ancientwatches and clocks. Tompion was a most exquisite mechanic, proud of hiswork and jealous of his name. He is the Tompion who figured inFarquhar's play of "The Inconstant;" and Prior mentions him in his"Essay on Learning, " where he says that Tompion on a watch or clock wasproof positive of its excellence. A person once brought him a watch torepair, upon which his name had been fraudulently engraved. He took up ahammer and smashed it, and then selecting one of his own watches, gaveit to the astonished customer, saying: "Sir, here is a watch of mymaking. "

Graham was worthy to be the apprentice of such a master, for he not onlyshowed intelligence, skill, and fidelity, but a happy turn forinvention. Tompion became warmly attached to him, treated him as a son, gave him the full benefit of his skill and knowledge, took him intopartnership, and finally left him sole possessor of the business. Fornearly half a century George Graham, Clock-maker, was one of the bestknown signs in Fleet Street, and the instruments made in his shop werevalued in all the principal countries of Europe. The great clock atGreenwich Observatory, made by him one hundred and fifty years ago, isstill in use and could hardly now be surpassed in substantialexcellence. The mural arch in the same establishment, used for thetesting of quadrants and other marine instruments, was also his work. When the French government sent Maupertuis within the polar circle, toascertain the exact figure of the earth, it was George Graham, Clock-maker of Fleet Street, who supplied the requisite instruments. 

But it was not his excellence as a mechanic that causes his name to beremembered at the present time. He made two capital inventions inclock-machinery which are still universally used, and will probablynever be superseded. It was a common complaint among clock-makers, whenhe was a young man, that the pendulum varied in length according to thetemperature, and consequently caused the clock to go too slowly in hotweather, and too fast in cold. Thus, if a clock went correctly at atemperature of sixty degrees, it would lose three seconds a day if thetemperature rose to seventy, and three more seconds a day for everyadditional ten degrees of heat. Graham first endeavored to rectify thisinconvenience by making the pendulum of several different kinds ofmetal, which was a partial remedy. But the invention by which heovercame the difficulty completely, consisted in employing a column ofmercury as the "bob" of the pendulum. The hot weather, which lengthenedthe steel rods, raised the column of mercury, and so brought the centreof oscillation higher. If the column of mercury was of the right length, the lengthening or the shortening of the pendulum was exactlycounterbalanced, and the variation of the clock, through changes of thetemperature, almost annihilated. 

This was a truly exquisite invention. The clock he himself made on thisplan for Greenwich, after being in use a century and a half, requiresattention not oftener than once in fifteen months. Some importantdiscoveries in astronomy are due to the exactness with which Graham'sclock measures time. He also invented what is called the "deadescapement, " still used, I believe, in all clocks and watches, from thecommonest five-dollar watch to the most elaborate and costly regulator. Another pretty invention of his was a machine for showing the positionand motions of the heavenly bodies, which was exceedingly admired by ourgrandfathers. Lord Orrery having amused himself by copying this machine, a French traveler who saw it complimented the maker by naming it anOrrery, which has led many to suppose it to have been an invention ofthat lord. It now appears, however, that the true inventor was the FleetStreet clock-maker. 

The merits of this admirable mechanic procured for him, while he wasstill little more than a young man, the honor of being elected a memberof the Royal Society, the most illustrious scientific body in theworld. And a very worthy member he proved. If the reader will turn tothe Transactions of that learned society, he may find in them twenty-onepapers contributed by George Graham. He was, however, far from regardinghimself as a philosopher, but to the end of his days always styledhimself a clock-maker. 

They still relate an anecdote showing the confidence he had in his work. A gentleman who bought a watch of him just before departing for India, asked him how far he could depend on its keeping the correct time. 

"Sir, " replied Graham, "it is a watch which I have made and regulatedmyself; take it with you wherever you please. If after seven years youcome back to see me, and can tell me there has been a difference of fiveminutes, I will return you your money. "

Seven years passed, and the gentleman returned. 

"Sir, " said he, "I bring you back your watch. "

"I remember, " said Graham, "our conditions. Let me see the watch. Well, what do you complain of?"

"Why, " was the reply, "I have had it seven years, and there is adifference of more than five minutes. "

"Indeed!" said Graham. "In that case I return you your money. "

"I would not part with my watch, " said the gentleman, "for ten times thesum I paid for it. "

"And I, " rejoined Graham, "would not break my word for anyconsideration. "

He insisted on taking back the watch, which ever after he used as aregulator. 

This is a very good story, and is doubtless substantially true; but nowatch was ever yet made which has varied as little as five minutes inseven years. Readers may remember that the British government onceoffered a reward of twenty thousand pounds sterling for the bestchronometer, and the prize was awarded to Harrison for a chronometerwhich varied two minutes in a sailing voyage from England to Jamaica andback. 

George Graham died in 1751, aged seventy-six years, universally esteemedas an ornament of his age and country. In Westminster Abbey, among thetombs of poets, philosophers, and statesmen, may be seen the graves ofthe two clock-makers, master and apprentice, Tompion and Graham. 

JOHN HARRISON, EXQUISITE WATCH-MAKER. 

He was first a carpenter, and the son of a carpenter, born and reared inEnglish Yorkshire, in a village too insignificant to appear on any but acounty map. Faulby is about twenty miles from York, and there JohnHarrison was born in 1693, when William and Mary reigned in England. Hewas thirty-five years of age before he was known beyond his ownneighborhood. He was noted there, however, for being a most skillfulworkman. There is, perhaps, no trade in which the degrees of skill areso far apart as that of carpenter. The difference is great indeedbetween the clumsy-fisted fellow who knocks together a farmer's pig-pen, and the almost artist who makes a dining-room floor equal to a piece ofmosaic. Dr. Franklin speaks with peculiar relish of one of his youngcomrades in Philadelphia, as "the most exquisite joiner" he had everknown. 

It was not only in carpentry that John Harrison reached extraordinaryskill and delicacy of stroke. He became an excellent machinist, and wasparticularly devoted from an early age to clock-work. He was a studentalso in the science of the day. A contemporary of Newton, he madehimself capable of understanding the discoveries of that great man, andof following the Transactions of the Royal Society in mathematics, astronomy, and natural philosophy. 

Clock-work, however, was his ruling taste as a workman, for many years, and he appears to have set before him as a task the making of a clockthat should surpass all others. He says in one of his pamphlets that, inthe year 1726, when he was thirty-three years of age, he finished twolarge pendulum clocks which, being placed in different houses somedistance apart, differed from each other only one second in a month. Healso says that one of his clocks, which he kept for his own use, thegoing of which he compared with a fixed star, varied from the true timeonly one minute in ten years. 

Modern clock-makers are disposed to deride these extraordinary claims, particularly those of Paris and Switzerland. We know, however, that JohnHarrison was one of the most perfect workmen that ever lived, and I findit difficult to believe that a man whose works were so true could befalse in his words. 

In perfecting these amateur clocks he made a beautiful invention, theprinciple of which is still employed in other machines besidesclock-work. Like George Graham, he observed that the chief cause ofirregularity in a well-made clock was the varying length of thependulum, which in warm weather expanded and became a little longer, andin cold weather became shorter. He remedied this by the invention ofwhat is often called the gridiron pendulum, made of several bars ofsteel and brass, and so arranged as to neutralize and correct thetendency of the pendulum to vary in length. Brass is very sensitive tochanges of temperature, steel much less so; and hence it is notdifficult to arrange the pendulum so that the long exterior bars ofsteel shall very nearly curb the expansion and contraction of theshorter brass ones. 

While he was thus perfecting himself in obscurity, the great world wasin movement also, and it was even stimulating his labors, as well asgiving them their direction. 

The navigation of the ocean was increasing every year in importance, chiefly through the growth of the American colonies and the taste forthe rich products of India. The art of navigation was still imperfect. In order that the captain of a ship at sea may know precisely where heis, he must know two things: how far he is from the equator, and how farhe is from a certain known place, say Greenwich, Paris, Washington. Being sure of those two things, he can take his chart and mark upon itthe precise spot where his ship is at a given moment. Then he knows howto steer, and all else that he needs to know in order to pursue hiscourse with confidence. 

When John Harrison was a young man, the art of navigation had so faradvanced that the distance from the equator, or the latitude, could beascertained with certainty by observation of the heavenly bodies. Onegreat difficulty remained to be overcome--the finding of the longitude. This was done imperfectly by means of a watch which kept Greenwich timeas near as possible. Every fine day the captain could ascertain by anobservation of the sun just when it was twelve o'clock. If, on lookingat this chronometer, he found that by Greenwich time it was quarter pasttwo, he could at once ascertain his distance from Greenwich, or in otherwords, his longitude. 

But the terrible question was, how near right is the chronometer? Avariation of a very few minutes would make a difference of more than ahundred miles. 

To this day, no perfect time-keeper has ever been made. From an earlyperiod, the governments of commercial nations were solicitous to find away of determining the longitude that would be sufficiently correct. Thus, the King of Spain, in 1598, offered a reward of a thousand crownsto any one who should discover an approximately correct method. Soonafter, the government of Holland offered ten thousand florins. In 1714the English government took hold of the matter, and offered a series ofdazzling prizes: Five thousand pounds for a chronometer that wouldenable a ship six months from home to get her longitude within sixtymiles; seven thousand five hundred pounds, if within forty miles; tenthousand pounds if within thirty miles. Another clause of the billoffered a premium of twenty thousand pounds for the invention of anymethod whatever, by means of which the longitude could be determinedwithin thirty miles. The bill appears to have been drawn somewhatcarelessly; but the substance of it was sufficiently plain, namely, thatthe British Government was ready to make the fortune of any man whoshould enable navigators to make their way across the ocean in astraight line to their desired port. 

Two years after, the Regent of France offered a prize of a hundredthousand francs for the same object. 

All the world went to watch-making. John Harrison, stimulated by theseoffers to increased exertion, in the year 1736 presented himself atGreenwich with one of his wonderful clocks, provided with the gridironpendulum, which he exhibited and explained to the commissioners. Perceiving the merit and beauty of his invention, they placed the clockon board a ship bound for Lisbon. This was subjecting a pendulum clockto a very unfair trial; but it corrected the ship's reckoning severalmiles. The commissioners now urged him to compete for the chronometerprize, and in order to enable him to do so they supplied him withmoney, from time to time, for twenty-four years. At length he producedhis chronometer, about four inches in diameter, and so mounted as not toshare the motion of the vessel. 

In 1761, when he was sixty-eight years of age, he wrote to thecommissioners that he had completed a chronometer for trial, andrequested them to test it on a voyage to the West Indies, under the careof his son William. His requests were granted. The success of thechronometer was wonderful. On arriving at Jamaica, the chronometervaried but four seconds from Greenwich time, and on returning to Englandthe entire variation was a little short of two minutes; which wasequivalent to a longitudinal variation of eighteen miles. The ship hadbeen absent from Portsmouth one hundred and forty-seven days. 

This signal triumph was won after forty years of labor and experiment. The commissioners demanding another trial, the watch was taken toBarbadoes, and, after an absence of a hundred and fifty-six days, showeda variation of only fifteen seconds. After other and very exactingtests, it was decided that John Harrison had fulfilled all theprescribed conditions, and he received accordingly the whole sum oftwenty thousand pounds sterling. 

It is now asserted by experts that he owed the success of his watch, notso much to originality of invention, as to the exquisite skill andprecision of his workmanship. He had one of the most perfect mechanicalhands that ever existed. It was the touch of a Raphael applied tomechanism. 

John Harrison lived to the good old age of eighty-three years. He diedin London in 1776, about the time when General Washington was gettingready to drive the English troops and their Tory friends out of Boston. It is not uncommon nowadays for a ship to be out four or five months, and to hit her port so exactly as to sail straight into it withoutaltering her course more than a point or two. 

PETER FANEUIL, AND THE GREAT HALL HE BUILT. 

A story is told of the late Ralph Waldo Emerson's first lecture, inCincinnati, forty years ago. A worthy pork-packer, who was observed tolisten with close attention to the enigmatic utterances of the sage, wasasked by one of his friends what he thought of the performance. 

"I liked it very well, " said he, "and I'm glad I went, because I learnedfrom it how the Boston people pronounce Faneuil Hall. "

He was perhaps mistaken, for it is hardly probable that Mr. Emerson gavethe name in the old-fashioned Boston style, which was a good deal likethe word _funnel_. The story, however, may serve to show what awidespread and intense reputation the building has. Of all the objectsin Boston it is probably the one best known to the people of the UnitedStates, and the one surest to be visited by the stranger. The Hall is acurious, quaint little interior, with its high galleries, and itscollection of busts and pictures of Revolutionary heroes. Peter Faneuillittle thought what he was doing when he built it, though he appears tohave been a man of liberal and enlightened mind. 

The Faneuils were prosperous merchants in the French city of Rochelle in1685, when Louis XIV. Revoked the Edict of Nantes. The great-grandfatherof John Jay was also in large business there at that time, and so werethe ancestors of our Delanceys, Badeaus, Pells, Secors, Allaires, andother families familiar to the ears of New Yorkers, many of them havingdistinguished living representatives among us. They were of the religion"called Reformed, " as the king of France contemptuously styled it. Reformed or not, they were among the most intelligent, enterprising, andwealthy of the merchants of Rochelle. 

How little we can conceive the effect upon their minds of the orderwhich came from Paris in October, 1685, which was intended to put an endforever to the Protestant religion in France. The king meant to makethorough work of it. He ordered all the Huguenot churches in the kingdomto be instantly demolished. He forbade the dissenters to assemble eitherin a building or out of doors, on pain of death and confiscation of alltheir goods. Their clergymen were required to leave the kingdom withinfifteen days. Their schools were interdicted, and all children hereafterborn of Protestant parents were to be baptized by the Catholicclergymen, and reared as Catholics. 

These orders were enforced with reckless ferocity, particularly in theremoter provinces and cities of the kingdom. The Faneuils, the Jays, andthe Delanceys of that renowned city saw their house of worship leveledwith the ground. Dragoons were quartered in their houses, whom they wereobliged to maintain, and to whose insolence they were obliged to submit, for the troops were given to understand that they were the king'senemies and had no rights which royal soldiers were bound to respect. Atthe same time, the edict forbade them to depart from the kingdom, andparticular precautions were taken to prevent men of capital from doingso. 

John Jay records that the ancestor of his family made his escape byartifice, and succeeded in taking with him a portion of his property. Such was also the good fortune of the brothers Faneuil, who were part ofthe numerous company from old Rochelle who emigrated to New York about1690, and formed a settlement upon Long Island Sound, twelve miles fromNew York, which they named, and which is still called, New Rochelle. Theold names can still be read in that region, both in the churchyards andupon the door plates, and the village of Pelham recalls the name of thePell family who fled from Rochelle about the same time, and obtained agrant of six thousand acres of land near by. The newcomers were warmlywelcomed, as their friends and relations were in England. 

The Faneuil brothers did not remain long in New Rochelle, but removed toBoston in 1691. Benjamin and Andrew were their names. There are manytraces of them in the early records, indicating that they were merchantsof large capital and extensive business for that day. There areevidences also that they were men of intelligence and public spirit. They appear to have been members of the Church of England in Boston, which of itself placed them somewhat apart from the majority of theirfellow-citizens. 

Peter Faneuil, the builder of the famous Hall, who was born in Bostonabout 1701, the oldest of eleven children, succeeded to the businessfounded by his uncle Andrew, and while still a young man had greatlyincreased it, and was reckoned one of the leading citizens. 

A curious controversy had agitated the people of Boston for many years. The town had existed for nearly a century without having a public marketof any kind, the country people bringing in their produce and selling itfrom door to door. In February, 1717, occurred the Great Snow, whichdestroyed great numbers of domestic and wild animals, and causedprovisions for some weeks to be scarce and dear. The inhabitants laidthe blame of the dearness to the rapacity of the hucksters, and thesubject being brought up in town meeting, a committee reported that thetrue remedy was to build a market, to appoint market days, and establishrules. The farmers opposed the scheme, as did also many of the citizens. The project being defeated, it was revived year after year, but thecountry people always contrived to defeat it. An old chronicler has aquaint passage on the subject. 

"The country people, " he says, "always opposed the market, so that thequestion could not be settled. The reason they give for it is, that ifmarket days were appointed, all the country people coming in at the sametime would glut it, and the towns-people would buy their provisions forwhat they pleased; so rather choose to send them as they think fit. Andsometimes a tall fellow brings in a turkey or goose to sell, and willtravel through the whole town to see who will give most for it, and itis at last sold for three and six pence or four shillings; and if he hadstayed at home, he could have earned a crown by his labor, which is thecustomary price for a day's work. So any one may judge of the stupidityof the country people. "

In Boston libraries, pamphlets are still preserved on this burningquestion of a market, which required seventeen years of discussionbefore a town meeting was brought to vote for the erection of markethouses. In 1734, seven hundred pounds were appropriated for the purpose. The market hours were fixed from sunrise to 1 P. M. , and a bell wasordered to be rung to announce the time of opening. The country people, however, had their way, notwithstanding. They so resolutely refrainedfrom attending the markets that in less than four years the houses fellinto complete disuse. One of the buildings was taken down, and thetimber used in constructing a workhouse; one was turned into stores, andthe third was torn to pieces by a mob, who carried off the material fortheir own use. 

Nevertheless, the market question could not be allayed, for therespectable inhabitants of the town were still convinced of the need ofa market as a defense against exorbitant charges. For some years thesubject was brought up in town meetings; but as often as it came to thepoint of appropriating money the motion was lost. At length Mr. PeterFaneuil came forward to end the dissension in a truly magnificentmanner. He offered to build a market house at his own expense, and makea present of it to the town. 

Even this liberal offer did not silence opposition. A petition waspresented to the town meeting, signed by three hundred and fortyinhabitants, asking the acceptance of Peter Faneuil's proposal. Theopposition to it, however, was strong. At length it was agreed that, ifa market house were built, the country people should be at liberty tosell their produce from door to door if they pleased. Even with thisconcession, only 367 citizens voted for the market and 360 voted againstit. Thus, by a majority of seven, the people of Boston voted to acceptthe most munificent gift the town had received since it was founded. 

Peter Faneuil went beyond his promise. Besides building an ample marketplace, he added a second story for a town hall, and other offices forpublic use. The building originally measured one hundred feet by forty, and was finished in so elegant a style as to be reckoned the chiefornament of the town. It was completed in 1742, after two years had beenspent in building it. It had scarcely been opened for public use whenPeter Faneuil died, aged a little less than forty-three years. Thegrateful citizens gave him a public funeral, and the Selectmen appointedMr. John Lovell, schoolmaster, to deliver his funeral oration in theHall bearing his name. The oration was entered at length upon therecords of the town, and has been frequently published. 

In 1761 the Hall was destroyed by fire. It was immediately rebuilt, andthis second structure was the Faneuil Hall in which were held themeetings preceding and during the war for Independence, which have givenit such universal celebrity. Here Samuel Adams spoke. Here the feelingwas created which made Massachusetts the centre and source of therevolutionary movement. 

Let me not omit to state that those obstinate country people, who knewwhat they wanted, were proof against the attractions of Faneuil Hallmarket. They availed themselves of their privilege of selling theirproduce from door to door, as they had done from the beginning of thecolony. Fewer and fewer hucksters kept stalls in the market, and in afew years the lower room was closed altogether. The building served, however, as Town Hall until it was superseded by structures more inharmony with modern needs and tastes. 

What thrilling scenes the Hall has witnessed! That is a pleasing touchin one of the letters of John Adams to Thomas Jefferson, where healludes to what was probably his last visit to the scene of his youthfulglory, Faneuil Hall. Mr. Adams was eighty-three years old at the time, and it was the artist Trumbull, also an old man, who prevailed upon himto go to the Hall. 

"Trumbull, " he wrote, "with a band of associates, drew me by the cordsof old friendship to see his picture, on Saturday, where I got a greatcold. The air of Faneuil is changed. _I have not been used to catch coldthere. _"

No, indeed. If the process of storing electricity had been applied tothe interior of this electric edifice, enough of the fluid could havebeen saved to illuminate Boston every Fourth of July. It is hard toconceive of a tranquil or commonplace meeting there, so associated is itin our minds with outbursts of passionate feeling. 

Speaking of John Adams calls to mind an anecdote related recently by avenerable clergyman of New York, Rev. William Hague. Mr. Hagueofficiated as chaplain at the celebration of the Fourth of July inBoston, in 1843, when Charles Francis Adams delivered the oration inFaneuil Hall, which was his first appearance on a public platform. While the procession was forming to march to the Hall, ex-President JohnQuincy Adams entered into conversation with the chaplain, during whichhe spoke as follows:--

"This is one of the happiest days of my whole life. Fifty years expireto-day since I performed in Boston my first public service, which wasthe delivery of an oration to celebrate our national independence. Afterhalf a century of active life, I am spared by a benign Providence towitness my son's performance of his first public service, to deliver anoration in honor of the same great event. "

The chaplain replied to Mr. Adams:--

"President, I am well aware of the notable connection of events to whichyou refer; and having committed and declaimed a part of your own greatoration when a schoolboy in New York, I could without effort repeat itto you now. "

The aged statesman was surprised and gratified at this statement. Theprocession was formed and the oration successfully delivered. Since thattime, I believe, an Adams of the fourth generation has spoken in thesame place, and probably some readers will live to hear one of the fifthand sixth. 

The venerable John Adams might well say that he had not been used tocatch cold in the air of Faneuil Hall, for as far as I know there hasnever been held there a meeting which has not something of extraordinarywarmth in its character. I have mentioned above that the first publicmeeting ever held in it after its completion in 1742 was to commemoratethe premature death of the donor of the edifice; on which occasion Mr. John Lovell delivered a glowing eulogium. 

"Let this stately edifice which bears his name, " cried the orator, "witness for him what sums he expended in public munificence. Thisbuilding, erected by him, at his own immense charge, for the convenienceand ornament of the town, is incomparably the greatest benefaction everyet known to our western shore. "

Towards the close of his speech, the eloquent schoolmaster gaveutterance to a sentiment which has often since been repeated withinthose walls. 

"May this hall be ever sacred to the interests of truth, of justice, ofloyalty, of honor, of liberty. May no private views nor party broilsever enter these walls. "

Whether this wish has been fulfilled or not is a matter of opinion. General Gage doubtless thought that it had not been. 

Scenes of peculiar interest took place in the Hall about the beginningof the year 1761, when the news was received in Boston that King GeorgeII. Had fallen dead in his palace at Kensington, and that George III. , his grandson, had been proclaimed king. It required just two months forthis intelligence to cross the ocean. The first thing in order, itseems, was to celebrate the accession of the young king. He wasproclaimed from the balcony of the town house; guns were fired from allthe forts in the harbor; and in the afternoon a grand dinner was givenin Faneuil Hall. These events occurred on the last day but one of theyear 1760. 

The first day of the new year, 1761, was ushered in by the solemntolling of the church bells in the town, and the firing of minute gunson Castle Island. These mournful sounds were heard all day, even to thesetting of the sun. However doleful the day may have seemed, there wasmore appropriateness in these signs of mourning than any man of thatgeneration could have known; for with George II. Died the indolent butsalutary let-them-alone policy under which the colonies enjoyedprosperity and peace. With the accession of the new king the troublesbegan which ended in the disruption of the empire. George III. Was thelast king whose accession received official recognition in the thirteencolonies. 

I have hunted in vain through my books to find some record of the dinnergiven in Faneuil Hall to celebrate the beginning of the new reign. Itwould be interesting to know how the sedate people of Boston comportedthemselves on a festive occasion of that character. John Adams was ayoung barrister then. If the after-dinner speeches were as outspoken asthe political comments he entered in his Diary, the proceedings couldnot have been very acceptable to the royal governor. Mr. Adams was farfrom thinking that England had issued victorious from the latecampaigns, and he thought that France was then by far the most brilliantand powerful nation in Europe. 

A few days after these loyal ceremonies, Boston experienced what is nowknown there as a "cold snap, " and it was so severe as almost to closethe harbor with ice. One evening, in the midst of it, a fire broke outopposite Faneuil Hall. Such was the extremity of cold that the waterforced from the engines fell upon the ground in particles of ice. Thefire swept across the street and caught Faneuil Hall, the interior ofwhich was entirely consumed, nothing remaining but the solid brickwalls. It was rebuilt in just two years, and reopened in the midst ofanother remarkably cold time, which was signalized by another bad fire. There was so much distress among the poor that winter that a meeting washeld in Faneuil Hall for their relief, Rev. Samuel Mather preaching asermon on the occasion, and this was the first discourse delivered in itafter it was rebuilt. 

Seven years later the Hall was put to a very different use. A powerfulfleet of twelve men-of-war, filled with troops, was coming across theocean to apply military pressure to the friends of liberty. A conventionwas held in Faneuil Hall, attended by delegates from the surroundingtowns, as well as by the citizens of Boston. The people were inconsternation, for they feared that any attempt to land the troopswould lead to violent resistance. The convention indeed requested theinhabitants to "provide themselves with firearms, that they may beprepared in case of sudden danger. "

The atmosphere was extremely electric in Boston just then. The governorsent word to the convention assembled in Faneuil Hall that their meetingwas "a very high offense" which only their ignorance of the law couldexcuse; but the plea of ignorance could no longer avail them, and hecommanded them to disperse. The convention sent a reply to the governor, which he refused to receive, and they continued in session until thefleet entered the harbor. 

October 2, 1768, the twelve British men-of-war were anchored in asemicircle opposite the town, with cannon loaded, and cleared foraction, as though Boston were a hostile stronghold, instead of adefenseless country town of loyal and innocent fellow-citizens. Tworegiments landed; one of which encamped on the Common, and the othermarched to Faneuil Hall, where they were quartered for four or fiveweeks. With one accord the merchants and property-owners refused to letany building for the use of the troops. 

Boston people to this day chuckle over the mishap of the sheriff whotried to get possession of a large warehouse through a secret aperturein the cellar wall. He did succeed in effecting an entrance, withseveral of his deputies. But as soon as they were inside the building, the patriots outside closed the hole; and thus, instead of gettingpossession of the building, the loyal officers found themselvesprisoners in a dark cellar. 

They were there for several hours before they could get word to thecommanding officer, who released them. 

The joke was consolatory to the inhabitants. It was on this occasionthat Rev. Mather Byles heightened the general merriment by hiscelebrated jest on the British soldiers:

"The people, " said he, "sent over to England to obtain a redress ofgrievances. The grievances have returned _red-dressed_. "

The Hall is still used for public meetings, and the region roundabout isstill an important public market. 

[Illustration: Chauncey Jerome]

CHAUNCEY JEROME, YANKEE CLOCK-MAKER. 

Poor boys had a hard time of it in New England eighty years ago. Observe, now, how it fared with Chauncey Jerome, --he who founded acelebrated clock business in Connecticut, that turned out six hundredclocks a day, and sent them to foreign countries by the ship-load. 

But do not run away with the idea that it was the hardship andloneliness of his boyhood that "made a man of him. " On the contrary, they injured, narrowed, and saddened him. He would have been twice theman he was, and happier all his days, if he had passed an easier and amore cheerful childhood. It is not good for boys to live as he lived, and work as he worked, during the period of growth, and I am glad thatfewer boys are now compelled to bear such a lot as his. 

His father was a blacksmith and nailmaker, of Plymouth, Connecticut, with a houseful of hungry boys and girls; and, consequently, as soon asChauncey could handle a hoe or tie up a bundle of grain he was kept atwork on the farm; for, in those days, almost all mechanics in NewEngland cultivated land in the summer time. The boy went to schoolduring the three winter months, until he was ten years old; then hisschool-days and play-days were over forever, and his father took himinto the shop to help make nails. 

Even as a child he showed that power of keeping on, to which he owed hisafter-success. There was a great lazy boy at the district school heattended who had a load of wood to chop, which he hated to do, and thissmall Chauncey, eight or nine years of age, chopped the whole of it forhim for _one cent_! Often he would chop wood for the neighbors inmoonlight evenings for a few cents a load. It is evident that thequality which made him a successful man of business was not developed byhardship, for he performed these labors voluntarily. He was naturallyindustrious and persevering. 

When he was eleven years of age his father suddenly died, and he foundhimself obliged to leave his happy home and find farm work as a poorhireling boy. There were few farmers then in Connecticut--nay, therewere few people anywhere in the world--who knew how to treat an orphanobliged to work for his subsistence among strangers. On a Mondaymorning, with his little bundle of clothes in his hand, and an almostbursting heart, he bade his mother and his brothers and sisters good-by, and walked to the place which he had found for himself, on a farm a fewmiles from home. 

He was most willing to work; but his affectionate heart was starved athis new place; and scarcely a day passed during his first year when hedid not burst into tears as he worked alone in the fields, thinking ofthe father he had lost, and of the happy family broken up never to livetogether again. It was a lonely farm, and the people with whom he livedtook no interest in him as a human being, but regarded him with littlemore consideration than one of their other working animals. They tookcare, however, to keep him steadily at work, early and late, hot andcold, rain and shine. Often he worked all day in the woods chopping downtrees with his shoes full of snow; he never had a pair of boots till hewas nearly twenty-one years of age. 

Once in two weeks he had a great joy; for his master let him go tochurch every other Sunday. After working two weeks without seeing morethan half a dozen people, it gave him a peculiar and intense delightjust to sit in the church gallery and look down upon so many humanbeings. It was the only alleviation of his dismal lot. 

Poor little lonely wretch! One day, when he was thirteen years of age, there occurred a total eclipse of the sun, a phenomenon of which he hadscarcely heard, and he had not the least idea what it could be. He washoeing corn that day in a solitary place. When the darkness and thechill of the eclipse fell upon the earth, feeling sure the day ofjudgment had come, he was terrified beyond description. He watched thesun disappearing with the deepest apprehension, and felt no relief untilit shone out bright and warm as before. 

It seems strange that people in a Christian country could have had agood steady boy like this in their house and yet do nothing to cheer orcomfort his life. Old men tell me it was a very common case in NewEngland seventy years ago. 

This hard experience on the farm lasted until he was old enough to beapprenticed. At fourteen he was bound to a carpenter for seven years, during which he was to receive for his services his board and hisclothes. Already he had done almost the work of a man on the farm, beinga stout, handy fellow, and in the course of two or three years he didthe work of a full-grown carpenter; nevertheless, he received no wagesexcept the necessaries of life. Fortunately the carpenter's family werehuman beings, and he had a pleasant, friendly home during hisapprenticeship. 

Even under the gentlest masters apprentices, in old times, were keptmost strictly to their duty. They were lucky if they got the whole ofThanksgiving and the Fourth of July for holidays. 

Now, this apprentice, when he was sixteen, was so homesick on a certainoccasion that he felt he _must_ go and see his mother, who lived nearher old home, twenty miles from where he was working on a job. He walkedthe distance in the night, in order not to rob his master of any of thetime due to him. 

It was a terrible night's work. He was sorry he had undertaken it; buthaving started he could not bear to give it up. Half the way was throughthe woods, and every noise he heard he thought was a wild beast comingto kill him, and even the piercing notes of the whippoorwill made hishair stand on end. When he passed a house the dogs were after him infull cry, and he spent the whole night in terror. Let us hope thecaresses of his mother compensated him for this suffering. 

The next year when his master had a job thirty miles distant, hefrequently walked the distance on a hot summer's day, with hiscarpenter's tools upon his back. At that time light vehicles, or anykind of one-horse carriage, were very rarely kept in country places, andmechanics generally had to trudge to their place of work, carrying theirtools with them. So passed the first years of his apprenticeship. 

All this time he was thinking of quite another business, --that ofclock-making, --which had been developed during his childhood near hisfather's house, by Eli Terry, the founder of the Yankee wooden-clockmanufacture. 

This ingenious Mr. Terry, with a small saw and a jack-knife, would cutout the wheels and works for twenty-five clocks during the winter, and, when the spring opened, he would sling three or four of them across theback of a horse, and keep going till he sold them, for about twenty-fivedollars apiece. This was for the works only. When a farmer had boughtthe machinery of a clock for twenty-five dollars, he employed thevillage carpenter to make a case for it, which might cost ten or fifteendollars more. 

It was in this simple way that the country was supplied with those tall, old-fashioned clocks, of which almost every ancient farm-house stillcontains a specimen. The clock-case was sometimes built into the houselike a pillar, and helped to support the upper story. Some of them weremade by very clumsy workmen, out of the commonest timber, just planed inthe roughest way, and contained wood enough for a pretty good-sizedorgan. 

The clock business had fascinated Chauncey Jerome from his childhood, and he longed to work at it. His guardian dissuaded him. So many clockswere then making, he said, that in two or three years the whole countrywould be supplied, and then there would be no more business for a maker. This was the general opinion. At a training, one day, the boy overhearda group talking of Eli Terry's _folly_ in undertaking to make twohundred clocks all at once. 

"He'll never live long enough to finish them, " said one. 

"If he should, " said another, "he could not possibly sell so many. Thevery idea is ridiculous. "

The boy was not convinced by these wise men of the East, and he lived tomake and to sell two hundred thousand clocks in one year!

When his apprenticeship was a little more than half over, he told hismaster that if he would give him four months in the winter of each year, when business was dull, he would buy his own clothes. His masterconsenting, he went to Waterbury, Connecticut, and began to work makingclock dials, and very soon got an insight into the art and mystery ofclock-making. 

The clock-makers of that day, who carried round their clock-movementsupon a horse's back, often found it difficult to sell them in remotecountry places, because there was no carpenter near by competent to makea case. Two smart Yankees hired our apprentice to go with them to thedistant State of New Jersey, for the express purpose of making cases forthe clocks they sold. On this journey he first saw the city of New York. He was perfectly astonished at the bustle and confusion. He stood on thecorner of Chatham and Pearl Streets for more than an hour, wondering whyso many people were hurrying about so in every direction. 

"What is going on?" said he, to a passer-by. "What's the excitementabout?"

The man hurried on without noticing him; which led him to conclude thatcity people were not over polite. 

The workmen were just finishing the interior of the City Hall, and hewas greatly puzzled to understand how those winding stone stairs couldbe fixed without any visible means of support. In New Jersey he foundanother wonder. The people there kept Christmas more strictly thanSunday; a thing very strange to a child of the Puritans, who hardly knewwhat Christmas was. 

Every winter added something to his knowledge of clock-making, and, soonafter he was out of his apprenticeship, he bought some portions ofclocks, a little mahogany, and began to put clocks together on his ownaccount, with encouraging success from the beginning. 

It was a great day with him when he received his first magnificent orderfrom a Southern merchant for twelve wooden clocks at twelve dollarsapiece! When they were done, he delivered them himself to his customer, and found it impossible to believe that he should actually receive sovast a sum as a hundred and forty-four dollars. He took the money with atrembling hand, and buttoned it up in his pocket. Then he felt an awfulapprehension that some robbers might have heard of his expecting toreceive this enormous amount, and would waylay him on the road home. 

He worked but too steadily. He used to say that he loved to work as wellas he did to eat, and that sometimes he would not go outside of his gatefrom one Sunday to the next. He soon began to make inventions andimprovements. His business rapidly increased, though occasionally he hadheavy losses and misfortunes. 

His most important contribution to the business of clock-making was hissubstitution of brass for wood in the cheap clocks. He found that hiswooden clocks, when they were transported by sea, were often spoiled bythe swelling of the wooden wheels. One night, in a moment of extremedepression during the panic of 1837, the thought darted into his mind, --

"A cheap clock can be made of brass as well as wood!"

It kept him awake nearly all night. He began at once to carry out theidea. It gave an immense development to the business, because brassclocks could be exported to all parts of the world, and the cost ofmaking them was greatly lessened by new machinery. It was ChaunceyJerome who learned how to make a pretty good brass clock for fortycents, and a good one for two dollars; and it was he who began theirexportation to foreign lands. Clocks of his making ticked during hislifetime at Jerusalem, Saint Helena, Calcutta, Honolulu, and most of theother ends of the earth. 

After making millions of clocks, and acquiring a large fortune, heretired from active business, leaving his splendid manufactory at NewHaven to the management of others. They thought they knew more than theold man; they mismanaged the business terribly, and involved him intheir own ruin. He was obliged to leave his beautiful home at seventyyears of age, and seek employment at weekly wages--he who had givenemployment to three hundred men at once. 

He scorned to be dependent. I saw and talked long with this good old manwhen he was working upon a salary, at the age of seventy-three, assuperintendent of a large clock factory in Chicago. He did not pretendto be indifferent to the change in his position. He felt it acutely. Hewas proud of the splendid business he had created, and he lamented itsdestruction. He said it was one of his consolations to know that, in thecourse of his long life, he had never brought upon others the pains hewas then enduring. He bore his misfortunes as a man should, and enjoyedthe confidence and esteem of his new associates. 

CAPTAIN PIERRE LACLEDE LIGUEST, PIONEER. 

The bridge which springs so lightly and so gracefully over theMississippi at St. Louis is a truly wonderful structure. It oftenhappens in this world that the work which is done best conceals themerit of the worker. All is finished so thoroughly and smoothly, andfulfills its purpose with so little jar and friction, that thedifficulties overcome by the engineer become almost incredible. No onewould suppose, while looking down upon the three steel arches of thisexquisite bridge, that its foundations are one hundred and twenty feetbelow the surface of the water, and that its construction cost ninemillions of dollars and six years of time. Its great height above theriver is also completely concealed by the breadth of its span. Thelargest steamboat on the river passes under it at the highest stage ofwater, and yet the curve of the arches appears to have been selectedmerely for its pictorial effect. 

It is indeed a noble and admirable work, an honor to the city andcountry, and, above all, to Captain James B. Eads, who designed andconstructed it. The spectator who sees for the first time St. Louis, nowcovering as far as the eye can reach the great bend of the river onwhich it is built, the shore fringed with steamboats puffing blacksmoke, and the city glittering in the morning sun, beholds one of themost striking and animating spectacles which this continent affords. 

Go back one hundred and twenty years. That bend was then covered withthe primeval forest, and the only object upon it which betrayed the handof man was a huge green mound, a hundred feet high, that had been thrownup ages before by some tribe which inhabited the spot before our Indianshad appeared. All that region swarmed with fur-bearing animals, deer, bear, buffalo, and beaver. It is difficult to see how this continentever could have been settled but for the fur trade. It was beaver skinwhich enabled the Pilgrim Fathers of New England to hold their ownduring the first fifty years of their settlement. It was in quest offurs that the pioneers pushed westward, and it was by the sale of fursthat the frontier settlers were at first supplied with arms, ammunition, tools, and salt. 

The fur trade also led to the founding of St. Louis. In the year 1763 agreat fleet of heavy batteaux, loaded with the rude merchandise neededby trappers and Indians, approached the spot on which St. Louis stands. This fleet had made its way up the Mississippi with enormous difficultyand toil from New Orleans, and only reached the mouth of the Missouriat the end of the fourth month. It was commanded by Pierre LacledeLiguest, the chief partner in a company chartered to trade with theIndians of the Missouri River. He was a Frenchman, a man of great energyand executive force, and his company of hunters, trappers, mechanics, and farmers, were also French. 

On his way up the river Captain Liguest had noticed this superb bend ofland, high enough above the water to avoid the floods, and its surfaceonly undulating enough for the purposes of a settlement. Having reachedthe mouth of the Muddy River (as they called the Missouri) in the monthof December, and finding no place there well suited to his purpose, hedropped down the stream seventeen miles, and drove the prows of hisboats into what is now the Levee of St. Louis. It was too late in theseason to begin a settlement. But he "blazed" the trees to mark thespot, and he said to a young man of his company, Auguste Chouteau:--

"You will come here as soon as the river is free from ice, and willcause this place to be cleared, and form a settlement according to theplan I shall give you. "

The fleet fell down the river to the nearest French settlement, Fort deChartres. Captain Liguest said to the commander of this fort onarriving:--

"I have found a situation where I intend to establish a settlement whichin the future will become one of the most beautiful cities in America. "

These are not imaginary words. Auguste Chouteau, who was selected toform the settlement, kept a diary, part of which is now preserved in theMercantile Library at St. Louis, and in it this saying of CaptainLiguest is recorded. So, the next spring he dispatched young Chouteauwith a select body of thirty mechanics and hunters to the site of theproposed settlement. 

"You will go, " said he, "and disembark at the place where we marked thetrees. You will begin to clear the place and build a large shed tocontain the provisions and tools and some little cabins to lodge themen. "

On the fifteenth of February, 1764, the party arrived, and the nextmorning began to build their shed. Liguest named the settlement St. Louis, in honor of the patron saint of the royal house of France--LouisXV. Being then upon the throne. All went well with the settlement, andit soon became the seat of the fur trade for an immense region ofcountry, extending gradually from the Mississippi to the RockyMountains. 

The French lived more peacefully with the Indians than any other peoplewho assisted to settle this continent, and the reason appears to havebeen that they became almost Indian themselves. They built their huts inthe wigwam fashion, with poles stuck in the ground. They imitated theways and customs of the Indians, both in living and in hunting. Theywent on hunting expeditions with Indians, wore the same garments, andlearned to live on meat only, as Indian hunting parties generally did. But the circumstance which most endeared the French to the Indians wastheir marrying the daughters of the chiefs, which made the Indiansregard them as belonging to their tribe. Besides this, they accommodatedthemselves to the Indian character, and learned how to please them. ASt. Louis fur trader, who was living a few years ago in the ninetiethyear of his age, used to speak of the ease with which an influentialchief could be conciliated. 

"I could always, " said he, "make the principal chief of a tribe myfriend by a piece of vermilion, a pocket looking-glass, someflashy-looking beads, and a knife. These things made him a puppet in myhands. "

Even if a valuable horse had been stolen, a chief, whose friendship hadbeen won in this manner, would continue to scold the tribe until thehorse was brought back. The Indians, too, were delighted with theFrenchman's fiddle, his dancing, his gayety of manner, and even with thebright pageantry of his religion. It was when the settlement was sixyears old that the inhabitants of St. Louis, a very few hundreds innumber, gathered to take part in the consecration of a little church, made very much like the great council wigwam of the Indians, the logsbeing placed upright, and the interstices filled with mortar. Thischurch stood near the river, almost on the very site of the presentcathedral. Mass was said, and the Te Deum was chanted. At the firstlaying out of the village, Captain Liguest set apart the whole block asa site for the church, and it remains church property to this day. 

It is evident from Chouteau's diary that Pierre Laclede Liguest, thoughhe had able and energetic assistants, was the soul of the enterprise, and the real founder of St. Louis. He was one of that stock of Frenchmenwho put the imprint of their nation, never to be effaced, upon the mapof North America--a kind of Frenchman unspeakably different from thosewho figured in the comic opera and the masquerade ball of the latecorrupt and effeminating empire. He was a genial and generous man, whorewarded his followers bountifully, and took the lead in every serviceof difficulty and danger. While on a visit to New Orleans he died of oneof the diseases of the country, and was buried on the shore near themouth of the Arkansas River. 

His executor and chief assistant, Auguste Chouteau, born at New Orleansin 1739, lived one hundred years, not dying till 1839. There are manypeople in St. Louis who remember him. A very remarkable coincidence was, that his brother, Pierre Chouteau, born in New Orleans in 1749, died inSt. Louis in 1849, having also lived just one hundred years. Both ofthese brothers were identified with St. Louis from the beginning, wherethey lived in affluence and honor for seventy years, and where theirdescendants still reside. 

The growth of St. Louis was long retarded by the narrowness and tyrannyof the Spanish government, to which the French ceded the country aboutthe time when St. Louis was settled. But in 1804 it was transferred tothe United States, and from that time its progress has been rapid andalmost uninterrupted. When President Jefferson's agent took possession, there was no post-office, no ferry over the river, no newspaper, nohotel, no Protestant church, and no school. Nor could any one hold landwho was not a Catholic. Instantly, and as a matter of course, allrestricting laws were swept away; and before two years had passed therewas a ferry, a post-office, a newspaper, a Protestant church, a hotel, and two schools, one French and one English. 

ISRAEL PUTNAM. 

It is strange that so straightforward and transparent a character as"Old Put" should have become the subject of controversy. Too much isclaimed for him by some disputants, and much too little is conceded tohim by others. He was certainly as far from being a rustic booby as hewas from being a great general. 

Conceive him, first, as a thriving, vigorous, enterprising Connecticutfarmer, thirty years of age, cultivating with great success his own farmof five hundred and fourteen acres, all paid for. Himself one of afamily of twelve children, and belonging to a prolific race which hasscattered Putnams all over the United States, besides leaving anextraordinary number in New England, he had married young at his nativeSalem, and established himself soon after in the northeastern corner ofConnecticut. At that period, 1740, Connecticut was to Massachusetts whatColorado is to New York at present; and thither, accordingly, thisvigorous young man and his young wife early removed, and hewed out afarm from the primeval woods. 

He was just the man for a pioneer. His strength of body wasextraordinary, and he had a power of sustained exertion more valuableeven than great strength. Nothing is more certain than that he was anenterprising and successful farmer, who introduced new fruits, betterbreeds of cattle, and improved implements. 

