Curiosities of Human Nature
by Samuel G. Goodrich · English · Gutenberg #39333 · 429,797 chars · public domain (US)
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Curiosities of Human Nature
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Curiosities of Human Nature
Author: Samuel G. Goodrich
Release date: April 1, 2012 [eBook #39333]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39333
Credits: Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CURIOSITIES OF HUMAN NATURE ***
Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: PASCAL MAKING DISCOVERIES IN GEOMETRY.]
CURIOSITIES
OF
HUMAN NATURE.
[Illustration: THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON.]
BOSTON:
J. E. HICKMAN, 12 SCHOOL STREET.
CURIOSITIES
OF
HUMAN NATURE:
BY THE AUTHOR OF
PETER PARLEY'S TALES.
BOSTON:
J. E. HICKMAN.
12 School Street.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
ZERAH COLBURN, 7
BARATIERE, 26
GASSENDI, 29
PASCAL, 33
GROTIUS, 39
NEWTON, 43
MAGLIABECCHI, 48
CRICHTON, 52
BERONICIUS, 59
MASTER CLENCH, 64
JEDEDIAH BUXTON, 67
WILLIAM GIBSON, 72
EDMUND STONE, 76
RICHARD EVELYN, 78
QUENTIN MATSYS, 82
WEST, 87
BERRETINI, 93
HENRY KIRK WHITE, 96
MOZART, 100
ELIHU BURRITT, 108
GEORGE MORLAND, 112
WILLIAM PENN, 119
JOHN SMITH, 129
ETHAN ALLEN, 144
DAVID CROCKETT, 153
DANIEL BOONE, 163
CHARLES XII. OF SWEDEN, 172
THE CID, 181
ROBIN HOOD, 191
PAUL JONES, 203
MASANIELLO, 213
RIENZI, 219
SELKIRK, 222
JOHN LAW, 226
TRENCK, 230
JOHN DUNN HUNTER, 236
CASPAR HAUSER, 254
PSALMANAZAR, 262
VALENTINE GREATRAKES, 265
MATTHEW HOPKINS, 268
PETER, THE WILD BOY, 271
JOHN KELSEY, 274
BAMFYLDE MOORE CAREW, 278
JOHN ELWES, 282
BARON D'AGUILAR, 290
THOMAS GUY, 292
OLD PARR, 294
O'BRIEN, 298
MAXAMILLIAN CHRISTOPHER MILLER, 300
HUYALAS, 301
THOMAS TOPHAM, 303
FOSTER POWELL, 305
JOSEPH CLARK, 307
EDWARD BRIGHT, 309
DANIEL LAMBERT, 310
JEFFREY HUDSON, 312
JOSEPH BORUWLASKI, 314
THE SIAMESE TWINS, 318
CURIOUS BIOGRAPHIES.
ZERAH COLBURN.
Among the intellectual prodigies which sometimes appear to excite the
wonder and astonishment of mankind, Zerah Colburn was certainly one of
the most remarkable. He was born at Cabot, Vermont, Sept. 1st, 1804. He
was the sixth child of his parents, who were persons in low
circumstances and of little education. He was regarded as the most
backward of the children till he was about six years old, when he
suddenly attracted attention by the display of his astonishing powers.
In August, 1810, when his father, Abia Colburn, was one day employed at
a joiner's work-bench, Zerah was on the floor, playing among the chips;
suddenly, he began to say to himself,--5 times 7 are 35--6 times 8 are
48, &c. His father's attention was immediately arrested by hearing this,
so unexpected in a child so young, and who had hitherto possessed no
advantages, except perhaps six weeks' attendance at the district
school, that summer. He therefore left his work, and turning to the
child, began to examine him in the multiplication table. He thought it
possible that Zerah had learnt this from the other boys; but finding him
perfect in the table, his attention was more deeply fixed, and he asked
the product of 13x97, to which 1261 was instantly given as the answer.