There is still to be seen on his farm a long avenue of ancient appletrees, which, the old men of the neighborhood affirm, were set out byIsrael Putnam one hundred and forty years ago. The well which he dug isstill used. Coming to the place with considerable property inheritedfrom his father (for the Putnams were a thriving race from thebeginning), it is not surprising that he should have become one of theleading farmers in a county of farmers. 

At the same time he was not a studious man, and had no taste forintellectual enjoyments. He was not then a member of the church. Henever served upon the school committee. There was a Library Associationat the next village, but he did not belong to it. For bold riding, skillful hunting, wood-chopping, hay-tossing, ploughing, it was hard tofind his equal; but, in the matter of learning, he could write legibly, read well enough, spell in an independent manner, and not much more. 

With regard to the wolf story, which rests upon tradition only, it isnot improbable, and there is no good reason to doubt it. Similar deedshave been done by brave backwoodsmen from the beginning, and are stilldone within the boundaries of the United States every year. The storygoes, that when he had been about two years on his new farm, the reportwas brought in one morning that a noted she-wolf of the neighborhood hadkilled seventy of his sheep and goats, besides wounding many lambs andkids. This wolf, the last of her race in that region, had long eludedthe skill of every hunter. Upon seeing the slaughter of his flock, theyoung farmer, it appears, entered into a compact with five of hisneighbors to hunt the pernicious creature by turns until they had killedher. The animal was at length tracked to her den, a cave extending deepinto a rocky hill. The tradition is, that Putnam, with a rope around hisbody, a torch in one hand, and rifle in the other, went twice into thecave, and the second time shot the wolf dead, and was drawn out by thepeople, wolf and all. An exploit of this nature gave great celebrity inan outlying county in the year 1742. Meanwhile he continued to thrive, and one of the old-fashioned New England families of ten childrengathered about him. As they grew towards maturity, he bought a share inthe Library Association, built a pew for his family in the church, andcomported himself in all ways as became a prosperous farmer and fatherof a numerous family. 

So passed his life until he reached the age of thirty-seven, when healready had a boy fifteen years of age, and was rich in all the wealthwhich Connecticut then possessed. The French war broke out--the warwhich decided the question whether the French or the English race shouldpossess North America. His reputation was such that the legislature ofConnecticut appointed him at once a captain, and he had no difficulty inenlisting a company of the young men of his county, young farmers or thesons of farmers. He gained great note as a scouter and ranger, renderingsuch important service in this way to the army that the legislature madehim a special grant of "fifty Spanish milled dollars" as an honorablegift. He was famous also for Yankee ingenuity. A colonial newspaperrelates an anecdote illustrative of this. The British general was sorelyperplexed by the presence of a French man-of-war commanding a piece ofwater which it was necessary for him to cross. 

"General, " said Putnam, "that ship must be taken. "

"Aye, " replied the general, "I would give the world if she was taken. "

"I will take her, " said Putnam. 

"How?" asked the general. 

"Give me some wedges, a beetle, and a few men of my own choice. "

When night came, Putnam rowed under the vessel's stern, and drove thewedges between the rudder and the ship. In the morning she was seen withher sails flapping helplessly in the middle of the lake, and she wassoon after blown ashore and captured. 

Among other adventures, Putnam was taken prisoner by the Indians, andcarried to his grave great scars of the wounds inflicted by the savages. He served to the very end of the war, pursuing the enemy even into thetropics, and assisting at the capture of Havana. He returned home, afternine years of almost continuous service, with the rank of colonel, andsuch a reputation as made him the hero of Connecticut, as Washington wasthe hero of Virginia at the close of the same war. At any time of publicdanger requiring a resort to arms, he would be naturally looked to bythe people of Connecticut to take the command. 

Eleven peaceful years he now spent at home. His wife died, leaving aninfant a year old. He joined the church; he married again; he cultivatedhis farm; he told his war stories. The Stamp Act excitement occurred in1765, when Putnam joined the Sons of Liberty, and called upon thegovernor of the colony as a deputy from them. 

"What shall I do, " asked the governor, "if the stamped paper should besent to me by the king's authority?"

"Lock it up, " said Putnam, "until we visit you again. "

"And what will you do with it?"

"We shall expect you to give us the key of the room where it isdeposited; and if you think fit, in order to screen yourself fromblame, you may forewarn us upon our peril not to enter the room. "

"And what will you do afterwards?"

"Send it safely back again. "

"But if I should refuse you admission?"

"Your house will be level with the dust in five minutes. "

Fortunately, the stamped paper never reached Connecticut, and the actwas repealed soon after. 

The eventful year, 1774, arrived. Putnam was fifty-six years of age, asomewhat portly personage, weighing two hundred pounds, with a round, full countenance, adorned by curly locks, now turning gray--the verypicture of a hale, hearty, good-humored, upright and downright countrygentleman. News came that the port of Boston was closed, its businesssuspended, its people likely to be in want of food. The farmers of theneighborhood contributed a hundred and twenty-five sheep, which Putnamhimself drove to Boston, sixty miles off, where he had a cordialreception by the people, and was visited by great numbers of them at thehouse of Dr. Warren, where he lived. The polite people of Boston weredelighted with the scarred old hero, and were pleased to tell anecdotesof his homely ways and fervent, honest zeal. He mingled freely, too, with the British officers, who _chaffed_ him, as the modern saying is, about his coming down to Boston to fight. They told him that twentygreat ships and twenty regiments would come unless the peoplesubmitted. 

"If they come, " said Putnam, "I am ready to treat them as enemies. "

One day in the following spring, April twentieth, while he was ploughingin one of his fields with a yoke of oxen driven by his son, Daniel, aboy of fifteen, an express reached him giving him the news of the battleof Lexington, which had occurred the day before. Daniel Putnam has lefta record of what his father did on this occasion. 

"He loitered not, " wrote Daniel, "but left me, the driver of his team, to unyoke it in the furrow, and not many days after to follow him tocamp. "

Colonel Putnam mounted a horse, and set off instantly to alarm theofficers of militia in the neighboring towns. Returning home a few hoursafter, he found hundreds of minute-men assembled, armed and equipped, who had chosen him for their commander. He accepted the command, and, giving them orders to follow, he pushed on without dismounting, rode thesame horse all night, and reached Cambridge next morning at sunrise, still wearing the checked shirt which he had had on when ploughing inhis field. As Mr. Bancroft remarks, he brought to his country's servicean undaunted courage and a devoted heart. His services during theRevolution are known to almost every reader. Every one seems to haveliked him, for he had a very happy turn for humor, sang a good song, andwas a very cheerful old gentleman. 

In 1789, after four years of vigorous and useful service, too arduousfor his age, he suffered a paralytic stroke, which obliged him to leavethe army. He lived, however, to see his country free and prosperous, surviving to the year 1790, when he died, aged seventy-three. I saw hiscommission as major-general hanging in the house of one of hisgrandsons, Colonel A. P. Putnam, at Nashville, some years ago. He hasdescendants in every State. 

GEORGE FLOWER. 

PIONEER. 

Travelers from old Europe are surprised to find in Chicago such aninstitution as an Historical Society. What can a city of yesterday, theyask, find to place in its archives, beyond the names of the firstsettlers, and the erection of the first elevator? They forget that thenewest settlement of civilized men inherits and possesses the whole pastof our race, and that no community has so much need to be instructed byHistory as one which has little of its own. Nor is it amiss for a newcommonwealth to record its history as it makes it, and store away therecords of its vigorous infancy for the entertainment of its mature age. 

The first volume issued by the Chicago Historical Society contains anaccount of what is still called the "English Settlement, " in EdwardsCounty, Illinois, founded in 1817 by two wealthy English farmers, MorrisBirkbeck and George Flower. These gentlemen sold out all theirpossessions in England, and set out in search of the prairies of theGreat West, of which they had heard in the old country. They were notquite sure there were any prairies, for all the settled parts of theUnited States, they knew, had been covered with the dense primevalforest. The existence of the prairies rested upon the tales oftravelers. So George Flower, in the spring of 1816, set out in advanceto verify the story, bearing valuable letters of introduction, one fromGeneral La Fayette to ex-President Jefferson. 

With plenty of money in his pocket and enjoying every other advantage, he was nearly two years in merely _finding_ the prairies. First, he wasfifty days in crossing the ocean, and he spent six weeks inPhiladelphia, enjoying the hospitality of friends. The fourth month ofhis journey had nearly elapsed before he had fairly mounted his horseand started on his westward way. 

It is a pity there is not another new continent to be explored andsettled, because the experience gained in America would so muchfacilitate the work. Upon looking over such records as that of GeorgeFlower's History we frequently meet with devices and expedients of greatvalue in their time and place, but which are destined soon to benumbered among the Lost Arts. For example, take the mode of saddling andloading a horse for a ride of fifteen hundred miles, say, from theAtlantic to the Far West, or back again. It was a matter of infiniteimportance to the rider, for every part of the load was subjected todesperate pulls and wrenches, and the breaking of a strap, at acritical moment in crossing a river or climbing a steep, mightprecipitate both horse and rider to destruction. 

On the back of the horse was laid, first of all, a soft and thinblanket, which protected the animal in some degree against the venomousinsects that abounded on the prairies, the attacks of which couldsometimes madden the gentlest horse. Upon this was placed the saddle, which was large, and provided in front with a high pommel, and behindwith a pad to receive part of the lading. The saddle was a matter ofgreat importance, as well as its girths and crupper strap, all of whichan experienced traveler subjected to most careful examination. Everystitch was looked at, and the strength of all the parts repeatedlytested. 

Over the saddle--folded twice, if not three times--was a large, thick, and fine blanket, as good a one as the rider could afford, which waskept in its place by a broad surcingle. On the pad behind the saddlewere securely fastened a cloak and umbrella, rolled together as tight aspossible and bound with two straps. Next we have to consider the saddlebags, stuffed as full as they could hold, each bag being exactly of thesame weight and size as the other. As the horseman put into them the fewarticles of necessity which they would hold he would balance themfrequently, to see that one did not outweigh the other even by half apound. If this were neglected, the bags would slip from one side to theother, graze the horse's leg, and start him off in a "furious kickinggallop. " The saddle-bags were slung across the saddle under the blanket, and kept in their place by two loops through which the stirrup leatherspassed. 

So much for the horse. The next thing was for the rider to put on hisleggings, which were pieces of cloth about a yard square, folded roundthe leg from the knee to the ankle, and fastened with pins and bands oftape. These leggings received the mud and water splashed up by thehorse, and kept the trousers dry. Thus prepared, the rider proceeded tomount, which was by no means an easy matter, considering what wasalready upon the horse's back. The horse was placed as near as possibleto a stump, from which, with a "pretty wide stride and fling of theleg, " the rider would spring into his seat. It was so difficult to mountand dismount, that experienced travelers would seldom get off until theparty halted for noon, and not again until it was time to camp. 

Women often made the journey on horseback, and bore the fatigue of itabout as well as men. Instead of a riding-habit, they wore over theirordinary dress a long skirt of dark-colored material, and tied theirbonnets on with a large handkerchief over the top, which served toprotect the face and ears from the weather. 

The packing of the saddle made the seat more comfortable, and evensafer, for both men and women. The rider, in fact, was seldom thrownunless the whole load came off at once. Thus mounted, a party ofexperienced horsemen and horsewomen would average their thirty miles aday for a month at a time, providing no accident befel them. They were, nevertheless, liable to many accidents and vexatious delays. A horsefalling lame would delay the party. Occasionally there would be astampede of all the horses, and days lost in finding them. 

The greatest difficulty of all was the overflowing waters. No reader canhave forgotten the floods in the western country in the spring of 1884, when every brook was a torrent and every river a deluge. Imagine a partyof travelers making their westward way on horseback at such a time, before there was even a raft ferry on any river west of the Alleghanies, and when all the valleys would be covered with water. It was by no meansunusual for a party to be detained a month waiting for the waters of alarge river to subside, and it was a thing at some seasons of dailyoccurrence for all of them to be soused up to their necks in water. 

Many of the important fords, too, could only be crossed by people whoknew their secret. I received once myself directions for crossing a fordin South Carolina something like this: I was told to go straight in fourlengths of the horse; then "turn square to the right" and go twolengths; and finally "strike for the shore, slanting a little down thestream. " Luckily, I had some one with me more expert in fords than Iwas, and through his friendly guidance managed to flounder through. 

Between New York and Baltimore, in 1775, there were more than twentystreams to be forded, and six wide rivers or inlets to be ferried over. We little think, as we glide over these streams now, that the smallestof them, in some seasons, presented difficulties to our grandfathersgoing southward on horseback. 

The art of camping out was wonderfully well understood by the earlypioneers. Women were a great help in making the camp comfortable. As thePilgrim Fathers may be said to have discovered the true method ofsettling the sea-shore, so the Western pioneer found the best way oftraversing and subduing the interior wilderness. The secret in bothcases was to get _the aid of women and children_! They supplied men withmotive, did a full half of the labor, and made it next to impossible toturn back. Mr. Flower makes a remark in connection with this subject, the truth of which will be attested by many. 

"It is astonishing, " he says, "how soon we are restored from fatiguecaused by exercise in the open air. Debility is of much longer durationfrom labor in factories, stores, and in rooms warmed by stoves. Hail, snow, thunder storms, and drenching rains are all _restoratives_ tohealth and spirits. "

Often, when the company would be all but tired out by a long day's ridein hot weather, and the line stretched out three or four miles, a goodsoaking rain would restore their spirits at once. Nor did a plunge intothe stream, which would wet every fibre of their clothing, do them anyharm. They would ride on in the sun, and let their clothes dry in thenatural way. 

It must be owned, however, that some of the winter experiences oftravelers in the prairie country were most severe. In the forest a firecan be made and some shelter can be found. But imagine a party on theprairie in the midst of a driving snowstorm, overtaken by night, thetemperature at zero. Even in these circumstances knowledge was safety. Each man would place his saddle on the ground and sit upon it, coveringhis shoulders and head with his blanket, and holding his horse by thebridle. In this way the human travelers usually derived warmth andshelter enough from the horses to keep them from freezing to death. Another method was to tie their horses, spread a blanket on the ground, and sit upon it as close together as they could. 

Sometimes, indeed, a whole party would freeze together in a mass; butcommonly all escaped without serious injury, and in some instancesinvalids were restored to health by exposure which we should imaginewould kill a healthy man. 

When George Flower rode westward in 1816, Lancaster, Pa. , was thelargest inland town of the United States, and Dr. Priestley's beautifulabode at Sunbury on the Susquehanna was still on the outside of the "FarWest. " He had more trouble in getting to Pittsburg than he would nowhave in going round the world. In the Alleghany Mountains he lost hisway, and was rescued by the chance of finding a stray horse which hecaught and mounted, and was carried by it to the only cabin in theregion. The owner of this cabin was "a poor Irishman with a coat sodarned, patched, and tattered as to be quite a curiosity. "

"How I cherished him!" says the traveler. "No angel's visit could havepleased me so well. He pointed out to me the course and showed me into apath. "

Pittsburg was already a smoky town. Leaving it soon, he rode on westwardto Cincinnati, then a place of five or six thousand inhabitants, butgrowing rapidly. Even so far west as Cincinnati he could still learnnothing of the prairies. 

"Not a person that I saw, " he declares, "knew anything about them. Ishrank from the idea of settling in the midst of a wood of heavy timber, to hack and to hew my way to a little farm, ever bounded by a wall ofgloomy forest. "

Then he rode across Kentucky, where he was struck, as every one was andis, by the luxuriant beauty of the blue-grass farms. He dwells upon thedifficulty and horror of fording the rivers at that season of the year. Some of his narrow escapes made such a deep impression upon his mindthat he used to dream of them fifty years after. He paid a visit to oldGovernor Shelby of warlike renown, one of the heroes of the frontier, and there at last he got some news of the prairies! He says:

"It was at Governor Shelby's house (in Lincoln County, Ky. ) that I metthe first person who confirmed me in the existence of the prairies. "

This informant was the Governor's brother, who had just come from theMississippi River across the glorious prairies of Illinois to the Ohio. The information was a great relief. He was sure now that he had left hisnative land on no fool's errand, the victim of a traveler's lying tale. Being thus satisfied that there _were_ prairies which could be foundwhenever they were wanted, he suspended the pursuit. 

He had been then seven months from home, and November being at hand, toolate to explore an unknown country, he changed his course, and went offto visit Mr. Jefferson at his estate of Poplar Forest in Virginia, uponwhich the Natural Bridge is situated. Passing through Nashville on hisway, he saw General Andrew Jackson at a horse race. He describes thehero of New Orleans as an elderly man, "lean and lank, bronzed incomplexion, deep marked countenance, grisly-gray hair, and a restless, fiery eye. " He adds:--

"Jackson had a horse on the course which was beaten that day. Therecklessness of his bets, his violent gesticulations and imprecations, outdid all competition. If I had been told that he was to be a futurePresident of the United States, I should have thought it a very strangething. "

There are still a few old men, I believe, at Nashville who rememberGeneral Jackson's demeanor on the race ground, and they confirm therecord of Mr. Flower. After a ride of a thousand miles or so, hepresented his letter of introduction to Mr. Jefferson at Poplar Forest, and had a cordial reception. The traveler describes the house asresembling a French château, with octagon rooms, doors of polished oak, lofty ceilings, and large mirrors. The ex-President's form, he says, wasof somewhat majestic proportions, more than six feet in height; hismanners simple, kind, and polite; his dress a dark pepper-and-salt coat, cut in the old Quaker fashion, with one row of large metal buttons, knee-breeches, gray worsted stockings, and shoes fastened by large metalbuckles, all quite in the old style. His two grand-daughters, MissesRandolph, were living with him then. Mr. Jefferson soon after returnedto his usual abode, Monticello, and there Mr. Flower spent the greaterpart of the winter, enjoying most keenly the evening conversations ofthe ex-President, who delighted to talk of the historic scenes in whichhe was for fifty years a conspicuous actor. 

George Flower and his party would have settled near Monticello, perhaps, but for the system of slavery, which perpetuated a wastefulmode of farming, and disfigured the beautiful land with dilapidation. 

He had, meanwhile, sent home word that prairies existed in America, andin the spring of 1817 his partner in the enterprise, Morris Birkbeck, and his family of nine, came out from England, and they all startedwestward in search of the prairies. They went by stage to Pittsburg, where they bought horses, mounted them and continued their journey, men, ladies, and boys, a dozen people in all. The journey was not unpleasant, most of them being persons of education and refinement, with threeagreeable young ladies among them, two of them being daughters of Mr. Birkbeck, and Miss Andrews, their friend and companion. 

All went well and happily during the journey until Mr. Birkbeck, awidower of fifty-four with grown daughters, made an offer of marriage toMiss Andrews, aged twenty-five. It was an embarrassing situation. Shewas constrained to decline the offer, and as they were traveling in suchclose relations, the freedom and enjoyment of the journey were seriouslyimpaired. Then Mr. Flower, who was a widower also, but in the prime oflife, proposed to the young lady. She accepted him, and they were soonafter married at Vincennes, the rejected Birkbeck officiating as fatherof the bride. 

But this was not finding the prairies. At length, toward the close ofthe second summer, they began to meet with people who had seen prairies, and finally their own eyes were greeted with the sight. One day, after aride of seven hours in extreme heat, bruised and torn by the brushwood, exhausted and almost in despair, suddenly a beautiful prairie wasdisclosed to their view. It was an immense expanse stretching away inprofound repose beneath the light of an afternoon summer sun, surroundedby forest and adorned with clumps of mighty oaks, "the whole presentinga magnificence of park scenery complete from the hand of nature. " Thewriter adds: "For once, the reality came up to the picture of theimagination. "

If the reader supposes that their task was now substantiallyaccomplished, he is very much mistaken. After a good deal of laborioussearch, they chose a site for their settlement in Edwards County, Illinois, and bought a considerable tract; after which Mr. Flower wentto England to close up the affairs of the two families, and raise themoney to pay for their land and build their houses. They named theirtown Albion. It has enjoyed a safe and steady prosperity ever since, andhas been in some respects a model town to that part of Illinois. 

The art of founding a town must of course soon cease to be practiced. Itis curious to note how all the institutions of civilized life wereestablished in their order. First was built a large log-cabin that wouldanswer as a tavern and blacksmith's shop, the first requisites being toget the horses shod, and the riders supplied with whiskey. Then cameother log-cabins, as they were needed, which pioneers would undertake tobuild for arriving emigrants for twenty-five dollars apiece. Very soonone of the people would try, for the first time in his life, to preach asermon on Sundays, and as soon as there were children enough in theneighborhood, one of the settlers, unable to cope with the labors ofagriculture, would undertake to teach them, and a log-cabin would bebuilt or appropriated for the purpose. 

Mr. Flower reports that, as soon as the school was established, civilization was safe. Some boys and some parents would hold out againstit for a while, but all of them at last either join the movement orremove further into the wilderness. 

"Occasionally, " he says, "will be seen a boy, ten or twelve years old, leaning against a door-post intently gazing in upon the scholars attheir lessons; after a time he slowly and moodily goes away. He feelshis exclusion. He can no longer say: 'I am as good as you. ' He must goto school or dive deeper into the forest. "

All this is passing. Already it begins to read like ancient history. 

George Flower survived until March, 1862, when he died at a good oldage. Certainly the Historical Society of Chicago has done well topublish the record he left behind him. 

EDWARD COLES, NOBLEST OF THE PIONEERS, AND HIS GREAT SPEECH. 

When James Madison came to the presidency in 1809, he followed theexample of his predecessor, Mr. Jefferson, in the selection of hisprivate secretary. Mr. Jefferson chose Captain Meriwether Lewis, the sonof one of his Virginia neighbors, whom he had known from his childhood. Mr. Madison gave the appointment to Edward Coles, the son of a familyfriend of Albermarle County, Va. , who had recently died, leaving a largeestate in land and slaves to his children. 

Edward Coles, a graduate of William and Mary college, was twenty-threeyears of age when he entered the White House as a member of thePresident's family. He was a young man after James Madison's own heart, of gentle manners, handsome person, and singular firmness of character. In the correspondence both of Jefferson and Madison several letters canbe found addressed to him which show the very high estimation in whichhe was held by those eminent men. 

Among the many young men who have held the place of private secretary inthe presidential mansion, Edward Coles was one of the most interesting. I know not which ought to rank highest in our esteem, the wise andgallant Lewis, who explored for us the Western wilderness, or EdwardColes, one of the rare men who know how to surrender, for conscience'sake, home, fortune, ease, and good repute. 

While he was still in college he became deeply interested in thequestion, whether men could rightfully hold property in men. At thattime the best of the educated class at the South were stillabolitionists in a romantic or sentimental sense, just as Queen MarieAntoinette was a republican during the American Revolution. Here andthere a young man like George Wythe had set free his slaves and goneinto the profession of the law. With the great majority, however, theirdisapproval of slavery was only an affair of the intellect, which led tono practical results. It was not such with Edward Coles. The moment youlook at the portrait given in the recent sketch of his life by Mr. E. B. Washburne, you perceive that he was a person who might be slow to makeup his mind, but who, when he had once discovered the right course, could never again be at peace with himself until he had followed it. 

While at college he read everything on the subject of slavery that fellin his way, and he studied it in the light of the Declaration ofIndependence, which assured him that men are born free and equal andendowed with certain natural rights which are inalienable. He made uphis mind, while he was still a student, that it was wrong to holdslaves, and he resolved that he would neither hold them nor live in aState which permitted slaves to be held. He was determined, however, todo nothing rashly. One reason which induced him to accept the placeoffered him by Mr. Madison was his desire of getting a knowledge of theremoter parts of the Union, in order to choose the place where he couldsettle his slaves most advantageously. 

While he was yet a member of the presidential household, he held thatcelebrated correspondence with Mr. Jefferson, in which he urged theex-President to devote the rest of his life to promoting the abolitionof slavery. Mr. Jefferson replied that the task was too arduous for aman who had passed his seventieth year. It was like bidding old Priambuckle on the armor of Hector. 

"This enterprise, " he added, "is for the young, for those who can followit up and bear it through to its consummation. It shall have all myprayers and these are the only weapons of an old man. But, in the meantime, are you right in abandoning this property, and your country withit? I think not. "

Mr. Jefferson endeavored to dissuade the young man from his project ofremoval. Mr. Coles, however, was not to be convinced. After serving forsix years as private secretary, and fulfilling a special diplomaticmission to Russia, he withdrew to his ancestral home in Virginia, andprepared to lead forth his slaves to the State of Illinois, thenrecently admitted into the Union, but still a scarcely broken expanse ofvirgin prairie. He could not lawfully emancipate his slaves in Virginia, and it was far from his purpose to turn them loose in the wilderness. Hewas going with them, and to stay with them until they were well rootedin the new soil. 

All his friends and relations opposed his scheme; nor had he even theapproval of the slaves themselves, for they knew nothing whatever of hisintention. He had been a good master, and they followed him with blindfaith, supposing that he was merely going to remove, as they had seenother planters remove, from an exhausted soil to virgin lands. Placinghis slaves in the charge of one of their number, a mulatto man who hadalready made the journey to Illinois with his master, he started them inwagons on their long journey in April, 1819, over the AlleghanyMountains to a point on the Monongahela River. There he bought two largeflat-bottomed boats, upon which he embarked his whole company, withtheir horses, wagons, baggage, and implements. His pilot proving adrunkard, he was obliged to take the command himself, upon reachingPittsburg. 

The morning after he left Pittsburg, a lovely April day, he called allthe negroes together on the deck of the boats, which were lashedtogether, and explained what he was going to do with them. He told themthey were no longer slaves, but free people, free as he was, free to goon down the river with him, and free to go ashore, just as they pleased. He afterwards described the scene. "The effect on them, " he wrote, "waselectrical. They stared at me and at each other, as if doubting theaccuracy or reality of what they heard. In breathless silence they stoodbefore me, unable to utter a word, but with countenances beaming withexpression which no words could convey, and which no language can nowdescribe. As they began to see the truth of what they had heard, and torealize their situation, there came on a kind of hysterical, gigglinglaugh. After a pause of intense and unutterable emotion, bathed intears, and with tremulous voices, they gave vent to their gratitude, andimplored the blessings of God on me. When they had in some degreerecovered the command of themselves, Ralph said he had long known I wasopposed to holding black people as slaves, and thought it probable Iwould some time or other give my people their freedom, but that he didnot expect me to do it so soon; and moreover, he thought I ought not todo it till they had repaid me the expense I had been at in removing themfrom Virginia, and had improved my farm and 'gotten me well fixed inthat new country. ' To this all simultaneously expressed theirconcurrence, and their desire to remain with me, as my servants, untilthey had comfortably fixed me at my new home. 

"I told them, no. I had made up my mind to give to them immediate andunconditional freedom; that I had long been anxious to do it, but hadbeen prevented by the delays, first in selling my property in Virginia, and then in collecting the money, and by other circumstances. That inconsideration of this delay, and as a reward for their past services, aswell as a stimulant to their future exertions, and with a hope it wouldadd to their self-esteem and their standing in the estimation of others, I should give to each head of a family a quarter section, containing onehundred and sixty acres of land. To this all objected, saying I had doneenough for them in giving them their freedom; and insisted on my keepingthe land to supply my own wants, and added, in the kindest manner, theexpression of their solicitude that I would not have the means of doingso after I had freed them. I told them I had thought much of my duty andof their rights, and that it was due alike to both that I should do whatI had said I should do; and accordingly, soon after reachingEdwardsville, I executed and delivered to them deeds to the landspromised them. 

"I stated to them that the lands I intended to give them were unimprovedlands, and as they would not have the means of making the necessaryimprovements, of stocking their farms, and procuring the materials forat once living on them, they would have to hire themselves out till theycould acquire by their labor the necessary means to commence cultivatingand residing on their own lands. That I was willing to hire and employon my farm a certain number of them (designating the individuals); theothers I advised to seek employment in St. Louis, Edwardsville, andother places, where smart, active young men and women could obtain muchhigher wages than they could on farms. At this some of them murmured, asit indicated a partiality, they said, on my part to those designated tolive with me; and contended they should all be equally dear to me, andthat I ought not to keep a part and turn the others out on the world, tobe badly treated, etc. I reminded them of what they seemed to have lostsight of, that they were free; that no one had a right to beat orill-use them; and if so treated they could at pleasure leave one placeand seek a better; that labor was much in demand in that new country, and highly paid for; that there would be no difficulty in theirobtaining good places, and being kindly treated; but if not, I should beat hand, and would see they were well treated, and have justice donethem. 

"I availed myself of the deck scene to give the negroes some advice. Idwelt long and with much earnestness on their future conduct andsuccess, and my great anxiety that they should behave themselves and dowell, not only for their own sakes, but for the sake of the black raceheld in bondage; many of whom were thus held because their mastersbelieved they were incompetent to take care of themselves and thatliberty would be to them a curse rather than a blessing. My anxious wishwas that they should so conduct themselves as to show by their examplethat the descendants of Africa were competent to take care of and governthemselves, and enjoy all the blessings of liberty and all the otherbirthrights of man, and thus promote the universal emancipation of thatunfortunate and outraged race of the human family. "[1]

After floating six hundred miles down the Ohio, they had another landjourney into Illinois, where the master performed his promises, andcreated a home for himself. A few years after, he was elected governorof the State. It was during his term of three years that a mostdetermined effort was made to change the constitution of the State so asto legalize slavery in it. It was chiefly through the firmness andmasterly management of Governor Coles that this attempt was frustrated. 

When his purpose in moving to Illinois had been completely accomplished, he removed to Philadelphia, where he lived to the age of eighty-two. Though not again in public life, he was always a public-spiritedcitizen. He corresponded with the venerable Madison to the close of thatgood man's life. Mr. Madison wrote two long letters to him on publictopics in his eighty-fourth year. Governor Coles died at Philadelphia in1868, having lived to see slavery abolished in every State of the Union. 

I have been informed that few, if any, of his own slaves succeededfinally in farming prairie land, but that most of them gradually driftedto the towns, where they became waiters, barbers, porters, and domesticservants. My impression is that he over-estimated their capacity. Butthis does not diminish the moral sublimity of the experiment. 

[1] Sketch of Edward Coles. By E. B. Washburne. Chicago. 1882. 

PETER H. BURNETT. 

When an aged bank president, who began life as a waiter in a backwoodstavern, tells the story of his life, we all like to gather close abouthim and listen to his tale. Peter H. Burnett, the first Governor ofCalifornia, and now the President of the Pacific Bank in San Francisco, has recently related his history, or the "Recollections of an OldPioneer;" and if I were asked by the "intelligent foreigner" we oftenread about to explain the United States of to-day, I would hand him thatbook, and say:--

"There! That is the stuff of which America is made. "

He was born at Nashville, Tennessee, in 1807; his father a carpenter andfarmer, an honest, strong-minded man, who built some of the firstlog-houses and frame-houses of what was then the frontier village ofNashville, now a beautiful and pleasant city. While he was still a childthe family removed to Missouri, then on the outer edge of civilization, and they spent the first winter in a hovel with a dirt floor, boarded upat the sides, and with a hole in the middle of the roof for the escapeof the smoke. All the family lived together in the same room. In a yearor two, of course, they had a better house, and a farm under somecultivation. 

Those pioneer settlements were good schools for the development of thepioneer virtues, courage, fortitude, handiness, directness of speech andconduct. Fancy a boy ten years old going on horseback to mill throughthe woods, and having to wait at the mill one or two days and nights forhis turn, living chiefly on a little parched corn which he carried withhim, and bringing back the flour all right. 

"It often happened, " says Governor Burnett, "that both bag and boytumbled off, and then there was trouble; not so much because the boy wasa little hurt (for he would soon recover), but because it was difficultto get the bag on again. "

There was nothing for it but to wait until a man came along strongenough to shoulder three bushels of corn. Missouri was then, as it nowis, a land of plenty; for besides the produce of the farms, the countrywas full of game, and a good deal of money was gained by the traffic inskins, honey, and beeswax. The simplicity of dress was such that amerchant attending church one day dressed in a suit of broadcloth, theaged preacher alluded to his "fine apparel, " and condemned it as beingcontrary to the spirit of the Gospel. Fighting with fists was one ofthe chief amusements. At a training, some young bully would mount astump, and after imitating the napping and crowing of a cock, cry out:--

"I can whip any man in this crowd except my friends. "

The challenge being accepted, the two combatants would fight until oneof them cried, Enough; whereupon they would wash their faces and take afriendly drink. Men would sometimes lose a part of an ear, the end of anose, or the whole of an eye in these combats, for it was consideredwithin the rules to bite and gouge. 

In this wild country Peter Burnett grew to manhood, attending schooloccasionally in summer, and getting a pretty good rudimentary education. Coming of intelligent, honest, able ancestors, he used his opportunitieswell, and learned a great deal from books, but more from a closeobservation of the natural wonders by which he was surrounded. His acuteand kindly remarks upon the wild animals and wild nature of thiscontinent could be profitably studied by almost any naturalist. It issurprising that one who has almost all his life lived on the advancedwave of civilization in this country should have acquired, among hisother possessions, an extensive knowledge of literature, as well as oflife and nature. Nor is his case by any means uncommon. 

When he was nineteen his father gave him a horse three years old, asaddle and bridle, a new camlet cloak, and twenty-six dollars, and hismother furnished him with a good suit of jeans. Soon after, he mountedhis young horse and rode back to his native State, and took charge ofthe tavern aforesaid in the town of Bolivar, Hardiman County, of whichtavern he was waiter, clerk, and book-keeper. Here he had a pretty hardtime. Being very young, gawky, and ill-dressed, he was subject to a gooddeal of jesting and ridicule. But he was fond of reading. Finding, bychance, at the house of an uncle, Pope's translation of the Iliad, hewas perfectly entranced with it. 

"Had it been gold or precious stones, " he tells us, "the pleasure wouldnot have equaled that which I enjoyed. "

Nevertheless, he fancied that his ignorance, his country dress anduncouth manners caused him to be slighted even by his own relations. 

"I was badly quizzed, " he says, "and greatly mortified; but I worked onresolutely, said nothing, and was always at the post of duty. "

Promotion is sure to come to a lad of that spirit, and accordingly wesoon find him a clerk in a country store earning two hundred dollars ayear and his board, besides being head over ears in love with abeautiful girl. At first he did not know that he was in love; but, oneday, when he had been taking dinner with her family, and had talked withthe young lady herself after dinner a good while, he came out of thehouse, and was amazed to discover that the sun was gone from the sky. 

"In a confused manner, " he relates, "I inquired of her father what hadbecome of the sun. He politely replied, 'It has gone down!' I knew thenthat I was in love. It was a plain case. "

In those good old times marriage did not present the difficulties whichit now does. He was soon married, obtained more lucrative employment, got into business for himself, failed, studied law, and found himself, at the age of thirty-six, the father of a family of six children, twenty-eight thousand dollars in debt, and, though in good practice atthe bar, not able to reduce his indebtedness more than a thousanddollars a year. So he set his face toward Oregon, then containing onlythree or four hundred settlers. He mounted the stump and organized awagon-train, the roll of which at the rendezvous contained two hundredand ninety-three names. With this party, whose effects were drawn byoxen and mules, he started in May, 1843, for a journey of seventeenhundred miles across a wilderness most of which had never been troddenby civilized men. 

For six months they pursued their course westward. Six persons died onthe way, five turned back, fifteen went to California, and those whoheld their course towards Oregon endured hardships and privations whichtasked their fortitude to the uttermost. Mr. Burnett surveyed the scenesof the wilderness with the eye of an intelligent and sympatheticobserver. Many of his remarks upon the phenomena of those untroddenplains are of unusual interest, whether he is discoursing upon animateor inanimate nature. 

Arrived in Oregon, an eight months' journey from Washington, thesettlers were obliged to make a provisional government for themselves, to which the Tennessee lawyer lent an able hand. He relates an incidentof the first collision between law and license. They selected forsheriff the famous Joseph L. Meek, a man of the best possible temper, but as brave as a lion. The first man who defied the new laws was oneDawson, a carpenter, scarcely less courageous than Meek himself. Dawson, who had been in a fight, disputed the right of the sheriff to arresthim. The sheriff simply replied:--

"Dawson, I came for you. "

The carpenter raised his plane to defend himself. Meek wrested it fromhim. Dawson picked up his broad axe, but on rising found himself withina few inches of Meek's cocked revolver. 

"Dawson, " said the sheriff, laughing, "I came for you. Surrender ordie. "

Dawson surrendered, and from that hour to the present, Oregon has beenruled by law. In the course of five years the pioneer had brought undercultivation a good farm in Oregon, which supported his family in greatabundance, but did not contribute much to the reduction of thoseTennessee debts, which he was determined to pay if it took him all hislife to do it. 

The news of the gold discovery in California reached Oregon. Heorganized another wagon-train, and in a few months he and another lawyerwere in the mining country, drawing deeds for town lots, from sunrise tosunset, at ten dollars a deed. They did their "level best, " he says, andeach made a hundred dollars a day at the business. Again he assisted inthe formation of a government, and he was afterwards elected the firstgovernor of the State of California. At present, at the age ofseventy-five, his debts long ago paid, a good estate acquired, and hischildren all well settled in life, he amuses himself with discountingnotes in the Pacific Bank of San Francisco. Every person concerned inthe management of a bank would do well to consider his wise remarks onthe business of banking. When a man brings him a note for discount, hesays, he asks five questions:--

1. Is the supposed borrower an honest man? 2. Has he capital enough forhis business? 3. Is his business reasonably safe? 4. Does he manage itwell? 5. Does he live economically?

The first and last of these questions are the vital ones, he thinks, though the others are not to be slighted. 

[Illustration: Gerrit Smith]

GERRIT SMITH. 

For many years we were in the habit of hearing, now and then, of acertain Gerrit Smith, a strange gentleman who lived near Lake Ontario, where he possessed whole townships of land, gave away vast quantities ofmoney, and was pretty sure to be found on the unpopular side of allquestions, beloved alike by those who agreed with him and those whodiffered from him. Every one that knew him spoke of the majestic beautyof his form and face, of his joyous demeanor, of the profuse hospitalityof his village abode, where he lived like a jovial old German baron, butwithout a baron's battle-axe and hunting spear. 

He was indeed an interesting character. Without his enormous wealth hewould have been, perhaps, a benevolent, enterprising farmer, who wouldhave lived beloved and died lamented by all who knew him. But his wealthmade him remarkable; for the possession of wealth usually renders a mansteady-going and conservative. It is like ballast to a ship. The slowand difficult process by which honest wealth is usually acquired ispretty sure to "take the nonsense out of a man, " and give to all hisenterprises a practicable character. But here was a man whose wealth wasmore like the gas to a balloon than ballast to a ship; and he flung itaround with an ignorance of human nature most astonishing in a person soable and intelligent. There was room in the world for one Gerrit Smith, but not for two. If we had many such, benevolence itself would bebrought into odium, and we should reserve all our admiration for theclose-fisted. 

His ancestors were Dutchmen, long settled in Rockland County, New York. Gerrit's father owned the farm upon which Major André was executed, andmight even have witnessed the tragedy, since he was twelve years old atthe time. Peter Smith was his name, and he had a touch of genius in hiscomposition, just enough to disturb and injure his life. At sixteen thisPeter Smith was a merchant's clerk in New York, with such a love of thestage that he performed minor parts at the old Park theatre, and it issaid could have made a good actor. He was a sensitive youth, easilymoved to tears, and exceedingly susceptible to religious impressions. While he was still a young man he went into the fur business with JohnJacob Astor, and tramped all over western and northern New York, buyingfurs from the Indians, and becoming intimately acquainted with thatmagnificent domain. The country bordering upon Lake Ontario abounded infur-bearing animals at that period, and both the partners foretoldRochester, Oswego, and the other lake ports, before any white man hadbuilt a log hut on their site. 

Astor invested his profits in city lots, but Peter Smith bought greattracts of land in northern and western New York. He sometimes boughttownships at a single purchase, and when he died he owned in the Statenot far from a million acres. His prosperity, however, was of littleadvantage to him, for as he advanced in life a kind of religious gloomgained possession of him. He went about distributing tracts, and becameat length so much impaired in his disposition that his wife could notlive with him; finally, he withdrew from business and active life, madeover the bulk of his property to his son, Gerrit, and, settling inSchenectady, passed a lonely and melancholy old age. 

Gerrit Smith, the son of this strong and perturbed spirit, was educatedat Hamilton College, near Utica, where he figured in the character, veryuncommon at colleges in those days, of rich man's son; a strikinglyhandsome, winning youth, with flowing hair and broad Byron collar, fondof all innocent pleasures, member of a card club, and by no meansinattentive to his dress. It seems, too, that at college he was anenthusiastic reader of passing literature, although in after days hescarcely shared in the intellectual life of his time. At the age oftwenty-two he was a married man. He fell in love at college with thepresident's daughter, who died after a married life of only sevenmonths. Married happily a second time a year or two after, he settled athis well-known house in Peterboro, a village near Oswego, where he livedever after. The profession of the law, for which he had preparedhimself, he never practiced, since the care of his immense estateabsorbed his time and ability; as much so as the most exactingprofession. In all those operations which led to the development ofOswego from an outlying military post into a large and thriving city, Gerrit Smith was of necessity a leader or participant, --for the best ofhis property lay in that region. 

And here was his first misfortune. Rich as he was, his estate was allundeveloped, and nothing but the personal labor of the owner could makeit of value. For twenty years or more he was the slave of his estate. Hecould not travel abroad; he could not recreate his mind by pleasure. Albany, the nearest large town, was more than a hundred miles distant, atroublesome journey then; and consequently he had few opportunities ofmingling with men of the world. He was a man of the frontier, anadmirable leader of men engaged in the mighty work of subduing thewilderness and laying the foundations of empires. He, too, bought land, like his father before him, although his main interest lay in improvinghis estate and making it accessible. 

In the midst of his business life, when he was carrying a vast spreadof sail (making canals, laying out towns, deep in all sorts ofenterprises), the panic of 1837 struck him, laid him on his beam ends, and almost put him under water. He owed an immense sum of money--small, indeed, compared with his estate, but crushing at a time when no moneycould be raised upon the security of land. When he owned a millionacres, as well as a great quantity of canal stock, plank-road stock, andwharf stock, and when fifteen hundred men owed him money, some in largeamounts, he found it difficult to raise money enough to go toPhiladelphia. In this extremity he had recourse to his father's friendand partner, John Jacob Astor, then the richest man in North America. Gerrit Smith described his situation in a letter, and asked for a largeloan on land security. 

Mr. Astor replied by inviting him to dinner. During the repast the oldman was full of anecdote and reminiscence of the years when himself andPeter Smith camped out on the Oswego River, and went about with packs ontheir backs buying furs. When the cloth was removed the terrible topicwas introduced, and the guest explained his situation once more. 

"How much do you need?" inquired Astor. 

"In all, I must have two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. "

"Do you want the whole of it at once?" asked the millionaire. 

"I do, " was the reply. 

Astor looked serious for a moment, and then said:--

"You shall have it. "

The guest engaged to forward a mortgage on some lands along the OswegoRiver, and a few days after, before the mortgage was ready, the old mansent his check for the two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Throughthe neglect of a clerk the mortgage papers were not sent for some weeksafter, so that Mr. Astor had parted with this great sum upon no othersecurity than a young man's word. But John Jacob Astor was a good judgeof men, as well as of land. 

Thus relieved, Gerrit Smith pursued his career without embarrassment, and in about twenty years paid off all his debts, and had then a revenueranging from fifty to a hundred thousand dollars a year. He gave awaymoney continuously, from thirty thousand to a hundred thousand dollars ayear, in large sums and in small sums, to the deserving and theundeserving. Of course, he was inundated with begging letters. Everymail brought requests for help to redeem farms, to send children toschool, to buy a piano, to buy an alpaca dress with the trimmings, torelieve sufferers by fire, and to pay election expenses. 

"The small checks, " Mr. Frothingham tells us, "flew about in alldirections, carrying, in the aggregate, thousands of dollars, hundredsof which fell on sandy or gravelly soil, and produced nothing. "

He gave, in fact, to every project which promised to relieve humandistress, or promote human happiness. He used to have checks ready drawnto various amounts, only requiring to be signed and supplied with thename of the applicant. On one occasion he gave fifty dollars each to allthe old maids and widows he could get knowledge of in the State of NewYork--six hundred of them in all. He gave away nearly three thousandsmall farms, from fifteen to seventy-five acres each, most of them tolandless colored men. 

"For years, " said he, "I have indulged the thought that when I had soldenough land to pay my debts, I would give away the remainder to thepoor. I am an Agrarian. I would that every man who desires a farm mighthave one, and no man covet the possession of more farms than one. "

I need not say that these farms were of little benefit to those whoreceived them, for our colored friends are by no means the men to goupon a patch of northern soil and wring an independent livelihood out ofit. Gerrit Smith was a sort of blind, benevolent Samson, amazinglyignorant of human nature, of human life, and of the conditions uponwhich alone the welfare of our race is promoted. He died in 1874, agedseventy-seven, having lived one of the strangest lives ever recorded, and having exhibited a cast of character which excites equal admirationand regret. 

PETER FORCE. 

One of the interesting sights of the city of Washington used to be thelibrary of "Old Peter Force, " as he was familiarly called, --ColonelPeter Force, as he was more properly styled. He was one of the fewcolonels of that day who had actually held a colonel's command, havingbeen regularly commissioned by the President of the United States as acolonel of artillery in the District of Columbia. He might, indeed, havebeen called major-general, for in his old age he held that rank in themilitia of the district. And a very fine-looking soldier he must havebeen in his prime, judging from the portrait which used to hang in thelibrary, representing a full-formed man, tall and erect, his handsomeand benevolent countenance set off by an abundance of curly hair. 

His library had about the roughest furniture ever seen in an apartmentcontaining so much that was valuable. As I remember it, it was a long, low room, with streets and cross-streets of pine book-shelves, unpainted, all filled with books to their utmost capacity--a wildernessof books, in print and in manuscript, mostly old and dingy, and almostall of them relating in some way to American history. The place had avery musty smell; and as most of its treasures were in the originalbindings, or without bindings, few persons would have suspected thepriceless value of the collection. I am acquainted with a certainlibrary in New York of several thousand volumes, most of which are boundresplendently in calf and gold, and the room in which they are kept is"as splendid as a steamboat, " but old Peter Force could show you singlealcoves of his library which, at a fair valuation, would buy out allthat mass of sumptuosity. 

It was not always easy to find the old gentleman in his dusty, dingywilderness; but when you had discovered him in some remote recess hewould take pleasure in exhibiting his treasures. He would take down hisexcellent copy of Eliot's Indian Bible, a book so faithfully made inevery respect that I question if, as a mere piece of book-making, itcould now be matched in the United States. He lived to see this raritycommand in New York the price of fourteen hundred and fifty dollars. Hewould show you forty-one works, in the original editions, of Increaseand Cotton Mather, the most recent of which was published in 1735. Hepossessed a large number of books printed and bound by BenjaminFranklin. He had two hundred volumes of the records of Coloniallegislatures. He could show you a newspaper of almost every month--nay, almost every week, since newspapers were first published in America. Hehad in all nine hundred and fifty bound volumes of newspapers, of whichtwo hundred and forty-five volumes were published before the year 1800. He would show you a collection of more than thirty-nine thousandpamphlets, of which eight thousand were printed before the year 1800. His collection of maps relating to America was truly wonderful. Besidesall the early atlases of any note, he had over a thousand detached mapsillustrative both of the geography and history of America; for many ofthem were maps and plans drawn for military purposes. He would show you, perhaps, a pen-drawing of date 1779, by a British officer, upon whichwas written: "Plan of the rebel works at West Point. " He had alsoseveral plans by British officers of "the rebel works" around Bostonduring the revolution. 

Besides such things (and he had over three hundred plans and maps ofwhich there was no other copy in existence), he possessed a surprisingnumber of books printed in the infancy of the printer's art; among themspecimens representing every year from 1467 onward. He had more than twohundred and fifty books printed before the year 1600, so arranged that astudent could trace the progress of the art of printing from the days ofCaxton. He had also a vast collection of manuscripts, numbering fourhundred and twenty-nine volumes, many of which were of particularinterest. The whole number of volumes in the library was 22, 529, and thenumber of pamphlets nearly 40, 000. 

The reader, perhaps, imagines that the collector of such a library musthave been a very rich man, and that he traveled far and wide in searchof these precious objects. Not at all. He never was a rich man, and Ibelieve he rarely traveled beyond the sight of the dome of the Capitol. Indeed, the most wonderful thing about his collection was that he, whobegan life a journeyman printer, and was never in the receipt of a largeincome, should have been able to get together so vast an amount ofvaluable material. Part of the secret was that when he began to make hiscollection these things were not valued, and he obtained many of hismost precious relics by merely taking the trouble to carry them awayfrom the garrets in which they were mouldering into dust, unprized andunknown. 

A wise old New York merchant, long ago himself mouldered into dust, usedto say:--

"Men generally get in this world exactly what they _want_. "

"How can that be?" asked a youngster one day. "Almost everybody in NewYork wants to be rich, but very few of them ever will be. I _want_ amillion or so myself. "

"Ah, boy, " the old man replied, "you want a million; but you don't wantit enough. What you _want_ at present is pleasure, and you want it somuch that you are willing to spend all your surplus force, time, andrevenue to get it. If you wanted your million as much as you _wantpleasure_, by and by, when you have a bald head like mine, you wouldhave your million. "

Peter Force was a very good illustration of the old merchant's doctrine. He got all these precious things because he wanted them with a sustainedpassion of desire for half a century. There never was a time when hewould not have gladly got up in the middle of the night and walked tenmiles, in the face of a northeasterly storm, to get a rare pamphlet offour pages. He was a miser of such things. But, no; that word does notdescribe him; for one of the greatest pleasures of his life was tocommunicate his treasures to others; and he communicated to the wholeAmerican people the best of his collections in massive volumes ofAmerican Archives. He was a miser only in the strength of his desire. 

"More than once, " he said to Mr. George W. Greene, "did I hesitatebetween a barrel of flour and a rare book; but the book always got theupper hand. "

To the same friend he made a remark which shows that his desire tocommunicate was quite as strong as his desire to obtain. 

"Whenever, " said he, "I found a little more money in my purse than Iabsolutely needed, I published a volume of historical tracts. "

It was interesting to hear the old man relate how this taste for thetreasures of history was formed in his mind. His father, who served, during the revolution, in a New Jersey regiment, retired after the warto the city of New York, and at his house the Jersey veterans liked tomeet and talk over the incidents of the campaigns they had madetogether. Peter, as a boy, loved to hear them tell their stories, and, as he listened, the thought occurred to him one evening, Why should allthis be forgotten? Boy as he was, he began to write them down, under thetitle of "The Unwritten History of the War in New Jersey. " He madeconsiderable progress in it, but unfortunately the manuscript was lost. The taste then formed grew with his growth and strengthened with hisstrength. At ten he left school forever, and went into a printingoffice, which has proved an excellent school to more than one valuableAmerican mind. He became an accomplished printer, and at twenty-two waselected president of the New York Typographical Society, an organizationwhich still exists. 

Then the war of 1812 began. Like his father before him, he served in thearmy, first as private, then as sergeant, then as sergeant-major, thenas ensign, finally as lieutenant. The war ended. He went to Washingtonas foreman of a printing office, and at Washington, as printer, editor, publisher and collector, he lived the rest of his long and honorablelife; never rich, as I have before remarked, though never without ashare of reasonable prosperity. The most important work of his life wasthe publication of the American Archives, in which he was aided byCongress; he furnishing the documents and the labor, and Congress payingthe cost of publication. Through the nine volumes of this work a greatnumber of the most curious and interesting records and memorials ofAmerican history are not only preserved, but made accessible to allstudents who can get near a library. He had all the state-houses of thecountry ransacked for documents, and a room was assigned him in theDepartment of State in which his clerks could conveniently copy them. 

All went well with the work until William Marcy became Secretary ofState, whose duty it was to examine and approve each volume before itwent to the printer. When Peter Force presented the manuscript of thetenth volume to Secretary Marcy he received a rebuff which threw a cloudover several years of his life. 

"I don't believe in your work, sir, " said the secretary. "It is of nouse to anybody. I never read a page of it, and never expect to. "

"But, " said Mr. Force, "the work is published in virtue of a contractwith the government. Here is the manuscript of the tenth volume. Ifthere is anything there which you think ought not to be there, have thegoodness to point it out to me. "

"You may leave the papers, sir, " said the secretary. 

He left the papers; but neither Marcy nor his successors ever found timeto examine that tenth volume, though on the first day of every officialyear the compiler called their attention to it. For seven years he was asuitor on behalf of his beloved tenth volume, and then the war occurredand all such matters were necessarily put aside. He was now seventy-oneyears of age, and his great desire was to dispose of his library in sucha way that its treasures would not be scattered abroad, and perhaps lostforever to the country. At length, Congress having sanctioned theenlargement of their own library, their librarian, Mr. Spofford, inducedthem to purchase the whole mass, just as it stood, for one hundredthousand dollars, and the collection now forms part of the Congressionallibrary. 

Colonel Force lived to the year 1868, when he died at Washington, universally beloved and lamented, in the seventy-eighth year of his age, enjoying almost to the last two of the things he loved best--his booksand his flowers. 

JOHN BROMFIELD, MERCHANT. 

John Bromfield's monument is more lasting than brass. It was he who leftto the city of Newburyport, in Massachusetts, ten thousand dollars forplanting and preserving trees in the streets, and keeping the sidewalksin order. The income of this bequest would not go far in any other sortof monument, but it has embowered his native city in beautiful trees. Every spring other trees are planted, and, as long as that bequest isfaithfully administered, he cannot be forgotten. 

Nothing brings a larger or surer return than money judiciously spent inmaking towns and cities pleasant. It not only yields a great revenue ofpleasure and satisfaction to the inhabitants; it not only benefits everyindividual of them every hour, but it invites residents from abroad; itis a standing invitation to persons of taste and good sense. The wisestthing the city of New York ever did, next to the introduction of theCroton water, was the creation of the Central Park; the one featurewhich redeems the city from the disgrace of its dirty streets and itsagonizing tenement region. 

This John Bromfield, merchant, was just such a thoughtful and benevolentman as we should naturally expect to find him from his bequest. Hebelonged to a class of merchants which is rapidly becoming extinct. Thecable telegraph and the steam freight ship are superseding the merchantsof moderate capital, and are concentrating the great business ofinterchanging commodities in the hands of a few houses who reckon theircapital by millions. Born at Newburyport, in 1779, he was brought up byexcellent parents near Boston, who practiced the old-fashioned system ofmaking him hardy and self-helpful. His mother used to say that when hewas old enough to wear leather shoes she bored holes in the soles inorder to accustom him to wet feet, so that he might be made less liableto catch cold from that cause. This appears to have been a custom ofthat generation, for it is recorded of the mother of Josiah Quincy thatshe would never let him take off his wet shoes, regarding it as aneffeminate practice. 

On approaching the time of entering college his father met withmisfortunes and could not bear the expense. Two aunts of his, who couldwell afford it, offered to pay his expenses in college. He firmlydeclined the offer. The foundation of his character and career was alove of independence. He asked to be apprenticed, as the custom thenwas, to a mercantile house, and remained in it as long as it heldtogether. After its failure he tried for months to obtain a clerkship, but, not succeeding, he arranged with a carpenter to learn his trade. Just before putting on the carpenter's apron an opening occurred in hisown business, and he became a merchant. About the year 1801 he went outto China as supercargo, and continued to visit that part of the world insimilar capacities for many years, occasionally making small ventures ofhis own, and slowly accumulating a little capital. He had a series ofthe most discouraging misfortunes. In the year 1813 he wrote to hissister from Cadiz:--

"It is a melancholy truth that in the whole course of my life I neverarrived at a good market. "

On that occasion everything promised well. He had a ship full ofvaluable goods, and the market to which he was carrying them was in anexcellent condition for his purpose, but within twenty-four hours of hisport he was captured, and detained ten weeks a prisoner. After the peaceof 1815, merchants could send their ships across the ocean without fearof their being taken by English or French cruisers. From that time hehad better luck, and gradually gained a moderate fortune, upon which heretired. He never kept a store, or had any sort of warehouse, but madehis fortune by sending or taking merchandise from a port which had toomuch of it to one that was in want of it. 

On one of his winter passages to Europe he found the sailors sufferingextremely from handling frozen ropes, as they were not provided withmittens. Being a Yankee, and having been brought up to _do_ things aswell as read about them, he took one of his thick overcoats and madewith his own hands a pair of mittens for every sailor. 

On another occasion, in the ship Atahualpa, in 1809, bound to China, thevessel was attacked off Macao by pirates, in twenty-two junks, some ofthem being twice the tonnage of the vessel. Captain Sturgis, whocommanded the vessel, defended her with signal ability and courage, andkept the pirates off for forty minutes, until the vessel gained theprotection of the fort. John Bromfield, a passenger on board, tookcommand of a gun, and seconded the endeavors of the captain with suchcoolness and promptitude as to contribute essentially to the protectionof the vessel. 

In retirement he lived a quiet life in Boston, unmarried, fond of books, and practicing unusual frugality for a person in liberal circumstances. He had a singular abhorrence of luxury, waste, and ostentation. He oftensaid that the cause of more than half the bankruptcies was spending toomuch money. Nothing could induce him to accept personal service. He wasone of those men who wait upon themselves, light their own fire, reducetheir wants to the necessaries of civilized life, and all with a view toa more perfect independence. He would take trouble to oblige others, but could not bear to put any one else to trouble. This love ofindependence was carried to excess by him, and was a cause of sorrow tohis relations and friends. 

He was a man of maxims, and one of them was:--

 "The good must merit God's peculiar care, And none but God can tell us who they are. "

Another of his favorite couplets was Pope's:--

 "Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, Lie in three words: health, peace, and competence. "

He used to quote Burns's stanza about the desirableness of wealth:--

 "Not to hide it in a hedge, Nor for a train attendant; But for the glorious privilege Of being independent. "

He was utterly opposed to the way in which business was thenconducted--hazardous enterprises undertaken upon borrowed capital. Theexcessive credit formerly given was the frequent theme of hisreprobation. 

How changed the country, even in the short space of sixty years! In 1825he made a journey from Boston to New Orleans, and his letters showcurious glimpses of life and travel as they then were. Leaving Boston atfour o'clock on a Friday morning, he reached New York at ten o'clock onSaturday morning, and he speaks of this performance with astonishment. Boston to New York in thirty hours! He was in New York November 4, 1825, when the opening of the Erie Canal was celebrated. He did not care muchfor the procession. 

"There was, however, " he adds, "an interesting exhibition of steamboats, probably greater than could be found at any other place in the world;say, _from twenty-five to thirty_, and most of them of a large class. "

He was in the valley of the Ohio that year, and he spoke of it "as theland of cheapness:" flour, two dollars and a quarter a barrel; oats, twelve and a half cents a bushel; corn and rye, twenty cents; coal, three cents. He found all the region from Louisville to Louisiana "onevast wilderness, " with scarcely any settlements, and now and then a loghut on the banks, occupied by the people who cut wood for thesteamboats. On the prairies of Missouri he rode miles and miles withoutseeing a house. Indiana was an almost unbroken wilderness: corn tencents a bushel, a wild turkey twelve and half cents, and other things inproportion. 

Nevertheless, travelers at that day had some pleasures which could beadvantageously compared with the ease and comfort of the Pullman car. The Alleghanies were then crossed by open wagons drawn by splendidPennsylvania horses, six in a team, gayly decorated with ribbons, bells, and trappings. He used to repeat, in a peculiarly buoyant anddelightful manner, a popular song of the day, called "The Wagoner, "suggested by the apparently happy lot of the boys who rode and drovethese horses. Some readers may remember the old song, beginning:--

 "I've often thought if I were asked Whose lot I envied most, What one I thought most lightly tasked Of man's unnumbered host, I'd say I'd be a mountain boy And drive a noble team--wo hoy! Wo hoy! I'd cry, And lightly fly Into my saddle seat; My rein I'd slack, My whip I'd crack-- What music is so sweet? Six blacks I'd drive, of ample chest, All carrying high their head. All harnessed tight, and gaily dressed In winkers tipped with red. Oh, yes! I'd be a mountain boy, And such a team I'd drive--wo hoy! Wo hoy! I'd cry; The lint should fly. Wo hoy! Dobbin, Ball. Their feet should ring, And I would sing, I'd sing my fal-de-roll. "

We have almost forgotten that such a gay mode of crossing theAlleghanies was ever practiced; and yet a person need not be very old tohave enjoyed the experience. I myself, for example, can just rememberriding from Buffalo to New York by a line of stages that came round bythe Alleghany Mountains, and crossed the State of New Jersey, passingthrough Morristown. We were just six days in performing the journey. 

This excellent man, after a tranquil and happy life, died in 1849, agedseventy, and left considerable sums to benevolent societies. His estateproved to be of about two hundred thousand dollars value, which was thenconsidered very large, and he bestowed something more than half of itupon institutions for mitigating human woe. Ten thousand of it he gavefor the promotion of pleasure, and the evidences of his forethought andbenevolence are waving and rustling above my head as these lines arewritten. His memory is green in Newburyport. All the birds and all thelovers, all who walk and all who ride, the gay equestrian and the dustywayfarer, the old and the invalid who can only look out of the window, all owe his name a blessing. 

FREDERICK TUDOR, ICE EXPORTER. 

Edward Everett used to relate a curious anecdote of the time when he wasthe American minister at London. He was introduced one day to an Easternprince, who greeted him with a degree of enthusiasm that was altogetherunusual and unexpected. The prince launched into eulogium of the UnitedStates, and expressed a particular gratitude for the great benefitconferred upon the East Indies by Mr. Everett's native Massachusetts. The American minister, who was a good deal puzzled by this effusion, ventured at length to ask the prince what special benefit Massachusettshad conferred upon the East Indies, wondering whether it was themissionaries, or the common school system, or Daniel Webster's BunkerHill oration. 

"I refer, " said the prince, "to the great quantity of excellent icewhich comes to us from Boston. "

Mr. Everett bowed with his usual politeness, but was much amused at theexcessive gratitude of the prince for the service named. 

The founder of this foreign ice business, which has now attained suchlarge proportions, was a Boston merchant named Frederick Tudor, son ofthat Colonel William Tudor who studied law under John Adams, and whoserved his country on the staff of General Washington, and afterwardsbecame a judge. Frederick Tudor, who was born in 1783, the year of thepeace between England and the United States, entered early intobusiness, being at twenty-two already owner of a vessel trading with theWest Indies. 

It was in 1805 that the idea of exporting ice first occurred to him--anidea which, as he was accustomed to relate in his old age, was receivedwith derision by the whole town as a "mad project. " He had made hiscalculations too carefully, however, to be disturbed by a littleridicule; and that same year he sent out his first cargo of a hundredand thirty tons, to the Island of Martinique. 

The result justified his confidence. The ice arrived in perfectcondition, and he was encouraged to follow up his single cargo with manyothers larger and more profitable. During the war of 1812 business wassomewhat interrupted by the English cruisers, which were ever on thealert for prizes in the West Indian waters, but, after peace wasdeclared, his trade increased rapidly. He supplied ice to Charleston andNew Orleans also, those cities at first requiring but a ship-load eachper annum, although the demand increased so rapidly that a few yearslater New Orleans alone consumed thirty cargoes. 

Almost from the first, Mr. Tudor had believed that ice could betransported as safely and profitably to Calcutta as to Havana; but hecould not bring others to share this opinion--at least, not to the pointof risking money upon it. It was not, therefore, until 1834, twenty-nineyears later than his Martinique experiment, that he sent his first cargoof one hundred and eighty tons of ice to India. Notwithstanding a wasteof one third of the whole cargo during the voyage, he was able to sellthis Massachusetts ice at one half the price charged for theartificially frozen ice formerly used in Calcutta by the few familieswho could afford such a luxury. 

The cold commodity which he provided met, therefore, with a warm welcomefrom the English inhabitants. They recognized the boon afforded them, and expressed their gratitude by raising a subscription and presentingto the enterprising Yankee merchant a fire-proof building in which tostore his ice. He met them in the same spirit of wise liberality, andsold the article at no more than a reasonable profit--about three centsa pound--which enabled the great body of English residents to use theice habitually. Mr. Tudor used to boast that in Jamaica he sold the bestWenham ice at half the price which an inferior article brought inLondon; and even at Calcutta he made ice cheaper than it was in Londonor Paris. On the passage to the East Indies, ice is four or five monthsat sea, traverses sixteen thousand miles of salt water, and crosses theequator twice; and on its arrival it is stored in massive double-walledhouses, which are covered by four or five separate roofs. It has also tobe unloaded in a temperature of ninety to one hundred degrees. Notwithstanding all this, the inhabitants of the most distant tropicalseaports are supplied with ice every day of the year at the moderateprice mentioned above. 

It was Frederick Tudor also who originated and developed the bestmethods of cutting, packing, storing, and discharging ice, so as toreduce the waste to the minimum. I am assured by a gentleman engaged inthe business that the blocks of ice now reach Calcutta, after the longvoyage from Boston, with a waste scarcely noticeable. The vessels areloaded during the cold snaps of January, when water will freeze in thehold of a vessel, and when the entire ship is penetrated with theintensest cold. The glittering blocks of ice, two feet thick, at atemperature below zero, are brought in by railroad from the lakes, andare placed on board the ships with a rapidity which must be seen to beappreciated. The blocks are packed in sawdust, which is used very muchas mortar is used in a stone wall. Between the topmost layer of ice andthe deck there is sometimes a layer of closely packed hay, and sometimesone of barrels of apples. It has occasionally happened that the profitupon the apples has paid the freight upon the ice, which usually amountsto about ten thousand dollars, or five dollars a ton. 

The arrival of an ice ship at Calcutta is an exhilarating scene. Cloudsof dusky natives come on board to buy the apples, which are in greatrequest, and bring from ten to thirty cents each, according to thesupply. Happy is the native who has capital enough to buy a whole barrelof the fruit. Off he trudges with it on his back to the place of sale, or else puts it on a little cart and peddles the apples about thestreets. In a day or two that portion of the cargo has disappeared, andthen the ice is to be unloaded. It was long before a native could beinduced to handle the crystal blocks. Tradition reports that they ranaway affrighted, thinking the ice was something bewitched and fraughtwith danger. But now they come on board in a long line, and each of themtakes a huge block of ice upon his head and conveys it to the adjacentice-house, moving with such rapidity that the blocks are exposed to theair only a few seconds. Once deposited there, the waste almost ceasesagain, and the ice which cost in Boston four dollars a ton is worthfifty dollars. 

When Frederick Tudor had been employed twenty-five years in this trade, finding it inconvenient to be separated from the great body ofmerchants, he embarked again in general mercantile business, by way ofre-uniting himself to his former associates. The experiment resulted inruinous losses. In less than three years he was a bankrupt, and owed hiscreditors two hundred and ten thousand dollars more than he could pay. The ice business being still profitable and growing, it was proposed tohim that he should conduct it as the agent of his creditors, retaining aspecified sum per annum for his personal expenses. To this he objected, and said to them:--

"Allow me to proceed, and I will work for you better than I can underany restriction. Give me the largest liberty, and I will pay the wholein time with interest. "

He was then fifty-two years of age, and he had undertaken to pay anindebtedness, the mere interest of which was about ten thousand dollarsa year. By the time he had got fairly at work the treachery of an agentwhom he had raised from poverty to wealth lost him his Havana monopoly, his principal source of profit. Then it became necessary to buy landbordering the lakes from which he gathered ice, and to erect inCalcutta, New Orleans, and elsewhere expensive and peculiarlyconstructed buildings for storage. Occasionally, too, he experienced thelosses and adverse incidents from which no business is exempt. Nevertheless, in fourteen years from the date of his bankruptcy he hadpaid his debts, principal and interest, amounting to two hundred andeighty thousand dollars, besides having acquired a large quantity ofreal estate, some of which had increased in value tenfold. Thus, whilepaying his debts, and in the very process of paying, and while thinkingonly of his creditors' interest, he had gained for himself a very largefortune. He continued an ice merchant for more than fifty years; or, ashe said himself:--

"I began this trade in the youthful hopes attendant on the age oftwenty-two. I have followed it until I have a head with scarcely a hairthat is not white. "

It was this enterprising merchant who may be said to have created thebeautiful seaside retreat near Boston called Nahant, where he inventedmany ingenious expedients for protecting trees and shrubs from the eastwinds which lacerate that rock-bound coast. His gardens and plantationsin Nahant were famous many years before his death. He died in 1864, agedeighty-one, leaving to his children and to his native State a name whichwas honorable when he inherited it, and the lustre of which his lifeincreased. 

[Illustration:

YoursMyron Holley]

MYRON HOLLEY, MARKET-GARDENER. 

Fifty years ago, this man used to sell vegetables and fruit from door todoor in the streets of Rochester, N. Y. He had a small farm a few milesout of town, upon which he raised the produce which he thus disposed of. An anecdote is related of a fine lady who had recently come to Rochesteras the wife of one of its most distinguished clergymen. She ran up intoher husband's study one morning, and said to him:--

"Why, Doctor, I've just seen the only gentleman I have yet met with inRochester, and he was at our basement door selling vegetables. Howwonderful! Who is it? Who can it be?"

"It must be Myron Holley, " said her husband. 

Another of his lady customers used to say that he sold early peas andpotatoes in the morning with as much grace as he lectured before theLyceum in the evening. Nor was it the ladies alone who admired him. Theprincipal newspaper of the city, in recording his death in 1841, spokeof him as "an eminent citizen, an accomplished scholar, and noble man, who carried with him to the grave the love of all who knew him. "

In reflecting upon the character of this truly remarkable person, I amreminded of a Newfoundland dog that I once had the honor of knowing nearthe spot on the shore of Lake Ontario where Myron Holley hoed hiscabbages and picked his strawberries. It was the largest and mostbeautiful dog I have ever seen, of a fine shade of yellow in color, andof proportions so extraordinary that few persons could pass him withoutstopping to admire. He had the strength and calm courage of a lion, withthe playfulness of a kitten, and an intelligence that seemed sometimesquite human. One thing this dog lacked. He was so destitute of the evilspirit that he would not defend himself against the attacks of otherdogs. He seemed to have forgotten how to bite. He has been known to leta smaller dog draw blood from him without making the least attempt touse his own teeth in retaliation. He appeared to have lost the instinctof self-assertion, and walked abroad protected solely, but sufficiently, by his vast size and imposing appearance. 

Myron Holley, I say, reminds me of this superb and noble creature. Hewas a man of the finest proportions both of body and of mind, beautifulin face, majestic in stature, fearless, gifted with various talents, anorator, a natural leader of men. With all this, he was destitute of thepersonal ambition which lifts the strong man into publicity, and giveshim commonplace success. If he had been only half as good as he was, hemight have been ten times as famous. 

He was born at Salisbury, Conn. , in 1779, the son of a farmer who hadseveral sons that became notable men. The father, too, illustrated someof the best traits of human nature, being one of the men who make thestrength of a country without asking much from the country in return. Heused to say to his sons that the height of human felicity was "to beable to converse with the wise, to instruct the ignorant, to pity anddespise the intriguing villain, and to assist the unfortunate. " His sonMyron enjoyed this felicity all the days of his life. 

After graduating at Williams, and studying law at New Haven, he set hisface toward western New York, then more remote from New England thanOregon now is. He made an exquisite choice of a place of residence, thevillage of Canandaigua, then only a hamlet of log huts along the borderof one of the lakes for which that part of the State is famous. Thefirst step taken by the young lawyer after his arrival fixed hisdestiny. He was assigned by the court to defend a man charged withmurder--a capital chance for winning distinction in a frontier town. Myron Holley, however, instead of confining himself to his brief and hisprecedents, began by visiting the jail and interviewing the prisoner. Hebecame satisfied of his guilt. The next morning he came into court, resigned the case, and never after made any attempt to practice hisprofession. 

He was, in fact, constitutionally disqualified for the practice of sucha calling. Having a little property, he bought out a bookseller of thevillage, laid out a garden, married, was soon elected county clerk, andspent the rest of his life in doing the kind of public service whichyields the maximum of good to the country with the minimum of gain tothe individual doing it. 

The war of 1812 filled all that region with distress and want. It was hewho took the lead in organizing relief, and appealed to the city of NewYork for aid with great success. As soon as the war was over, the oldscheme of connecting Lake Erie with the Hudson by a canal was revived. It was an immense undertaking for that day, and a great majority of theprudent farmers of the State opposed the enterprise as something beyondtheir strength. It was Myron Holley who went to the legislature yearafter year, and argued it through. His winning demeanor, his persuasiveeloquence, his intimate knowledge of the facts involved, his entireconviction of the wisdom of the scheme, his tact, good temper, and, above all, his untiring persistence, prevailed at length, and the canalwas begun. 

He was appointed one of the commissioners to superintend theconstruction of the canal at a salary of twenty-five hundred dollars ayear. The commissioners appointed him their treasurer, which threw uponhim for eight years an inconceivable amount of labor, much of which hadto be done in situations which were extremely unhealthy. At one time, in1820, he had a thousand laborers on his hands sick with malaria. He wasa ministering angel to them, friend, physician, and sometimes nurse. Hewas obliged on several occasions to raise money for the State on hispersonal credit, and frequently he had to expend money in circumstanceswhich made it impossible for him to secure the legal evidence of hishaving done so. 

In 1825 the work was done. A procession of boats floated from Lake Erieto New York Harbor, where they were received by a vast fleet ofsteamboats and other vessels, all dressed with flags and crowded withpeople. In the midst of this triumph, Myron Holley, who had managed theexpenditures with the most scrupulous economy, was unable to furnish therequisite vouchers for a small part of the money which had passedthrough his hands. He at once gave up his small estate, and appealed tothe legislature for relief. He was completely vindicated; his estate wasrestored to him; but he received no compensation either for his servicesor his losses. 

He returned to his garden, however, a happy man, and during the greaterpart of the rest of his life he earned a modest subsistence by thebeautiful industry which has since given celebrity and wealth to allthat fertile region. He remained, however, to the end of his days, oneof those brave and unselfish public servants who take the laboring oarin reforms which are very difficult or very odious. After the abductionof Morgan, he devoted some years to anti-masonry, and he founded whatwas called the Liberty Party, which supported Mr. Birney, of Kentucky, for the presidency. 

One of his fellow-workers, the Hon. Elizur Wright, of Boston, hasrecently published an interesting memoir of him, which reveals to us acast of character beautiful and rare in men; a character in which themoral qualities ruled with an easy and absolute sway, and from which thebaser traits appeared to be eliminated. He was like that great, splendid, yellow king of dogs which escaped perfection by not havingjust a spice of evil in his composition. 

Let me add, however, that he was as far as possible from being a"spoony. " Mr. Wright says:--

"He had the strength of a giant, and did not abstain from using it in acombative sense on a fit occasion. When his eldest daughter was livingin a house not far from his own, with her first child in her arms, hebecame aware that she was in danger from a stout, unprincipled tramp whohad called on her as a beggar and found her alone. Hastening to thehouse, without saying a word he grasped the fellow around body and botharms, and carried him, bellowing for mercy, through the yard and intothe middle of the street, where he set him down. Greatly relieved, themiserable wretch ran as if he had escaped from a lion. "

Mr. Wright adds another trait: "Once in Lyons (N. Y. ) when there wasgreat excitement about the 'sin of dancing, ' the ministers all preachingand praying against it, Myron Holley quietly said: 'It is as natural foryoung people to like to dance as for the apple trees to blossom in thespring. '"

THE FOUNDERS OF LOWELL. 

We do not often hear of strikes at Lowell. Some men tell us it isbecause there are not as many foreigners there as at certainmanufacturing centres where strikes are frequent. This cannot be theexplanation; for out of a population of seventy-one thousand, there aremore than twenty thousand foreign-born inhabitants of Lowell, of whommore than ten thousand are natives of Ireland. To answer the questioncorrectly, we must perhaps go back to the founding of the town in 1821, when there were not more than a dozen houses on the site. 

At that time the great water-power of the Merrimac River was scarcelyused, and there was not one cotton manufactory upon its banks. At anearlier day this river and its tributaries swarmed with beaver and otherfur-yielding creatures, which furnished a considerable part of the firstcapital of the Pilgrim Fathers. The Indians trapped the beaver, andcarried the skins to Plymouth and Boston; and this is perhaps the reasonwhy the Merrimac and most of its branches retain their Indian namesMerrimac itself is an Indian word meaning sturgeon, and of its tentributaries all but two appear to have Indian names: Contoocook, Soucook, Suncook, Piscatagoug, Souhegan, Nashua, Concord, Spiggot, Shawshine, and Powow. 

Besides these there are the two rivers which unite to form it, the namesof which are still more peculiar: Pemigewasset and Winnepiseogee. Themost remarkable thing with regard to these names is, that the people wholive near see nothing remarkable in them, and pronounce them asnaturally as New Yorkers do Bronx and Croton. It is difficult for us toimagine a lover singing, or saying, "Meet me by the Pemigewasset, love, "or asking her to take a row with him on the lovely Winnepiseogee. Butlovers do such things up there; and beautiful rivers they are, flowingbetween mountains, and breaking occasionally into falls and rapids. TheMerrimac, also, loses its serenity every few miles, and changes from atranquil river into a--water-power. 

In November, 1821, a light snow already covering the ground, sixstrangers stood on the banks of the Merrimac upon the site of thepresent city of Lowell. A canal had been dug around the falls forpurposes of navigation, and these gentlemen were there with a view tothe purchase of the dam and canal, and erecting upon the site a cottonmill. Their names were Patrick T. Jackson, Kirk Boott, Warren Dutton, Paul Moody, John W. Boott, and Nathan Appleton; all men of capital orskill, and since well known as the founders of a great nationalindustry. They walked about the country, observed the capabilities ofthe river, and made up their minds that that was the place for their newenterprise. 

"Some of us, " said one of the projectors, "may live to see this placecontain twenty thousand inhabitants. "

The enterprise was soon begun. In 1826 the town was incorporated andnamed. It is always difficult to name a new place or a new baby. Mr. Nathan Appleton met one of the other proprietors, who told him that thelegislature was ready to incorporate the town, and it only remained forthem to fill the blank left in the act for the name. 

"The question, " said he, "is narrowed down to two, Lowell or Derby. "

"Then, " said Mr. Appleton, "Lowell, by all means. "

It was so named from Mr. Francis C. Lowell, who originated the idea. Hehad visited England and Scotland in 1811, and while there had observedand studied the manufacture of cotton fabrics, which in a few years hadcome to be one of the most important industries of the British Empire. The war of 1812 intervened; but before the return of peace Mr. Lowelltook measures for starting the business in New England. A company wasformed with a capital of four hundred thousand dollars, and Mr. Lowellhimself undertook the construction of the power loom, which was stillguarded in Europe as a precious secret. After having obtained allpossible information about it, he shut himself up in a Boston store witha man to turn his crank, and experimented for months till he hadconquered the difficulties. In the fall of 1814 the machine was readyfor inspection. 

"I well recollect, " says Mr. Appleton, "the state of admiration andsatisfaction with which we sat by the hour watching the beautifulmovement of this new and wonderful machine, destined as it evidently wasto change the character of all textile industry. "

In a few months the first manufactory was established in Waltham, withthe most wonderful success. Henry Clay visited it, and gave a glowingaccount of it in one of his speeches, using its success as an argumentagainst free trade. It is difficult to see what protection the newmanufacture required. The company sold its cotton cloth at thirty centsa yard, and they afterwards found that they could sell it without lossat less than seven cents. The success of the Waltham establishment ledto the founding of Lowell, Lawrence, Nashua, and Manchester. There arenow at Lowell eighty mills and factories, in which are employed sixteenthousand men and women, who produce more than three million yards offabric every week. The city has a solid inviting appearance, and thereare in the outskirts many beautiful and commanding sites for residences, which are occupied by men of wealth. 

But now as to the question above proposed. Why are the operatives atLowell less discontented than elsewhere? It is in part because the ablemen who founded the place bestowed some thought upon the welfare of thehuman beings whom they were about to summon to the spot. They did not, it is true, bestow thought enough; but they _thought_ of it, and theymade some provision for proper and pleasant life in their proposed town. Mr. Appleton, who many years ago took the trouble to record thesecircumstances, mentions that the probable effect of this new kind ofindustry upon the character of the people was most attentivelyconsidered by the founders. In Europe, as most of them had personallyseen, the operatives were unintelligent and immoral, made so by fifteenor sixteen hours' labor a day, and a beer-shop on every corner. Theycaused suitable boarding-houses to be built, which were placed under thecharge of women known to be competent and respectable. Land was assignedand money subscribed for schools, for churches, for a hospital. Systematic care was taken to keep away immoral persons, and rules wereestablished, some of which carried the supervision of morals and mannersperhaps too far. The consequence was that the daughters of farmers, young women well educated and well-bred, came from all quarters, andfound the factory life something more than endurable. 

But for one thing they would have found it salutary and agreeable. Theplague of factory life is the extreme monotony of the employment, andthis is aggravated in some mills by high temperature and imperfectventilation. At that time the laws of health were so little understoodthat few persons saw any hardship in young girls standing on their feetthirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and even sixteen hours a day! It wasconsidered a triumph when the working-day was reduced to thirteen hours. Thirty years ago, after prodigious agitation, the day was fixed ateleven hours. That was too much. It has now been reduced to ten hours;but it is yet to be shown that a woman of average strength and staminacan work in a cotton mill ten hours a day for years at a stretch, without deteriorating in body, in mind, or in character. 

During the first years the girls would come from the country, work inthe mill a few months, or two or three years, and then return to theircountry homes. Thus the injury was less ruinous than it might have been. The high character of the Lowell operatives was much spoken of in theearly day. Some of the boarding-houses contained pianos upon which theboarders played in the evening, and there was a magazine called the"Lowell Offering, " to which they contributed all the articles. Thesethings seemed so astonishing that Charles Dickens, when he was first inthe United States, in 1842, visited Lowell to behold the marvels forhimself. How changed the world in forty years! Few persons now livingcan remember even the cars of forty years ago, when there were but a fewhundred miles of railroad in the United States. 

The train which conveyed the great novelist from Boston to Lowellconsisted of three cars, a gentlemen's car in which smoking was allowed, a ladies' car in which no one smoked, and "a negro car, " which theauthor describes as a "great, blundering, clumsy chest, such as Gulliverput to sea in from the kingdom of Brobdingnag. " Where is now the negrocar? It is gone to rejoin its elder brother, the negro pew. The whitepeople's cars he describes as "large, shabby omnibuses, " with a red-hotstove in the middle, and the air insufferably close. 

He happened to arrive at his first factory in Lowell just as the dinnerhour was over, and the girls were trooping up the stairs as he himselfascended. How strange his comments now appear to us! If we read them bythe light of to-day, we find them patronizing and snobbish; but at thatday they were far in advance of the feelings and opinions of thecomfortable class. He observed that the girls were all well-dressed, extremely clean, with serviceable bonnets, good warm cloaks and shawls, and their feet well protected both against wet and cold. He felt itnecessary, as he was writing for English readers, to _apologize_ fortheir pleasant appearance. 

"To my thinking, " he remarks, "they were not dressed above theircondition; for I like to see the humbler classes of society careful oftheir dress and appearance, and even, if they please, decorated withsuch little trinkets as come within the compass of their means. "

He alluded to the "Lowell Offering, " a monthly magazine, "written, edited, and published, " as its cover informed the public, "by femaleoperatives employed in the mills. " Mr. Dickens praised this magazine inan extremely ingenious manner. He could not claim that the literature ofthe work was of a very high order, because that would not have beentrue. He said:--

"Its merits will compare advantageously with a great many EnglishAnnuals. "

That is really an exquisite touch of satire. He went on to say:--

"Many of its tales inculcate habits of self-denial and contentment, andteach good doctrines of enlarged benevolence. A strong feeling for thebeauties of nature, as displayed in the solitudes the writers have leftat home, breathes through its pages like wholesome village air. .. . Ithas very scant allusion to fine clothes, fine marriages, fine houses, orfine life. "

I am so happy as to possess a number of the "Lowell Offering, " forAugust, 1844. It begins with a pretty little story called "A FlowerDream, " which confirms Mr. Dickens's remarks. There are two or threeamiable pieces of poetry, a very moral article upon "Napoleon at St. Helena, " one upon the tyranny of fashion, in which young ladies areadvised to "lay aside all glittering ornaments, all expensivetrappings, " and to present instead the charms of a cultivated mind andgood disposition. There is one article in the number which Mr. Dickenswould have enjoyed for its own sake. It is "A Letter from Susan;" Susanbeing a "mill girl, " as she honestly calls herself. She describes thelife of the girls in the mill and in the boarding-house. She gives anexcellent character both to her companions and to the overseers, one ofwhom had lately given her a bouquet from his own garden; and the millsthemselves, she remarks, were surrounded with green lawns kept fresh allthe summer by irrigation, with beds of flowers to relieve theirmonotony. 

According to Susan, the mills themselves were pleasant places, the roomsbeing "high, very light, kept nicely whitewashed, and extremely neat, with many plants in the window-seats, and white cotton curtains to thewindows. "

"Then, " says Susan, "the girls dress so neatly, and are so pretty. Themill girls are the prettiest in the city. You wonder how they can keepso neat. Why not? There are no restrictions as to the number of piecesto be washed in the boarding-houses. You say you do not see how we canhave so many conveniences and comforts at the price we pay for board. You must remember that the boarding-houses belong to the company, andare let to the tenants far below the usual city rents. "

Much has changed in Lowell since that day, and it is probable that fewmill girls would now describe their life as favorably as Susan did in1844. Nevertheless, the present generation of operatives derive muchgood from the thoughtful and patriotic care of the founders. Morerequires to be done. A large public park should be laid out in each ofthose great centres of industry. The abodes of the operatives in manyinstances are greatly in need of improvement. There is need of half-dayschools for children who are obliged to assist their parents. Whereverit is possible, there should be attached to every house a piece ofground for a garden. The saying of the old philosopher is as true now asit was in the simple old times when it was uttered: "The way to havegood servants is to be a good master. "

ROBERT OWEN, COTTON-MANUFACTURER. 

The agitation of labor questions recalls attention to Robert Owen, whospent a great fortune and a long life in endeavoring to show workingmenhow to improve their condition by coöperation. A more benevolent spiritnever animated a human form than his; his very failures were morecreditable than some of the successes which history vaunts. 

At the age of ten years, Robert Owen, the son of a Welsh saddler, arrived in London, consigned to the care of an elder brother, to pushhis fortune. His school-days were over, and there was nothing for himbut hard work in some lowly occupation. At the end of six weeks he founda situation as shop-boy in a dry-goods store at Stamford, in the east ofEngland; wages, for the first year, his board and lodging; for thesecond year, eight pounds in addition; and a gradual increasethereafter. In this employment he remained four years, and then, although very happily situated, he made up his mind to return to Londonto push his fortune more rapidly. 

Being large and forward for his age, a handsome, prompt, active, engaging youth, he soon obtained a situation in a dry-goods store on oldLondon Bridge, at a salary of twenty-five pounds a year and his board. But he had to work unreasonably hard, often being obliged to sit up halfthe night putting away the goods, and sometimes going to bed so tiredthat he could hardly crawl up stairs. All the clerks had to be in thestore ready for business at eight in the morning. This was about theyear 1786, when men were accustomed to have their hair elaboratelyarranged. 

"Boy as I was, " he once wrote, "I had to wait my turn for thehair-dresser to powder and pomatum and curl my hair--two large curls oneach side and a stiff pigtail. And until this was all nicely done no onethought of presenting himself behind the counter. "

The lad endured this painful servitude for six months, at the end ofwhich he found a better situation in Manchester, the seat of the risingcotton trade, and there he remained until he was nearly nineteen. Heappeared to have had no "wild oats" to sow, being at all times highlyvalued by his employers, and acquiring in their service habits ofcareful industry, punctuality, and orderliness. He must have been ayoung man both of extraordinary virtues and more extraordinaryabilities; for when he was but nineteen, one of his masters offered totake him as an equal partner, to furnish all the capital, and leave himthe whole business in a few years. There was also an agreeable niece inthe family, whose affections he had gained without knowing it. 

"If I had accepted, " he says, "I should most likely have married theniece, and lived and died a rich Stamford linen-draper. "

I doubt it. I do not believe that the best shop in Christendom couldhave held him long. When he declined this offer he was already inbusiness for himself manufacturing cotton machinery. This business was afailure, his partner proving incompetent; and he abandoned theenterprise in a few months, taking, as his share of the stock, threecotton-spinning machines. With these he began business for himself as acotton spinner, hiring three men to work his machines, while hesuperintended the establishment. He made about thirty dollars a weekprofit, and was going along at this rate, not ill satisfied with hislot, when he read one morning in the paper an advertisement for afactory manager. He applied for the place in person. 

"You are too young, " said the advertiser. 

"They used to object to me on that score four or five years ago, " washis reply, "but I did not expect to have it brought up now. "

"Why, what age are you?"

"I shall be twenty in May next. "

"How often do you get drunk in the week?"

"I never, " said Owen, blushing, "was drunk in my life. "

"What salary do you ask?"