He now concluded that something unusual had actually taken place;
indeed, he has often said he should not have been more surprised if some
one had risen up out of the earth and stood erect before him.
It was not long before a neighbor rode up, and stopping at the house,
was informed of the singular occurrence. He desired to be a witness of
the fact. Zerah was called, and the result of the examination astonished
every one present. The strange phenomenon was now rapidly spread
throughout the town. Though many were inclined to doubt the correctness
of the reports they heard, a personal examination attested their truth.
Thus the story originated, which within the short space of a year found
its way not only through the United States, but also reached Europe, and
extorted expressions of wonder from foreign journals of literature and
science in England, France and other countries.
Very soon after the discovery of his remarkable powers, many gentlemen,
at that time possessing influence and public confidence throughout the
state, being made acquainted with the circumstances, were desirous of
having such a course adopted as might most directly lead to a full
development of Zerah's talents, and their application to purposes of
general utility. Accordingly, it was proposed that Mr. Colburn should
carry his son to Danville, to be present during the session of the
court. This was done, and the boy was very generally seen and questioned
by the judges, members of the bar, and others.
The legislature of Vermont being about to convene at Montpelier, Mr.
Colburn was advised to visit that place with his son, which they did in
October. Here large numbers had an opportunity of witnessing his
calculating powers, and the conclusion was general that such a thing had
never been known before. Many questions, which were out of the common
limits of arithmetic, were proposed, with a view to puzzle the child,
but he answered them correctly; as, for instance,--which is the most,
twice twenty-five, or twice five and twenty? Ans. Twice twenty-five.
Which is the most, six dozen dozen, or half a dozen dozen? Ans. Six
dozen dozen. Somebody asked him how many black beans would make five
white ones. Ans. Five, if you skin them! Thus it appeared that the boy
could not only compute and combine numbers readily, but that he also
possessed a quickness of thought, somewhat uncommon among children, as
to other things.
Soon after this, Mr. Colburn took his son to other large towns, and at
last to Boston. Here the boy excited the most extraordinary sensation,
and several gentlemen of the highest standing proposed to undertake his
education. The terms, though very liberal, were not equal to the
high-raised expectations of the father. The offer was therefore refused,
and Mr. Colburn proceeded to the southern cities, exhibiting his son in
public, his performances everywhere exciting the utmost wonder.
The author of these pages had an opportunity of seeing Zerah Colburn, at
this period. He was a lively, active boy, of light complexion, his head
being rather larger than that of boys generally at his age. He was then
six years old, and had the manners common to children of his age. He was
playful, even while performing his calculations. The quickness and
precision with which he gave answers to arithmetical questions was
amazing. Among those proposed to him at Boston, in the autumn of the
year 1810, were the following:
What is the number of seconds in 2000 years? The answer, 63,072,000,000,
was readily and accurately given. Another question was this: Allowing
that a clock strikes 156 times in a day, how many times will it strike
in 2000 years? The child promptly replied, 113,800,000 times.
What is the product of 12,225, multiplied by 1,223? Ans. 14,951,175.
What is the square of 1,449? Ans. 2,099,601. Suppose I have a
corn-field, in which are seven acres, having seventeen rows to each
acre, sixty-four hills to each row, eight ears on a hill, and one
hundred and fifty kernels on an ear; how many kernels in the corn-field?
Ans. 9,139,200.
It will be recollected that the child who answered these questions was
but six years old; that he had then had no instruction whatever in
arithmetic; that he could neither read nor write, and that he performed
these immense calculations by mental processes, wholly his own. His
answers were usually given, and the calculations performed, while
engaged in his sports, and the longest process seemed hardly to divert
his mind from his amusements. His answers were often made almost as soon
as the question was proposed, and in most cases before the process could
be performed on paper.