"Three hundred (pounds) a year. "

"Three hundred a year! Why, I have had I don't know how many after theplace here this morning, and all their askings together would not comeup to what you want. "

"Whatever others may ask, I cannot take less. I am making three hundreda year by my own business. "

He got the place. A few days after, this lad of twenty, who had never somuch as entered a large factory in his life, was installed manager of anestablishment which employed five hundred people. He conducted himselfwith consummate prudence and skill. For the first six weeks he wentabout the building grave, silent, and watchful, using his eyes much andhis tongue little, answering questions very briefly, and giving nopositive directions. When evening came, and the hands were dismissed, hestudied the machinery, the product, and all the secrets of the business. In six weeks he was a competent master, and every one felt that he was acompetent master. Of large frame, noble countenance, and sympathizingdisposition, he won affection, as well as confidence and respect. In sixmonths there was not a better-managed mill in Manchester. 

Now began his connection with America, a country to which, by and by, he was to give three valuable sons. While managing this mill he boughtthe first two bales of American Sea Island cotton ever imported intoEngland, and he advanced one hundred and seventy pounds to RobertFulton, his fellow-boarder, to help him with his inventions. I cannotrelate all the steps by which he made his way, while still a very youngman, to the ownership of a village of cotton mills in Scotland, and to aunion with the daughter of David Dale, a famous Scotch manufacturer andphilanthropist of that day. He was but twenty-nine years of age when hefound himself at the head of a great community of cotton spinners at NewLanark in Scotland. 

Here he set on foot the most liberal and far-reaching plans for thebenefit of the working people and their children. He built commodiousand beautiful school-rooms, in which the children were taught better, insome respects, than the sons of the nobility were taught at Eton orHarrow. Besides the usual branches, he had the little sons and daughtersof the people drilled regularly in singing, dancing, military exercises, and polite demeanor. He made one great mistake, due rather to theignorance of the age than his own: he over-taught the children--thecommonest and fatalest of errors to new-born zeal. But his effortsgenerally for the improvement of the people were wonderfully successful. 

"For twenty-nine years, " as he once wrote to Lord Brougham, "we didwithout the necessity for magistrates or lawyers; without a singlelegal punishment; without any known poors' rates; without intemperanceor religious animosities. We reduced the hours of labor, well educatedall the children from infancy, greatly improved the condition of theadults, and cleared upward of three hundred thousand pounds profit. "

Having won this great success, he fell into an error to which strong, self-educated men are peculiarly liable, --_he judged other people byhimself_. He thought that men in general, if they would only try, coulddo as well for themselves and others as he had. He thought there couldbe a New Lanark without a Robert Owen. Accustomed all his life to easysuccess, he was not aware how exceptional a person he was, and he didnot perceive that the happiness of the people who worked for him was dueas much to his authority as a master as to his benevolence as a man. Theconsequence was that he devoted the rest of his life to going about theworld telling people how much better they would be off if they wouldstop competing with one another, and act together for their common good. Why have one hundred kitchens, one hundred ovens, and one hundred cooks, when the work done in them could be better done in one kitchen, with oneoven, by five cooks? This was one question that he asked. 

Here is the steam engine, he would say, doing as much work in GreatBritain as the labor power of two worlds as populous as ours could dowithout it. Yet the mass of the people find life more difficult than itwas centuries ago. How is this? Such questions Robert Owen pondered dayand night, and the results he reached were three in number:--

1. The steam engine necessitates radical changes in the structure ofsociety. 

2. Coöperation should take the place of competition. 

3. Civilized people should no longer live in cities and separate homes, but in communities of fifteen hundred or two thousand persons each, whoshould own houses and lands in common, and labor for the benefit of thewhole. 

In spreading abroad these opinions he spent forty of the best years ofhis life, and the greater part of a princely income. At first, and for aconsiderable time, such was the magnetism of his presence, and thecontagion of his zeal, that his efforts commanded the sympathy, and eventhe approval, of the ruling classes of England, --the nobility andclergy. But in the full tide of his career as a reformer he deliberatelyplaced himself in opposition to religion. At a public meeting in Londonhe declared in his bland, impressive way, without the least heat orill-nature, that all the religions of the world, whether ancient ormodern, Christian or pagan, were erroneous and hurtful. 

Need I say that from that moment the influential classes, almost to aman, dropped him? One of the few who did not was the Duke of Kent, thefather of Queen Victoria. He remained a steadfast friend to Owen as longas he lived. Mr. Owen founded a community on his own system. Its failurewas speedy and complete, as all experiments must be which are undertakenages too soon. He came to America and repeated the experiment. That alsofailed in a remarkably short period. Associated with him in thisundertaking was his son, Robert Dale Owen, who has since spent a longand honorable life among us. 

Returning to England, Mr. Owen continued to labor in the disseminationof his ideas until the year 1858, when he died at the age ofeighty-seven. 

Mr. Holyoake, author of "The History of Cooperation in England, "attributes to the teaching of Robert Owen the general establishment inGreat Britain of coöperative stores, which have been successful. As timegoes on it is probable that other parts of his system, may becomeavailable; and, perhaps, in the course of time, it may become possiblefor men to live an associated life in communities such as he suggested. But they will never do it until they can get Robert Owens at their head, and learn to submit loyally and proudly to the just discipline essentialto success where a large number of persons work together. 

JOHN SMEDLEY, STOCKING-MANUFACTURER. 

I wonder men in a factory town should ever have the courage to strike;it brings such woe and desolation upon them all. The first few days, thecessation from labor may be a relief and a pleasure to a large number--aholiday, although a dull and tedious holiday, like a Sunday without anyof the alleviations of Sunday--Sunday without Sunday clothes, Sundaybells, Sunday church, Sunday walks and visits. A painful silence reignsin the town. People discover that the factory bell calling them to work, though often unwelcome, was not a hundredth part as disagreeable as thesilence that now prevails. The huge mills stand gaunt and dead; there isno noise of machinery, no puff of steam, no faces at the windows. 

By the end of the first week the novelty has passed, and the money ofsome of the improvident families is running low. All are upon shortallowance, the problem being to prolong life at the minimum of expense. The man goes without his meat, the mother without her tea, the childrenwithout the trifling, inexpensive luxuries with which parental fondnessusually treated them. Before the end of the second week a good many arehungry, and the workers begin to pine for employment. Their muscles areas hungry for exercise as their stomachs are for food. The provisiondealers are more and more cautious about giving credit. The bankaccounts, representing months or years of self-denying economy, begin tolessen rapidly, and careful fathers see that the bulwarks which theyhave painfully thrown up to defend their children against the wolf arecrumbling away a hundred times faster than they were constructed. If thestrike lasts a month, one half the population suffers every hour, andsuffers more in mind than in body. Anxiety gnaws the soul. Men go aboutpale, gloomy, and despairing; women sit at home suffering even moreacutely; until at last the situation becomes absolutely intolerable; andthe strikers are fortunate indeed if they secure a small portion of theadvance which they claimed. 

Terrible as all this is, I am afraid we must admit that to just suchmiseries, sometimes rashly encountered, often heroically endured, theworkingman owes a great part of the improvement in his condition whichhas taken place during the last seventy-five years. A strike is likewar. It should be the last resort. It should never be undertaken exceptafter long deliberation, and when every possible effort has been made tosecure justice by other means. In many instances it is better to submitto a certain degree of injustice than resort to a means of redress whichbrings most suffering upon the least guilty. 

Does the reader know how the industrial classes were treated in formertimes? Mr. George Adcroft, president of an important coöperativeorganization in England, began life as a coal miner. He has recentlygiven to Mr. Holyoake, author of the "History of Coöperation, " someinformation about the habits and treatment of English miners only fortyyears ago:--

"They worked absolutely naked, and their daughters worked by their side. He and others were commonly compelled to work sixteen hours a day; and, from week's end to week's end, they never washed either hands or face. One Saturday night (he was then a lad of fifteen) he and others hadworked till midnight, when there were still wagons at the pit's mouth. They had at last refused to work any later. The foreman told theemployer, who waited till they were drawn up to the mouth, and beat themwith a stout whip as they came to the surface. "

So reports Mr. Holyoake, who could produce, if necessary, from therecords of parliamentary investigations, many a ream of similartestimony. In truth, workingmen were scarcely regarded--nay, they were_not_ regarded--as members of the human family. We find proof of this inthe ancient laws of every country in Europe. In the reign of Edward VI. There was a law against idle workmen which shows how they were regarded. Any laboring man or servant loitering or living idly for the space ofthree days could be branded on the breast with the latter V (vagabond)and sentenced to be the slave of the person who arrested him for twoyears; and that person could "give him bread, water, or small drink, andrefuse him meat, and cause him to work by beating, chaining, orotherwise. " If he should run away from this treatment, he could bebranded on the face with a hot iron with the letter S, and was to be theslave of his master for life. 

Nor does there appear to have been any radical improvement in thecondition of the workingman until within the memory of men now alive. When Robert Owen made his celebrated journey in 1815 among the factorytowns of Great Britain, for the purpose of collecting evidence about theemployment of children in factories, he gathered facts which his son, who traveled with him, speaks of as being too terrible for belief. 

"As a rule, " says that son (Robert Dale Owen), "we found children of tenyears old worked regularly fourteen hours a day, with but half an hour'sinterval for dinner, which was eaten in the factory. .. . Some mills wererun fifteen, and in exceptional cases sixteen hours a day, with a singleset of hands; and they did not scruple to employ children of both sexesfrom the age of eight. .. . Most of the overseers carried stout leatherthongs, and we frequently saw even the youngest children severelybeaten. "

This as recently as 1815! Mr. Holyoake himself remarks that, in hisyouth, he never heard one word which indicated a kindly or respectfulfeeling between employers and employed; and he speaks of the workshopsand factories of those days as "charnel-houses of industry. " If therehas been great improvement, it is due to these causes: The resistance ofthe operative class; their growth in self-respect, intelligence, andsobriety; and the humanity and wisdom of some employers of labor. 

The reader has perhaps seen an article lately printed in severalnewspapers entitled: "Strikes and How to Prevent Them, " by John Smedley, a stocking manufacturer of Manchester, who employs about eleven hundredpersons. He is at the head of an establishment founded about the time ofthe American Revolution by his grandfather; and during all this longperiod there has never been any strike, nor even any disagreementbetween the proprietors and the work-people. 

"My ancestors' idea was, " says Mr. Smedley, "that those who ride insidethe coach should make those as comfortable as possible who arecompelled, from the mere accident of birth, to ride outside. "

That is the secret of it. Mr. Smedley mentions some of their modes ofproceeding, one of which is so excellent that I feel confident it willone day be generally adopted in large factories. A cotton or woolenmill usually begins work in this country at half-past six, andfrequently the operatives live half an hour's walk or ride from it. Thisobliges many of the operatives, especially family men and women, to beup soon after four in the morning, in order to get breakfast, and be atthe mill in time. It is the breakfast which makes the difficulty here. The meal will usually be prepared in haste and eaten in haste; laterisers will devour it with one eye on the clock; and of course it cannotbe the happy, pleasant thing a breakfast ought to be. But in Mr. Smedley's mill the people go to work at six without having had theirbreakfast. At eight the machinery stops, and all hands, after washing ina comfortable wash-room, assemble in what they call the dinner-house, built, furnished, and run by the proprietors. Here they find good coffeeand tea for sale at two cents a pint, oatmeal porridge with syrup ormilk at about ten cents a week; good bread and butter at cost. 

In addition to these articles, the people bring whatever food they wishfrom home. The meal is enjoyed at clean, well-ordered tables. Theemployers keep in their service a male cook and female assistants, whowill cook anything the people choose to bring. After breakfast, forfifteen minutes, the people knit, sew, converse, stroll out of doors, oramuse themselves in any way they choose. At half-past eight, the managertakes his stand at a desk in the great dinner-room, gives out a hymn, which the factory choir sings. Then he reads a passage from a suitablebook, --sometimes from the Bible, sometimes from some other book. Thenthere is another hymn by the choir; after which all hands go to work, the machinery starting up again at nine. 

There is similar accommodation for dinner, and at six work is over forthe day. On Saturdays the mill is closed at half-past twelve, and thepeople have the whole afternoon for recreation. All the other rules andarrangements are in harmony with this exquisite breakfast scheme. 

"We pay full wages, " adds Mr. Smedley, "the hands are smart andeffective. No man ever loses a day from drunkenness, and rarely can ahand be tempted to leave us. We keep a supply of dry stockings for thosewomen to put on who come from a distance and get their feet wet; andevery overlooker has a stock of waterproof petticoats to lend the womengoing a distance on a wet night. "

I would like to cross the sea once more for the purpose of seeing JohnSmedley, and placing wreaths upon the tombs of his grandfather andfather. He need not have told us that whenever he goes through the shopsall the people recognize him, and that it is a pleasure to him to be sorecognized. 

"I wish, " he says, "I could make their lot easier, for, with all we cando, factory life is a hard one. "

RICHARD COBDEN, CALICO PRINTER. 

An American citizen presented to the English town of Bradford a marblestatue of Richard Cobden. It was formally uncovered by Mr. John Bright, in the presence of the mayor and town council, and a large assembly ofspectators. The figure is seven feet in height, and it rests upon apedestal of Scotch granite polished, which bears the name of COBDENencircled by an inscription, which summarizes the aims of his publiclife:--

"FREE TRADE, PEACE AND GOOD WILL AMONG NATIONS. "

The giver of this costly and beautiful work was Mr. G. H. Booth, anAmerican partner in a noted Bradford firm. Unhappily Mr. Booth did notlive to behold his own gift and share in the happiness of thisinteresting occasion. 

We ought not to be surprised that an American should have paid thishomage to the memory of an English statesman. There are plenty of goodAmericans in this world who were not born in America, and Richard Cobdenwas one of them. Wherever there is a human being who can intelligentlyadopt, not as a holiday sentiment merely, but as a sacred principle tobe striven for, the inscription borne upon the Cobden statue: "Freetrade, peace, and good will among nations, " _there_ is an American. Andthis I say although we have not yet adopted, as we shall soon adopt, theprinciple of Free Trade. 

Cobden was one of the best exemplifications which our times afford ofthat high quality of a free citizen which we name public spirit. Theforce of this motive drew him away from a business which yielded aprofit of a hundred thousand dollars a year, to spend time, talent, fortune, and life itself, for the promotion of measures which he deemedessential to the welfare of his countrymen. 

He did this because he could not help doing it. It was his nature so todo. Circumstances made him a calico printer, but by the constitution ofhis mind he was a servant of the State. 

His father was an English yeoman; that is, a farmer who owned the farmhe tilled. During the last century such farmers have become in Englandfewer and fewer, until now there are scarcely any left; for there issuch a keen ambition among rich people in England to own land that asmall proprietor cannot hold out against them. A nobleman has been knownto give four or five times its value for a farm bordering upon hisestate, because in an old country nothing gives a man so much socialimportance as the ownership of the soil. Cobden's father, it appears, lost his property, and died leaving nine children with scarcely anyprovision for their maintenance; so that Richard's first employment wasto watch the sheep for a neighboring farmer, and this humble employmenthe followed on the land and near the residence of the Duke of Richmond, one of the chiefs of that protectionist party which Cobden destroyed. With regard to his education, he was almost entirely self-taught, or, asMr. Bright observed, in his most cautious manner:--

"He had no opportunity of attending ancient universities, and availinghimself of the advantages, and, I am afraid I must say, in some degree, of suffering from some of the disadvantages, from which some of thoseuniversities are not free. "

This sly satire of the eloquent Quaker was received by the men ofBradford with cheers; and, indeed, it is true that college educationsometimes weakens more than it refines, and many of the masters of ourgeneration have been so lucky as to escape the debilitating process. 

From tending sheep on his father's farm, he was sent away at ten yearsof age to a cheap Yorkshire boarding-school, similar in character to theDotheboys Hall described by Dickens many years after in "NicholasNickleby. " Five miserable years he spent at that school, ill-fed, harshly treated, badly taught, without once going home, and permittedto write to his parents only once in three months. In after life hecould not bear to speak of his life at school; nor was he ever quite thegenial and happy man he might have been if those five years had beenspent otherwise. 

But here again we see that hardship does not so radically injure a childas unwise indulgence. At fifteen he entered as a clerk into thewarehouse of an uncle in London, an uncomfortable place, from which, however, he derived substantial advantages. The great city itself washalf an education to him. He learned French in the morning before goingto business. He bought cheap and good little books which are thrust uponthe sight of every passer-by in cities, and, particularly, he obtained aclear insight into the business of his uncle, who was a wholesale dealerin muslins and calicoes. 

From clerk he was advanced to the post of commercial traveler, anemployment which most keenly gratified his desire to see the world. Thiswas in 1826, before the days of the railroad, when commercial travelersusually drove their own gigs. The ardent Cobden accomplished his averageof forty miles a day, which was then considered very rapid work. Hetraversed many parts of Great Britain, and not only increased hisknowledge of the business, but found time to observe the naturalbeauties of his country, and to inspect its ancient monuments. He spenttwo or three years in this mode of life, being already the chiefsupport of his numerous and unusually helpless family. 

At the early age of twenty-four he thought the time had come for him tosell his calicoes and muslins on his own account. Two friends in thesame business and himself put together their small capitals, amountingto five hundred pounds, borrowed another five hundred, rode toManchester on the top of the coach named the Peveril of the Peak, boldlyasked credit from a wealthy firm of calico manufacturers, obtained it, and launched into business. It proved to be a good thing for them all. In two years the young men were selling fifty or sixty thousand pounds'worth of the old men's calicoes every six months. In after years Cobdenoften asked them how they could have the courage to trust to such anextent three young fellows not worth two hundred pounds apiece. Theiranswer was:--

"We always prefer to trust young men with connections and with aknowledge of their trade, if we know them to possess character andability, to those who start with capital without these advantages, andwe have acted on this principle successfully in all parts of the world. "

The young firm gained money with astonishing rapidity, one presidingover the warehouse in London, one remaining in Manchester, and the otherfree to go wherever the interests of the firm required. Cobden visitedFrance and the United States. He was here in 1835, when he thought theAmerican people were the vainest in the world of their country. He saidit was almost impossible to praise America enough to satisfy the people. He evidently did not think much of us then. American men, he thought, were a most degenerate race. And as for the women:--

"My eyes, " said he, "have not found one resting place that deserves tobe called a wholesome, blooming, pretty woman, since I have been here. One fourth part of the women look as if they had just recovered from afit of the jaundice, another quarter would in England be termed in astage of decided consumption, and the remainder are fitly likened to ourfashionable women when haggard and jaded with the dissipation of aLondon season. "

This was forty-nine years ago. Let us hope that we have improved sincethen. I think I could now find some American ladies to whom no part ofthis description would apply. 

After a prosperous business career of a few years he left its detailsmore and more to his partners, and devoted himself to public affairs. 

Richard Cobden, I repeat, was a public man by nature. He belonged towhat I call the natural nobility of a country; by which I mean theindividuals, whether poor or rich, high or low, learned or unlearned, who have a true public spirit, and take care of the public weal. As soonas he was free from the trammels of poverty he fell into the habit oftaking extensive journeys into foreign countries, a thing mostinstructive and enlarging to a genuine nobleman. His first public actwas the publication of a pamphlet called, "England, Ireland andAmerica, " in which he maintained that American institutions and thegeneral policy of the American government were sound, and could safelybe followed; particularly in two respects, in maintaining only a verysmall army and navy, and having no entangling alliances with othercountries. 

"Civilization, " said the young pamphleteer, "is _peace_; war isbarbarism. If the great states should devote to the development ofbusiness and the amelioration of the common lot only a small part of thetreasure expended upon armaments, humanity would not have long to waitfor glorious results. "

He combated with great force the ancient notion that England mustinterfere in the politics of the continent; and if England was notembroiled in the horrible war between Russia and Turkey, she owes it inpart to Richard Cobden. He wrote also a pamphlet containing the resultsof his observations upon Russia, in which he denied that Russia was asrich as was generally supposed. He was the first to discover what allthe world now knows, that Russia is a vast but poor country, not to befeared by neighboring nations, powerful to defend herself, but weak toattack. In a word, he adopted a line of argument with regard to Russiavery similar to that recently upheld by Mr. Gladstone. Like a trueAmerican, he was a devoted friend to universal education, and it was inconnection with this subject that he first appeared as a public speaker. Mr. Bright said in his oration:--

"The first time I became acquainted with Mr. Cobden was in connectionwith the great question of education. I went over to Manchester to callupon him and invite him to Rochdale to speak at a meeting about to beheld in the school-room of the Baptist chapel in West Street. I foundhim in his counting-house. I told him what I wanted. His countenancelighted up with pleasure to find that others were working in the samecause. He without hesitation agreed to come. He came and he spoke. "

Persons who heard him in those days say that his speaking then was verymuch what it was afterward in Parliament--a kind of conversationaleloquence, simple, clear, and strong, without rhetorical flights, butstrangely persuasive. One gentleman who was in Parliament with himmentioned that he disliked to see him get up to speak, because he wassure that Cobden would convince him that his own opinion was erroneous;"and, " said he, "a man does not like that to be done. "

Soon after coming upon the stage of active life, he had arrived at theconclusion that the public policy of his country was fatally erroneousin two particulars, namely, the protective system of duties, and thehabit of interfering in the affairs of other nations. At that time eventhe food of the people, their very bread and meat, was shopped at thecustom houses until a high duty was paid upon them, for the "protection"of the farmers and landlords. In other words, the whole population ofGreat Britain was taxed at every meal, for the supposed benefit of twoclasses, those who owned and those who tilled the soil. 

Richard Cobden believed that the policy of protection was not beneficialeven to the protected classes, while it was most cruel to people whosewages were barely sufficient to keep them alive. For several years, aided by Mr. Bright and many other enlightened men, he labored by tongueand pen, with amazing tact, vigor, persistence, and good temper, toconvince his countrymen of this. 

The great achievement of his life, as all the world knows, was therepeal of those oppressive Corn Laws by which the duty on grain rose asthe price declined, so that the poor man's loaf was kept dear, howeverabundant and cheap wheat might be in Europe and America. It was in atime of deep depression of trade that he began the agitation. He calledupon Mr. Bright to enlist his coöperation, and he found him overwhelmedwith grief at the loss of his wife, lying dead in the house at the time. Mr. Cobden consoled his friend as best he could; and yet even at such atime he could not forget his mission. He said to Mr. Bright:--

"There are thousands and thousands of homes in England at this moment, where wives, mothers, and children are dying of hunger! Now when thefirst paroxysm of your grief is past, I would advise you to come withme, and we will never rest until the Corn Laws are repealed. "

Mr. Bright joined him. The Anti-Corn-Law-League was formed; such anagitation was made as has seldom been paralleled; but, so difficult isit to effect a change of this kind against _interested_ votes, that, after all, the Irish famine was necessary to effect the repeal. As awriter remarks:--

"It was hunger that at last ate through those stone walls ofprotection!"

Sir Robert Peel, the prime minister, a protectionist, as we may say, from his birth, yielded to circumstances as much as to argument, andaccomplished the repeal in 1846. When the great work was done, and done, too, with benefit to every class, he publicly assigned the credit of themeasure to the persuasive eloquence and the indomitable resolution ofRichard Cobden. 

Mr. Cobden's public labors withdrew his attention from his privatebusiness, and he became embarrassed. His friends made a purse for him ofeighty thousand pounds sterling, with which to set him up as a publicman. He accepted the gift, bought back the farm upon which he was born, and devoted himself without reserve to the public service. During ourwar he was the friend and champion of the United States, and he owedhis premature death to his zeal and friendly regard for this country. There was a ridiculous scheme coming up in Parliament for a line offortresses to defend Canada against the United States. On one of thecoldest days of March he went to London for the sole purpose of speakingagainst this project. He took a violent cold, under which he sank. Hedied on that Sunday, the second of April, 1865, when Abraham Lincoln, with a portion of General Grant's army, entered the city of Richmond. Itwas a strange coincidence. Through four years he had steadily foretoldsuch an ending to the struggle; but though he lived to see the great dayhe breathed his last a few hours before the news reached the Britishshore. 

There is not in Great Britain, as Mr. Bright observed, a poor man's homethat has not in it a bigger and a better loaf through Richard Cobden'slabors. His great measure relieved the poor, and relieved the rich. Itwas a good without alloy, as free trade will, doubtless, be to allnations when their irrepressible Cobdens and their hungry workmen forcethem to adopt it. 

The time is not distant when we, too, shall be obliged, as a people, tomeet this question of Free Trade and Protection. In view of thatinevitable discussion I advise young voters to study Cobden and Bright, as well as men of the opposite school, and make up their minds on thegreat question of the future. 

HENRY BESSEMER. 

Nervous persons who ride in sleeping-cars are much indebted to HenryBessemer, to whose inventive genius they owe the beautiful steel railsover which the cars glide so steadily. It was he who so simplified andcheapened the process of making steel that it can be used for rails. 

Nine people in ten, I suppose, do not know the chemical differencebetween iron and steel. Iron is iron; but steel is iron mixed withcarbon. But, then, what is carbon? There is no substance in nature ofwhich you can pick up a piece and say, This is carbon. And hence it isdifficult to explain its nature and properties. Carbon is the principalingredient in coal, charcoal, and diamond. Carbon is not diamond, but adiamond is carbon crystallized. Carbon is not charcoal, but in somekinds of charcoal it is almost the whole mass. As crystallized carbon ordiamond is the hardest of all known substances, so also the blending ofcarbon with iron hardens it into steel. 

The old way of converting iron into steel was slow, laborious, andexpensive. In India for ages the process has been as follows: pieces offorged iron are put into a crucible along with a certain quantity ofwood. A fire being lighted underneath, three or four men are incessantlyemployed in blowing it with bellows. Through the action of the heat thewood becomes charcoal, the iron is melted and absorbs carbon from thecharcoal. In this way small pieces of steel were made, but made at acost which confined the use of the article to small objects, such aswatch-springs and cutlery. The plan pursued in Europe and America, untilabout twenty-five years ago, was similar to this in principle. Ourmachinery was better, and pure charcoal was placed in the crucibleinstead of wood; but the process was long and costly, and only smallpieces of steel were produced at a time. 

Henry Bessemer enters upon the scene. In 1831, being then eighteen yearsof age, he came up to London from a country village in Hertfordshire toseek his fortune, not knowing one person in the metropolis. He was, ashe has since said, "a mere cipher in that vast sea of human enterprise. "He was a natural inventor, of studious and observant habits. As soon ashe had obtained a footing in London he began to invent. He first deviseda process for copying bas-reliefs on cardboard, by which he couldproduce embossed copies of such works in thousands at a small expense. The process was so simple that in ten minutes a person without skillcould produce a die from an embossed stamp at a cost of one penny. 

When his invention was complete he thought with dismay and alarm that, as almost all the expensive stamps affixed to documents in England areraised from the paper, any of them could be forged by an office-boy ofaverage intelligence. The English government has long obtained animportant part of its revenue by the sale of these stamps, many of whichare high priced, costing as much as twenty-five dollars. If the stamp ona will, a deed, or other document is not genuine, the document has novalidity. As soon as he found what mischief had been done, he set towork to devise a remedy. After several months' experiment and reflectionhe invented a stamp which could neither be forged nor removed from thedocument and used a second time. A large business, it seems, had beendone in removing stamps from old parchments of no further use, andselling them to be used again. 

The inventor called at the stamp office and had an interview with thechief, who frankly owned that the government was losing half a milliondollars a year by the use of old stamps; and he was then consideringmethods of avoiding the loss. Bessemer exhibited his invention, thechief feature of which was the perforation of the stamp in such a waythat forgery and removal were equally impossible. The commissionerfinally agreed to adopt it. The next question was as to the compensationof the young inventor, and he was given his choice either to accept asum of money or an office for life in the stamp office of four thousanddollars a year. As he was engaged to be married, he chose the office, and went home rejoicing, feeling that he was a made man. Nor did he longdelay to communicate the joyful news to the young lady. To her also heexplained his invention, dwelling upon the fact that a five-pound stampa hundred years old could be taken off a document and used a secondtime. 

"Yes, " said she, "I understand that; but, surely, if all stamps had aDATE put upon them they could not at a future time be used again withoutdetection. "

The inventor was startled. He had never thought of an expedient sosimple and so obvious. A lover could not but be pleased at suchingenuity in his affianced bride; but it spoiled his invention! Hisperforated stamp did not allow of the insertion of more than one date. He succeeded in obviating this difficulty, but deemed it only fair tocommunicate the new idea to the chief of the stamp office. The resultwas that the government simply adopted the plan of putting a date uponall the stamps afterwards issued, and discarded Bessemer's fine schemeof perforation, which would have involved an expensive and troublesomechange of machinery and methods. But the worst of it was that theinventor lost his office, since his services were not needed. Nor did heever receive compensation for the service rendered. 

Thus it was that a young lady changed the stamp system of her country, and ruined her lover's chances of getting a good office. She renderedhim, however, and rendered the world, a much greater service in throwinghim upon his own resources. They were married soon after, and Mrs. Bessemer is still living to tell how she married and made her husband'sfortune. 

Twenty years passed, with the varied fortune which young men of energyand talent often experience in this troublesome world. We find him thenexperimenting in the conversion of iron into steel. The experiments werelaborious as well as costly, since his idea was to convert at oneoperation many tons' weight of iron into steel, and in a few minutes. Asiron ore contains carbon, he conceived the possibility of making thatcarbon unite with the iron during the very process of smelting. Fornearly two years he was building furnaces and pulling them down again, spending money and toil with just enough success to lure him on to spendmore money and toil; experimenting sometimes with ten pounds of ironore, and sometimes with several hundredweight. His efforts were atlength crowned with such success that he was able to make five tons ofsteel at a blast, in about thirty-five minutes, with comparativelysimple machinery, and with a very moderate expenditure of fuel. 

This time he took the precaution to patent his process, and offeredrights to all the world at a royalty of a shilling per hundredweight. His numerous failures, however, had discouraged the iron men, and no onewould embark capital in the new process. He therefore began himself themanufacture of steel on a small scale, and with such large profit, thatthe process was rapidly introduced into all the iron-making countries, and gave Mrs. Bessemer ample consolation for her early misfortune ofbeing too wise. Money and gold medals have rained in upon them. At theFrench Exhibition of 1868 Mr. Bessemer was awarded a gold medal weighingtwelve ounces. His process has been improved upon both by himself andothers, and has conferred upon all civilized countries numerous andsolid benefits. We may say of him that he has added to the resources ofmany trades a new material. 

The latest device of Henry Bessemer, if it had succeeded, would havebeen a great comfort to the Marquis of Lorne and other persons of weakdigestion who cross the ocean. It was a scheme for suspending the cabinof a ship so that it should swing free and remain stationary, no matterhow violent the ship's motion. The idea seems promising, but we have notyet heard of the establishment of a line of steamers constructed on theBessemer principle. We may yet have the pleasure of swinging from NewYork to Liverpool. 

JOHN BRIGHT. 

MANUFACTURER. 

Forty-five years ago, when John Bright was first elected to the BritishParliament, he spoke thus to his constituents:--

"I am a working man as much as you. My father was as poor as any man inthis crowd. He was of your own body entirely. He boasts not, nor do I, of birth, nor of great family distinctions. What he has made, he hasmade by his own industry and successful commerce. What I have comes fromhim and from my own exertions. I come before you as the friend of my ownclass and order, as one of the people. "

When these words were spoken, his father, Jacob Bright, a Quaker, andthe son of a Quaker, was still alive, a thriving cotton manufacturer ofRochdale, ten miles from Manchester. Jacob Bright had been a "GoodApprentice, " who married one of the daughters of his master, and hadbeen admitted as a partner in his business. He was a man of much forceand ability, who became in a few years the practical head of theconcern, finally its sole proprietor, and left it to his sons, whohave carried it on with success for about half a century longer. 

[Illustration:

John Bright. August 10. 1883]

Four years ago, on the celebration of John Bright's seventieth birthday, he stood face to face with fifteen hundred persons in the employment ofhis firm, and repeated in substance what he had said once before, that, during the seventy-three years of the firm's existence, there had been, with one brief exception, uninterrupted harmony and confidence betweenhis family and those who had worked for them. 

He made another remark on that birthday which explains a great deal inhis career. It was of particular interest to me, because I have longbeen convinced that no man can give himself up to the service of thepublic, with advantage to the public, and safety to himself, unless heis practically free from the burdens and trammels of private business. 

"I have been greatly fortunate, " said Mr. Bright, "in one respect--that, although connected with a large and increasing and somewhat intricatebusiness, yet I have been permitted to be free from the employments andengagements and occupations of business by the constant and undeviatinggenerosity and kindness of my brother, Thomas Bright. "

The tribute was well deserved. Certainly, no individual can successfullydirect the industry of fifteen hundred persons, and spend six months ofthe year in London, working night and day as a member of Parliament. Richard Cobden tried it, and brought a flourishing business to ruin bythe attempt, and probably shortened his own life. Even with the aidrendered him by his brother, Mr. Bright was obliged to withdraw frompublic life for three years in order to restore an exhausted brain. 

John Bright enjoyed just the kind of education in his youth whichexperience has shown to be the best for the development of a leader ofmen. At fifteen, after attending pretty good Quaker schools in thecountry, where, besides spelling and arithmetic, he learned how to swim, to fish, and to love nature, he came home, went into his father'sfactory, and became a man of business. He had acquired at school love ofliterature, particularly of poetry, which he continued to indulge duringhis leisure hours. You will seldom hear Mr. Bright speak twenty minuteswithout hearing him make an apt and most telling quotation from one ofthe poets. He possesses in an eminent degree the talent of quotation, which is one of the happiest gifts of the popular orator. It is worthyof note that this manufacturer, this man of the people, this Manchesterman, shows a familiarity with the more dainty, outlying, reconditeliterature of the world than is shown by any other member of a housecomposed chiefly of college-bred men. 

In his early days he belonged to a debating society, spoke at temperancemeetings, was an ardent politician, and, in short, had about the sortof training which an American young man of similar cast of mind wouldhave enjoyed. John Bright, in fact, is one of that numerous class ofAmericans whom the accident of birth and the circumstances of their lothave prevented from treading the soil of America. In his debatingsociety he had good practice in public speaking, and on all questionstook what we may justly call _the Quaker side_, _i. E. _, the side whichhe thought had most in it of humanity and benevolence. He sided againstcapital punishment, against the established church, and defended theprinciple of equal toleration of all religions. 

Next to Mr. Gladstone, the most admired speaker in Great Britain is JohnBright, and there are those who even place him first among the livingorators of his country. His published speeches reveal to us only part ofthe secret of his power, for an essential part of the equipment of anorator is his bodily attributes, his voice, depth of chest, eye, demeanor, presence. 

The youngest portrait of him which has been published represents him ashe was at the age of thirty-one. If an inch or two could have been addedto his stature he would have been as perfect a piece of flesh and bloodas can ordinarily be found. His face was strikingly handsome, and borethe impress both of power and of serenity. It was a well-balanced face;there being a full development of the lower portion without any bull-dogexcess. His voice was sonorous and commanding; his manner tranquil anddignified. As he was never a student at either university, he did notacquire the Cambridge nor the Oxford sing-song, but has always spokenthe English language as distinctly and naturally as though he were anative American citizen. 

Although of Quaker family, and himself a member of the Society ofFriends, he has never used the Quaker _thee_ and _thou_, nor persistedin wearing his hat where other men take off theirs. In the House ofCommons he conforms to the usages of the place, and speaks of "the noblelord opposite, " and "my right honorable friend near me, " just as thoughthe Quakers never had borne their testimony against such vanity. In hisdress, too, there is only the faintest intimation of the Quaker cut. Heis a Quaker in his abhorrence of war and in his feeling of thesubstantial equality of men. He is a Quaker in those few sublimeprinciples in which the Quakers, two centuries ago, were three centuriesin advance of the time. 

For the benefit of young orators, I will mention also that he has takenexcellent care of his bodily powers. As a young man he was a notedcricketer and an enthusiastic angler. At all periods of his life he hasplayed a capital game at billiards. Angling, however, has been hisfavorite recreation, and he has fished in almost all the good streams ofthe northern part of his native island. 

Nor does he find it necessary to carry a brandy flask with him on hisfishing excursions. He mentioned some time ago, at a public meeting, that he had been a tee-totaler from the time when he set up housekeepingthirty-four years before. He said he had in his house no decanters, and, so far as he knew, no wineglasses. 

Edward Everett used to say that a speaker's success before an audiencedepended chiefly upon the thoroughness of his previous preparation. Mr. Bright has often spoken extempore with great effect, when circumstancesdemanded it. But his custom is to prepare carefully, and in his earlierdays he used frequently to write his speech and learn it by heart. Hereceived his first lesson in oratory from a Baptist clergyman of greatnote, whom he accompanied to a meeting of the Bible Society, and whoafterwards gave an account of their conversation. John Bright was thentwenty-one years of age. 

"Soon a slender, modest young gentleman came, who surprised me by hisintelligence and thoughtfulness. I took his arm on the way to themeeting, and I thought he seemed nervous. I think it was his firstpublic speech. It was very eloquent and powerful, and carried away themeeting, but it was elaborate, and had been committed to memory. On ourway back, as I congratulated him, he said that such efforts cost him toodear, and asked me how I spoke so easily. I said that in his case, asin most, I thought it would be best not to burden the memory too much, but, having carefully prepared and committed any portion when specialeffect was desired, merely to put down other things in the desiredorder, leaving the wording of them to the moment. "

The young man remembered this lesson, and acted upon it. He no longerfinds it best to learn any portions of his speeches by heart, but hisaddresses show a remarkable thoroughness of preparation, else they couldnot be so thickly sown as they are with pregnant facts, telling figures, and apt illustrations. His pudding is too full of plums to be the workof the moment. Such aptness of quotation as he displays is sometimes alittle too happy to be spontaneous; as when, in alluding to thedifference between men's professions out of office and their measures inoffice, he quoted Thomas Moore:--

 "As bees on flowers alighting cease to hum, So, settling upon places, Whigs grow dumb. "

So also, in referring to the aristocratic composition of the Englishgovernment, he quoted Mr. Lowell's "Biglow Papers":--

 "It is something like fulfilling the prophecies When the first families have all the best offices. "

Again, when lamenting the obstacles put in the way of universaleducation by the rivalries of sect, he produced a great effect in theHouse of Commons by saying:--

"We are, after all, of one religion. "

And then he quoted in illustration an impressive sentence from WilliamPenn, to the effect that just and good souls were everywhere of onefaith, and "when death has taken off the mask, they will know oneanother, though the diverse liveries they wear here make themstrangers. "

No man has less need to quote the brilliant utterances of others thanJohn Bright; for he possesses himself the power to speak in epigrams, and to make sentences which remain long in the memory. Once in his lifehe found himself in opposition to the workingmen of his district, andduring the excitement of an election he was greeted with hoots andhisses. He made a remark on the platform which all public men makinghead against opposition would do well to remember:--

"Although there are here many of the operative classes who consider meto be their enemy, I would rather have their ill-will now, whiledefending their interests, than have their ill-will hereafter because Ihave betrayed them. "

One of his homely similes uttered thirty years ago, to show the wasteand folly of the Crimean War, has become a familiar saying in GreatBritain. 

"Some men, " said he, "because they have got government contracts, fancythat trade is good, and that war is good for trade. Why, it is butendeavoring to keep a dog alive by feeding him with his own tail. "

This homeliness of speech, when there is strong conviction and massivesense behind it, has a prodigious effect upon a large meeting. Once, during his warfare upon the Corn Laws, he exclaimed:--

"This is not a party question, for men of all parties are united uponit. It is a pantry question--a knife-and-fork question--a questionbetween the working millions and the aristocracy. "

So in addressing the work-people of his native town, who were on astrike for higher wages at a time when it was impossible for theemployers to accede to their demands without ruin, he expressed anobvious truth very happily in saying:--

"Neither act of parliament nor act of a multitude can keep up wages. "

I need scarcely say that no combination of physical and intellectualpowers can make a truly great orator. Moral qualities are indispensable. There must be courage, sincerity, patriotism, humanity, faith in thefuture of our race. 

His Quaker training was evidently the most influential fact of his wholeexistence, for it gave him the key to the moral and political problemsof his day. It made him, as it were, the natural enemy of privilege andmonopoly in all their countless forms. It suffused his whole being withthe sentiment of human equality, and showed him that no class can bedegraded without lowering all other classes. He seems from the first tohave known that human brotherhood is not a mere sentiment, not aconviction of the mind, but a fact of nature, from which there is noescape; so that no individual can be harmed without harm being done tothe whole. When he was a young man he summed up all this class of truthsin a sentence:--

"The interests of all classes are so intimately blended that none cansuffer without injury being inflicted upon the rest, and the trueinterest of each will be found to be advanced by those measures whichconduce to the prosperity of the whole. "

Feeling thus, he was one of the first to join the movement for FreeTrade. When he came upon the public stage the Corn Laws, as they werecalled, which sought to protect the interests of farmers and landlordsby putting high duties upon imported food, had consigned to thepoor-houses of Great Britain and Ireland more than two millions ofpaupers, and reduced two millions more to the verge of despair. JohnBright was the great orator of the movement for the repeal of thoselaws. After six years of the best sustained agitation ever witnessed ina free country, the farmers and land-owners were not yet convinced. In1846, however, an event occurred which gave the reasoning of Cobden andthe eloquence of Bright their due effect upon the minds of the rulingclass. This event was the Irish famine of 1846, which lessened thepopulation of Ireland by two millions in one year. This awful eventprevailed, though it would not have prevailed unless the exertions ofCobden and Bright had familiarized the minds of men with the trueremedy, --which was the free admission of those commodities for the wantof which people were dying. 

On his seventieth birthday Mr. Bright justified what he called thepolicy of 1846. He said to his townsmen:--

"I was looking the other day at one of our wages books of 1840 and 1841. I find that the throttle-piecers were then receiving eight shillings aweek, and they were working twelve hours a day. I find that now the sameclass of hands are receiving thirteen shillings a week at ten hours aday--exactly double. At that time we had a blacksmith, whom I used tolike to see strike the sparks out. His wages were twenty-two shillings aweek. Our blacksmiths now have wages of thirty-four shillings, and theyonly work ten hours. "

Poor men alone know what these figures mean. They know what an amount ofimprovement in the lot of the industrial class is due to the shortenedday, the cheaper loaf, the added shillings. 

In a word, the effort of John Bright's life has been to apply Quakerprinciples to the government of his country. He has called uponministers to cease meddling with the affairs of people on the other sideof the globe, to let Turkey alone, to stop building insensate ironclads, and to devote their main strength to the improvement and elevation oftheir own people. He says to them in substance: You may have anhistorical monarchy and a splendid throne; you may have an ancientnobility, living in spacious mansions on vast estates; you may have achurch hiding with its pomp and magnificence a religion of humility; andyet, with all this, if the mass of the people are ignorant and degraded, the whole fabric is rotten, and is doomed at last to sink into ruin. 

THOMAS EDWARD, COBBLER AND NATURALIST. 

The strangest story told for a long time is that of Thomas Edward, shoemaker and naturalist, to whom the Queen of England recently gave apension of fifty pounds a year. He was not a shoemaker who kept a shopand gave out work to others, but actually worked at the bench fromchildhood to old age, supporting a very large family on the eight ornine or ten shillings a week that he earned. And yet we find him amember of several societies of naturalists, the Linnæan Society amongothers, and an honored pensioner of the Queen. 

His father was a Scottish linen weaver, and for some time a privatesoldier in a militia regiment which was called into active serviceduring the wars with Napoleon; and it was while the regiment wasstationed at an English sea-port that this remarkable child was born. Afew months after, when the Waterloo victory had given peace to Europe, the regiment was ordered home and disbanded, and this family settled atAberdeen, where the father resumed his former occupation. Now thepeculiar character of Thomas Edward began to exhibit itself. He showedan extraordinary fondness for animals, to the sore distress and tormentof his parents and their neighbors. 

It was a taste purely natural, for not only was it not encouraged, itwas strongly discouraged by every one who could be supposed to haveinfluence over the boy. He disappeared one day when he was scarcely ableto walk, and when he had been gone for some hours he was found in apig-sty fast asleep, near a particularly savage sow and her pigs. Assoon as he could walk well enough his delight was to ramble along theshore and into the country, gathering tadpoles, beetles, frogs, crabs, mice, rats, and spiders, to the horror of his mother, to say nothing ofthe neighbors, for these awful creatures escaped into houses near by andappeared to the inmates at the most unexpected moments. 

His parents scolded and whipped him, but his love of animal life wasunconquerable, and the only effect of opposing it was to make him morecunning in its gratification. They tied the little fellow by his leg toa table, but he drew the table up near the fire, burnt the rope inhalves, and was off for the fields. They hid his coat, but he took hiselder brother's coat and ran. Then they hid all his clothes, but heslipped on an old petticoat and had another glorious day out of doors, returning with a fever in his veins which brought him to death's door. 

All these things, and many others like them, happened when he was stilla boy under five years of age. Recovering from his fever he resumed hisold tricks, and brought home one day, wrapped in his shirt, a wasp'snest, which his father took from him and plunged into hot water. Betweenfour and five he was sent to school, his parents thinking to keep himout of mischief of this kind. But he had not the least interest inschool knowledge, and constantly played truant; and when he did come toschool he brought with him all kinds of horrid insects, reptiles, andbirds. One morning during prayers a jackdaw began to caw, and as thebird was traced to the ownership of Thomas Edward, he was dismissed fromthe school in great disgrace. His perplexed parents sent him to anotherschool, the teacher of which used more vigorous measures to cure him ofhis propensity, applying to his back an instrument of torture called"the taws. " It was in vain. From this second school he was expelled, because some horse-leeches, which he had brought to school in a bottle, escaped, crept up the legs of the other boys, and drew blood from them. 

"I would not take him back for twenty pounds!" said the schoolmaster inhorror. 

A third time his father put him at school; and now he experienced theill consequences of having a bad name. A centipede was found uponanother boy's desk, and he was of course suspected of having brought itinto the school-room. But it so happened that on this one occasion hewas innocent; it was another boy's centipede; and Thomas denied thecharge. The schoolmaster whipped him severely for the supposedfalsehood, and sent him away saying:--

"Go home, and tell your father to get you on board a man-of-war, as thatis the best school for irreclaimables such as you. "

He went home and declared he would go to no more schools, but wouldrather work. He had now reached the mature age of six years, and hadbeen turned out of school three times, without having learned to writehis own name. Soon after, he went to work in a tobacco factory on theriver Don, a short distance out of Aberdeen, and there for two happyyears he was free to employ all his leisure time in investigatinganimated nature around him. His love of natural history grew with hisgrowth and strengthened with his strength, so that by the time he hadcompleted his eighth year he was familiarly acquainted with the animalsof that region, and had the most lively admiration for the moreinteresting specimens. He watched with delight the kingfisher, and lovedto distinguish the voices of the different birds. 

But his parents objecting to the tobacconist's trade, he was apprenticedabout his ninth year to a shoemaker, --a violent, disreputable character, who made ruthless war upon the lad's birds and reptiles, searching hispockets for them, and killing them whenever found. The lad bore thismisery for three years, and then his patience being exhausted, andhaving in his pocket the sum of seven pence, he ran away and walked ahundred miles into the country to the house of one of his uncles. Hisuncle received him kindly, entertained him a day or two, and gave himeighteen pence, upon which the boy returned home, and made a bargainwith his master by which he received small wages and had completecontrol of his leisure time. At eighteen we may regard him as fairlylaunched upon life, a journeyman shoemaker, able to earn in good timesnine shillings a week by laboring from six in the morning till nine atnight. At that time all mechanics worked more hours than they do atpresent, and particularly shoemakers, whose sedentary occupation doesnot expend vitality so rapidly as out-of-door trades. And what made hiscase the more difficult was, he was a thorough-going Scotchman, andconsequently a strict observer of Sunday. Confined though he was to hiswork fifteen hours a day, he abstained on principle from pursuing hisnatural studies on the only day he could call his own. 

He was a night-bird, this Thomas Edward; and as in Scotland the twilightlasts till ten in the evening and the day dawns at three in the morning, there were some hours out of the twenty-four which he could employ, anddid employ, in his rambles. At twenty-three he fell in love with apretty girl, and married her, his income being still but nine andsixpence a week. His married life was a happy one, for his wife had thegood sense to make no opposition to his darling pursuits, and let himfill their cottage and garden with as many creatures as he chose, noteven scolding him for his very frequent absences during the night. Someone asked her recently about this, and her reply was:--

"Weel, he took such an interest in beasts that I didna compleen. Shoemakers were then a very drucken set, but his beasts keepit him fraethem. My mon's been a sober mon all his life, and he never negleckit hiswark. Sae I let him be. "--

Children were born to them, eleven in all, and yet he found time tolearn to write, to read some books, and to increase constantly hisknowledge of nature. In order to procure specimens for his collection, he bought an old shot-gun for a sum equal to about a dollar, --such abattered old piece that he had to tie the barrel to the stock with apiece of string. A cow's horn served for his powder; he measured hischarge with a tobacco pipe, and carried his shot in a paper-bag. Aboutnine in the evening, carrying his supper with him, he would start outand search the country round for animals and rare plants as long as hecould see; then eat his supper and lie down and sleep till the lightreturned, when he would continue his hunting till it was time for work. Many a fight he had in the darkness with badgers and pole-cats. 

When he had thus been employed eight or nine years, his collectioncontained two thousand specimens of animals and two thousand plants, allnicely arranged in three hundred cases made with his own hands. Uponthis collection he had founded hopes of getting money upon which topursue his studies more extensively. So he took it to Aberdeen, six cartloads in all, accompanied by the whole family, --wife and five children. It needs scarcely to be said that his collection did not succeed, and hewas obliged to sell the fruit of nine years' labor for twenty pounds. Nothing daunted, he returned to his cobbler's stall, and began again tocollect, occasionally encouraged by a neighboring naturalist, andsometimes getting a little money for a rare specimen. Often he tried toprocure employment as a naturalist, but unsuccessfully, and as late as1875 we find him writing thus:--

"As a last and only remaining resource, I betook myself to my old andtime-honored friend, a friend of fifty years' standing, who has neveryet forsaken me nor refused help to my body when weary, nor rest to mylimbs when tired--my well-worn cobbler's stool. And although I am nowlike a beast tethered to his pasture, with a portion of my facultiessomewhat impaired, I can still appreciate and admire as much as ever thebeauties and wonders of nature as exhibited in the incomparable works ofour adorable Creator. "

These are cheerful words to come from an old man who has enriched thescience of his country by additions to its sources of knowledge. Inanother letter, written a year or two since, he says:--

"Had the object of my life been money instead of nature, I have nohesitation in saying that by this time I would have been a rich man. Butit is not the things I have done that vex me so much as the things Ihave not done. I feel that I could have accomplished so much more. I hadthe will, but I wanted the means. "

It is in this way that such men feel toward the close of their lives. Thomas Edward still lives, in his sixty-seventh year, at Banff, inScotland, rich in his pension of fifty pounds a year, which is more thantwice as much as the income he had when he supported by his labor a wifeand eleven children. Even his specimens now command a price, and he isevery way a prosperous gentleman. It seems a pity that such men cannothave their precious little fifty pounds to begin with, instead of to endwith. But who could pick them out? What mortal eye can discern in a manthe _genuine_ celestial fire before he has proved its existence by thedevotion of a lifetime to his object? And even if it could be discernedin a young man, the fifty pounds a year might quench it. 

ROBERT DICK, BAKER AND NATURALIST. 

The most northern county of Scotland is Caithness, a wild region ofmountain, marsh, and rock-ribbed headlands, in which the storms of theAtlantic have worn every variety of fantastic indentation. Much of theland has been reclaimed in modern days by rich proprietors. There aremanufactures of linen, wool, rope, and straw, besides importantfisheries; so that forty thousand people now find habitation andsubsistence in the county. There are castles, too, ancient andmodern, --some in ruins, some of yesterday, --the summer home of wealthypeople from the south. 

The coast is among the most picturesque in the world, bearing a strongresemblance to the coast of Maine. The reader, perhaps, has never seenthe coast of Maine. Then let him do so speedily, and he will know, as hesails along its bold headlands, and its seamed walls of rock rising hereand there into mountains, how the coast of Caithness looked to one ofthe noblest men that ever lived in it, Robert Dick, baker of Thurso. Thurso is the most northern town of this most northern county. It issituated on Thurso Bay, which affords a good harbor, and it has thusgrown to be a place of three or four thousand inhabitants. From thistown the Orkney Islands can be seen, and a good walker can reach in aday's tramp Dunnet Head, the lofty promontory which ends the Island. 

Here lived, labored, studied, and died, Robert Dick, a man whose nameshould never be pronounced by intelligent men but with respect. 

He did not look like a hero. When the boys of the town saw him comingout of his baker's shop, in a tall stove-pipe hat, an old-fashioneddress coat and jean trousers, they used to follow him to the shore, andwatch him as he walked along it with his eyes fixed upon the ground. Suddenly he would stop, fall upon his hands and knees, crawl slowlyonward, and then with one hand catch something on the sand; an insect, perhaps. He would stick it upon a pin, put it in his hat, and go on hisway; and the boys would whisper to one another that there was a madbaker in Thurso. Once he picked up a nut upon the beach, and said to hiscompanion:--

"That has been brought by the ocean current and the prevailing winds allthe way from one of the West India Islands. "

He made the most astonishing journeys about that fag end of the universein the pursuit of knowledge. We read of his walking thirty-two miles ina soaking rain to the top of a mountain, and bringing home only a plantof white heather. On another day he walked thirty-six miles to find apeculiar kind of fern. Again he walked for twenty-four hours in hail, rain, and wind, reaching home at three o'clock in the morning. But atseven he was up and ready for work as usual. He carried heavy loads, too, when he went searching for minerals and fossils. In one of hisletters we read:--

"Shouldering an old poker, a four-pound hammer, and with two chisels inmy pocket, I set out. .. . What hammering! what sweating! Coat off; got myhands cut to bleeding. "

In another letter he speaks of having "three pounds of iron chisels inhis trousers pocket, a four-pound hammer in one hand and afourteen-pound sledge-hammer in the other, and his old beaver hat filledwith paper and twine. "

But who and what was this man, and why was he performing these laboriousjourneys? Robert Dick, born in 1811, was the son of an excise officer, who gave his children a hard stepmother when Robert was ten years old. The boy's own mother, all tenderness and affection, had spoiled him forsuch a life as he now had to lead under a woman who loved him not, anddid not understand his unusual cast of character, his love of nature, his wanderings by the sea, his coming home with his pockets full of wetshells and his trousers damaged by the mire. She snubbed him; shewhipped him. He bore her ill treatment with wonderful patience; but itimpaired the social side of him forever. Nearly fifty years after hesaid to one of his few friends:--

"All my naturally buoyant, youthful spirits were broken. To this day Ifeel the effects. I cannot shake them off. It is this that still makesme shrink from the world. "

At thirteen he escaped from a home blighted by this woman, and wentapprentice to a baker; and when he was out of his time served as ajourneyman for three years; then set up a small business for himself inThurso. It was a very small business indeed; for at that day bread was aluxury which many people of Caithness only allowed themselves onSundays; their usual fare being oatmeal. He was a baker all the days ofhis life, and his business never increased so as to oblige him to employeven a baker's boy. He made his bread, his biscuit, and his gingerbreadwithout any assistance, and when it was done, it was sold in his littleshop by an old housekeeper, who lived with him till he died. 

The usual course of his day was this: He was up in the morning veryearly, at any time from three to six, according to his plans for theafter part of the day. He kneaded his bread, worked the dough intoloaves, put the whole into the oven, waited till it was baked, and drewit out. His work was then usually done for the day. The old housekeepersold it as it was called for, and, in case her master did not get homein time, she could set the sponge in the evening. Usually, he could getaway from the bake-shop soon after the middle of the day, and he hadthen all the afternoon, the evening, and the night for studying naturein Caithness. His profits were small, but his wants were few, and duringthe greater part of his life he was able to spare a small sum per annumfor the purchase of books. 

If this man had enjoyed the opportunities he would have had but for hismother's death, he might have been one of the greatest naturalists thatever lived. Nature had given him every requisite: a frame of iron, Scotch endurance, a poet's enthusiasm, the instinct of not believinganything in science till he was _sure_ of it, till he had put it to thetest of repeated observation and experiment. Although a great reader, hederived most of his knowledge directly from nature's self. He began bymerely picking up shells, as a child picks them up, because they werepretty; until, while still a lad, he had a very complete collection allnicely arranged in a cabinet and labeled. Youth being past, the shy andlonely young man began to study botany, which he pursued until he hadseen and felt everything that grew in Caithness. Next he studiedinsects, and studied with such zeal that in nine months he hadcollected, of beetles alone, two hundred and fifty-six specimens. Thereare still in the Thurso museum two hundred and twenty varieties ofbees, and two hundred and forty kinds of butterflies, collected by him. 

Early in life he was powerfully attracted to astronomy, and readeverything he could find upon the subject. But he was one of thosestudents whom books alone can never satisfy; and as a telescope was veryfar beyond his means he was obliged to devote himself to subjects morewithin his own reach. He contrived out of his small savings to buy agood microscope, and found it indispensable. Geology was the subjectwhich occupied him longest and absorbed him most. He pursued it withuntiring and intelligent devotion for thirty years. He found the booksfull of mistakes, because, as he said, so many geologists study naturefrom a gig and are afraid to get a little mud on their trousers. 

"When, " said he, "I want to know what a rock is, I go to it; I hammerit; I dissect it. I then know what it really is. .. . The science ofgeology! No, no; we must just work patiently on, _collect facts_, and incourse of time geology may develop into a science. "

I suppose there never was a man whose love of knowledge was moredisinterested. He used to send curious specimens to Hugh Miller, editorof "The Witness" as well as a geologist, and Mr. Miller wouldacknowledge the gifts in his paper; but Robert Dick entreated him not todo so. 

"I am a quiet creature, " he wrote, "and do not like to see myself inprint at all. So leave it to be understood who found the old bones, andlet them guess who can. "

As long as he was in unimpaired health he continued this way of lifecheerfully enough, refusing all offers of assistance. His brother-in-lawonce proposed to send him a present of whiskey. 

"No, " said he in reply, "spirits never enter this house save when Icannot help it. "

His brother-in-law next offered to send him some money. He answered:--

"God grant you more sense! I want no sovereigns. It's of no use sendinganything down here. Nothing is wanted. Delicacies would only injurehealth. _Hardy_ is the word with working people. Pampering does no good, but much evil. "

And yet the latter days of this great-souled man were a woeful tragedy. He was the best baker in the place, gave full weight, paid for his flouron the day, and was in all respects a model of fair dealing. But histrade declined. Competition reduced his profits and limited his sales. When the great split occurred in Scotland between the old and the freechurch, he stuck to the old, merely saying that the church of hisforefathers was good enough for him. But his neighbors and customerswere zealous for the free church; and one day, when the preacher aimed asermon at him for taking his walks on Sunday, he was offended, andrarely went again. And so, for various reasons, his business declined;some losses befell him; and he injured his constitution by exposure andexhausting labors in the study of geology. 

There were rich and powerful families near by who knew his worth, orwould have known it if they had themselves been worthy. They looked onand saw the noblest heart in Scotland break in this unequal strife. Theyshould have set him free from his bake-shop as soon as he had givenproof of the stuff he was made of. He was poet, artist, philosopher, hero, and they let him die in his bakehouse in misery. After his deaththey performed over his body the shameful mockery of a pompous funeral, and erected in his memory a paltry monument, which will commemoratetheir shame as long as it lasts. His name has been rescued from oblivionby the industry and tact of Samuel Smiles, who, in writing his life, hasrevealed to us a rarer and higher kind of man than Robert Burns. 

JOHN DUNCAN, WEAVER AND BOTANIST. 

Many young men ask nowadays what is the secret of "success. " It werebetter to inquire also how to do without success, since that is thedestiny of most of us, even in the most prosperous communities. 

Could there be imagined a more complete "failure" than this John Duncan, a Scottish weaver, always very poor, at last a pauper, short-sighted, bent, shy, unlettered, illegitimate, dishonored in his home, notunfrequently stoned by the boys of the roadside, and in everyparticular, according to the outward view, a wretched fag-end of humannature!

Yet, redeemed and dignified by the love of knowledge, he passed, uponthe whole, a joyous and even a triumphant life. He had a pursuit whichabsorbed his nobler faculties, and lifted him far above the mishaps andinconveniences of his lowly lot. The queen of his country took aninterest in his pursuits, and contributed to the ease of his old age. Learned societies honored him, and the illustrious Charles Darwincalled him "my fellow botanist. "

[Illustration: John Duncan]

The mother of John Duncan, a "strong, pretty woman, " as he called her, lived in a poor tenement at Stonehaven, on the Scottish coast, andsupported herself by weaving stockings at her own home, and in thesummer went into the harvest field. He always held his mother in honorand tenderness, as indeed he ought, for she stood faithfully by thechildren she ought not to have borne. 

As a boy the future botanist developed an astonishing faculty ofclimbing. There was a famous old castle upon the pinnacle of a cliff, inaccessible except to cats and boys. He was the first to gain access tothe ancient ruin, and after him the whole band of boys explored thecastle, from the deep dungeons to the topmost turret. 

His first employment led him directly to what became a favorite pursuitof his lifetime. By way of adding to the slender gains of his mother, heextracted the white pith from certain rushes of the region, which madevery good lamp-wicks for the kind of lamps then in use in Scotland. These wicks of pith he sold about the town in small penny bundles. Inorder to get his supply of rushes he was obliged to roam the country farand wide, and along the banks of streams. When he had gathered as manyas he could carry he would bring them home to be stripped. To the end ofhis days, when he knew familiarly every plant that grew in his nativeland, he had a particular fondness for all the varieties of rush, andabove all for the kind that gave him his first knowledge. 

Then he went to a farmer's to tend cattle, and in this employment heexperienced the hard and savage treatment to which hired boys were sofrequently subjected at that day. Drenched with rain after tending hisherd all day, the brutal farmer would not permit him to go near the fireto dry his clothes. He had to go to his miserable bed in an out-house, where he poured the water from his shoes, and wrung out his wet clothesas dry as he could. In that foggy climate his garments were often as wetin the morning as he left them in the evening, and so days would passwithout his having a dry thread upon him. 

But it did not rain always. Frequently his herd was pastured near theold castle, which, during the long summer days, he studied moreintelligently, and in time learned all about its history andconstruction. And still he observed the flowers and plants that grewabout his feet. It seemed natural to him to observe them closely and tolearn their names and uses. 

In due time he was apprenticed to a weaver. This was before the age ofthe noisy, steaming factory. Each weaver then worked at home, at his ownloom, and could rent, if he chose, a garden and a field, and keep a cow, and live a man's life upon his native soil. Again our poor, shyapprentice had one of the hardest of masters. The boy was soon able todo the work of a man, and the master exacted it from him. On Saturdaysthe loom was usually kept going till midnight, when it stopped at thefirst sound of the clock, for this man, who had less feeling for afriendless boy than for a dog or a horse, was a strict Sabbatarian. Inthe depth of the Scotch winter he would keep the lad at the river-side, washing and wringing out the yarn, a process that required the arms tobe bare and the hands to be constantly wet. His hands would be allchilblains and frost-bitten. 

But again we may say it was not always winter. In the most dismal lotthere are gleams of sunshine. The neighbors pitied and comforted him. His tyrant's wife was good to him as far as she dared. It was she, indeed, who inspired him with the determination to learn to read, andanother friendly woman gave him regular instruction. He was sixteenyears old when he learned his alphabet. A school-girl, the daughter ofanother weaver, would come into his shop to hear him read his lesson, and tell him how to pronounce the hard words. This bright, pretty girlof twelve would take her seat on the loom beside the bashful, lanky boy, who, with the book close to his eyes and his finger on the page, wouldgrope his way through the paragraph. 

Other children helped him, and he was soon able to get the meanings fromthe few books at his command. His solitary walks were still cheered byhis observation of nature, although as yet he did not know there wassuch a thing as a science of botany. He could give no account of theinterest he took in plants, except that he "loved the pretty littlethings, " and liked to know their names, and to classify in his rude waythose that were alike. 

The exactions of his despot wore out at length even his astonishingpatience. He ran away at twenty, and entered upon the life which helived all the rest of his days, that of a weaver, wandering aboutScotland according to his need of work. At this period he was not thepossessor of a single book relating to his favorite pursuit, and he hadnever seen but one, an old-fashioned work of botany and astrology, ofnature and superstition, by the once famous Culpepper. It required extrawork for months, at the low wages of a hand-loom weaver, to get themoney required for the purchase of this book, about five dollars. Thework misled him in many ways, but it contained the names and propertiesof many of his favorite herbs. Better books corrected these errors byand by, and he gradually gathered a considerable library, each volumewon by pinching economy and hard labor. 

The sorrow of his life was his most woeful, disastrous marriage. Hiswife proved false to him, abandoned his home and their two daughters, and became a drunken tramp. Every now and then she returned to him, appealing to his compassion for assistance. I think Charles Dickens musthave had John Duncan's case in his mind when he wrote those powerfulscenes of the poor man cursed with a drunken wife in "Hard Times. "

But the more miserable his outward life, the more diligently he resortedfor comfort to his darling plants. For many years he groped in the dark;but at length he was put upon the right path by one of thoseaccomplished gardeners so common in Scotland, where the art of gardeningis carried to high perfection. He always sought the friendship ofgardeners wherever he went. Nevertheless he was forty years old beforehe became a scientific botanist. 

During the rest of his life of forty-four years, besides pursuing hisfavorite branch, he obtained a very considerable knowledge of thekindred sciences and of astronomy. Being obliged to sell his watch in atime of scarcity, he made for himself a pocket sun-dial, by which hecould tell the time to within seven or eight minutes. 

During this period steam was gaining every year upon hand power; hiswages grew less and less; and, as his whole heart was in science, he hadno energy left for seeking more lucrative employment. When he was pasteighty-three he would walk twelve miles or more to get a new specimen, and hold on his way, though drenched with a sudden storm. 

At length, old age and lack of work reduced him to actual suffering forthe necessaries of life. Mr. William Jolly, a contributor toperiodicals, heard his story, sought him out, and found him so poor asto be obliged to accept out-door relief, of which the old man waspainfully ashamed. He published a brief history of the man and of hisdoings in the newspapers. 

"The British people, " says Voltaire, "may be very stupid, but they knowhow to give. "

Money rained down upon the old philosopher, until a sum equal to aboutsixteen hundred dollars had reached him, which abundantly sufficed forhis maintenance during the short residue of his life. For the first timein fifty years he had a new and warm suit of clothes, and he again satdown by his own cheerful fire, an independent man, as he had been allhis life until he could no longer exercise his trade. 

He died soon after, bequeathing the money he had received for thefoundation of scholarships and prizes for the encouragement of the studyof natural science among the boys and girls of his country. His valuablelibrary, also, he bequeathed for the same object. 

JAMES LACKINGTON, SECOND-HAND BOOKSELLER. 

It would seem not to be so very difficult a matter to buy an article forfifty cents and sell it for seventy-five. Business men know, however, that to live and thrive by buying and selling requires a special gift, which is about as rare as other special gifts by which men conquer theworld. In some instances, it is easier to make a thing than to sell it, and it is not often that a man who excels in the making succeeds equallywell in the selling. General George P. Morris used to say:--

"I know a dozen men in New York who could make a good paper, but amongthem all I do not know one who could sell it. "

The late Governor Morgan of New York had this talent in a singulardegree even as a boy. His uncle sent him to New York, to buy, amongother things, two or three hundred bushels of corn. He bought twocargoes, and sold them to advantage in Hartford on his way from thestage office to his uncle's store, and he kept on doing similar thingsall his life. He knew by a sort of intuition when it was safe to buytwenty thousand bags of coffee, or all the coffee there was for sale inNew York, and he was very rarely mistaken; he had a genius for buyingand selling. 

I have seen car-boys and news-boys who had this gift. There are boys whowill go through a train and hardly ever fail to sell a book or two. Theyimprove every chance. If there is a passenger who wants a book, or canbe made to think he wants one, the boy will find him out. 

Now James Lackington was a boy of that kind. In the preface to theMemoirs which he wrote of his career he described himself as a person"who, a few years since, began business with five pounds, and now sellsone hundred thousand volumes annually. " But in fact he did not beginbusiness with five pounds, but with nothing at all. 

He was the son of a drunken shoemaker who lived in an English countrytown, and he had no schooling except a few weeks at a dame's school, attwopence a week. He had scarcely learned his letters at that school whenhis mother was obliged to take him away to help her in tending hislittle brothers and sisters. He spent most of his childhood in doingthat, and, as he remarks, "in running about the streets getting intomischief. " When he was ten years old he felt the stirring of an inborngenius for successful traffic. 

He noticed, and no doubt with the hungry eyes of a growing boy, an oldpie-man, who sold his pies about the streets in a careless, inefficientway, and the thought occurred to him that, if he had pies to sell, hecould sell more of them than the ancient pie-man. He went to a baker andacquainted him with his thoughts on pie-selling, and the baker soon senthim out with a tray full of pies. He showed his genius at once. Thespirited way in which he cried his pies, and his activity in going aboutwith them, made him a favorite with the pie-buyers of the town; so thatthe old pie-man in a few weeks lost all his business, and shut up hisshop. The boy served his baker more than a year, and sold so many piesand cakes for him as to save him from impending bankruptcy. In thewinter time he sold almanacs with such success that the other dealersthreatened to do him bodily mischief. 

But this kind of business would not do to depend on for a lifetime, andtherefore he was bound apprentice to a shoemaker at the age of fourteenyears, during which a desire for more knowledge arose within him. Helearned to read and write, but was still so ashamed of his ignorancethat he did not dare to go into a bookstore because he did not know thename of a single book to ask for. One of his friends bought for him alittle volume containing a translation from the Greek philosopherEpictetus, a work full of wise maxims about life and duty. Then hebought other ancient authors, Plato, Plutarch, Epicurus, and others. Hebecame a sort of Methodist philosopher, for he heard the Methodistpreachers diligently on Sundays, and read his Greek philosophy in theevenings. He tells us that the account of Epicurus living in his gardenupon a halfpenny a day, and considering a little cheese on his bread asa great treat, filled him with admiration, and he began forthwith tolive on bread and tea alone, in order to get money for his books. Afterending his apprenticeship and working for a short time as a journeyman, he married a buxom dairymaid, with whom he had been in love for sevenyears. It was a bold enterprise, for when they went to their lodgingsafter the wedding they searched their pockets carefully to discover thestate of their finances, and found that they had one halfpenny to beginthe world with. They had laid in provisions for a day or two, and theyhad work by which to procure more, so they began their married life bysitting down to work at shoemaking and singing together the followingstanza:

 "Our portion is not large indeed, But then how little do we need! For nature's wants are few. In this the art of living lies, To want no more than may suffice, And make that little do. "

They were as happy as the day was long. Twenty times, reports this jollyshoemaker, he and his wife sang an ode by Samuel Wesley, beginning:--

 "No glory I covet, no riches I want, Ambition is nothing to me; The one thing I beg of kind Heaven to grant Is a mind independent and free. "

They needed their cheerful philosophy, for all they had to spend on foodand drink for a week was a sum about equal to one of our dollars. Eventhis small revenue grew smaller, owing to the hard times, and poor JamesLackington saw his young wife pining away under insufficient food andsedentary employment. His courage again saved him. After enduringextreme poverty for three years, he got together all the money he couldraise, gave most of it to his wife, and set out for London, where hearrived in August, 1774, with two and sixpence in his pocket. 

It was a fortunate move for our brave shoemaker. He obtained work andgood wages at once, soon sent for his wife, and their united earningsmore than supplied their wants. A timely legacy of ten pounds from hisgrandfather gave them a little furniture, and he became again afrequenter of second-hand bookstores. He could scarcely resist thetemptation of a book that he wanted. One Christmas Eve he went out withmoney to buy their Christmas dinner, but spent the whole sum for a copyof Young's "Night Thoughts. " His wife did not relish this style ofChristmas repast. 

"I think, " said he to his disappointed spouse, "that I have actedwisely; for had I bought a dinner we should have eaten it to-morrow, andthe pleasure would have been soon over; but should we live fifty yearslonger we shall have the 'Night Thoughts' to feast upon. "

It was his love of books that gave him abundant Christmas dinners forthe rest of his life. Having hired a little shop in which to sell theshoes made by himself and his wife, it occurred to him that he couldemploy the spare room in selling old books, his chief motive being tohave a chance to read the books before he sold them. Beginning with astock of half a hundred volumes, chiefly of divinity, he invested allhis earnings in this new branch, and in six months he found his stock ofbooks had increased fivefold. He abandoned his shoemaking, moved intolarger premises, and was soon a thriving bookseller. He was scrupulousnot to sell any book which he thought calculated to injure its readers, although about this time he found the Methodist Society somewhat toostrict for him. He makes a curious remark on this subject:--

"I well remember, " he says, "that some years before, Mr. Wesley told hissociety at Bristol, in my hearing, that he could never keep a booksellersix months in his flock. "

His trade increased with astonishing rapidity, and the reason was thathe knew how to buy and sell. He abandoned many of the old usages andtraditions of the book trade. He gave no credit, which was itself astartling innovation; but his master-stroke was selling every book atthe lowest price he could afford, thus giving his customers a fairportion of the benefit of his knowledge and activity. He appears to havebegun the system by which books have now become a part of the furnitureof every house. He bought with extraordinary boldness, spendingsometimes as much as sixty thousand dollars in an afternoon's sale. 

As soon as he began to live with some liberality kind friends foretoldhis speedy ruin. Or, as he says:--

"When by the advice of that eminent physician, Dr. Lettsom, I purchaseda horse, and saved my life by the exercise it afforded me, the oldadage, 'Set a beggar on horseback and he'll ride to the devil, ' wasdeemed fully verified. "

But his one horse became two horses, and his chaise a chariot withliveried servants, in which vehicle, one summer, he made the round ofthe places in which he had lived as a shoemaker, called upon his oldemployers, and distributed liberal sums of money among his poorrelations. So far from being ashamed of his business, he caused to beengraved on all his carriage doors the motto which he considered thesecret of his success:--

SMALL PROFITS DO GREAT THINGS. 

In his old age he rejoined his old friends the Methodists, and hedeclares in his last edition that, if he had never heard the Methodistspreach, in all probability he should have remained through life "a poor, ragged, dirty cobbler. "

HORACE GREELEY'S START. 

I have seldom been more interested than in hearing Horace Greeley tellthe story of his coming to New York in 1831, and gradually working hisway into business there. 

He was living at the age of twenty years with his parents in a smalllog-cabin in a new clearing of Western Pennsylvania, about twenty milesfrom Erie. His father, a Yankee by birth, had recently moved to thatregion and was trying to raise sheep there, as he had been accustomed todo in Vermont. The wolves were too numerous there. 

It was part of the business of Horace and his brother to watch the flockof sheep, and sometimes they camped out all night, sleeping with theirfeet to the fire, Indian fashion. He told me that occasionally a pack ofwolves would come so near that he could see their eyeballs glare in thedarkness and hear them pant. Even as he lay in the loft of his father'scabin he could hear them howling in the fields. In spite of all theircare, the wolves killed in one season a hundred of his father's sheep, and then he gave up the attempt. 

The family were so poor that it was a matter of doubt sometimes whetherthey could get food enough to live through the long winter; and soHorace, who had learned the printer's trade in Vermont, started out onfoot in search of work in a village printing-office. He walked fromvillage to village, and from town to town, until at last he went toErie, the largest place in the vicinity. 

There he was taken for a runaway apprentice, and certainly hisappearance justified suspicion. Tall and gawky as he was in person, withtow-colored hair, and a scanty suit of shabbiest homespun, hisappearance excited astonishment or ridicule wherever he went. He hadnever worn a good suit of clothes in his life. He had a singularly fair, white complexion, a piping, whining voice, and these peculiarities gavethe effect of his being wanting in intellect. It was not until peopleconversed with him that they discovered his worth and intelligence. Hehad been an ardent reader from his childhood up, and had taken of lateyears the most intense interest in politics and held very positiveopinions, which he defended in conversation with great earnestness andability. 

A second application at Erie procured him employment for a few months inthe office of the Erie "Gazette, " and he won his way, not only to therespect, but to the affection, of his companions and his employer. Thatemployer was Judge J. M. Sterrett, and from him I heard many curiousparticulars of Horace Greeley's residence in Erie. As he was onlyworking in the office as a substitute, the return of the absenteedeprived him of his place, and he was obliged to seek work elsewhere. His employer said to him one day:--

"Now, Horace, you have a good deal of money coming to you; don't goabout the town any longer in that outlandish rig. Let me give you anorder on the store. Dress up a little, Horace. "

The young man looked down at his clothes as though he had never seenthem before, and then said, by way of apology:--

"You see, Mr. Sterrett, my father is on a new place, and I want to helphim all I can. "

In fact, upon the settlement of his account at the end of his sevenmonths' labor, he had drawn for his personal expenses six dollars only. Of the rest of his wages he retained fifteen dollars for himself, andgave all the rest, amounting to about a hundred and twenty dollars, tohis father, who, I am afraid, did not make the very best use of all ofit. 

With the great sum of fifteen dollars in his pocket, Horace now resolvedupon a bold movement. After spending a few days at home, he tied up hisspare clothes in a bundle, not very large, and took the shortest roadthrough the woods that led to the Erie Canal. He was going to New York, and he was going cheap!

A walk of sixty miles or so, much of it through the primeval forest, brought him to Buffalo, where he took passage on the Erie Canal, andafter various detentions, he reached Albany on a Thursday morning justin time to see the regular steamboat of the day move out into thestream. At ten o'clock on the same morning he embarked on board of atow-boat, which required nearly twenty-four hours to descend the river, and thus afforded him ample time to enjoy the beauty of its shores. 

On the 18th of August, 1831, about sunrise, he set foot in the city ofNew York, then containing about two hundred thousand inhabitants, onesixth of its present population. He had managed his affairs with suchstrict economy that his journey of six hundred miles had cost him littlemore than five dollars, and he had ten left with which to begin life inthe metropolis. This sum of money and the knowledge of the printer'strade made up his capital. There was not a person in all New York, sofar as he knew, who had ever seen him before. 

His appearance, too, was much against him, for although he had a reallyfine face, a noble forehead, and the most benign expression I ever sawupon a human countenance, yet his clothes and bearing quite spoiled him. His round jacket made him look like a tall boy who had grown too fastfor his strength; he stooped a little and walked in a loose-jointedmanner. He was very bashful, and totally destitute of the power ofpushing his way, or arguing with a man who said "No" to him. He hadbrought no letters of recommendation, and had no kind of evidence toshow that he had even learned his trade. 

The first business was, of course, to find an extremely cheapboarding-house, as he had made up his mind only to try New York as anexperiment, and, if he did not succeed in finding work, to starthomeward while he still had a portion of his money. After walking awhilehe went into what looked to him like a low-priced tavern, at the cornerof Wall and Broad Streets. 

"How much do you charge for board?" he asked the bar-keeper, who waswiping his decanters and putting his bar in trim for the business of theday. 

The bar-keeper gave the stranger a look-over and said to him:--

"I guess we're too high for you. "

"Well how much do you charge?"

"Six dollars. "

"Yes, that's more than I can afford. "

He walked on until he descried on the North River, near WashingtonMarket, a boarding-house so very mean and squalid that he was tempted togo in and inquire the price of board there. The price was two dollarsand a half a week. 

"Ah!" said Horace, "that sounds more like it. "

In ten minutes more he was taking his breakfast at the landlord's table. Mr. Greeley gratefully remembered this landlord, who was a friendlyIrishman by the name of McGorlick. Breakfast done, the new-comersallied forth in quest of work, and began by expending nearly half ofhis capital in improving his wardrobe. It was a wise action. He thatgoes courting should dress in his best, particularly if he courts socapricious a jade as Fortune. 

Then he began the weary round of the printing-offices, seeking for workand finding none, all day long. He would enter an office and ask in hiswhining note:--

"Do you want a hand?"

"No, " was the invariable reply; upon receiving which he left without aword. Mr. Greeley chuckled as he told the reception given him at theoffice of the "Journal of Commerce, " a newspaper he was destined tocontend with for many a year in the columns of the "Tribune. "

"Do you want a hand?" he said to David Hale, one of the owners of thepaper. 

Mr. Hale looked at him from head to foot, and then said:--

"My opinion is, young man, that you're a runaway apprentice, and you'dbetter go home to your master. "

The applicant tried to explain, but the busy proprietor merelyreplied:--

"Be off about your business, and don't bother us. "

The young man laughed good-humoredly and resumed his walk. He went tobed Saturday night thoroughly tired and a little discouraged. On Sundayhe walked three miles to attend a church, and remembered to the end ofhis days the delight he had, for the first time in his life, in hearinga sermon that he entirely agreed with. In the mean time he had gainedthe good will of his landlord and the boarders, and to that circumstancehe owed his first chance in the city. His landlord mentioned hisfruitless search for work to an acquaintance who happened to call thatSunday afternoon. That acquaintance, who was a shoemaker, hadaccidentally heard that printers were wanted at No. 85 Chatham Street. 

At half-past five on Monday morning Horace Greeley stood before thedesignated house, and discovered the sign, "West's Printing-Office, "over the second story; the ground floor being occupied as a bookstore. Not a soul was stirring up stairs or down. The doors were locked, andHorace sat down on the steps to wait. Thousands of workmen passed by;but it was nearly seven before the first of Mr. West's printers arrived, and he, too, finding the door locked, sat down by the side of thestranger, and entered into conversation with him. 

"I saw, " said this printer to me many years after, "that he was anhonest, good young man, and, being a Vermonter myself, I determined tohelp him if I could. "

Thus, a second time in New York already, _the native quality of the man_gained him, at the critical moment the advantage that decided hisdestiny. His new friend did help him, and it was very much through hisurgent recommendation that the foreman of the printing-office gave him achance. The foreman did not in the least believe that the green-lookingyoung fellow before him could set in type one page of the polyglotTestament for which help was needed. 

"Fix up a case for him, " said he, "and we'll see if he _can_ doanything. "

Horace worked all day with silent intensity, and when he showed to theforeman at night a printer's proof of his day's work, it was found to bethe best day's work that had yet been done on that most difficult job. It was greater in quantity and much more correct. The battle was won. Heworked on the Testament for several months, making long hours andearning only moderate wages, saving all his surplus money, and sendingthe greater part of it to his father, who was still in debt for his farmand not sure of being able to keep it. 

Ten years passed. Horace Greeley from journeyman printer made his wayslowly to partnership in a small printing-office. He founded the "NewYorker, " a weekly paper, the best periodical of its class in the UnitedStates. It brought him great credit and no profit. 

In 1840, when General Harrison was nominated for the presidency againstMartin Van Buren, his feelings as a politician were deeply stirred, andhe started a little campaign paper called "The Log-Cabin, " which wasincomparably the most spirited thing of the kind ever published in theUnited States. It had a circulation of unprecedented extent, beginningwith forty-eight thousand, and rising week after week until it reachedninety thousand. The price, however, was so low that its great saleproved rather an embarrassment than a benefit to the proprietors, andwhen the campaign ended, the firm of Horace Greeley & Co. Was rathermore in debt than it was when the first number of "The Log-Cabin" waspublished. 

The little paper had given the editor two things which go far towardsmaking a success in business, --great reputation and some confidence inhimself. The first penny paper had been started. The New York "Herald"was making a great stir. The "Sun" was already a profitable sheet. Andnow the idea occurred to Horace Greeley to start a daily paper whichshould have the merits of cheapness and abundant news, without some ofthe qualities possessed by the others. He wished to found a cheap dailypaper that should be good and salutary, as well as interesting. The lastnumber of "The Log-Cabin" announced the forthcoming "Tribune, " price onecent. 

The editor was probably not solvent when he conceived the scheme, and heborrowed a thousand dollars of his old friend, James Coggeshall, withwhich to buy the indispensable material. He began with six hundredsubscribers, printed five thousand of the first number, and found itdifficult to give them all away. The "Tribune" appeared on the day setapart in New York for the funeral procession in commemoration ofPresident Harrison, who died a month after his inauguration. 

It was a chilly, dismal day in April, and all the town was absorbed inthe imposing pageant. The receipts during the first week were ninety-twodollars; the expenses five hundred and twenty-five. But the little papersoon caught public attention, and the circulation increased for threeweeks at the rate of about three hundred a day. It began its fourth weekwith six thousand; its seventh week, with eleven thousand. The firstnumber contained four columns of advertisements; the twelfth, ninecolumns; the hundredth, thirteen columns. 

In a word, the success of the paper was immediate and very great. Itgrew a little faster than the machinery for producing it could beprovided. Its success was due chiefly to the fact that the original ideaof the editor was actually carried out. He aimed to produce a paperwhich should morally benefit the public. It was not always right, but italways meant to be. 

JAMES GORDON BENNETT, AND HOW HE FOUNDED HIS HERALD. 

A cellar in Nassau Street was the first office of the "Herald. " It was areal cellar, not a basement, lighted only from the street, andconsequently very dark except near its stone steps. The first furnitureof this office, --as I was told by the late Mr. Gowans, who kept abookstore near by, --consisted of the following articles:--

Item, one wooden chair. Item, two empty flour barrels with a wide, dirtypine board laid upon them, to serve as desk and table. End of theinventory. 

The two barrels stood about four feet apart, and one end of the boardwas pretty close to the steps, so that passers-by could see the pile of"Heralds" which were placed upon it every morning for sale. Scissors, pens, inkstand, and pencil were at the other end, leaving space in themiddle for an editorial desk. 

This was in the summer of 1835, when General Jackson was President ofthe United States, and Martin Van Buren the favorite candidate for thesuccession. If the reader had been in New York then, and had wished tobuy a copy of the saucy little paper, which every morning amused andoffended the decorous people of that day, he would have gone down intothis underground office, and there he would have found its single chairoccupied by a tall and vigorous-looking man about forty years of age, with a slight defect in one of his eyes, dressed in a clean, butinexpensive suit of summer clothes. 

This was James Gordon Bennett, proprietor, editor, reporter, book-keeper, clerk, office-boy, and everything else there wasappertaining to the control and management of the New York "Herald, "price one cent. The reader would perhaps have said to him, "I wantto-day's 'Herald. '" Bennett would have looked up from his writing, andpointed, without speaking, to the pile of papers at the end of theboard. The visitor would have taken one and added a cent to the pile ofcopper coin adjacent. If he had lingered a few minutes, the busy writerwould not have regarded him, and he could have watched the subsequentproceedings without disturbing him. In a few moments a woman might havecome down the steps into the subterranean office, who answered theeditor's inquiring look by telling him that she wanted a place as cook, and wished him to write an advertisement for her. This Would have beenentirely a matter of course, for in the prospectus of the paper it wasexpressly stated that persons could have their advertisements writtenfor them at the office. 

The editor himself would have written the advertisement for her with thevelocity of a practiced hand, then read it over to her, takingparticular pains to get the name spelled right, and the addresscorrectly stated. 

"How much is it, sir?"

"Twenty-five cents. "

The money paid, the editor would instantly have resumed his writing. Such visitors, however, were not numerous, for the early numbers of thepaper show very few advertisements, and the paper itself was littlelarger than a sheet of foolscap. Small as it was, it was with difficultykept alive from week to week, and it was never too certain as the weekdrew to a close whether the proprietor would be able to pay theprinter's bill on Saturday night, and thus secure its reappearance onMonday morning. 

There were times when, after paying all the unpostponable claims, he hadtwenty-five cents left, or less, as the net result of his week's toil. He worked sixteen, seventeen, eighteen hours a day, struggling unaidedto force his little paper upon an indifferent if not a hostile public. 

James Gordon Bennett, you will observe, was forty years old at thisstage of his career. Generally a man who is going to found anythingextraordinary has laid a deep foundation, and got his structure a goodway above ground before he is forty years of age. But there was he, pastforty, and still wrestling with fate, happy if he could get threedollars a week over for his board. Yet he was a strong man, gifted witha keen intelligence, strictly temperate in his habits, and honest in hisdealings. The only point against him was, that he had no power andapparently no desire to make personal friends. He was one of those whocannot easily ally themselves with other men, but must fight their fightalone, victors or vanquished. 

A native of Scotland, he was born a Roman Catholic, and was partlyeducated for the priesthood in a Catholic seminary there; but he wasdiverted from the priestly office, as it appears, by reading Byron, Scott, and other literature of the day. At twenty he was a romantic, impulsive, and innocent young man, devouring the Waverley novels, and inhis vacations visiting with rapture the scenes described in them. Thebook, however, which decided the destiny of this student was of a verydifferent description, being no other than the "Autobiography ofBenjamin Franklin, " a book which was then read by almost every boy whoread at all. One day, at Aberdeen, a young acquaintance met him in thestreet, and said to him:--

"I am going to America, Bennett. "

"To America! When? Where?"

"I am going to Halifax on the 6th of April. "

"My dear fellow, " said Bennett, "I'll go with you. I want to see theplace where Franklin was born. "

Three months after he stepped ashore at the beautiful town of Halifax inNova Scotia, with only money enough in his pocket to pay his board forabout two weeks. Gaunt poverty was upon him soon, and he was glad toearn a meagre subsistence for a few weeks, by teaching. He used to speakof his short residence in Halifax as a time of severe privation andanxiety, for it was a place then of no great wealth, and had little tooffer to a penniless adventurer, such as he was. 

He made his way to Portland, in Maine, before the first winter set in, and thence found passage in a schooner bound to Boston. In one of theearly numbers of his paper he described his arrival at that far-famedharbor, and his emotions on catching his first view of the city. Theparagraph is not one which we should expect from the editor of the"Herald, " but I have no doubt it expressed his real feelings in 1819. 