His faculty for calculation seemed to increase, and as he became
acquainted with arithmetical terms, his performances were still more
remarkable. In June, 1811, he was asked the following question: If the
distance between Concord and Boston be sixty-five miles, how many steps
must I take in going this distance, supposing each step to be three
feet? The answer, 114,400 steps, was given in ten seconds. He was asked
how many days and hours had elapsed since the Christian era commenced.
In twenty seconds he replied, 661,015 days, 15,864,360 hours.
Questions still more difficult were answered with similar promptitude.
What sum multiplied by itself will produce 998,001? In less than four
seconds he replied 999. How many hours in thirty-eight years, two
months, and seven days? The answer, 334,488, was given in six seconds.
These extraordinary performances, witnessed by thousands of people, and
among them persons of the highest standing, were soon reported in the
papers, and attracted scarcely less attention in Europe than in this
country. In England, particularly, great curiosity was expressed, and
the plan of taking young Colburn thither was suggested. After some
deliberation, this project was resolved upon; and in the spring of
1812, the father and son embarked at Boston for Liverpool, where they
landed on the 11th of May. They proceeded to London, and taking rooms at
Spring Gardens, commenced their exhibition.
Great numbers came to witness the performances of the boy, among whom
Zerah, in his Life, enumerates the dukes of Gloucester and Cumberland,
Lord Ashburton, Sir James Mackintosh, Sir Humphrey Davy, and the
Princess Charlotte. The latter, attended by her tutor, the bishop of
Salisbury, remained a full hour, and asked a number of questions. Among
the rest was this: What is the square of 4001? The answer, 16,008,001,
was immediately given. The duke of Cambridge asked the number of seconds
in the time elapsed since the commencement of the Christian era, 1813
years, 7 months, 27 days. The answer was correctly given,
57,234,384,000.
An extraordinary interest was excited in London in respect to this
remarkable youth, and schemes for giving him an education suited to his
turn of mind were suggested. At a meeting of several distinguished
gentlemen, to mature some plan of this sort, various questions were
proposed to the child. He multiplied the number eight by itself, and
each product by itself, till he had raised it to the sixteenth power,
giving, as the almost inconceivable result, 281,474,976,710,656. He was
asked the square root of 106,929, and before the number could be written
down, he answered 327. He was then requested to name the cube root of
268,336,125, and with equal facility and promptness he replied, 645.
A likeness of the young prodigy, drawn by Hull and engraved by Meyer,
was now published, and sold at a guinea each. Many were sold, and a
considerable profit was realized. Another scheme was now started,--a
memoir of the child,--and among the committee to superintend its
publication, were Sir James Mackintosh, Sir Humphrey Davy and Basil
Montague. Several hundred subscribers were obtained, but, though many
paid in advance, for some reason or other the work was never published.
Young Colburn and his father now made a tour to Ireland and Scotland.
Among his visitors in Scotland, were Dugald Stewart, Professor Playfair,
Doctor Brewster and Doctor Macknight. In March, 1814, they returned to
London. By the advice of friends, they now proceeded to Paris, where
they arrived in July, 1814.
Zerah was carefully examined before the French Institute. It is curious
that on this occasion he was longer in giving his answers than ever
before; probably owing to some embarrassment. His performances, however,
excited here, as everywhere else, the greatest astonishment. La Place,
the author of the Mechanique Celeste, was present. Guizot received the
youth at his house, and expressed in his behalf the liveliest interest.
Such was the feeling excited, that a project was set on foot for giving
Zerah an education at the Royal College of Henry IV. Nothing was wanting
but the sanction of the king; but at the precise moment when measures
were in progress to secure this object, Bonaparte came back from Elba,
sweeping everything before him. The Bourbons fled, and the emperor was
reinstated upon his throne. Application was now made to him in behalf of
young Colburn; his assent was obtained, and on the 13th May, 1815, he
entered the seminary, which was now restored to its original title, the
Lyceum Napoleon.
Mr. Colburn had, in England, Scotland and Paris, obtained a large number
of subscribers to the memoir. Having placed his son in the Lyceum, he
went to London to attend to the publication of the work. Here he met
with bitter disappointment. His agent, who had been authorized to
collect the money, had received about one third of the whole
subscriptions, and appropriated the money to his own use. As he was
poor, the whole sum was irretrievably lost. At the same time, Mr.
Colburn found that his former friends were greatly chagrined to find
that the French government, more liberal than themselves, had made
provision for his son. Under this influence, the project of the memoir
was abandoned, and a new scheme was proposed, the object of which was to
raise two hundred pounds a year for six years, to defray the expenses of
the boy's education.
While Mr. Colburn was pursuing this scheme, Zerah was at the Lyceum at
Paris, which now became the theatre of the most interesting events. The
battle of Waterloo was fought, Napoleon fled, and the French army
retreated toward the capital. To this point, the hostile armies were now
directing their march, and the citizens of Paris were roused for its
defence. Every effort was made to strengthen the walls and throw up
entrenchments. The scholars at the Lyceum received permission to join in
this work, and with enthusiastic ardor, heightened by their sympathy
for Napoleon, they went to their tasks, crying, "_Vive l'Empereur_." Our
little mathematician was among the number, and if he could have
multiplied forts as easily as he managed figures, Paris would,
doubtless, have been saved. But the fortune of war decided otherwise.
Paris was overwhelmed, Napoleon dethroned, and Louis XVIII. restored.
Zerah Colburn might have continued at the Lyceum, but his foolish
father, having embraced the London scheme, proceeded to Paris, and
carried him thence again to London, where they arrived February 7, 1816.
The scheme which had excited Mr. Colburn's hopes, was, however, a mere
illusion. His friends were worn out with his importunities, and,
doubtless, disgusted with his fickleness. They were dissatisfied by
discovering that while he wished to obtain a provision for his son, he
desired also that some emolument, sufficient for his own wants, should
come to himself. The result was, that both the father and son were
reduced to a state of poverty. While attempting, by means scarcely
better than beggary, to obtain transient support, they chanced to call
upon the Earl of Bristol, who received them kindly, and expressed great
interest in the youthful calculator. He invited them to his country
residence at Putney, whither they went, and spent several days. The
result of this fortunate acquaintance was, that the Earl made a
provision of six hundred and twenty dollars a year for young Colburn's
education at Westminster school, where he was regularly entered on the
19th September. At this period, he was a few days over twelve years old.
It now seemed that better fortunes had dawned upon this gifted, but
still unfortunate boy; but these were soon clouded by disappointment.
The custom of fagging existed in this school, as in all the higher
seminaries of England. By this system, the boys of the under classes
were required to be waiters and servants of those in the upper classes.
Zerah was subjected to this arrangement, and a youth in the upper school
was pitched upon for his master. This was the son of a baronet, Sir John
L. Kaye.
Soon after he had been initiated into these menial duties, one of the
upper scholars called upon him to perform some servile task. This he
accomplished, but not to the satisfaction of his employer. He therefore
complained to young Kaye, his proper master, whose wrath being greatly
excited, he fell upon poor Zerah, twisted his arm nearly out of joint,
and, placing him in a helpless situation, beat his shoulder black and
blue. Zerah went to his father, who immediately proceeded to Mr. Knox,
the usher. The latter expressed regret for the abuse Zerah had received,
but when the father claimed exemption for his son from the custom of
fagging, the usher positively refused compliance. Mr. Colburn enjoined
it upon his son by no means to submit to this system of drudgery again,
and departed. In the evening, he was called upon to clean a pair of
shoes. This he refused; whereupon, a number of the larger boys, who had
gathered around him, first threatened, and then beat him without mercy,
until at last he complied. All this occurred under the same roof where
the usher then was. In the morning, the father came, and appealing to
him, was treated with contempt. As he was going across the yard to see
Dr. Page, the head master, the boys yelled at him from their windows,
calling him Yankee; doubtless, deeming it the most opprobrious of
epithets. The final result of this matter was, that Zerah was exempted
from the custom of fagging, though no relaxation of the custom,
generally, was made in the school.