"I was alone, young, enthusiastic, uninitiated. In my more youthful daysI had devoured the enchanting life of Benjamin Franklin written byhimself, and Boston appeared to me as the residence of a friend, anassociate, an acquaintance. I had also drunk in the history of the holystruggle for independence, first made on Bunker Hill. Dorchester Heightswere to my youthful imagination almost as holy ground as Arthur's Seator Salisbury Craigs. Beyond was Boston, her glittering spires risinginto the blue vault of heaven like beacons to light a world to liberty. "

In the glow of his first enthusiasm, and having nothing else to do, hespent several days in visiting the scenes of historic events with whichhis reading had made him familiar. But his slender purse grew daily moreattenuated, and he soon found himself in a truly desperate situation, afriendless, unprepossessing young man, knowing no trade or profession, and without an acquaintance in the city. His last penny was spent. Awhole day passed without his tasting food. A second day went by, andstill he fasted. He could find no employment, and was too proud to beg. In this terrible strait he was walking upon Boston Common, wondering howit could be that he, so willing to work, and with such a capacity forwork, should be obliged to pace the streets of a wealthy city, idle andstarving!

"How shall I get something to eat?" he said to himself. 

At that moment he saw something glittering upon the ground before him, which proved to be a silver coin of the value of twelve and a halfcents. Cheered by this strange coincidence, and refreshed by food, hewent with renewed spirit in search of work. He found it almostimmediately. A countryman of his own, of the firm of Wells & Lilly, publishers and booksellers, gave him a situation as clerk andproof-reader, and thus put him upon the track which led him to hisfuture success. 

This firm lasted only long enough to give him the means of getting toNew York, where he arrived in 1822, almost as poor as when he leftScotland. He tried many occupations, --a school, lectures upon politicaleconomy, instruction in the Spanish language; but drifted at length intothe daily press as drudge-of-all-work, at wages varying from five toeight dollars a week, with occasional chances to increase his revenue alittle by the odd jobbery of literature. 

Journalism was then an unknown art in the United States, and nonewspaper had anything at all resembling an editorial corps. The mostimportant daily newspapers of New York were carried on by the editor, aided by one or two ill-paid assistants, with a possible correspondentin Washington during the session of Congress. And that proved to beJames Gordon Bennett's opportunity of getting his head a little abovewater. He filled the place one winter of Washington corespondent to theNew York "Enquirer;" and while doing so he fell in by chance in theCongressional library with a volume of Horace Walpole's gossipingsociety letters. He was greatly taken with them, and he said to himself:"Why not try a few letters on a similar plan from Washington, to bepublished in New York?"

He tried the experiment. The letters, which were full of personalanecdotes, and gave descriptions of noted individuals, proved veryattractive, and gave him a most valuable hint as to what readers take aninterest in. The letters being anonymous, he remained poor and unknown. He made several attempts to get into business for himself. He courtedand served the politicians. He conducted party newspapers for them, without political convictions of his own. But when he had done the workof carrying elections and creating popularity, he did not find the idolshe had set up at all disposed to reward the obscure scribe to whom theyowed their elevation. 

But all this while he was learning his trade, and though he lived underdemoralizing influences, he never lapsed into bad habits. What he saidof himself one day was strictly true, and it was one of the mostmaterial causes of his final victory:--

"Social glasses of wine are my aversion; public dinners are myabomination; all species of gormandizing, my utter scorn and contempt. When I am hungry, I eat; when thirsty, drink. Wine and viands, taken forsociety, or to stimulate conversation, tend only to dissipation, indolence, poverty, contempt, and death. "

At length, early in 1835, having accumulated two or three hundreddollars, he conceived the notion of starting a penny paper. First helooked about for a partner. He proposed the scheme to a struggling, ambitious young printer and journalist, beginning to be known in NassauStreet, named Horace Greeley. I have heard Mr. Greeley relate theinterview. 

"Bennett came to me, " he said, "as I was standing at the case settingtype, and putting his hand in his pocket pulled out a handful of money. There was some gold among it, more silver, and I think one fifty-dollarbill. He said he had between two and three hundred dollars, and wantedme to go in with him and set up a daily paper, the printing to be donein our office, and he to be the editor. 

"I told him he hadn't money enough. He went away, and soon after gotother printers to do the work and the 'Herald' appeared. "

This was about six years before the "Tribune" was started. Mr. Greeleywas right in saying that his future rival in journalism had not moneyenough. The little "Herald" was lively, smart, audacious, and funny; itpleased a great many people and made a considerable stir; but the pricewas too low, and the range of journalism then was very narrow. It ishighly probable that the editor would have been baffled after all, butfor one of those lucky accidents which sometimes happen to men who arebound to succeed. 

There was a young man then in the city named Brandreth, who had broughta pill over with him from England, and was looking about in New York forsome cheap, effective way of advertising his pill. He visited Bennett inhis cellar and made an arrangement to pay him a certain sum every weekfor a certain space in the columns of the "Herald. " It was the verything he wanted, a little _certainty_ to help him over that awful day ofjudgment which comes every week to struggling enterprises, --Saturdaynight!

Still, the true cause of the final success of the paper was theindomitable character of its founder, his audacity, his persistence, hispower of continuous labor, and the inexhaustible vivacity of his mind. After a year of vicissitude and doubt, he doubled the price of hispaper, and from that time his prosperity was uninterrupted. He turnedeverything to account. Six times he was assaulted by persons whom he hadsatirized in his newspaper, and every time he made it tell upon hiscirculation. On one occasion, for example, after relating how his headhad been cut open by one of his former employers, he added:--

"The fellow no doubt wanted to let out the never failing supply ofgood-humor and wit which has created such a reputation for the 'Herald. '. .. He has not injured the skull. My ideas in a few days will flow asfreshly as ever, and he will find it so to his cost. "

In this humble, audacious manner was founded the newspaper which, in thecourse of forty-eight years, has grown to be one of national andinternational importance. Its founder died in 1872, aged seventy-sevenyears, in the enjoyment of the largest revenue which had ever resultedfrom journalism in the United States, and leaving to his only son themost valuable newspaper property, perhaps, in the world. 

That son, the present proprietor, has greatly improved the "Herald. " Hepossesses his father's remarkable journalistic tact, with lessobjectionable views of the relation of the daily paper to the public. His great enterprises have been bold, far-reaching, almost national intheir character. Mr. Frederick Hudson, who was for many years themanaging editor of the paper, has the following interesting paragraphconcerning father and son:--

"Somewhere about the year 1866, James Gordon Bennett, Sr. , inductedJames Gordon Bennett, Jr. , into the mysteries of journalism. One of hisfirst _coups_ was the Prusso-Austrian war. The cable transmitted thewhole of the King of Prussia's important speech after the battle ofSadowa and peace with Austria, costing in tolls seven thousand dollarsin gold. "

He has followed this bold _coup_ with many similar ones, and not a fewthat surpassed it. Seven thousand dollars seems a good deal of money topay for a single feature of one number of a daily paper. It was not somuch for a paper, single issues of which have yielded half as much asthat in clear profit. And the paper was born in a cellar!

THREE JOHN WALTERS, AND THEIR NEWSPAPER. 

The reader, perhaps, does not know why the London "Times" is the firstjournal of Europe. I will tell him. 

The starting of this great newspaper ninety-nine years ago was a mereincident in the development of another business. Almost every one whohas stood in a printing-office watching compositors set type must havesometimes asked himself, why not have whole words cast together, insteadof obliging the printer to pick up each letter separately? Such words as_and_, _the_, _but_, _if_, _is_, and even larger words, like _although_and _notwithstanding_, occur very often in all compositions. How easy itwould be, inexperienced persons think, to take up a long word, such as_extraordinary_, and place it in position at one stroke. I confess thatI had this idea myself, long before I knew that any one else had everhad it. 

In the year 1785 there was a printer in London named John Walter, well-established in business, who was fully resolved on giving thissystem a trial. At great expense and trouble he had all the commonestwords and phrases cast together. He would give his type-founder an orderlike this:--

Send me a hundredweight, made up in separate pounds, of _heat_, _cold_, _wet_, _dry_, _murder_, _fire_, _dreadful_ _robbery_, _atrociousoutrage_, _fearful calamity_, and _alarming explosion_. 

This system he called logographic printing, --logographic being acombination of two Greek words signifying word-writing. In order to givepublicity to the new system, on which he held a patent, as well as toafford it a fuller trial, he started a newspaper, which he called the"Daily Universal Register. " The newspaper had some little success fromthe beginning; but the logographic printing system would not work. Notonly did the compositors place obstacles in the way, but the systemitself presented difficulties which neither John Walter nor anysubsequent experimenter has been able to surmount. 

"The whole English language, " said Walter, in one of his numerousaddresses to the public, "lay before me in a confused arrangement. Itconsisted of about ninety thousand words. This multitudinous mass Ireduced to about five thousand, by separating the parcels, and removingthe obsolete words, technical terms, and common terminations. "

After years of labor this most resolute and tenacious of men was obligedto give it up. It was too expensive, too cumbersome, too difficult; itrequired a vast amount of space; and, in short, it was a system whichcould not, and cannot, be worked to profit. But though the logographicprinting was a failure, the "Daily Universal Register" proved more andmore successful. It was a dingy little sheet, about twice as large as asheet of foolscap, without a word of editorial, and containing a smallnumber of well-selected paragraphs of news. It had also occasionally ashort notice of the plays of the night before, and a few items of whatwe now call society gossip. The advertisements, after the paper had beenin existence three years, averaged about fifty a day, most of them veryshort. Its price was threepence, English, equal to about twelve cents ofour present currency. The paper upon which it was printed was coarse andcheap. In the third year of its existence, on the first of January, 1788, the name was changed to "The Times. " The editor humorouslyexplained the reasons for changing the name:--

"'Boy, bring me the "Register. "' The waiter answers, 'Sir, we have nolibrary, but you may see it in the New Exchange Coffee House. ' 'Then Iwill see it there, ' answers the disappointed politician, and he goes tothe New Exchange Coffee House, and calls for the 'Register'; upon whichthe waiter tells him he cannot have it, as he is not a subscriber; orpresents him with the 'Court and City Register, ' the 'Old AnnualRegister, ' or the 'New Annual Register. '"

John Walter was not what is commonly called an educated man. He was abrave and honest Englishman, instinctively opposed to jobbery, and toall the other modes by which a corrupt government plunders a laboriouspeople. The consequence was that during the first years of his editoriallife he was frequently in very hot water. When "The Times" had been inexistence little more than a year, he took the liberty of making aremark upon the Duke of York, one of the king's dissolute sons, sayingthat the conduct of his Royal Highness had been such as to incur HisMajesty's just disapprobation. 

For this offense he was arrested and put on trial for libel. Beingconvicted, he was sentenced to pay a fine of fifty pounds, to undergo ayear's imprisonment in Newgate, to stand in the pillory for one hour, and give bonds for his good behavior for the next seven years. While hewas still in prison, he was convicted of two libels: first for sayingthat both the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York had incurred the justdisapprobation of the king; and secondly, for saying that the Duke ofClarence, another son of George III. , an officer in the navy, had lefthis station without the permission of his commanding officer. For theseoffenses he was condemned to pay fines amounting to two hundred pounds, and to suffer a second year's imprisonment. His first year he served outfully, and four months of the second, when by the intercession of thePrince of Wales he was released. 

From this period the newspaper appears to have gone forward, without anyinterruption, to the present day. In due time John Walter withdrew fromthe management, and gave it up to his eldest son, John Walter thesecond, who seems to have possessed his father's resolution and energy, with more knowledge of the world and a better education. It was he whotook the first decisive step toward placing "The Times" at the head ofjournalism. For many years the Walters had been printers to the customhouse, a post of considerable profit. In 1810 the newspaper discoveredand exposed corrupt practices in the Navy Department, --practices whichwere subsequently condemned by an investigating commission. Theadministration deprived the fearless editor of the custom housebusiness. As this was not in accordance with the usages of Englishpolitics, it made a great outcry, and the editor was given to understandthat, if he would wink at similar abuses in future, the public printingshould be restored to him. This offer he declined, saying that he wouldenter into no engagements and accept no favors which would diminish, inany degree whatever, the independence of the paper. 

This was an immense point gained. It was, as I have said, the first steptoward greatness. Nor do I believe that any newspaper has ever attaineda genuine and permanent standing in a community until it has firstconquered a substantial independence. The administration then tried toaccomplish its purpose in another way. During the gigantic wars ofNapoleon Bonaparte, extending over most of the first fifteen years ofthe present century, "The Times" surpassed all newspapers in procuringearly intelligence from the seat of war. The government stooped to thepettiness of stopping at the outposts all packages addressed to "TheTimes, " while allowing dispatches for the ministerial journals to pass. Foreign ships bound to London were boarded at Gravesend, and papersaddressed to "The Times" were taken from the captain. The editorremonstrated to the Home Secretary. He was informed that he mightreceive his foreign papers _as a favor_ from government. Knowing thatthis would be granted in the expectation of its modifying the spirit andtone of the newspaper, he declined to accept as a favor that which heclaimed as a right. The consequence was that the paper suffered muchinconvenience from the loss or delay of imported packages. But thisinconvenience was of small account compared with the prestige which suchcomplimentary persecution conferred. 

Another remarkable feature of the system upon which "The Times" has beenconducted is the liberality with which it has compensated those whoserved it. Writing is a peculiar kind of industry, and demands sostrenuous and intense an exertion of the vital forces, that no one willever get good writing done who compensates it on ordinary commercialprinciples. The rule of supply and demand can never apply to this case. There are two things which the purchaser of literary labor can dotowards getting a high quality of writing. One is, to give the writerthe amplest motive to do his best; and the other is, to prevent hiswriting too much. Both these things the conductors of "The Times" havesystematically done. It is their rule to pay more for literary laborthan any one else pays for the same labor, more than the writer himselfwould think of demanding, and also to afford intervals of repose afterperiods of severe exertion. 

Until the year 1814, all the printing in the world was done by hand, and"The Times" could only be struck off at the rate of four hundred andfifty copies an hour. Hence the circulation of the paper, when it hadreached three or four thousand copies a day, had attained the utmostdevelopment then supposed to be possible; and when such news came asthat of the battle of Austerlitz, Trafalgar, or Waterloo, the editionwas exhausted long before the demand was supplied. There was acompositor in the office of "The Times, " named Thomas Martyn, who, asearly as 1804, conceived the idea of applying Watt's improvedsteam-engine to a printing press. He showed his model to John Walter, who furnished him with money and room in which to continue hisexperiments, and perfect his machine. But the pressmen pursued theinventor with such blind, infuriate hate, that the man was in terror ofhis life from day to day, and the scheme was given up. 

Ten years later another ingenious inventor, named König, procured apatent for a steam-press, and Mr. Walter determined to give hisinvention a trial at all hazards. The press was secretly set up inanother building, and a few men, pledged to secrecy, were hired and putin training to work it. On the night of the trial the pressmen in "TheTimes" building were told that the paper would not go to press untilvery late, as important news was expected from the Continent. At six inthe morning John Walter went into the press-room, and announced to themen that the whole edition of "The Times" had been printed by steamduring the night, and that thenceforward the steam-press would beregularly used. He told the men that if they attempted violence therewas a force at hand to suppress it, but if they behaved well no manshould be a loser by the invention. They should either remain in theirsituations, or receive full wages until they could procure others. Thisconduct in a rich and powerful man was no more than decent. The menaccepted his terms with alacrity. 

A great secret of "The Times'" popularity has been its occasionaladvocacy of the public interest to its own temporary loss. Early in itshistory it ridiculed the advertisers of quack medicines, and has neverhesitated to expose unsound projects though ever so profuselyadvertised. During the railroad mania of 1845, when the railroadadvertisements in "The Times" averaged sixty thousand dollars a week, itearnestly, eloquently, and every day, week after week, exposed the emptyand ruinous nature of the railway schemes. It continued this courseuntil the mighty collapse came which fulfilled its own prophecies, andparalyzed for a time the business of the country. 

Was this pure philanthropy? It was something much rarer than that--itwas good sense. It was sound judgment. It was _not_ killing the goosethat laid the golden egg. 

Old readers of the London "Times" were a little surprised, perhaps, tosee the honors paid by that journal to its late editor-in-chief. Anobituary notice of several columns was surrounded by black lines; a markof respect which the paper would pay only to members of the royalfamily, or to some public man of universal renown. Never before, Ibelieve, did this newspaper avow to the world that its editor had aname; and the editor himself usually affected to conceal hisprofessional character. Former editors, in fact, would flatly deny theirconnection with the paper, and made a great secret of a fact which wasno secret at all. 

Mr. Carlyle, in his "Life of Sterling, " gives a curious illustration ofthis. Sir Robert Peel, in 1835, upon resigning his ministry, wrote aletter to the editor of "The Times, " thanking him for the powerfulsupport which his administration had received from that journal. SirRobert Peel did not presume to address this letter to any individual byname, and he declared in this letter that the editor was unknown to himeven by sight. Edward Sterling replied in a lofty tone, very much as oneking might reply to another, and signed the letter simply "The Editor of'The Times. '"

But all this is changed. The affectation of secrecy, long felt to beridiculous, has been abandoned, and the editor now circulates freelyamong his countrymen in his true character, as the conductor of thefirst journal in Europe. At his death he receives the honors due to theoffice he holds and the power he exerts, and his funeral is publiclyattended by his associates. This is as it should be. Journalism has nowtaken its place as one of the most important of the liberal professions. Next to statesmanship, next to the actual conduct of public affairs, theeditor of a leading newspaper fills, perhaps, the most important placein the practical daily life of the community in which he lives; and theinfluence of the office is likely to increase, rather than diminish. 

Mr. Delane was probably the first individual who was ever educated witha distinct view to his becoming an editor. While he was still a boy, hisfather, a solicitor by profession, received an appointment in the officeof "The Times, " which led to young Delane's acquaintance with theproprietors of the journal. It seems they took a fancy to the lad. Theyperceived that he had the editorial cast of character, since, inaddition to uncommon industry and intelligence, he had a certaineagerness for information, an aptitude for acquiring it, and adiscrimination in weighing it, which marks the journalistic mind. Theproprietors, noting these traits, encouraged, and, I believe, assistedhim to a university education, in the expectation that he would fithimself for the life editorial. 

Having begun this course of preparation early, he entered the office of"The Times" as editorial assistant soon after he came of age, andacquitted himself so well that, in 1841, when he was not yettwenty-five, he became editor-in-chief. He was probably the youngest manwho ever filled such a post in a daily paper of anything like equalimportance. This rapid promotion will be thought the more remarkablewhen it is mentioned that he never wrote an editorial in his life. "TheTimes" itself says of him:--

"He never was a writer. He never even attempted to write anything, except reports and letters. These he had to do, and he did them well. Hehad a large staff of writers, and it was not necessary he should write, except to communicate with them. "

His not being a writer was one of his strongest points. Writing is acareer by itself. The composition of one editorial of the first classis a very hard day's work, and one that leaves to the writer but a smallresidue of vital force. Writing for the public is the most arduous andexhausting of all industries, and cannot properly be combined with anyother. Nor can a man average more than two or three editorial articles aweek such as "The Times" prints every day. It was an immense advantageto the paper to have an editor who was never tempted to waste any of hisstrength upon the toil of composition. "The Times" prints daily threeeditorial articles, which cost the paper on an average fifty dollarseach. Mr. Delane himself mentioned this during his visit to thiscountry. 

There was one quality of his editorship which we ought not to overlook. It was totally free from personalities. I have been in the habit for along time of reading "The Times"--not regularly but very frequently, andsometimes every day for a considerable period; but I have never seen anindividual disrespectfully mentioned in the paper. An opinion may bedenounced; but the individual holding that opinion is invariably spokenof with decency. "The Times" has frequently objected to the coursepursued by Mr. Gladstone; but the man himself is treated with preciselythe same respect as he would be if he were an invited guest at theeditor's table. 

"The Times, " being a human institution, has plenty of faults, and hasmade its ample share of mistakes; but it owes its eminent positionchiefly to its good qualities, its business ability, its patriotism, itsliberal enterprise, and wise treatment of those who serve it. The paperis still chiefly owned and conducted by John Walter, the grandson of thefounder. 

GEORGE HOPE. 

The story of this stalwart and skillful Scotch farmer, George Hope, enables us to understand what agitators mean by the term "landlordism. "It is a very striking case, as the reader will admit. 

George Hope, born in 1811, was the son of a tenant farmer of the countyof East Lothian, now represented in Parliament by Mr. Gladstone. Thefarm on which he was born, on which his ancestors had lived, and uponwhich he spent the greater part of his own life, was called FentonBarns. With other lands adjacent, it made a farm of about eight hundredacres. Two thirds of it were of a stiff, retentive clay, extremely hardto work, and the rest was little better than sand, of a yellow color andincapable of producing grain. 

Two or three generations of Hopes had spent life and toil unspeakableupon this unproductive tract, without making the least profit by it;being just able to pay their rent, and keep their heads above water. They subsisted, reared families, and died, worn out with hard work, leaving to their sons, besides an honest name, only the same inheritanceof struggle and despair. George Hope's mother tried for years tosqueeze out of her butter and eggs the price of a table large enough forall her family to sit round at once, but died without obtaining it. 

At the age of eighteen years, George Hope took hold of this unpromisingfarm, his parents being in declining health, nearly exhausted by theirlong struggle with it. He brought to his task an intelligent andcultivated mind. He had been for four years in a lawyer's office. He hadread with great admiration the writings of the American Channing; and henow used his intelligence in putting new life into this old land. 

The first thing was to acquire more capital; and the only way ofaccomplishing this was to do much of the work himself. Mere manuallabor, however, would not have sufficed; for he found himself baffled bythe soil. Part of the land being wet, cold clay, and part yellow sand, he improved both by mixing them together. He spread sand upon his clay, and clay upon his sand, as well as abundant manure, and he established akiln for converting some of the clay into tiles, with which he drainedhis own farm, besides selling large quantities of tiles to theneighboring farmers. For a time, he was in the habit of burning a kilnof eleven thousand tiles every week, and he was thus enabled to expendin draining his own farms about thirteen thousand dollars, without goingin debt for it. 

He believed in what is called "high farming, " and spent enormous sumsin fertilizing the soil. For a mere top-dressing of guano, bones, nitrate of soda, or sulphate of ammonia, he spent one spring eightthousand dollars. These large expenditures, directed as they were by aman who thoroughly understood his business, produced wonderful results. He gained a large fortune, and his farm became so celebrated, thattravelers arrived from all parts of Europe, and even from the UnitedStates, to see it. An American called one day to inspect the farm, whenMr. Hope began, as usual, to express his warm admiration for Dr. Channing. The visitor was a nephew of the distinguished preacher, and hewas exceedingly surprised to find his uncle so keenly appreciated inthat remote spot. 

It is difficult to say which of his two kinds of land improved the mostunder his vigorous treatment. His sandy soil, the crop of which informer years was sometimes blown out of the ground, was so strengthenedby its dressing of clay as to produce excellent crops of wheat; and hisclay fields were made among the most productive in Scotland by hissystem of combined sanding, draining and fertilizing. 

One of his secrets was that he treated his laborers with justice andconsideration. His harvest-homes were famous in their day. When he foundthat certain old-fashioned games caused some of his weak teetotalers tofall from grace, he changed them for others; and, instead of beer andtoddy, provided abundance of tea, coffee, strawberries, and otherdainties. When the time came for dancing, he took the lead, and couldsometimes boast that he had not missed one dance the whole evening. Inaddressing a public meeting of farmers and landlords in 1861, he spokeon the subject of improving the cottages of farm laborers. These weresome of the sentences which fell from his lips:--

"Treat your laborers with respect, as men; encourage their self-respect. Never enter a poor man's house any more than a rich man's unlessinvited, and then go not to find fault, but as a friend. If you canrender him or his family a service, by advice or otherwise, let it bemore delicately done than to your most intimate associate. Remember howhard it is for a poor man to respect himself. He hears the wealthystyled the respectable, and the poor, the lower classes; but never calla man low. His being a _man_ dwarfs, and renders as nothing, all thedistinctions of an earthly estate. "

The reader sees what kind of person this George Hope was. He was asnearly a perfect character as our very imperfect race can ordinarilyexhibit. He was a great farmer, a true captain of industry, an honest, intelligent, just, and benevolent man. He was, moreover, a good citizen, and this led him to take an interest in public matters, and to do hisutmost in aid of several reasonable reforms. He was what is called aLiberal in politics. He did what he could to promote the reform bill ofLord John Russell, and he was a conspicuous ally of Cobden and Brightin their efforts to break down the old corn laws. He remembered thatthere were about five thousand convictions in Great Britain every yearunder the game laws, and he strove in all moderate and proper ways tohave those laws repealed. 

And now we come to the point. A certain person named R. A. DundasChristopher Nisbet Hamilton married the heiress of the estate to whichthe farm of George Hope belonged. He thus acquired the power, when atenant's lease expired, to refuse a renewal. This person was a Tory, whodelighted in the slaughter of birds and beasts, and who thought ithighly impertinent in the tenant of a farm to express political opinionscontrary to those of his landlord. George Hope, toward the end of hislong lease, offered to take the farm again, at a higher rent than he hadever before paid, though it was himself who had made the farm morevaluable. His offer was coldly declined, and he was obliged, afterexpending the labor and skill of fifty-three years upon that land, toleave it, and find another home for his old age. 

He had fortunately made money enough to buy a very good farm forhimself, and he had often said that he would rather farm fifty acres ofhis own than to be the tenant of the best farm in Europe. This"eviction, " as it was called, of a farmer so celebrated attracteduniversal comment, and excited general indignation. He left his farmlike a conqueror. Public dinners and services of plate were presented tohim, and his landlord of many names acquired a notoriety throughoutEurope which no doubt he enjoyed. He certainly did a very bold action, and one which casts a perfect glare of light upon the nature oflandlordism. 

George Hope died in 1876, universally honored in Scotland. He liesburied in the parish of his old farm, not far from the home of hisfathers. On his tombstone is inscribed:--

"To the memory of George Hope, for many years tenant of Fenton Barns. Hewas the devoted supporter of every movement which tended to theadvancement of civil and religious liberty, and to the moral and socialelevation of mankind. "

SIR HENRY COLE. 

He was an "Old Public Functionary" in the service of the British people. 

When President Buchanan spoke of himself as an Old Public Functionary hewas a good deal laughed at by some of the newspapers, and the phrase hassince been frequently used in an opprobrious or satirical sense. This isto be regretted, for there is no character more respectable, and thereare few so useful, as an intelligent and patriotic man of long standingin the public service. What _one_ such man can do is shown by theexample of Sir Henry Cole, who died a few months ago in London afterhalf a century of public life. 

The son of an officer in the British army, he was educated at thatfamous Blue-Coat School which is interesting to Americans because Lamband Coleridge attended it. At the age of fifteen he received anappointment as clerk in the office of Public Records. In due time, having proved his capacity and peculiar fitness, he was promoted to thepost of Assistant Keeper, which gave him a respectable position and someleisure. 

He proved to be in an eminent sense the right man in the right place. Besides publishing, from time to time, curious and interesting documentswhich he discovered in his office, he called attention, by a series ofvigorous pamphlets, to the chaotic condition in which the public recordsof Great Britain were kept. Gradually these pamphlets made animpression, and they led at length to a reform in the office. Therecords were rearranged, catalogued, rendered safe, and made accessibleto students. This has already led to important corrections in history, and to a great increase in the sum of historical knowledge. 

When the subject of cheap postage came up in 1840, the governmentoffered four prizes of a hundred pounds each for suggestions in aid ofSir Rowland Hill's plan. One of these prizes was assigned to Henry Cole. He was one of the persons who first became converts to the idea of pennypostage, and he lent the aid of his pen and influence to its adoption. 

At length, about the year 1845, he entered upon the course ofproceedings which rendered him one of the most influential and usefulpersons of his time. He had long lamented the backward condition of artsof design in England, and the consequent ugliness of the various objectsin the sight and use of which human beings pass their lives. Englishfurniture, wall-papers, carpets, curtains, cutlery, garments, upholstery, ranged from the tolerable to the hideous, and were inferiorto the manufactures of France and Germany. He organized a series ofexhibitions on a small scale, somewhat similar to those of the AmericanInstitute in New York, which has held a competitive exhibition ofnatural and manufactured objects every autumn for the last fifty years. 

His exhibitions attracted attention, and they led at length to theCrystal Palace Exhibition of 1851. The merit of that scheme must beshared between Henry Cole and Prince Albert. Cole suggested that hissmall exhibitions should, once in five years, assume a nationalcharacter, and invite contributions from all parts of the empire. Yes, said Prince Albert, and let us also invite competition from foreigncountries on equal terms with native products. 

The Exhibition of 1851 was admirably managed, and had every kind ofsuccess. It benefited England more than all other nations put together, because it revealed to her people their inferiority in many branchesboth of workmanship and design. We all know how conceited people are aptto become who have no opportunity to compare themselves with superiors. John Bull, never over-modest, surveyed the Exhibition of 1851, anddiscovered, to his great surprise, that he was not the unapproachableBull of the universe which he had fondly supposed. He saw himself beatenin some things by the French, in some by the Germans, in others by theItalians, and in a few (O wonder!) by the Yankees. 

Happily he had the candor to admit this humiliating fact to himself, andhe put forth earnest and steadfast exertions to bring himself up to thelevel of modern times. 

Henry Cole was the life and soul of the movement. It was he who calledattention to the obstacles placed in the way of improvement by thepatent laws, and some of those obstacles, through him, were speedilyremoved. 

During this series of services to his country, he remained in the officeof Public Records. The government now invited him to another sphere oflabor. They asked him to undertake the reconstruction of the schools ofdesign, and they gave him an office which placed him practically at thehead of the various institutions designed to promote the application ofart to manufacture. The chief of these now is the Museum of SouthKensington, which is to many Americans the most interesting object inLondon. The creation of this wonderful museum was due more to him thanto any other individual. 

It came to pass in this way: After the close of the Crystal Palace in1851, Parliament gave five thousand pounds for the purchase of theobjects exhibited which were thought best calculated to raise thestandard of taste in the nation. These objects, chiefly selected byCole, were arranged by him for exhibition in temporary buildings ofsuch extreme and repulsive inconvenience as to bring opprobrium andridicule upon the undertaking. It was one of the most difficult thingsin the world to excite public interest in the exhibition. But by thatenergy which comes of strong conviction and patriotic feeling, and ofthe opportunity given him by his public employment, Henry Cole wrungfrom a reluctant Parliament the annual grants necessary to make SouthKensington Museum what it now is. 

Magnificent buildings, filled with a vast collection of precious andinteresting objects, greet the visitor. There are collections of armor, relics, porcelain, enamel, fabrics, paintings, statues, carvings in woodand ivory, machines, models, and every conceivable object of use orbeauty. Some of the most celebrated pictures in the world are there, andthere is an art library of thirty thousand volumes. There are schoolsfor instruction in every branch of art and science which can be supposedto enter into the products of industry. The prizes which are offered forexcellence in design and invention have attracted, in some years, asmany as two hundred thousand objects. During three days of every weekadmission to this superb assemblage of exhibitions is free, and on theother three days sixpence is charged. 

The influence of this institution upon British manufactures has been inmany branches revolutionary. As the London "Times" said some timeago:--

"There is hardly a household in the country that is not the better forthe change; there is certainly no manufacture in which design has anyplace which has not felt its influence. "

The formation of this Museum, the chief work of Sir Henry Cole's usefullife, was far from exhausting his energies. He has borne a leading partin all the industrial exhibitions held in London during the last quarterof a century, and served as English commissioner at the Parisexhibitions of 1855 and 1867. 

This man was enabled to render all this service to his country, toEurope, and to us, because he was not obliged to waste any of hisenergies in efforts to keep his place. Administrations might change, andParliaments might dissolve; but he was a fixture as long as he did hisduty. When his duty was fairly done, and he had completed the fortiethyear of his public service, he retired on his full salary, and he wasgranted an honorable title; for a title _is_ honorable when it is won bygood service. Henceforth he was called Sir Henry Cole, K. C. B. 

To the end of his life he continued to labor in all sorts of goodworks--a Training School for Music, a Training School for Cookery, guilds for the promotion of health, and many others. He died in April, 1882, aged seventy-four years. 

CHARLES SUMMERS. 

Strangers visiting Melbourne, the chief city of Australia, will not beallowed to overlook four great marble statues which adorn the publiclibrary. They are the gift of Mr. W. J. Clark, one of the distinguishedpublic men of that growing empire. These statues represent, in a sittingposture, Queen Victoria, Prince Albert, the Prince of Wales, and thePrincess of Wales. They are larger than life, and, according to theAustralian press, they are admirable works in every respect. 

They were executed by Charles Summers, a sculptor long resident in thatcolony, where he practiced his art with great success, as the publicbuildings and private houses of Melbourne attest. Many of his worksremain in the colony, and he may be said to be the founder of his formof art in that part of the world. The history of this man's life is soremarkable that I think it will interest the reader. 

Sixty years ago, Charles Summers was a little, hungry, ragged boy inEnglish Somersetshire, who earned four cents a day by scaring the crowsfrom the wheat fields. I have seen myself such little fellows engagedin this work, coming on duty before four in the morning, and remainingtill eight in the evening, frightening away the birds by beating a tinpan with a stick, not unfrequently chasing them and throwing stones atthem. He was the son of a mason, who had eight children, and squanderedhalf his time and money in the tap-room. Hence, this boy, from the ageof eight or nine years, smart, intelligent, and ambitious, wasconstantly at work at some such employment; and often, during hisfather's drunken fits, he was the chief support of the family. 

Besides serving as scare-crow, he assisted his father in his mason'swork, and became a hod-carrier as soon as he was able to carry a hod. Sometimes he accompanied his father to a distant place in search ofemployment, and he was often seen on the high-road, in charge of thedrunkard, struggling to get him home before he had spent their unitedearnings in drink. In these deplorable circumstances, he acquired adexterity and patience which were most extraordinary. Before he wastwelve years old he began to handle the chisel and the mallet, and hiswork in squaring and facing a stone soon surpassed that of boys mucholder than himself. He was observed to have a strong propensity to dofancy stone-work. He obtained, as a boy, some local celebrity for hiscarved gate posts, and other ornamental objects in stone. So great washis skill and industry, that, by the time he was nineteen years of age, besides having maintained a large family for years, he had saved a sumequal to a hundred dollars. 

Then a piece of good fortune happened to him. A man came from London toset up in a parish church near by a monumental figure, and looked aboutfor a skillful mason to assist him. Charles Summers was mentioned as thebest hand in the neighborhood, and upon him the choice fell. Thus he wasintroduced to the world of art, for this figure had been executed byHenry Weekes, a distinguished London sculptor. The hardships of hischildhood had made a man of him at this early age, a thoughtful andprudent man. Taking with him ten of his twenty pounds, he went to Londonand applied for employment in the studio of Henry Weekes. This artistemployed several men, but he had no vacant place except the humble oneof stone polisher, which required little skill. He accepted the placewith alacrity and delight, at a salary of five dollars a week. 

He was now in his element. The lowliest employments of the studio werepleasing to him. He loved to polish the marble; the sight of thenumerous models was a pleasure to him; even wetting the cloths andcleaning the model tools were pleasant tasks. His cheerfulness andindustry soon made him a favorite; and when his work was done, heemployed his leisure in gaining skill in carving and cutting marble. Inthis he had such success, that, when in after life he became himself anartist, he would sometimes execute his idea in marble without modelingit in clay. 

When he had been in this studio about a year, his employer wascommissioned to execute two colossal figures in bronze, and the youngman was obliged to spend much of his time in erecting the foundry, andother duties which he felt to be foreign to his art. Impatient at this, he resigned his place, and visited his home, where he executed medallionportraits, first of his own relations, and afterwards of public men, such as the Mayor of Bristol, and the member of Parliament for hiscounty. These medallions gave him some reputation, and it was a favoritebranch with him as long as he lived. 

Returning to London, he had no difficulty in gaining employment at goodwages in a studio of a sculptor. Soon we find him competing for theprizes offered by the Royal Academy of London to young sculptors; thechief of which is a gold medal given every two years for the best groupin clay of an historical character. A silver medal is also given everyyear for the best model from life. 

At the exhibition of 1851, when he was twenty-four years of age, he wasa competitor for both these prizes. For the gold medal he executed agroup which he called Mercy interceding for the Vanquished. For thesilver medal he offered a bust of a living person. He had the singulargood fortune of winning both, and he received them in public from thehands of the President of the Academy, Sir Charles Eastlake. Cheer uponcheer greeted the modest student when he rose and went forward for thepurpose. He was a young man of great self-control. Instead of joining inthe usual festivities of his fellow-students after the award, he walkedquietly to his lodgings, where his father and brother were anxiouslywaiting to hear the result of the competition. He threw himself into achair without a word, and they began to console him for the supposeddisappointment. In a few minutes they sat down to supper; whereupon, with a knowing smile, he took his medals out of his pocket, and laid oneof them on each side of his plate. 

From this time he had no difficulties except those inherent in thenature of his work, and in his own constitution. His early struggle withlife had made him too intense. He had scarcely known what play was, andhe did not know how to recreate himself. He had little taste for readingor society. He loved art alone. The consequence was that he worked withan intensity and continuity that no human constitution could longendure. Soon after winning his two medals his health was so completelyprostrated that he made a voyage to Australia to visit a brother who hadsettled there. The voyage restored him, and he soon resumed the practiceof his art at Melbourne. The people were just building their Houses ofParliament, and he was employed to execute the artistic work of theinterior. He lived many years in Australia, and filled the colony withhis works in marble and bronze. 

In due time he made the tour of Europe, and lingered nine years in Rome, where he labored with suicidal assiduity. He did far more manual laborhimself than is usual with artists of his standing, and yet, during hisresidence in Rome he had twenty men in his service. It was in Rome, in1876, that he received from Melbourne the commission to execute inmarble the four colossal statues mentioned above. These works hecompleted in something less than eighteen months, besides doing severalother minor works previously ordered. 

It was too much, and Nature resented the affront. After he had packedthe statues, and sent them on their way to the other side of the globe, he set out for Melbourne himself, intending to take England by the wayfor medical advice. At Paris he visited the Exhibition, and the nextday, at his hotel, he fell senseless to the floor. In three weeks he wasdead, at the age of fifty-one years, in the very midst of his career. 

"For him, " writes one of his friends, "life consisted of but onething--_art_. For that he lived; and, almost in the midst of it, died. He could not have conceived existence without it. Always and under everycircumstance, he was thinking of his work, and gathering from whateversurrounded him such information as he thought would prove of service. In omnibuses, in railway carriages, and elsewhere, he foundopportunities of study, and could always reproduce a likeness frommemory of the individuals so observed. "

I do not copy these words as commendation, but as warning. Like so manyother gifted men of this age, he lived too fast and attempted too much. He died when his greatest and best life would naturally have been justbeginning. He died at the beginning of the period when the capacity forhigh enjoyment of life is naturally the greatest. He died when he couldhave ceased to be a manufacturer and become an artist. 

WILLIAM B. ASTOR. 

HOUSE-OWNER. 

In estimating the character and merits of such a man as the late Mr. Astor, we are apt to leave out of view the enormous harm he might havedone if he had chosen to do it. 

The rich fool who tosses a dollar to a waiter for some trifling service, debases the waiter, injures himself, and wrongs the public. By acting inthat manner in all the transactions of life, a rich man diffuses aroundhim an atmosphere of corruption, and raises the scale of expense to apoint which is oppressive to many, ruinous to some, and inconvenient toall. The late Mr. Astor, with an income from invested property of nearlytwo millions a year, could have made life more difficult than it was tothe whole body of people in New York who are able to live in a liberalmanner. He refrained from doing so. He paid for everything which heconsumed the market price--no more, no less--and he made his purchaseswith prudence and forethought. As he lived for many years next door tothe Astor Library, the frequenters of that noble institution had anopportunity of observing that he laid in his year's supply of coal inthe month of June, when coal is cheapest. 

There was nothing which he so much abhorred as waste. It was both aninstinct and a principle with him to avoid waste. He did not have thegas turned down low in a temporarily vacated room because he would savetwo cents by doing so, but because he justly regarded waste as wicked. His example in this particular, in a city so given to careless andostentatious profusion as New York, was most useful. We needed such anexample. Nor did he appear to carry this principle to an extreme. He wasvery far from being miserly, though keenly intent upon accumulation. 

In the life of the Old World there is nothing so shocking to arepublicanized mind as the awful contrast between the abodes of the poorand the establishments of the rich. A magnificent park of a thousandacres of the richest land set apart and walled in for the exclusive useof one family, while all about it are the squalid hovels of the peasantsto whom the use of a single acre to a family would be ease and comfort, is the most painful and shameful spectacle upon which the sun looks downthis day. Nothing can make it right. It is monstrous. It curses_equally_ the few who ride in the park and the many who look over itswalls; for the great lord who can submit to be the agent of suchinjustice is as much its victim as the degraded laborer who drowns thesense of his misery in pot-house beer. The mere fact that the lord canlook upon such a scene and not stir to mend it, is proof positive of aprofound vulgarity. 

Nor is it lords alone who thus waste the hard earned wealth of thetoiling sons of men. I read some time ago of a wedding in Paris. Athriving banker there, who is styled the Baron Alphonse de Rothschild, having a daughter of seventeen to marry, appears to have set seriouslyto work to find out how much money a wedding could be made to cost. Inpursuing this inquiry, he caused the wedding festivals of Louis XIV'scourt, once so famous, to seem poverty-stricken and threadbare. He beganby a burst of ostentatious charity. He subscribed money for the reliefof the victims of recent inundations, and dowered a number ofportionless girls; expending in these ways a quarter of a millionfrancs. He gave his daughter a portion of five millions of francs. Oneof her painted fans cost five thousand francs. He provided such enormousquantities of clothing for her little body, that his house, if it hadnot been exceedingly large, would not have conveniently held them. Forthe conveyance of the wedding party from the house to the synagogue, hecaused twenty-five magnificent carriages to be made, such as monarchsuse when they are going to be crowned, and these vehicles were drawn byhorses imported from England for the purpose. The bridal veil wascomposed of ineffable lace, made from an original design expressly forthis bride. 

And then what doings in the synagogue! A choir of one hundred and tentrained voices, led by the best conductor in Europe--the first tenor ofthis generation engaged, who sang the prayer from "Moses in Egypt"--acrowd of rabbis, and assistant-rabbis, with the grand rabbi of Paris attheir head. To complete the histrionic performance, eight young girls, each bearing a beautiful gold-embroidered bag, and attended by a younggentleman, "took up a collection" for the poor, which yielded seventhousand francs. 

Mr. Astor could, if he had chosen, have thrown his millions about inthis style. He was one of a score or two of men in North America whocould have maintained establishments in town and country on thedastardly scale so common among rich people in Europe. He, too, couldhave had his park, his half a dozen mansions, his thirty carriages, hishundred horses and his yacht as big as a man-of-war. That he was abovesuch atrocious vulgarity as this, was much to his credit and more to ouradvantage. What he could have done safely, other men would haveattempted to whom the attempt would have been destruction. Somediscredit also would have been cast upon those who live in moderate andmodest ways. 

Every quarter day Mr. Astor had nearly half a million dollars to investin the industries of the country. To invest his surplus income in thebest and safest manner was the study of his life. His business was totake care of and increase his estate; and that _being_ his business, hewas right in giving the necessary attention to it. "William will nevermake money, " his father used to say; "but he will take good care of whathe has. " And so it proved. The consequence was, that all his life heinvested money in the way that was at once best for himself and best forthe country. No useless or premature scheme had had any encouragementfrom him. He invariably, and by a certainty of judgment that resembledan instinct, "put his money where it would do most good. " Politicaleconomists demonstrate that an investment which is the best for theinvestor must of necessity be the best for the public. Here, again, wewere lucky. When we wanted houses more than we wanted coal, he builthouses for us; and when we wanted coal more than we wanted houses, heset his money to digging coal; charging nothing for his trouble but themere cost of his subsistence. 

One fault he had as a public servant--for we may fairly regard in thatlight a man who wields so large a portion of our common estate. He wasone of the most timid of men. He was even timorous. His timidity wasconstitutional and physical. He would take a great deal of trouble toavoid crossing a temporary bridge or scaffolding, though assured by anengineer that it was strong enough to bear ten elephants. Nor can it besaid that he was morally brave. Year after year he saw a gang of thievesin the City Hall stealing his revenues under the name of taxes andassessments, but he never led an assault upon them nor gave the aid heought to those who did. Unless he is grossly belied, he preferred tocompromise than fight, and did not always disdain to court the ruffianswho plundered him. 

This was a grave fault. He who had the most immediate and the mostobvious interest in exposing and resisting the scoundrels, ought to havetaken the lead in putting them down. This he could not do. Nature haddenied him the qualities required for such a contest. He had hisenormous estate, and he had mind enough to take care of it in ordinaryways; but he had nothing more. We must therefore praise him less for thegood he did in his life, than for the evil which he refrained fromdoing. 

[Illustration: PETER COOPER. ]

PETER COOPER. 

On an April morning in 1883 I was seated at breakfast in a room whichcommanded a view of the tall flag-staff in Gramercy Park in the city ofNew York. I noticed some men unfolding the flag and raising it on themast. The flag stopped mid-way and dropped motionless in the stillspring morning. The newspapers which were scattered about the room madeno mention of the death of any person of note and yet this sign ofmourning needed no explanation. For half a lifetime Peter Cooper hadlived in a great, square, handsome house just round the corner, and thecondition of the aged philanthropist had been reported about theneighborhood from hour to hour during the previous days; so that almostevery one who saw the flag uttered words similar to those which I heardat the moment:--

"He is gone, then! The good old man is gone. We shall never see hissnowy locks again, nor his placid countenance, nor his old horse and gigjogging by. Peter Cooper is dead!"

He had breathed his last about three o'clock that morning, after thenewspapers had gone to press; but the tidings spread with strangerapidity. When I went out of the house two hours later, the whole cityseemed hung with flags at half-mast; for there is probably no city inthe world which has so much patriotic bunting at command as New York. Passengers going north and west observed the same tokens of regard allalong the lines of railroad. By mid-day the great State of New York, from the Narrows to the lakes, and from the lakes to the Pennsylvanialine, exhibited everywhere the same mark of respect for the character ofthe departed. A tribute so sincere, so spontaneous and so universal, hasseldom been paid to a private individual. 

It was richly deserved. Peter Cooper was a man quite out of the commonorder even of good men. His munificent gift to the public, so strikinglyand widely useful, has somewhat veiled from public view his eminentexecutive qualities, which were only less exceptional than his moral. 

I once had the pleasure of hearing the story of his life related withsome minuteness by a member of his own family, now honorably conspicuousin public life, and I will briefly repeat it here. More than ninetyyears ago, when John Jacob Astor kept a fur store in Water Street, andused to go round himself buying his furs of the Hudson River boatmen andthe western Indians, he had a neighbor who bought beaver skins of him, and made them into hats in a little shop near by, in the same street. This hat-maker, despite his peaceful occupation, was called by hisfriends Captain Cooper, for he had been a good soldier of theRevolution, and had retired, after honorable service to the very end ofthe war, with a captain's rank. Captain Cooper was a better soldier thanman of business. Indeed, New York was then a town of but twenty-seventhousand inhabitants, and the field for business was restricted. He wasan amiable, not very energetic man; but he had had the good fortune tomarry a woman who supplied all his deficiencies. The daughter of one ofthe colonial mayors of New York, she was born on the very spot which isnow the site of St. Paul's Church at the corner of Broadway and FultonStreet, and her memory ran back to the time when the stockade was stillstanding which had been erected in the early day as a defense againstthe Indians. 

There is a vivid tradition in the surviving family of Peter Cooper ofthe admirable traits of his mother. She was educated among the Moraviansin Pennsylvania, who have had particular success in forming anddeveloping the female character. She was a woman in whom were blendedthe diverse qualities of her eminent son, energy and tenderness, mentalforce and moral elevation. She was the mother of two daughters and sevensons, her fifth child being Peter, who was born in 1791. 

To the end of his life, Peter Cooper had a clear recollection of manyinteresting events which occurred before the beginning of the presentcentury. 

"I remember, " he used to say, "that I was about nine years old at thetime when Washington was buried. That is, he was buried at Mount Vernon;but we had a funeral service in old St. Paul's. I stood in front of thechurch, and I recall the event well, on account of his old white horseand its trappings. "

A poor hatter, with a family of nine children, must needs turn hischildren to account, and the consequence was that Peter Cooper enjoyedan education which gave him at least great manual dexterity. He learnedhow to use both his hands and a portion of his brain. He learned how todo things. His earliest recollection was his working for his father inpulling, picking, and cleaning the wool used in making hat-bodies, andhe was kept at this work during his whole boyhood, except that one yearhe went to school half of every day, learning a little arithmetic, aswell as reading and writing. By the time he was fifteen years old he hadlearned to make a good beaver hat throughout, and a good beaver hat ofthat period was an elaborate and imposing structure. 

Then his father abandoned his hat shop and removed to Peekskill on theHudson, where he set up a brewery, and where Peter learned the whole artand mystery of making beer. He was quick to learn every kind of work, and even as a boy he was apt to suggest improvements in tools andmethods. At the age of seventeen, he was still working in the brewery, apoor man's son, and engaged in an employment which for many and goodreasons he disliked. Brewing beer is a repulsive occupation. 

Then, with his father's consent, he came alone to New York, intending toapprentice himself to any trade that should fake his fancy. He visitedshop after shop, and at last applied for employment at a carriagefactory near the corner of Broadway and Chambers Street. He remembered, to his ninetieth year, the substance of the conversation which passedbetween him and one of the partners in this business. 

"Have you room for an apprentice?" asked Peter. 

"Do you know anything about the business?" was the rejoinder. 

The lad was obliged to answer that he did not. 

"Have you been brought up to work?"

He replied by giving a brief history of his previous life. 

"Is your father willing that you should learn this trade?"

"He has given me my choice of trades. "

"If I take you, will you stay with me and work out your time?"

He gave his word that he would, and a bargain was made--twenty-fivedollars a year, and his board. He kept his promise and served out histime. To use his own language:--

"In my seventeenth year I entered as apprentice to the coach-makingbusiness, in which I remained four years, till I became 'of age. ' I madefor my employer a machine for mortising the hubs of carriages, whichproved very profitable to him, and was, perhaps, the first of its kindused in this country. When I was twenty-one years old my employeroffered to build me a shop and set me up in business, but as I alwayshad a horror of being burdened with debt, and having no capital of myown, I declined his kind offer. He himself became a bankrupt. I havemade it a rule to pay everything as I go. If, in the course of business, anything is due from me to any one, and the money is not called for, Imake it my business oh the last Saturday before Christmas to take it tohis business place. "

It was during this period of his life, from seventeen to twenty-one, that he felt most painfully the defects of his education. He hadacquired manual skill, but he felt acutely that this quality alone wasrather that of a beaver than of a man. He had an inquisitive, energeticunderstanding, which could not be content without knowledge far beyondthat of the most advanced beaver. Hungering for such knowledge, hebought some books: but in those days there were few books of anelementary kind adapted to the needs of a lonely, uninstructed boy. Hisbooks puzzled more than they enlightened him; and so, when his work wasdone, he looked about the little bustling city to see if there was notsome kind of evening school in which he could get the kind of help heneeded. There was nothing of the kind, either in New York or in any citythen. Nor were there free schools of any kind. He found a teacher, however, who, for a small compensation, gave him instruction in theevening in arithmetic and other branches. It was at this time that heformed the resolution which he carried out forty-five years later. Hesaid to himself:--

"If ever I prosper in business so as to acquire more property than Ineed, I will try to found an institution in the city of New York, wherein apprentice boys and young mechanics shall have a chance to getknowledge in the evening. "

This purpose was not the dream of a sentimental youth. It was a clearand positive intention, which he kept steadily in view through allvicissitudes until he was able to enter upon its accomplishment. 

He was twenty-one years of age when the war of 1812 began, which closedfor the time every carriage manufactory in the country. He was thereforefortunate in not having accepted the proposition of his employer. Duringthe first months of the war business was dead; but as the supply offoreign merchandise gave out an impulse was given to home manufacture, especially of the fabrics used in clothing. There was a sudden demandfor cloth-making machinery of all kinds, and now Peter Cooper put togood use his inventive faculty. He contrived a machine for cutting awaythe nap on the surface of cloth, which answered so well that he soon hada bustling shop for making the machines, which he sold faster than hecould produce. He found himself all at once in an excellent business, and in December, 1813, he married Miss Sarah Bedel of Hempstead, LongIsland; he being then twenty-two and she twenty-one. 

There never was a happier marriage than this. To old age, he never satnear her without holding her hand in his. He never spoke to her nor ofher without some tender epithet. He attributed the great happiness ofhis life and most of his success to her admirable qualities. He used tosay that she was "the day-star, the solace, and the inspiration" of hislife. She seconded every good impulse of his benevolence, and made thefulfillment of his great scheme possible by her wise and resoluteeconomy. They began their married life on a scale of extreme frugality, both laboring together for the common good of the family. 

"In early life, " he used to say, "when I was first married, I found itnecessary to rock the cradle, while my wife prepared our frugal meals. This was not always convenient in my busy life, and I conceived the ideaof making a cradle that would be made to rock by mechanism. I did so, and enlarging upon my first idea, I arranged the mechanism for keepingoff the flies, and playing a music-box for the amusement of the baby!This cradle was bought of me afterwards by a delighted peddler, who gaveme his 'whole stock in trade' for the exchange and the privilege ofselling the patent in the State of Connecticut. "

This device in various forms and modifications is still familiar in ourhouseholds. They had six children, of whom two survive, Mr. EdwardCooper, recently mayor of New York, and Sarah, wife of Hon. Abram S. Hewitt, member of Congress from the city of New York. For nearlysixty-five years this couple lived together in happy marriage. 

In 1815 the peace with Great Britain, which gave such ecstasies of joyto the whole country, ruined Peter Cooper's business; as it was nolonger possible to make cloth in the United States with profit. Withthree trades at his finger ends, he now tried a fourth, cabinet-making, in which he did not succeed. He moved out of town, and bought the stockof a grocer, whose store stood on the very site of the present CooperInstitute, at that time surrounded by fields and vacant lots. But eventhen he thought that, by the time he was ready to begin his eveningschool, that angle of land would probably be an excellent central spoton which to build it. 

He did very well with his grocery store; but it never would have enabledhim to endow his Institute. One day when he had kept his grocery abouta year, and used his new cradle at intervals in the rooms above, an oldfriend of his accosted him, as he stood at the door of the grocery. 

"I have been building, " said his visitor, "a glue factory for my son;but I don't think that either he or I can make it pay. But you are thevery man to do it. "

"I'll go and see it, " said Peter Cooper. 

He got into his friend's wagon and they drove to the spot, which wasnear the corner of Madison Avenue and Twenty-ninth Street, almost on thevery spot now occupied by an edifice of much note called "The LittleChurch Round the Corner. " He liked the look of the new factory, and hesaw no reason why the people of New York should send all the way toRussia for good glue. His friend asked two thousand dollars for theestablishment as it stood, and Peter Cooper chanced to have that sum ofmoney, and no more. He bought the factory on the spot, sold his grocerysoon, and plunged into the manufacture of glue, of which he knew nothingexcept that Russian glue was very good and American very bad. 

Now he studied the composition of glue, and gradually learned the secretof making the best possible article which brought the highest price inthe market. He worked for twenty years without a book-keeper, clerk, salesman, or agent. He rose with the dawn. When his men came at seveno'clock to work, they found the factory fires lighted, and it was themaster who had lighted them. He watched closely and always the boilingof his glue, and at mid-day, when the critical operation was over, hedrove into the city and went the round of his customers, selling themglue and isinglass, and passed the evening in posting his books andreading to his family. 

He developed the glue business until it yielded him a profit of thirtythousand dollars a year. He soon began to feel himself a capitalist, andto count the years until he would be able to begin the erection of theinstitution he had in his mind. But men who are known to have capitalare continually solicited to embark in enterprises, and he was under astrong temptation to yield to such solicitations, for the scheme whichhe had projected would involve a larger expenditure than could beordinarily made from one business in one lifetime. He used to tell thestory of his getting into the business of making iron, which was finallya source of great profit to him. 

"In 1828, " he would say, "I bought three thousand acres of land withinthe city limits of Baltimore for $105, 000. When I first purchased theproperty it was in the midst of a great excitement created by a promiseof the rapid completion of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, which hadbeen commenced by a subscription of five dollars per share. In thecourse of the first year's operations they had spent more than the fivedollars per share. But the road had to make so many short turns in goingaround points of rocks that they found they could not complete the roadwithout a much larger sum than they had supposed would be necessary;while the many short turns in the road seemed to render it entirelyuseless for locomotive purposes. The principal stockholders had becomeso discouraged that they said they would not pay any more, and wouldlose all they had already paid in. After conversing with them, I toldthem that if they would hold on a little while I would put a smalllocomotive on the road, which I thought would demonstrate thepracticability of using steam-engines on the road, even with all theshort turns in it. I got up a small engine for that purpose, and put itupon the road, and invited the stockholders to witness the experiment. After a good deal of trouble and difficulty in accomplishing the work, the stockholders came, and thirty-six men were taken into a car, and, with six men on the locomotive, which carried its own fuel and water, and having to go up hill eighteen feet to a mile, and turn all the shortturns around the points of rocks, we succeeded in making the thirteenmiles, on the first passage out, in one hour and twelve minutes, and wereturned from Ellicott's Mills to Baltimore in fifty-seven minutes. Thislocomotive was built to demonstrate that cars could be drawn aroundshort curves, beyond anything believed at that time to be possible. Thesuccess of this locomotive also answered the question of the possibilityof building railroads in a country scarce of capital, and with immensestretches of very rough country to pass, in order to connect commercialcentres, without the deep cuts, the tunneling and leveling which shortcurves might avoid. My contrivance saved this road from bankruptcy. "

He still had his tract of Baltimore land upon his hands, which the checkto the prosperity of the city rendered for the time almost valueless; sohe determined to build ironworks upon it, and a rolling-mill. In hiszeal to acquire knowledge at first hand, he had a narrow escape fromdestruction in Baltimore. 

"In my efforts to make iron, " he said, "I had to begin by burning thewood growing upon the spot into charcoal, and in order to do that, Ierected large kilns, twenty-five feet in diameter, twelve feet high, circular in form, hooped around with iron at the top, arched over so asto make a tight place in which to put the wood, with single bricks leftout in different places in order to smother the fire out when the woodwas sufficiently burned. After having burned the coal in one of thesekilns perfectly, and believing the fire entirely smothered out, weattempted to take the coal out of the kiln; but when we had got it abouthalf-way out, the coal itself took fire, and the men, after carryingwater some time to extinguish it, gave up in despair. I then wentmyself to the door of the kiln to see if anything more could be done, and just as I entered the door the gas itself took fire and enveloped mein a sheet of flame. I had to run some ten feet to get out, and in doingso my eyebrows and whiskers were burned, and my fur hat was scorcheddown to the body of the fur. How I escaped I know not. I seemed to beliterally blown out by the explosion, and I narrowly escaped with mylife. "

The ironworks were finally removed to Trenton, New Jersey, where to thisday, under the vigorous management of Mr. Hewitt and his partners, theyare very successful. 

During these active years Peter Cooper never for a moment lost sight ofthe great object of his life. We have a new proof of this, if proof wereneeded, in the Autobiography recently published of the eloquent OrvilleDewey, pastor of the Unitarian Church of the Messiah, which Peter Cooperattended for many years. 

"There were two men, " says Dr. Dewey, "who came to our church whosecoming seemed to be by chance, but was of great interest to me, for Ivalued them greatly. They were Peter Cooper and Joseph Curtis. [2]Neither of them then belonged to any religious society, or regularlyattended any church. They happened to be walking down Broadway oneSunday evening, as the congregation were entering Stuyvesant Hall, where we then temporarily worshiped, and they said:--

"'Let us go in here and see what _this_ is. '

"When they came out, as they both told me, they said to one another:--

"'This is the place for _us_!'

"And they immediately connected themselves with the congregation, to beamong its most valued members. Peter Cooper was even then meditatingthat plan of a grand educational institute which he afterwards carriedout. He was engaged in a large and successful business, and his oneidea--which he often discussed with me--was to obtain the means ofbuilding that institute. A man of the gentlest nature and the simplesthabits; yet his religious nature was his most remarkable quality. Itseemed to breathe through his life as fresh and tender as if it were insome holy retreat, instead of a life of business. "

Indeed there are several aged New Yorkers who can well remember hearingMr. Cooper speak of his project at that period. 

After forty years of successful business life, he found, upon estimatinghis resources, that he possessed about seven hundred thousand dollarsover and above the capital invested in his glue and iron works. Alreadyhe had become the owner of portions of the ground he had selected solong ago for the site of his school. The first lot he bought, as Mr. Hewitt informs me, about thirty years before he began to build, andfrom that time onward he continued to buy pieces of the ground as oftenas they were for sale, if he could spare the money; until in 1854 thewhole block was his own. 

At first his intention was merely to establish and endow just such anevening school as he had felt the need of when he was an apprentice boyin New York. But long before he was ready to begin, there were freeevening schools as well as day schools in every ward of the city, and hetherefore resolved to found something, he knew not what, which shouldimpart to apprentices and young mechanics a knowledge of the arts andsciences underlying the ordinary trades, such as drawing, chemistry, mechanics, and various branches of natural philosophy. 

While he was revolving this scheme in his mind he happened to meet inthe street a highly accomplished physician who had just returned from atour in Europe, and who began at once to describe in glowing words thePolytechnic School of Paris, wherein mechanics and engineers receive theinstruction which their professions require. The doctor said that youngmen came from all parts of France and lived on dry bread, just to attendthe Polytechnic. 

He was no longer in doubt; he entered at once upon the realization ofhis project. Beginning to build in 1854, he erected a massive structureof brick, stone, and iron, six stories in height, and fire-proof inevery part, at a cost of seven hundred thousand dollars, the savings ofhis lifetime up to that period. Five years after, he delivered thecomplete structure, with the hearty consent of his wife, his children, and his son-in-law, into the hands of trustees, thus placing it beyondhis own control forever. Two thousand pupils at once applied foradmission. From that day to this the Institute has continued from yearto year to enlarge its scope and improve its methods. Mr. Cooper addedsomething every year to its resources, until his entire gift to thepublic amounted to about two millions of dollars. 

Peter Cooper lived to the great age of ninety-two. No face in New Yorkwas more familiar to the people, and surely none was so welcome to themas the benign, placid, beaming countenance of "Old Peter Cooper. " Theroughest cartman, the most reckless hack driver would draw up his horsesand wait without a word of impatience, if it was Peter Cooper's quaintold gig that blocked the way. He was one of the most uniformly happypersons I have ever met, and he retained his cheerfulness to the veryend. Being asked one day in his ninetieth year, how he had preserved sowell his bodily and mental vigor, he replied:--

"I always find something to keep me busy; and to be doing something forthe good of man, or to keep the wheels in motion, is the best medicineone can take. I run up and down stairs here almost as easily as I didyears ago, when I never expected that my term would run into thenineties. I have occasional twinges from the nervous shock and physicalinjury sustained from an explosion that occurred while I was conductingsome experiments with nitrogen gas years ago. In other respects my dayspass as painlessly as they did when I was a boy carrying a grocer'sbasket about the streets. It is very curious, but somehow, though I havenone, of the pains and troubles that old men talk about, I have not thesame luxury of life--the same relish in the mere act of living--that Ihad then. Age is like babyhood come back again in a certain way. Eventhe memories of baby-life come back--the tricks, the pranks, the boyishdreams; and things that I did not remember at forty or fifty years old Irecollect vividly now. But a boy of ninety and a boy of nine are verydifferent things, none the less. I never felt better in my life exceptfor twinges occasioned by my nitrogen experiment. But still I hear avoice calling to me, as my mother often did, when I was a boy 'Peter, Peter, it is about bed-time, ' and I have an old man's presentiment thatI shall be taken soon. "

He loved the Institute he had founded to the last hour of hisconsciousness. A few weeks before his death he said to Reverend RobertCollyer:--

"I would be glad to have four more years of life given me, for I amanxious to make some additional improvements in Cooper Union, and thenpart of my life-work would be complete. If I could only live four yearslonger I would die content. "

Dr. Collyer adds this pleasing anecdote:--

"I remember a talk I had with him not long before his death, in which hesaid that a Presbyterian minister of great reputation and ability, butwho has since died, had called upon him one day and among other thingsdiscussed the future life. They were old and tried friends, the ministerand Mr. Cooper, and when the clergyman began to question Mr. Cooper'sbelief, he said: 'I sometimes think that if one has too good a time herebelow, there is less reason for him to go to heaven. I have had a verygood time, but I know poor creatures whose lives have been spent in aconstant struggle for existence. They should have some reward hereafter. They have worked here; they should be rewarded after death. The onlydoubts that I have about the future are whether I have not had too gooda time on earth. '"

He died in April, 1883, from a severe cold which he had not the strengthto throw off. His end was as peaceful and painless as his life had beeninnocent and beneficial. 

[2] A noted philanthropist of that day, devoted to the improvement of the public schools of the city. 

PARIS-DUVERNEY. 

FRENCH FINANCIER. 

Some one has remarked that the old French monarchy was a despotismtempered by epigrams. I take the liberty of adding that if the despotismof the later French kings had not been frequently tempered by somethingmore effectual than epigrams, it would not have lasted as long as itdid. 

What tempered and saved it was, that, occasionally, by hook or by crook, men of sterling sense and ability rose from the ordinary walks of lifeto positions of influence and power, which enabled them to counteractthe folly of the ruling class. 

About the year 1691 there was an inn at the foot of the Alps, near theborder line that divided France from Switzerland, bearing the sign, St. Francis of the Mountain. There was no village near. The inn stood aloneamong the mountains, being supported in part by travelers going fromFrance to Geneva, and in part by the sale of wine to the farmers wholived in the neighborhood. The landlord, named Paris, was a man ofintelligence and ability, who, besides keeping his inn, cultivated afarm; assisted in both by energetic, capable sons, of whom he had four:Antoine, aged twenty-three; Claude, twenty-one; Joseph, seven; and Jean, an infant. It was a strong, able family, who loved and confided in oneanother, having no thought but to live and die near the spot upon whichthey were born, and in about the same sphere of life. 

But such was not their destiny. An intrigue of the French ministry drewthese four sons from obscurity, and led them to the high places of theworld. Pontchartrain, whose name is still borne by a lake in Louisiana, was then minister of finance to Louis XIV. To facilitate the movementsof the army in the war then going on between France and Savoy, heproposed to the king the formation of a company which should contract tosupply the army with provisions; and, the king accepting his suggestion, the company was formed, and began operations. But the secretary of wartook this movement of his colleague in high dudgeon, as the supply ofthe army, he thought, belonged to the war department. To frustrate anddisgrace the new company of contractors, he ordered the army destined tooperate in Italy to take the field on the first of May, several weeksbefore it was possible for the contractors by the ordinary methods tocollect and move the requisite supplies. The company explained theimpossibility of their feeding the army so early in the season; but theminister of war, not ill-pleased to see his rival embarrassed, held tohis purpose, and informed the contractors' agent that he must havethirty thousand sacks of flour at a certain post by a certain day, orhis head should answer it. 

The agent, alarmed, and at his wits' end, consulted the innkeeper of theAlps, whom he knew to be an energetic spirit, and perfectly wellacquainted with the men, the animals, the resources, and the roads ofthe region in which he lived, and through which the provisions wouldhave to pass. The elder sons of the landlord were in the field at thetime at work, and he told the agent he must wait a few hours till hecould talk the matter over with them. At the close of the day there wasa family consultation, and the result was that they undertook the task. Antoine, the eldest son, went to Lyons, the nearest large city, andinduced the magistrates to lend the king the grain preserved in thepublic depositories against famine, engaging to replace it as soon asthe navigation opened in the spring. The magistrates, full of zeal forthe king's service, yielded willingly; and meanwhile, Claude, the secondof the brothers, bought a thousand mules; and, in a very few days, inspite of the rigor of the season, long lines of mules, each laden with asack of flour, were winding their way through the defiles of the Alps, guided by peasants whom the father of these boys had selected. 

This operation being insufficient, hundreds of laborers were set to workbreaking the ice in the night, and in constructing barges, so as to bein readiness the moment navigation was practicable. 

Early in the spring two hundred barge loads were set floating downtoward the seat of war; and by the time the general in command was readyto take the field, there was an abundance of tents, provisions, ammunition, and artillery within easy reach. 

The innkeeper and his sons were liberally recompensed; and their talentsthus being made known to the company of contractors, they were employedagain a year or two after in collecting the means required in a siege, and in forwarding provisions to a province threatened with famine. Theselarge operations gave the brothers a certain distaste for their countrylife, and they removed to Paris in quest of a more stirring andbrilliant career than an Alpine inn with farm adjacent could afford. Oneof them enlisted at first in the king's guards, and the rest obtainedclerkships in the office of the company of contractors. By the time theywere all grown to manhood, the eldest, a man over forty, and theyoungest, eighteen or twenty, they had themselves become armycontractors and capitalists, noted in army circles for the tact, thefidelity, and the indomitable energy with which they carried on theirbusiness. 

The reader is aware that during the last years of the reign of LouisXIV. , France suffered a series of most disastrous defeats from theallied armies, commanded by the great English general, the Duke ofMarlborough. It was these four able brothers who supplied the Frencharmy with provisions during that terrible time; and I do not hesitate tosay, that, on two or three critical occasions, it was their energy andintelligence that saved the independence of their country. Often theking's government could not give them a single louis-d'or in money whena famishing army was to be supplied. On several occasions they spenttheir whole capital in the work and risked their credit. There was oneperiod of five months, as they used afterwards to say, when they neveronce went to bed _sure_ of being able to feed the army the next day. During those years of trial they were sustained in a great degree by theconfidence which they inspired in their honesty, as well as in theirability. The great French banker and capitalist then was Samuel Bernard. On more than one occasion Bernard saved them by lending them, on theirpersonal security, immense sums; in one crisis as much as three millionfrancs. 

We can judge of the extent of their operations, when we learn that, during the last two years of the war, they had to supply a hundred andeighty thousand men in the field, and twenty thousand men in garrison, while receiving from the government little besides depreciated paper. 

Peace came at last; and it came at a moment when the whole capital ofthe four brothers was in the king's paper, and when the finances werein a state of inconceivable confusion. The old king died in 1715, leaving as heir to the throne a sickly boy five years of age. The royalpaper was so much depreciated that the king's promise to pay one hundredfrancs sold in the street for twenty-five francs. Then came the Scotchinflator, John Law, who gave France a brief delirium of paperprosperity, ending with the most woful and widespread collapse everknown. It was these four brothers, but especially the third brother, Joseph Paris, known in French history as Paris-Duverney, who, by laborsalmost without example, restored the finances of the country, funded thedebt at a reasonable interest, and enabled France to profit by thetwenty years of peace that lay before her. 

There is nothing in the whole history of finance more remarkable thanthe five years' labors of these brothers after the Law-mania of 1719;and it is hardly possible to overstate the value of their services at atime when the kingdom was governed by an idle and dissolute regent, andwhen there was not a nobleman about the court capable of grappling withthe situation. The regent died of his debaucheries in the midst of theirwork. The Duke of Bourbon succeeded him; he was governed by Madame dePrie; and between them they concocted a nice scheme for getting theyoung king married, who had then reached the mature age of fifteen. Theidea was to rule the king through a queen of their own choosing, andwho would be grateful to them for her elevation. 

But it turned out quite otherwise. The king, indeed, was married, and hewas very fond of his wife, and she tried to carry out the desires ofthose who had made her queen of France. But there was an obstacle in theway; and that obstacle was the king's unbounded confidence in his tutor, the Abbé de Fleury, a serene and extremely agreeable old gentleman pastseventy. A struggle arose between the old tutor and Madame de Prie forthe possession of the young king. The tutor won the victory. The Duke ofBourbon was exiled to his country-seat, and Madame de Prie was sentpacking. Paris-Duverney and his first clerk were put into the Bastille, where they were detained for two years in unusually rigorousimprisonment, and his three brothers were exiled to their nativeprovince. 

Another intrigue of court set them free again, and the four brotherswere once more in Paris, where they continued their career as bankers, contractors, and capitalists as long as they lived, each of themacquiring and leaving a colossal fortune, which their heirs wereconsiderate enough to dissipate. It was Paris-Duverney who suggested andmanaged the great military school at Paris, which still exists. It washe also who helped make the fortunes of the most celebrated literary menof his time, Voltaire and Beaumarchais. He did this by admitting them toa share in army contracts, one of which yielded Voltaire a profit ofseven hundred thousand francs, which, with good nursing, made him atlast the richest literary man that ever lived. 

Paris-Duverney was as good a man and patriot as a man could well be whohad to work with and under such persons as Louis XV. And Madame dePompadour. By way of showing what difficulties men had to overcome whothen desired to serve their country, I will mention a single incident ofhis later career. 

His favorite work, the École Militaire, of which he was the firstsuperintendent, shared the unpopularity of its early patron, Madame dePompadour, and long he strove in vain to bring it into favor. To use thenarrative of M. De Loménie, the biographer of Beaumarchais:--

"He was constantly at court, laboring without cessation on behalf of themilitary school, and soliciting the king in vain to visit it in state, which would have given a sort of _prestige_. Coldly received by thedauphin, the queen, and the princesses, he could not, as the friend ofMadame de Pompadour, obtain from the nonchalance of Louis XV. The visitwhich he so much desired, when the idea struck him, in his despair, ofhaving recourse to the young harpist, who appeared to be so assiduous inhis attendance on the princesses, and who directed their concert everyweek. Beaumarchais understood at once the advantage he might derivefrom rendering an important service to a clever, rich, old financier, who had still a number of affairs in hand, and who was capable ofbringing him both wealth and advancement. But how could a musicianwithout importance hope to obtain from the king what had already beenrefused to solicitations of much more influence than his own?Beaumarchais went to work like a man who had a genius for dramaticintrigue and a knowledge of the human heart. 

"We have shown that, while he was giving his time and attention to theprincesses, he never asked for anything in return. He thought that if hewere fortunate enough to persuade them, in the first instance, to pay avisit to the École Militaire, the curiosity of the king perhaps would beexcited by the narrative of what they had seen, and would lead him to dothat which he would never have been prompted to do by justice. Heaccordingly represented to the princesses not only the equitable side ofthe question, but also the immense interest which he himself had inobtaining this favor for a man who might be of great use to him. Theprincesses consented to visit the École Militaire, and Beaumarchais wasgranted the honor of accompanying them. The director received them withgreat splendor; they did not conceal from him the great interest theytook in their young _protégé_, and some days afterward Louis XV. , urgedby his daughters, visited it himself, and thus gratified the wishes ofold Duverney. 

"From this moment the financier, grateful for Beaumarchais' goodservices, and delighted to find a person who could assist him as anintermediary in his intercourse with the court, resolved to make theyoung man's fortune. He began by giving him a share in one of hisspeculations to the amount of sixty thousand francs, on which he paidhim interest at the rate of ten per cent. ; after this, he gave him aninterest in various other affairs. 'He initiated me, ' says Beaumarchais, 'into the secrets of finance, of which, as every one knows, he was aconsummate master. '"

Such was government in the good old times! I like to think of it whenthings go amiss in Washington or Albany. Let our rulers do as badly asthey may, they cannot do worse than the rulers of the world did acentury and a half ago. If any good or great thing was done in thosedays, it was done in spite of the government. 

SIR ROWLAND HILL. 

The poet Coleridge, on one of his long walks among the English lakes, stopped at a roadside inn for dinner, and while he was there theletter-carrier came in, bringing a letter for the girl who was waitingupon him. The postage was a shilling, nearly twenty-five cents. Shelooked long and lovingly at the letter, holding it in her hand, and thengave it back to the man, telling him that she could not afford to paythe postage. Coleridge at once offered the shilling, which the girlafter much hesitation accepted. When the carrier was gone she told himthat he had thrown his shilling away, for the pretended letter was onlya blank sheet of paper. On the outside there were some small marks whichshe had carefully noted before giving the letter back to the carrier. Those marks were the _letter_, which was from her brother, with whom shehad agreed upon a short-hand system by which to communicate news withoutexpense. "We are so poor, " said she to the poet, "that we have inventedthis manner of corresponding and sending our letters free. "

[Illustration: SIR ROWLAND HILL. ]

The shilling which the postman demanded was, in fact, about a week'swages to a girl in her condition fifty years ago. Nor was it poor girlsonly who then played tricks upon the post-office. Envelopes franked byhonorable members of Parliament were a common article of merchandise, for it was the practice of their clerks and servants to procure and sellthem. Indeed, the postal laws were so generally evaded that, in somelarge towns, the department was cheated of three quarters of itsrevenue. Who can wonder at it? It cost more then to send a letter fromone end of London to the other, or from New York to Harlem, than it nowdoes to send a letter from Egypt to San Francisco. The worst effect ofdear postage was the obstacles it placed in the way of correspondencebetween poor families who were separated by distance. It madecorrespondence next to impossible between poor people in Europe andtheir relations in America. Think of an Irish laborer who earnedsixpence a day paying _seventy-five cents_ to get news from a daughterin Cincinnati! It required the savings of three or four months. 

The man who changed all this, Sir Rowland Hill, died only three yearsago at the age of eighty-three. I have often said that an American oughtto have invented the new postal system; and Rowland Hill, though bornand reared in England, and descended from a long line of Englishancestors, was very much an American. He was educated on the Americanplan. His mind was American, and he had the American way of looking atthings with a view to improving them. 

His father was a Birmingham schoolmaster, a free trader, and more thanhalf a republican. He brought up his six sons and two daughters to usetheir minds and their tongues. His eldest son, the recorder ofBirmingham, once wrote of his father thus:--

"Perhaps the greatest obligation we owe our father is this: that, frominfancy, he would reason with us, and so observe all the rules of fairplay, that we put forth our little strength without fear. Arguments weretaken at their just weight; the sword of authority was not thrown intothe scale. "

Miss Edgeworth's tales deeply impressed the boy, and he made up his mindin childhood to follow the path which she recommended, and do somethingwhich should greatly benefit mankind. 

At the age of eleven he began to assist in teaching his father's pupils. At twelve he was a pupil no more, and gave himself wholly up toteaching. Long before he was of age he had taken upon himself all themere business of the school, and managed it so well as to pay off debtswhich had weighed heavily upon the family ever since he was born. At thesame time he invented new methods of governing the school. He was one ofthe first to abolish corporal punishment. He converted his school into arepublic governed by a constitution and code of laws, which filled aprinted volume of more than a hundred pages, which is still in thepossession of his family. His school, we are told, was governed by itfor many years. If a boy was accused of a fault, he had the right ofbeing tried by a jury of his school-fellows. Monitors were elected bythe boys, and these monitors met to deliberate upon school matters as alittle parliament. 

Upon looking back in old age upon this wonderful school, he doubted verymuch whether the plan was altogether good. The democratic idea, hethought, was carried too far; it made the boys too positive andargumentative. 

"I greatly doubt, " said he once, "if I should send my own son to aschool conducted on such a complicated system. "

It had, nevertheless, admirable features, which he originated, and whichare now generally adopted. Toward middle life he became tired of thislaborious business, though he had the largest private school in thatpart of England. His health failed, and he felt the need of change andrest. Having now some leisure upon his hands he began to invent andproject. 

His attention was first called to the postal system merely by the highprice of postage. It struck him as absurd that it should cost thirteenpence to convey half an ounce of paper from London to Birmingham, whileseveral pounds of merchandise could be carried for sixpence. Uponstudying the subject, he found that the mere carriage of a letterbetween two post-offices cost scarcely anything, the chief expense beingincurred at the post-offices in starting and receiving it. He found thatthe actual cost of conveying a letter from London to Edinburgh, fourhundred and four miles, was _one eighteenth of a cent_! This fact it waswhich led him to the admirable idea of the uniform rate of onepenny--for all distances. 

At that time a letter from London to Edinburgh was charged abouttwenty-eight cents; but if it contained the smallest inclosure, evenhalf a banknote, or a strip of tissue paper, the postage was doubled. Inshort, the whole service was incumbered with absurdities, which no onenoticed because they were old. In 1837, after an exhaustive study of thewhole system, he published his pamphlet, entitled Post-Office Reforms, in which he suggested his improvements, and gave the reasons for them. The post-office department, of course, treated his suggestions withcomplete contempt. But the public took a different view of the matter. The press warmly advocated his reforms. The thunderer of the London"Times" favored them. Petitions poured into Parliament. Daniel O'Connellspoke in its favor. 

"Consider, my lord, " said he to the premier, "that a letter to Irelandand the answer back would cost thousands upon thousands of my poor andaffectionate countrymen more than a fifth of their week's wages. If youshut the post-office to them, which you do now, you shut out warm heartsand generous affections from home, kindred, and friends. "

The ministry yielded, and on January 10, 1840, penny postage became thelaw of the British Empire. As the whole postal service had to bereorganized, the government offered Rowland Hill the task of introducingthe new system, and proposed to give him five hundred pounds a year fortwo years. He spurned the proposal, and offered to do the work fornothing. He was then offered fifteen hundred pounds a year for twoyears, and this he accepted rather than see his plan mismanaged bypersons who did not believe in it. After many difficulties, the newsystem was set in motion, and was a triumphant success from the firstyear. 

A Tory ministry coming in, they had the incredible folly to dismiss thereformer, and he retired from the public service without reward. TheEnglish people are not accustomed to have their faithful servantstreated in that manner, and there was a universal burst of indignation. A national testimonial was started. A public dinner was given him, atwhich he was presented with a check for sixty-five thousand dollars. Hewas afterwards placed in charge of the post-office department, althoughwith a lord over his head as nominal chief. This lord was a Tory of theold school, and wished to use the post-office to reward political andpersonal friends. Rowland Hill said:--

"No, my lord; appointment and promotion for merit only. "

They quarreled upon this point, and Rowland Hill resigned. The queensent a message to the House of Commons asking for twenty thousand poundsas a national gift to Sir Rowland Hill, which was granted, and he wasalso allowed to retire from office upon his full salary of two thousandpounds a year. That is the way to treat a public benefactor; and nationswhich treat their servants in that spirit are likely to be well served. 

The consequences of this postal reform are marvelous to think of. Theyear before the new plan was adopted in Great Britain, one hundred andsix millions of letters and papers were sent through the post-office. Year before last the number was one thousand four hundred andseventy-eight millions. In other words, the average number of lettersper inhabitant has increased from three per annum to thirty-two. TheUnited States, which ought to have taken the lead in this matter, wasnot slow to follow, and every civilized country has since adopted thesystem. 

A few weeks before Sir Rowland Hill's death, the freedom of the city ofLondon was presented to him in a gold box. He died in August, 1881, fullof years and honors. 

MARIE-ANTOINE CARÈME, FRENCH COOK. 

Domestic servants occupy in France a somewhat more elevated position inthe social scale than is accorded them in other countries. As a class, too, they are more intelligent, better educated, and more skillful thanservants elsewhere. There are several works in the French languagedesigned expressly for their instruction, some of the best of which werewritten, or professed to have been written, by servants. On the counterof a French bookstore you will sometimes see such works as thefollowing: "The Perfect Coachman, " "The Life of Jasmin, the GoodLaquey, " "Rules for the Government of Shepherds and Shepherdesses, bythe Good Shepherd, " "The Well-Regulated Household, " "Duties of Servantsof both Sexes toward God and toward their Masters and Mistresses, by aServant, " "How to Train a Good-Domestic. "

Some books of this kind are of considerable antiquity and have assistedin forming several generations of domestic servants. One of them, it issaid, entitled, "The Perfect Coachman, " was written by a prince of thereigning house of France. In France, as in most old countries, fewpeople expect to change their condition in life. Once a servant, alwaysa servant. It is common for parents in humble life to apprentice theirchildren to some branch of domestic service, satisfied if they becomeexcellent in their vocation, and win at length the distinctions andpromotions which belong to it. 

Lady Morgan, who visited Paris several years ago, relates an anecdote ortwo showing how intelligent some French servants are. She was walkingalong the Quai Voltaire, followed by her French lackey, when he suddenlycame to her side and, pointing to a house, said:--

"There, madam, is a house consecrated to genius. There died Voltaire--inthat apartment with the shutters closed. There died the first of ourgreat men; perhaps also the last. "

On another occasion the same man objected to a note which she hadwritten in the French language. 

"Is it not good French, then?" asked the lady. 

"Oh, yes, madam, " replied he; "the French is very good, but the style istoo cold. You begin by saying, You _regret_ that you cannot have thepleasure. You should say, I am _in despair_. "

"Well, then, " said Lady Morgan, "write it yourself. "

"You may write it, if you please, my lady, at my dictation, for as toreading and writing, they are branches of my education which weretotally neglected. "

The lady remarks, however, that Paris servants can usually read verywell, and that hackmen, water-carriers, and porters may frequently beseen reading a classical author while waiting for a customer. 

A very remarkable case in point is Marie-Antoine Carème, whom a Frenchwriter styles, "one of the princes of the culinary art. " I suppose thatno country in the world but France could produce such a character. Ofthis, however, the reader can judge when I have briefly told his story. 

He was born in a Paris garret, in 1784, one of a family of fifteenchildren, the offspring of a poor workman. As soon as he was old enoughto render a little service, his father placed him as a garçon in a cheapand low restaurant, where he received nothing for his labor except hisfood. 

This was an humble beginning for a "prince. " But he improved hisdisadvantages to such a degree that, at the age of twenty, he enteredthe kitchen of Talleyrand. Now Prince Talleyrand, besides being himselfone of the daintiest men in Europe, had to entertain, as minister offoreign affairs, the diplomatic corps, and a large number of otherpersons accustomed from their youth up to artistic cookery. Carèmeproved equal to the situation. Talleyrand's dinners were renownedthroughout Europe and America. But this cook of genius, not satisfiedwith his attainments, took lessons in the art from Guipière, therenowned _chef_ of the Emperor Napoleon--he who followed Murat into thewilds of Russia and perished with so many other cooks and heroes. 

Carème appears to have succeeded Guipière in the Imperial kitchen, buthe did not follow the Emperor to Elba. When the allied kings celebratedtheir triumph in Paris at a grand banquet, it was Carème who, as theFrench say, "executed the repast. " His brilliant success on thisoccasion was trumpeted over Europe, and after the final downfall ofNapoleon he was invited to take charge of the kitchen of the EnglishPrince Regent. At various times during his career he was cook to theEmperor Alexander of Russia, to the Emperor of Austria, to the Prince ofWurtemberg, and to the head of the house of Rothschild. In the serviceof these illustrious eaters he gained large sums of money, which, however, he was very far from hoarding. 

In the maturity of his powers he devoted himself and his fortune tohistorical investigations concerning the art of cookery. For severalyears he was to be daily seen in the Imperial Library, studying thecookery, so renowned, of the ancient Greeks and Romans, desiringespecially to know whether they possessed any secrets which had beenlost. His conclusion was, that the dishes served upon the tables ofLucullus, Augustus Cæsar, and others, were "utterly bad and atrociouslystupid. " But he commended the decoration of their tables, the cups andvases of gold, the beautiful pitchers, the chased silver, the candles ofwhite Spanish wax, the fabrics of silk whiter than the snow, and thebeautiful flowers with which their tables were covered. He published theresults of his labors in a large octavo volume, illustrated by a hundredand twenty-eight engravings. He continued his studious labors, andpublished at various periods "Ancient and Modern Cookery Compared, " intwo volumes, octavo, "The Paris Cook, or the Art of Cooking in theNineteenth Century, " and others. Toward the close of his life, he wrotea magazine article upon Napoleon's way of eating at St. Helena. 

He dedicated one of his works to his great instructor and master in theart of cookery, Guipière. To give the reader an idea of his way ofthinking and feeling I will translate a few sentences of thisdedication:--

"Rise, illustrious Shade! Hear the voice of the man who was your admirerand your pupil! Your distinguished talents brought upon you hatred andpersecution. By cabal you were obliged to leave your beautiful nativeland, and go into Italy to serve a prince (Murat) to whose enjoyment youhad once ministered in Paris. You followed your king into Russia. Butalas, by a deplorable fatality, you perished miserably, your feet andbody frozen by the frightful climate of the north. Arrived at Vilna, your generous prince lavished gold to save you, but in vain. O greatGuipière, receive the public homage of a faithful disciple. Regardlessof those who envied you, I wish to associate your name with my labors. Ibequeath to your memory my most beautiful work. It will convey to futureages a knowledge of the elegance and splendor of the culinary art in thenineteenth century; and if Vatel rendered himself illustrious by a pointof honor, dear to every man of merit, your unhappy end, O Guipière, renders you worthy of the same homage! It was that point of honor whichmade you follow your prince into Russia, when your gray hairs seemed toassure you a happier destiny in Paris. You shared the sad fate of ourold veterans, and the honor of our warriors perishing of hunger andcold. "

All this, the reader will admit, is very strange and very French. In thesame work, Carème chronicles the names of all the celebrated cooks whoperished in the retreat from Russia. This prince of the kitchen died in1833, when he was scarcely fifty years of age. His works are still wellknown in France, and some of them have passed through more than oneedition. It is an odd contradiction, that the name of this prince of thekitchen should be the French word for the time of fasting. Carême means_Lent_. 

WONDERFUL WALKER. 

I have here a good story for hard times. It is of a clergyman and cottonspinner of the Church of England, who, upon an income of twenty-fourpounds a year, lived very comfortably to the age of ninety-four years, reared a family of eight children respectably, gave two of his sons aUniversity education, and left an estate worth two thousand pounds. 

Every one will admit that this was a good deal to do upon a salary ofone hundred and twenty dollars; and some readers, who find the winterhard to get through, may be interested to know how he did it. To thisday, though he has been dead one hundred years, he is spoken of in theregion where he lived, as Wonderful Walker. By this epithet, also, he isspoken of by the poet Wordsworth, in the "Excursion:"--

 "And him, the Wonderful, Our simple shepherds, speaking from the heart, Deservedly have styled. "

He lived and died in the lake country of England, near the residence ofWordsworth, who has embalmed him in verse, and described him in prose. Robert Walker, the youngest of twelve children, the son of a yeoman ofsmall estate, was bred a scholar because he was of a frame too delicate, as his father thought, to earn his livelihood by bodily labor. Hestruggled into a competent knowledge of the classics and divinity, gained in strength as he advanced towards manhood, and by the time hewas ordained was as vigorous and alert as most men of his age. 

After his ordination, he had his choice of two curacies of the samerevenue, namely, five pounds a year--twenty-five dollars. One of these, Seathwaite by name, too insignificant a place to figure upon a map, oreven in the "Gazetteer, " was situated in his native valley, in thechurch of which he had gone to school in his childhood. He choseSeathwaite, but not for that reason. He was in love; he wished to marry;and this parish had a small parsonage attached to it, with a garden ofthree quarters of an acre. The person to whom he was engaged was acomely and intelligent domestic servant such as then could frequently befound in the sequestered parts of England. She had saved, it appears, from her wages the handsome sum of forty pounds. Thus provided, hemarried, and entered upon his curacy in his twenty-sixth year, and setup housekeeping in his little parsonage. 

Every one knows what kind of families poor clergymen are apt to have. Wonderful Walker had one of that kind. About every two years, or less, achild arrived; and heartily welcome they all were, and deeply theparents mourned the loss of one that died. In the course of a few years, eight bouncing girls and boys filled his little house; and the questionrecurs with force: How did he support them all? From Queen Anne'sbounty, and other sources, his income was increased to the sum mentionedabove, twenty-four pounds. That for a beginning. Now for the rest. 

In the first place, he was the lawyer of his parish, as well as itsnotary, conveyancer, appraiser, and arbitrator. He drew the wills, contracts, and deeds, charging for such services a moderate fee, whichadded to his little store of cash. His labors of this kind, at thebeginning of the year, when most contracts were made, were oftenextremely severe, occupying sometimes half the night, or even all night. Then he made the most of his garden, which was tilled by his own hands, until his children were old enough to help him. Upon the mountains nearby, having a right of pasturage, he kept two cows and some sheep, whichsupplied the family with all their milk and butter, nearly all theirmeat, and most of their clothes. He also rented two or three acres ofland, upon which he raised various crops. In sheep-shearing time, heturned out and helped his neighbors shear their sheep, a kind of work inwhich he had eminent skill. As compensation, each farmer thus assistedgave him a fleece. In haying time, too, he and his boys were in thefields lending a hand, and got some good hay-cocks for their pains. 

Besides all this, he was the schoolmaster of the parish. Mr. Wordsworthpositively says that, during most of the year, except when farm work wasvery pressing, he taught school eight hours a day for five days in theweek, and four hours on Saturday. The school-room was the church. Themaster's seat was inside the rails of the altar; he used the communiontable for a desk; and there, during the whole day, while the childrenwere learning and saying their lessons, he kept his spinning-wheel inmotion. In the evening, when school was over, feeling the need ofexercise, he changed the small spinning-wheel at which he had sat allday for a large one, which required the spinner to step to and fro. 

There was absolutely no waste and no luxury known in his house. The onlyindulgence which looked like luxury was that, on a Saturday afternoon, he would read a newspaper or a magazine. The clothes of the whole familywere grown, spun, woven, and made by themselves. The fuel of the house, which was peat, was dug, dried, and carried by themselves. They madetheir own candles. Once a month a sheep was selected from their littleflock and killed for the use of the family, and in the fall a cow wouldbe salted and dried for the winter, the hide being tanned for thefamily shoes. No house was more hospitable, nor any hand more generous, than those of this excellent man. Old parishioners, who walked to churchfrom a distance and wished to remain for the afternoon service, werealways welcome to dinner at the parsonage, and sometimes these guestswere so numerous that it took the family half the week to eat up thecold broken remains. He had something always to spare to make thingsdecent and becoming. His sister's pew in the chapel he lined neatly withwoolen cloth of his own making. 

"It is the only pew in the chapel so distinguished, " writes the poet, "and I know of no other instance of his conformity to the delicateaccommodations of modern times. "

Nineteen or twenty years elapsed before this singular and interestingman attracted any public notice. His parishioners, indeed, held him ingreat esteem, for he was one of those men who are not only virtuous, butwho render virtue engaging and attractive. If they revered him as abenevolent, a wise, and a temperate man, they loved him as a cheerful, friendly, and genial soul. He was gay and merry at Christmas, and hisgoodness was of a kind which allures while it rebukes. But beyond thevale of Seathwaite, he was unknown until the year 1754, when a travelerdiscovered him, and published an account of his way of life. 

"I found him, " writes this traveler, "sitting at the head of a longsquare table, dressed in a coarse blue frock, trimmed with black hornbuttons, a checked shirt, a leathern strap about his neck for a stock, acoarse apron, a pair of great wooden soled shoes, plated with iron topreserve them, with a child upon his knee, eating his breakfast. Hiswife and the remainder of his children were, some of them, employed inwaiting upon each other, the rest in teasing and spinning wool, at whichtrade he is a great proficient; and, moreover, when it is ready forsale, he will lay it upon his back, sixteen or thirty-two pounds'weight, and carry it on foot to the market, seven or eight miles. "

He spoke also of his cheerfulness, and the good humor which prevailed inthe family, the simplicity of his doctrine, and the apostolic fervor ofhis preaching; for, it seems, he was an excellent preacher as well. Thepublication of this account drew attention to the extreme smallness ofhis clerical income, and the bishop offered to annex to Seathwaite anadjacent parish, which also yielded a revenue of five pounds a year. Bypreaching at one church in the morning, and the other in the afternoon, he could serve both parishes, and draw both stipends. Wonderful Walkerdeclined the bishop's offer. 

"The annexation, " he wrote to the bishop, "would be apt to cause ageneral discontent among the inhabitants of both places, by eitherthinking themselves slighted, being only served alternately orneglected in the duty, or attributing it to covetousness; all of whichoccasions of murmuring I would willingly avoid. "

Mr. Wordsworth, to whom we are indebted for this letter, mentions that, in addition to his other gifts and graces, he had a "beautifulhandwriting. "

This admirable man continued to serve his little parish for nearlysixty-eight years. His children grew up about him. Two of his sonsbecame clergymen of the Church of England; one learned the trade of atanner; four of his daughters were happily married; and, occasionally, all the children and grandchildren, a great company of healthy and happypeople, spent Christmas together, and went to church, and partook of thecommunion together, this one family filling the whole altar. 

The good old wife died first. At her funeral the venerable man, pastninety years of age, had the body borne to the grave by three of herdaughters and one granddaughter. When the corpse was lifted, he insistedupon lending a hand, and he felt about (for he was almost blind) untilhe got held of a cloth that was fastened to the coffin; and thus, as oneof the bearers of the body, he entered the church where she was to beburied. 

The old man, who had preached with much vigor and great clearness untilthen sensibly drooped after the loss of his wife. His voice faltered ashe preached; he kept looking at the seat in which she had sat, where hehad watched her kind and beautiful face for more than sixty years. Hecould not pass her grave without tears. But though sad and melancholywhen alone, he resumed his cheerfulness and good-humor when friends wereabout him. One night, in his ninety-fourth year, he tottered upon hisdaughter's arm, as his custom was, to the door, to look out for a momentupon the sky. 

"How clear, " said he, "the moon shines to-night. "

In the course of that night he passed peacefully away. At six the nextmorning he was found dead upon the couch where his daughter had lefthim. Of all the men of whom I have ever read, this man, I think, was themost virtuous and the most fortunate. 

SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 

Of the out-of-door sights of London, none makes upon the stranger's mindso lasting an impression as huge St. Paul's, the great black dome ofwhich often seems to hang over the city poised and still, like a balloonin a calm, while the rest of the edifice is buried out of sight in thefog and smoke. The visitor is continually coming in sight of this dome, standing out in the clearest outline when all lower objects are obscureor hidden. Insensibly he forms a kind of attachment to it, at theexpression of which the hardened old Londoner is amused; for he may havepassed the building twice a day for forty years without ever having hadthe curiosity to enter its doors, or even to cast a glance upwards atits sublime proportions. 

It is the verdant American who is penetrated to the heart by theseaugust triumphs of human skill and daring. It is we who, on going downinto the crypt of St. Paul's, are so deeply moved at the inscriptionupon the tomb of the architect of the cathedral:--

"Underneath is laid the builder of this church and city, ChristopherWren, who lived more than ninety years, not for himself, but for thepublic good. Reader, if you seek his monument, look around!"

The writer of this inscription, when he used the word _circumspice_, which we translate _look around_, did not intend probably to confine thereader's attention to St. Paul's. Much of the old part of London isadorned by proofs of Wren's skill and taste; for it was he who rebuiltmost of the churches and other public buildings which were destroyed bythe great fire of London in 1666. He built or rebuilt fifty-fivechurches in London alone, besides thirty-six halls for the guilds andmechanics' societies. The royal palaces of Hampton Court and Kensingtonwere chiefly his work. He was the architect of Temple Bar, Drury LaneTheatre, the Royal Exchange, and the Monument. It was he who adapted theancient palace at Greenwich to its present purpose, a retreat for oldsailors. The beautiful city of Oxford, too, contains colleges andchurches constructed or reconstructed by him. It is doubtful if anyother man of his profession ever did so much work, as he, and certainlynone ever worked more faithfully. 

With all this, he was a self-taught architect. He was neither intendedby his father to pursue that profession, nor did he ever receiveinstruction in it from an architect. He came of an old family of highrank in the Church of England, his father, a clergyman richly providedwith benefices, and his uncle being that famous Bishop of Ely who wasimprisoned in the Tower eighteen years for his adherence to the royalcause in the time of the Commonwealth. 

He derived his love of architecture from his father, Dr. ChristopherWren, a mathematician, a musician, a draughtsman, who liked to employhis leisure in repairing and decorating the churches under his charge. Dr. Wren had much mechanical skill, and devised some new methods ofsupporting the roofs of large buildings. He was the ideal churchman, bland, dignified, scholarly, and ingenious. 

His son Christopher, born in 1631 (the year after Boston was founded), inherited his father's propensities, with more than his father'stalents. Like many other children destined to enjoy ninety years ofhappy life, he was of such delicate health as to require constantattention from all his family to prolong his existence. As the yearswent on, he became sufficiently robust, and passed through Westminsterschool to Oxford, where he was regarded as a prodigy of learning andability. 

John Evelyn, who visited Oxford when Wren was a student there, speaks ofvisiting "that miracle of a youth, Mr. Christopher Wren, nephew of theBishop of Ely. " He also mentions calling upon one of the professors, atwhose house "that prodigious young scholar, Mr. Christopher Wren, "showed him a thermometer, "a monstrous magnet, " some dials, and a pieceof white marble stained red, and many other curiosities, some of whichwere the young scholar's own work. 

There never had been such an interest before in science and invention. The work of Lord Bacon in which he explained to the scholars of Europethe best way of discovering truth (by experiment, comparison, andobservation) was beginning to bear fruit. A number of gentlemen atOxford were accustomed to meet once a week at one another's houses forthe purpose of making and reporting experiments, and thus accumulatingthe facts leading to the discovery of principles. This little socialclub, of which Christopher Wren was a most active and zealous member, grew afterwards into the famous Royal Society, of which Sir Isaac Newtonwas president, and to which he first communicated his most importantdiscoveries. 

All subjects seem to have been discussed by the Oxford club excepttheology and politics, which were becoming a little too exciting forphilosophic treatment. Wren was in the fullest sympathy with the newscientific spirit, and during all the contention between king andParliament he and his friends were quietly developing the science whichwas to change the face of the world, and finally make such wasteful warsimpossible. A mere catalogue of Christopher Wren's conjectures, experiments, and inventions, made while he was an Oxford student, wouldmore than fill the space I have at command. 

At the age of twenty-four he was offered a professorship of astronomy atOxford, which he modestly declined as being above his age, butafterwards accepted. His own astronomy was sadly deficient, for hesupposed the circumference of our earth to be 216, 000 miles. This, however, was before Sir Isaac Newton had published the true astronomy, or had himself learned it. 

After a most honorable career as teacher of science at Oxford, hereceived from the restored king, Charles II. , the appointment ofassistant to the Surveyor General of Works, an office which placed himin charge of public buildings in course of construction. It made him, indue time, the architect-general of England, and it was in that capacitythat he designed and superintended very many of the long series of Worksmentioned above. There never was a more economical appointment. Thesalary which he drew from the king appears to have been two hundredpounds a year, a sum equal perhaps to four thousand of our presentdollars. Such was the modest compensation of the great architect whorebuilt London after the great fire. 

That catastrophe occurred a few years after his appointment. The firecontinued to rage for nearly four days, during which it destroyedeighty-nine churches including St. Paul's, thirteen thousand two hundredhouses, and laid waste four hundred streets. 

Christopher Wren was then thirty-five years of age. He promptlyexhibited to the king a plan for rebuilding the city, which proposed thewidening and straightening of the old streets, suggested a broad highwayalong the bank of the river, an ample space about St. Paul's, and manyother improvements which would have saved posterity a world of troubleand expense. The government of the dissolute Charles was neither wiseenough nor strong enough to carry out the scheme, and Sir Christopherwas obliged to content himself with a sorry compromise. 

The rest of his life was spent in rebuilding the public edifices, hischief work being the great cathedral. Upon that vast edifice he laboredfor thirty-five years. When the first stone of it was laid, his sonChristopher was a year old. It was that son, a man of thirty-six, whoplaced the last stone of the lantern above the dome, in the presence ofthe architect, the master builder, and a number of masons. This was inthe year 1710. Sir Christopher lived thirteen years longer, withdrawnfrom active life in the country. Once a year, however, it was his customto visit the city, and sit for a while under the dome of the cathedral. He died peacefully while dozing in his arm-chair after dinner, in 1723, aged ninety-two years, having lived one of the most interesting andvictorious lives ever enjoyed by a mortal. 

If the people of London are proud of what was done by Sir ChristopherWren, they lament perhaps still more what he was not permitted to do. They are now attempting to execute some of his plans. Miss LucyPhillimore, his biographer, says:--

"Wren laid before the king and Parliament a model of the city as heproposed to build it, with full explanations of the details of thedesign. The street leading up Ludgate Hill, instead of being theconfined, winding approach to St. Paul's that it now is, even itscrooked picturesqueness marred by the Viaduct that cuts all the lines ofthe cathedral, gradually widened as it approached St. Paul's, anddivided itself into two great streets, ninety feet wide at the least, which ran on either side of the cathedral, leaving a large open space inwhich it stood. Of the two streets, one ran parallel with the riveruntil it reached the Tower, and the other led to the Exchange, whichWren meant to be the centre of the city, standing in a great piazza, towhich ten streets each sixty feet wide converged, and around which wereplaced the Post-Office, the Mint, the Excise Office, the Goldsmiths'Hall, and the Insurance, forming the outside of the piazza. The smalleststreets were to be thirty feet wide, 'excluding all narrow, dark alleyswithout thoroughfares, and courts. '

"The churches were to occupy commanding positions along the principalthoroughfares, and to be 'designed according to the best forms forcapacity and hearing, adorned with useful porticoes and loftyornamental towers and steeples in the greater parishes. All churchyards, gardens, and unnecessary vacuities, and all trades that use greatfires or yield noisome smells to be placed out of town. '

"He intended that the church yards should be carefully planted andadorned, and be a sort of girdle round the town, wishing them to be anornament to the city, and also a check upon its growth. To burialswithin the walls of the town he strongly objected, and the experiencederived from the year of the plague confirmed his judgment. No gardensor squares are mentioned in the plan, for he had provided, as hethought, sufficiently for the healthiness of the town by his widestreets and numerous open spaces for markets. Gardening in towns was anart little considered in his day, and contemporary descriptions show usthat 'vacuities' were speedily filled with heaps of dust and refuse. 

"The London bank of the Thames was to be lined with a broad quay alongwhich the halls of the city companies were to be built, with suitablewarehouses in between for the merchants' to vary the effect of theedifices. The little stream whose name survives in _Fleet_ Street was tobe brought to light, cleansed, and made serviceable as a canal onehundred and twenty feet wide, running much in the line of the presentHolborn Viaduct. "

These were the wise and large thoughts of a great citizen for themetropolis of his country. But the king was Charles II. ! Our raceproduces good citizens in great numbers, and great citizens not a few, but the supreme difficulty of civilization is to get a few such wherethey can direct and control. 

SIR JOHN RENNIE, ENGINEER. 

One of the most striking city scenes in the world is the view of Londonas you approach London Bridge in one of the small, low-decked steamerswhich ply upon the Thames. London stands where navigation for sea-goingvessels ceases on this famous stream, which is crossed at London, withina stretch of three or four miles, by about fifteen bridges, of whichseven or eight can be seen at one view under the middle arch of LondonBridge. 

Over all these bridges there is a ceaseless tide of human life, and inthe river below, besides long lines of ships at anchor and unloading, there are as many steam-vessels, barges, skiffs, and wherries as canfind safe passage. A scene more animated, picturesque, and grand isnowhere else presented, especially when the great black dome of St. Paul's is visible, hanging over it, appearing to be suspended in thefoggy atmosphere like a black balloon, the cathedral itself beinginvisible. 

Three of these bridges were built by the engineers, father and son, whose name appears at the head of this article, and those three areamong the most wonderful structures of their kind. One of these isLondon Bridge; another is called Southwark, and the third, Waterloo. Thetime may come when the man who builds bridges will be as celebrated asthe man who batters them down with cannon; but, at present, for oneperson who knows the name of Sir John Rennie there are a thousand whoare familiar with Wellington and Waterloo. 

He had, however, a pedigree longer than that of some lords. His fatherwas a very great engineer before him, and that father acquired histraining in practical mechanics under a Scotch firm of machinists andmill-wrights which dates back to the reign of Charles the Second. It isto be particularly noted that both John Rennie, the elder, and Sir John, his son, derived an important part of their education in the workshopand model-room. Both of them, indeed, had an ideal education; for theyenjoyed the best theoretical instruction which their age and countrycould furnish, and the best practical training also. Theory and practicewent hand in hand. While the intellect was nourished, the body wasdeveloped, the hand acquired skill, and the eyesight, certainty. It isimpossible to imagine a better education for a young man than for him toreceive instruction at Edinburgh University under the illustriousProfessor Black, and afterwards a training in practical mechanics underAndrew Meikle, one of the best mechanics then living. This was thefortunate lot of Rennie's father, who wisely determined that his sonshould have the same advantage. 

When the boy had passed through the preparatory schools, the questionarose, whether he should be sent to one of the universities, or shouldgo at once into the workshop. His father frequently said that the realfoundation of civil engineering is mechanics, theoretical and practical. He did not believe that a young man could become an engineer by sittingin a class-room and hearing lectures; but that he must be placed incontact with realities, with materials, with tools, with men, withdifficulties, make mistakes, achieve successes, and thus acquire theblended boldness and caution which mark the great men in thisprofession. It is a fact that the greatest engineers of the pastcentury, whatever else they may have had or lacked, were thoroughlyversed in practical mechanics. Smeaton, Telford, Arkwright, Hargreaves, George Stephenson, Rennie, were all men who, as they used to say, had"an ounce of theory to a pound of practice. "

Young Rennie worked eight hours a day in the practical part of hisprofession, and spent four in the acquisition of science and the modernlanguages, aided in both by the first men in London in their branches. Four or five years of this training gave him, as he says in hisautobiography, the "_rudiments_" of his profession. His father nextdetermined to give him some experience in bearing responsibility, andplaced him as an assistant to the resident-engineer of Waterloo Bridge, then in course of construction. He was but nineteen years of age; but, being the son of the head of the firm, he was naturally deferred to andprepared to take the lead. Soon after, the Southwark Bridge was begun, which the young man superintended daily at every stage of itsconstruction. 

English engineers regard this bridge as the _ne plus ultra_ ofbridge-building. A recent writer speaks of it as "confessedly unrivaledas regards its colossal proportions, its architectural effect, or thegeneral simplicity and massive character of its details. " It crosses theriver by three arches, of which the central one has a span of twohundred and forty feet, and it is built at a place where the river athigh tide is thirty-six feet deep. The cost of this bridge was fourmillions of dollars, and it required five years to build it. The bridgeis of iron, and contains a great many devices originated by the youngengineer, and sanctioned by his father. It was he also who first, inrecent times, learned how to transport masses of stone of twenty-fivetons weight, used for the foundation of bridges. 

Having thus become an accomplished engineer, his wise old father senthim on a long tour, which lasted more than two years, in the course ofwhich he inspected all the great works, both of the ancients andmoderns, in Europe, and the more accessible parts of Africa and Asia. Returning home, the death of his father suddenly placed upon hisshoulders the most extensive and difficult engineering business in GreatBritain. But with such a training, under such a father, and inheritingso many traditional methods, he proved equal to the position, continuedthe great works begun by his father, and carried them on to successfulcompletion. 

His father had already convinced the government that the old LondonBridge could never be made sufficient for the traffic, or unobstructiveto the navigation. A bridge has existed at this spot since the year 928, and some of the timbers of the original structure were still sound in1824, when work upon the new bridge was begun. 

Thirty firms competed for the contract for building the new LondonBridge, but it was awarded to the Rennies, under whose superintendenceit was built. The bridge is nine hundred and twenty-eight feet inlength, and has five arches. In this structure although utility was thefirst consideration, there in an elegant solidity of design which makesit pleasing and impressive in the highest degree. The rapid stream is aslittle obstructed as the circumstances admitted, and there does notappear to be in the bridge an atom of superfluous material. LondonBridge is, I suppose, the most crowded thoroughfare in the world. Twenty-five thousand vehicles cross it daily, as well as countlessmultitudes of foot-passengers. So great is the throng, that there is aproject now on foot to widen it. In 1831, when it was formally opened byKing William IV. , the great engineer was knighted, and he was inconsequence ever after called Sir John Rennie. 

During the period of railroad building, Sir John Rennie constructed agreat many remarkable works, particularly in Portugal and Sweden. Wehave lately heard much of the disappointment of young engineers whom thecessation in the construction of railroads has thrown out of business. Perhaps no profession suffered more from the dull times than this. SirJohn Rennie explains the matter in his autobiography:--

"In 1844, " he tells us, "the demand for engineering surveyors andassistants was very great. Engineering was considered to be the onlyprofession where immense wealth and fame were to be acquired, andconsequently everybody became engineers. It was not the question whetherthey were educated for it, or competent to undertake it, but simplywhether any person chose to dub himself engineer; hence lawyers' clerks, surgeons' apprentices, merchants, tradesmen, officers in the army andnavy, private gentlemen, left their professions and became engineers. The consequence was that innumerable blunders were made and vast sums ofmoney were recklessly expended. "

It was much the same in the United States; and hence a good many ofthese gentlemen have been obliged to find their way back to the homelieroccupations which they rashly abandoned. But in our modern world athoroughly trained engineer, like Sir John Rennie, will always be inrequest; for man's conquest of the earth is still most incomplete; and Ido not doubt that the next century will far outdo this in the magnitudeof its engineering works, and in the external changes wrought by thehappy union of theory and practice in such men as Telford, Stephenson, and Rennie. 

Sir John Rennie spent the last years of his life in writing his Memoirs, a most interesting and useful work, recently published in London, which, I hope, will be republished here. It is just the book for a young fellowwho has an ambition to gain honor by serving mankind in a skillful andmanly way. Sir John Rennie, like his father before him, and like allother great masters of men, was constantly attentive to the interestsand feelings of those who assisted him. He was a wise and considerateemployer; and the consequence was, that he was generally served withloyal and affectionate fidelity. He died in 1874, aged eighty years. 

SIR MOSES MONTEFIORE. 

We still deal strangely with the Jews. While at one end of Europe anIsraelite scarcely dares show himself in the streets for fear of beingstoned and abused, in other countries of the same continent we see themprime ministers, popular authors, favorite composers of music, capitalists, philanthropists, to whom whole nations pay homage. 

Sir Moses Montefiore, though an English baronet, is an Israelite of theIsraelites, connected by marriage and business with the Rothschilds, anda sharer in their wonderful accumulations of money. His hundredthbirthday was celebrated in 1883 at his country-house on the Englishcoast, and celebrated in such a way as to make the festival one of themost interesting events of the year. The English papers tell us thatnearly a hundred telegrams of congratulation and benediction reached theaged man in the course of the day, from America, Africa, Asia, andall-parts of Europe, from Christians, Jews, Mahomedans, and men of theworld. The telegraph offices, we are told, were clogged during themorning with these messages, some of which were of great length, inforeign languages and in strange alphabets, such as the Arabic andHebrew. Friends in England sent him addresses in the English manner, several of which were beautifully written upon parchment and superblymounted. The railroad passing near his house conveyed to him by everytrain during the day presents of rare fruit and beautiful flowers. TheJews in Spain and Portugal forwarded presents of the cakes prepared byorthodox Jews for the religious festival which occurred on his birthday. Indeed, there has seldom been in Europe such a widespread and cordialrecognition of the birthday of any private citizen. 

Doubtless, the remarkable longevity of Sir Moses had something to dowith emphasizing the celebration. Great wealth, too, attracts the regardof mankind. But there are many rich old Jews in the world whose birthdayexcites no enthusiasm. The briefest review of the long life of Sir MosesMontefiore will sufficiently explain the almost universal recognition ofthe recent anniversary. 

He was born as long ago as 1784, the second year of Americanindependence, when William Pitt was prime minister of England. He wasfive years old when the Bastille was stormed, and thirty-one when thebattle of Waterloo was fought. He was in middle life before England hadbecome wise enough to make Jew and Christian equal before the law, andthus attract to her shores one of the most gifted and one of the mostvirtuous of races. 

The father of Sir Moses lived and died in one of the narrow old streetsnear the centre of London called Philpot Lane, where he became thefather of an old-fashioned family of seventeen children. This prolificparent was a man of no great wealth, and consequently his eldest son, Moses, left school at an early age, and was apprenticed to a London firmof provision dealers. He was a singularly handsome young man, ofagreeable manners and most engaging disposition, circumstances which ledto his entering the Stock Exchange. This was at a time when only twelveJewish brokers were allowed to carry on business in London, and he wasone of the twelve. 

At the age of twenty-eight he had fully entered upon his career, abroker and a married man, his wife the daughter of Levy Cohen, a richand highly cultivated Jewish merchant. His wife's sister had married N. M. Rothschild, and one of his brothers married Rothschild's sister. United thus by marriage to the great banker, he became also his partnerin business, and this at a time when the gains of the Rothschilds weregreatest and most rapid. 

Most readers remember how the Rothschilds made their prodigious profitsduring the last years of Bonaparte's reign. They had a pigeon express atDover, by means of which they obtained the first correct news from thecontinent. During the "Hundred Days, " for example, such a panicprevailed in England that government bonds were greatly depressed. Thefirst rumors from Waterloo were of defeat and disaster, which againreduced consols to a panic price. The Rothschilds, notified of thevictory a few hours sooner than the government itself, bought largely ofsecurities which, in twenty-four hours, almost doubled in value. MosesMontefiore, sharing in these transactions, found himself at forty-five amillionaire. 

Instead of slaving away in business to the end of his life, addingmillion to million, with the risk of losing all at last, he took thewise resolution of retiring from business and devoting the rest of hislife to works of philanthropy. 

When Queen Victoria came to the throne in 1837, Moses Montefiore wassheriff of London. The queen had lived near his country-house, and hadoften as a little girl strolled about his park. She now enjoyed thesatisfaction of conferring upon her neighbor the honor of knighthood, and a few years later she made him a baronet. Thus he became Sir Moses, which has an odd sound to us, but which in England seems natural enough. 

During the last fifty years Sir Moses has been, as it were, aprofessional philanthropist. Every good cause has shared his bounty, buthe has been most generous to poor members of his own race and religion. He has visited seven times the Holy Land, where the Jews have been forages impoverished and degraded. He has directed his particular attentionto improving the agriculture of Palestine, once so fertile andproductive, and inducing the Jews to return to the cultivation of thesoil. In that country he himself caused to be planted an immense garden, in which there are nine hundred fruit trees, made productive byirrigation. He has promoted the system of irrigation by buildingaqueducts, digging wells, and providing improved apparatus. He has alsoendowed hospitals and almshouses in that country. 

In whatever part of the world, during the last fifty years, the Jewshave been persecuted or distressed, he has put forth the most efficientexertions for their relief, often going himself to distant countries toconvey the requisite assistance. When he was ninety-one years of age hewent to Palestine upon an errand of benevolence. He has pleaded thecause of his persecuted brethren before the Emperor of Russia, andpleaded it with success. To all that part of the world known to uschiefly through the Jews he has been a constant and most munificentbenefactor during the last half century, while never turning a deaf earto the cry of want nearer home. 

In October he completes his hundredth year. At present (January, 1884), he reads without spectacles, hears well, stands nearly erect, althoughsix feet three in height, and has nothing of the somnolence of old age. He drives out every day, gets up at eleven, and goes to bed at nine. Hisdiet is chiefly milk and old port wine, with occasionally a little soupor bread and butter. He still enjoys the delights of beneficence, whichare among the keenest known to mortals, and pleases himself this year bygiving checks of ninety-nine pounds to benevolent objects, a pound foreach year that he has had the happiness of living. 

MARQUIS OF WORCESTER, INVENTOR OF THE STEAM-ENGINE. 

In the English county of Monmouthshire, near Wales, a region of coalmines and iron works, there are the ruins of Raglan Castle, about a milefrom a village of the same name. To these ruins let pilgrims repair whodelight to visit places where great things began; for here once dweltthe Marquis of Worcester, who first made steam work for men. The samefamily still owns the site; as indeed it does the greater part of thecounty; the head of the family being now styled the Duke of Beaufort. The late Lord Raglan, commander of the English forces in the Crimea, belonged to this house, and showed excellent taste in selecting for histitle a name so interesting. Perhaps, however, he never thought of theold tower of Raglan Castle, which is still marked and indented where thesecond Marquis of Worcester set up his steam-engine two hundred andtwenty years ago. Very likely he had in mind the time when the firstmarquis held the castle for Charles I. Against the Roundheads, andbaffled them for two months, though he was then eighty-five years ofage. It was the son of that valiant and tough old warrior who put steaminto harness, and defaced his ancestral tower with a ponderous andimperfect engine. 

For many centuries before his time something had been known of the powerof steam; and the Egyptians, a century or more before Christ, had evenmade certain steam toys, which we find described in a manuscript writtenabout 120 B. C. , at Alexandria, by a learned compiler and inventor namedHero. One of these was in the form of a man pouring from a cup alibation to the gods. The figure stood upon an altar, and it wasconnected by a pipe with a kettle of water underneath. On lighting afire under the kettle, the water was forced up through the figure, andflowed out of the cup upon the altar. Another toy was a revolving copperglobe, which was kept in motion by _the escape_ of steam from two littlepipes bent in the same direction. Of this contrivance the FrenchProfessor Arago once wrote:--

"This was, beyond doubt, a machine in which steam engendered motion, andcould produce mechanical effects. It was _a veritable steam-engine_! Letus hasten, however, to add that it bears no resemblance, either by itsform or in mode of action, to steam-engines now in use. "

Other steam devices are described by Hero. By one a horn was blown, andby another figures were made to dance upon an altar. But there is notrace in the ancient world of the application of steam to an importantuseful purpose. Professor Thurston of Hoboken, in his excellent workupon the "History of the Steam-Engine, " has gleaned from the literatureof the last seven hundred years several interesting allusions to thenature and power of steam. In 1125 there was, it appears, at Rheims inFrance, some sort of contrivance for blowing a church organ by the aidof steam. There is an allusion, also, in a French sermon of 1571, to theawful power in volcanic eruptions of a small quantity of confined steam. There are traces of steam being made to turn a spit upon which meat wasroasted. An early French writer mentions the experiment of exploding abomb-shell nearly filled with water by putting it into a fire. In 1630King Charles the First of England granted to David Ramseye a patent fornine different contrivances, among which were the following:--

"To raise water from low pits by fire. To make any sort of mills to goon standing waters by continual motion without help of wind, water, orhorse. To make boats, ships, and barges to go against strong wind andtide. To raise water from mines and coal pits by a way never yet inuse. "

This was in 1630, which was about the date of the Marquis of Worcester'sengine. It is possible, however, that these devices existed only in theimagination of the inventor. The marquis was then twenty-nine years ofage, and as he was curious in matters of science, it is highly probablethat he was acquainted with this patent, and may have conversed with theinventor. 

It is strange how little we know of a man so important as the Marquis ofWorcester in our modern industrial development. I believe that not oneof the histories of England mentions him, and scarcely anything is knownof the circumstances that led to his experimenting with steam. Living ina county of coal and iron mines, and his own property consisting verymuch in coal lands, his attention must of necessity have been called tothe difficulties experienced by the miners in pumping the water from thedeep mines. There were mines which employed as many as five hundredhorses in pumping out the water, and it was a thing of frequentoccurrence for a productive mine to be abandoned because the wholerevenue was absorbed in clearing it of water. This inventor was perhapsthe man in England who had the greatest interest in the contrivance towhich in early life he turned his mind. 

He was born in the year 1601, and sprung from a family whose title ofnobility dated back to the fourteenth century. He is described by hisEnglish biographer as a learned, thoughtful, and studious RomanCatholic; as public-spirited and humane; as a mechanic, patient, skillful, full of resources, and quick to comprehend. He inherited agreat estate, not perhaps so very productive in money, but of enormousintrinsic value. There is reason to believe that he began to experimentwith steam soon after he came of age. He describes one of hisexperiments, probably of early date:--

"I have taken a piece of a whole cannon, whereof the end was burst, andfilled it with water three quarters full, stopping and screwing up thebroken end, as also the touch-hole, and making a constant fire under it. Within twenty-four hours it burst, and made a great crack. "

That the engine which he constructed was designed to pump water is shownby the very name which he gave it, --"the water-commanding engine, "--and, indeed, it was never used for any other purpose. The plan of it was verysimple, and, without improvements, it could have answered its purposesbut imperfectly. It consisted of two vessels from which the air wasdriven alternately by the condensation of steam within them, and intothe vacuum thus created the water rushed from the bottom of the mine. Heprobably had his first machine erected before 1630, when he was still ayoung man, and he spent his life in endeavors to bring his inventioninto use. In doing this he expended so large a portion of his fortune, and excited so much ridicule, that he died comparatively poor andfriendless. I think it probable, however, that his poverty was duerather to the civil wars, in which his heroic old father and himselfwere so unfortunate as to be on the losing side. He attempted to form acompany for the introduction of his machine, and when he died withouthaving succeeded in this, his widow still persisted in the same object, though without success. He did, however, make several steam-enginesbesides the one at Raglan Castle; engines which did actually answer thepurpose of raising water from considerable depths in a continuousstream. He also erected near London a steam fountain, which hedescribes. 

During the next century several important improvements were made in thesteam-engine, but without rendering it anything like the useful agentwhich we now possess. When James Watt began to experiment, about theyear 1760, in his little shop near the Glasgow University, thesteam-engine was still used only for pumping water, and he soondiscovered that it wasted three fourths of the steam. He once related toa friend how the idea of his great improvement, that of saving the wasteby a condenser, occurred to his mind. He was then a poor mechanic livingupon fourteen shillings a week. 

"I had gone to take a walk, " he said, "on a fine Sabbath afternoon. Ihad entered the Green by the gate at the foot of Charlotte Street, andhad passed the old washing-house. I was thinking upon the engine at thetime, and had gone as far as the herd's house, when the idea came intomy mind that, as steam was an elastic body, it would rush into a vacuum, and, if a communication were made between the cylinder and an exhaustedvessel, it would rush into it, and might be there condensed withoutcooling the cylinder. "

He had found it! Before he had crossed the Green, he added, "the wholething was arranged in my mind. " Since that memorable day the inventionhas been ever growing; for, as Professor Thurston well remarks: "Greatinventions are never the work of any one mind. " From Hero to Corliss isa stretch of nearly twenty centuries; during which, probably, a thousandinventive minds have contributed to make the steam-engine the exquisitething it is to-day. 

AN OLD DRY-GOODS MERCHANT'S RECOLLECTIONS. 

Our great cities have a new wonder of late years. I mean those immensedry-goods stores which we see in Paris, London, New York, Vienna, Boston, Cincinnati, Chicago, in which are displayed under one roofalmost all the things worn, or used for domestic purposes, by man, woman, or child. 

What a splendid and cheering spectacle the interior presents on a fine, bright day! The counters a tossing sea of brilliant fabrics; crowds ofladies moving in all directions; the clerks, well-dressed and polite, exhibiting their goods; the cash-boys flying about with money in onehand and a bundle in the other; customers streaming in at every door;and customers passing out, with the satisfied air of people who have gotwhat they want. It gives the visitor a cheerful idea of abundance to seesuch a provision of comfortable and pleasant things brought from everyquarter of the globe. 

An old dry-goods merchant of London, now nearly ninety, and long agoretired from business with a large fortune, has given his recollectionsof business in the good old times. There is a periodical, called the"Draper's Magazine, " devoted to the dry-goods business, and it is inthis that some months ago he told his story. 

When he was a few months past thirteen, being stout and large for hisage, he was placed in a London dry-goods store, as boy of all work. Nowages were given him. At that time the clerks in stores usually boardedwith their employer. On the first night of his service, when it was timeto go to bed, he was shown a low, truckle bedstead, under the counter, made to pull out and push in. He did not have even this poor bed tohimself, but shared it with another boy in the store. On getting up inthe morning, instead of washing and dressing for the day, he was obligedto put on some old clothes, take down the shutters of the store, --whichwere so heavy he could hardly carry them, --then clean the brass signsand the outside of the shop windows, leaving the inside to be washed bythe older clerks. When he had done this, he was allowed to go up stairs, wash himself, dress for the day, and to eat his breakfast. Then he tookhis place behind the counter. 

We think it wrong for boys under fourteen to work ten hours a day. Butin the stores of the olden time, both boys and men worked from fourteento sixteen hours a day, and nothing was thought of it. This store, forexample, was opened soon after eight in the morning, and the shutterswere not put up till ten in the evening. There was much work to do afterthe store was closed; and the young men, in fact, were usually releasedfrom labor about a _quarter past eleven_. On Saturday nights the storeclosed at twelve o'clock, and it was not uncommon for the young men tobe employed in putting away the goods until between two and three onSunday morning. 

"There used to be, " the old gentleman records, "a supper of hotbeafsteaks and onions, and porter, which we boys used to relishimmensely, and eat and drink a good deal more of both than was good forus. "

After such a week's work one would think the clerks would have requiredrest on Sunday. But they did not get much. The store was open from eightuntil church time, which was then eleven o'clock; and this was one ofthe most profitable mornings of the week. The old gentleman explains whyit was so. Almost all factories, shops, and stores were then kept openvery late, and the last thing done in them was to pay wages, which wasseldom accomplished until after midnight. Hence the apparent necessityfor the Sunday morning's business. 

Another great evil mentioned by our chronicler grew out of this badsystem of all work and no play. The clerks, released from businesstowards midnight, were accustomed to go to a tavern and spend part ofthe night in drinking and carousing; reeling home at a late hour, muchthe worse for drink, and unfit for business in the morning until theyhad taken another glass. All day the clerks were in the habit ofslipping out without their hats to the nearest tap-room for beer. 

Nor was the system very different in New York. An aged book-keeper, towhom I gave an outline of the old gentleman's narrative, informs me thatforty years ago the clerks, as a rule, were detained till very late inthe evening, and often went from the store straight to a drinking-house. 

Now let us see how it fared with the public who depended upon thesestores for their dry-goods. From our old gentleman's account it wouldseem that every transaction was a sort of battle between the buyer andseller to see which should cheat the other. On the first day of hisattendance he witnessed a specimen of the mode in which a dexterousclerk could sell an article to a lady which she did not want. Anunskillful clerk had displayed too suddenly the entire stock of thegoods of which she was in search; upon which she rose to leave, sayingthat there was nothing she liked. A more experienced salesman thenstepped up. 

"Walk this way, madam, if you please, and I will show you somethingentirely different, with which I am sure you will be quite delighted. "

He took her to the other end of the store, and then going back to thepile which she had just rejected, snatched up several pieces, and soldher one of them almost immediately. Customers, the old merchant says, were often bullied into buying things they did not want. 

"Many a half-frightened girl, " he remarks, "have I seen go out of theshop, the tears welling up into her eyes, and saying, 'I am sure I shallnever like it:' some shawl or dress having been forced upon her contraryto her taste or judgment. "

The new clerk, although by nature a very honest young fellow, soonbecame expert in all the tricks of the trade. It was the custom then foremployers to allow clerks a reward for selling things that wereparticularly unsalable, or which required some special skill orimpudence in the seller. For example, they kept on hand a great supplyof what they were pleased to call "remnants, " which were supposed to besold very cheap; and as the public of that day had a passion forremnants, the master of the shop took care to have them made insufficient numbers. There were heaps of remnants of linen, and it so_happened_ that the remnants were exactly long enough for a shirt, orsome other garment. Any clerk who could push off one of these remnantsupon a customer was allowed a penny or twopence as a reward for histalent; and there were certain costly articles, such as shawls and silksof unsalable patterns, upon which there was a premium of severalshillings for selling. 

There was one frightfully ugly shawl which had hung fire so long thatthe master of the shop offered a reward of eight shillings (twodollars) to any one who should sell it at the full price; which wastwenty dollars. Our lad covered himself with glory one morning, byselling this horrid old thing. A sailor came in to buy a satin scarf fora present. The boy saw his chance. 

"As you want something for a present, " said he to the sailor, "would younot like to give something really useful and valuable that would lastfor years?"

In three minutes the sailor was walking out of the store, happy enough, with the shawl under his arm, and the sharp youth was depositing theprice thereof in the money-drawer. Very soon he had an opportunity ofassisting to gull the public on a great scale. His employer bought outthe stock of an old-fashioned dry-goods store in another part of thetown for a small sum; upon which he determined to have a grand "sellingoff. " To this end he filled the old shop with all his old, faded, unsalable goods, besides looking around among the wholesale houses andpicking up several cart-loads of cheap lots, more or less damaged. 

The whole town was flooded with bills announcing this selling off of theold established store, at which many goods could be obtained at lessthan half the original cost. As this was then a comparatively new trickthe public were deceived by it, and it had the most astonishing success. The selling off lasted several weeks, the supply of goods being kept upby daily purchases. 

Our junior clerk was an apt learner in deception and trickery. Shortlyafter this experiment upon the public credulity, a careless boy lightingthe lamps in the window (for this was before the introduction of gas)set some netting on fire, causing a damage of a few shillings, the firebeing almost instantly extinguished. As business had been a little dull, the junior clerk conceived the idea of turning the conflagration toaccount. Going up to his employer, and pointing to the singed articles, he said to him:--

"Why not have a selling off here, and clear out all the stock damaged byfire?"

The master laughed at the enormity of the joke, but instantly adoptedthe suggestion, and in the course of a day or two, flaming postersannounced the awful disaster and the sale. In preparing for this event, the clerks applied lighted paper to the edges of whole stacks of goods, slightly discolored the tops of stockings, and in fact, they singed tosuch an extent as almost to cause a real conflagration. During thesenight operations a great deal of beer was consumed, and the whole effectof the manoeuvre was injurious and demoralizing to every clerk in thestore. 

This sale also was ridiculously successful. A mob surrounded the doorsbefore they were opened, and to keep up the excitement some low-pricedgoods were ostentatiously sold much below cost. Such was the rush ofcustomers that at noon the young men were exhausted by the labor ofselling; the counters were a mere litter of tumbled dry-goods; and theshop had to be closed for a while for rest and putting things in order. To keep up the excitement, the master and his favorite junior clerk rodeabout London in hackney coaches, in search of any cheap lots that wouldanswer their purpose. 

In the course of time, this clerk, who was at heart an honest, well-principled fellow, grew ashamed of all this trickery and fraud, andwhen at length he set up in business for himself, he adopted theprinciple of "one price and no abatement. " He dealt honorably with allhis customers, and thus founded one of the great dry-goods houses ofLondon. 

Two things saved him: first, he loathed drinking and debauchery;secondly, he was in the habit of reading. 

The building up of the huge establishments, to which some personsobject, has nearly put an end to the old system of guzzling, cheating, and lying. The clerks in these great stores go to business at eighto'clock in the morning, and leave at six in the evening, with aninterval for dinner. They work all day in a clean and pleasant place, and they are neither required or allowed to lie or cheat. A very largeestablishment must be conducted honestly, or it cannot long go on. Itsvery largeness _compels_ an adherence to truth and fact.