Zerah continued at Westminster, spending his vacations with the Reverend
Mr. Bullen, Lord Bristol's chaplain, at the village of Danton. His
father, in the mean time, picked up the means of subsistence, partly by
boarding his son and a few other scholars, and partly by contributions.
At length, the Earl, who was now in Germany, made an arrangement for the
removal of Zerah from the Westminster school to the exclusive charge of
Mr. Bullen. Mr. Colburn objected to this, and wrote accordingly to Lord
Bristol. The latter persisted in his plan, and in order to reconcile the
father to it, offered him fifty pounds a year for his own personal use.
With stubbornness, amounting to infatuation, he rejected the generous
offer, and withdrew his son from the Westminster school, and the
patronage of his noble friend.
Young Colburn had spent two years and nine months at the Westminster
seminary, where his progress in the acquisition of languages and other
studies was extremely rapid. Euclid's Elements of Geometry were mastered
with ease; but it is a curious fact that while the boy was fascinated
with arithmetical calculations, as he advanced into the abstruser
portions of mathematics, his taste revolted from a pursuit that was dry
and repulsive.
Again the father and son were afloat in the sea of London. What was to
be done now? The education of his son was, doubtless, an object to Mr.
Colburn; but, with blind selfishness, he seems to have thought more of
turning him to account as a means of raising money. With this view he
proposed that he should go upon the stage; no doubt supposing that the
youth's notoriety would render him available in this capacity. He was
put in training, under the care of Charles Kemble. After four months'
tuition, he appeared at Margate in the character of Norval. His
reception was tolerably flattering, but he obtained no compensation. Mr.
Colburn now determined to exhibit his son in his new profession, in
Scotland and Ireland; but being almost entirely destitute of money, they
were obliged to take a steerage passage in a vessel, and subsist upon
hard fare. They arrived at Edinburgh, but received no encouragement in
the theatrical line. Mr. Colburn called upon his former friends, and
they contributed to his immediate relief. They now proceeded by
canal-boat to Greenock, and thence in a vessel to Belfast. Here they
found a strolling company of players, with whom an arrangement was made
for Zerah's appearance at Londonderry, whither the party were about to
proceed; to that place father and son journeyed on foot. Here the latter
performed in some inferior characters, and soon returned with the band
to Belfast. At this place he played the part of Richard the Third--but
alas! even this master-stroke of policy failed. The father and son
pushed on to Dublin, but they could get no engagement at the theatre.
The inventive resources of Abia Colburn were not yet exhausted. Zerah
must now turn author--and the future Methodist preacher must write a
play! The subject chosen was that of Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered. The
drama was composed--and we believe it was actually performed. But, alas!
says Zerah, in his honest, modest book--"it never had any merit or any
success."
After an absence of two months, the wanderers returned to London. A long
period of inaction follows, during which Zerah wrote plays, which were
never printed or performed, and the father picked up a precarious living
by levying contributions upon his former friends. These were at last
worn out with his importunities, and finally, one of the best of them
deliberately turned Zerah out of doors, when he came upon some errand
from his father.
Deprived of all other means save that of begging, which was now a poor
resource, the youth obtained employment in October, 1821, as an usher in
a school, and soon after established one on his own account. This
afforded so poor a support, that still another effort was made to raise
funds, ostensibly to provide for his permanent relief. To obtain
subscribers to this proposal, Zerah went to Edinburgh, Glasgow and
Belfast. At the former place, Mr. Combe took a cast of his head, seeking
thereby to throw light upon his phrenological theories. He returned to
London, with little success, and resumed his school.
The health of his father now began to give way. Unhappily, he had, from
the first discovery of his son's extraordinary gifts, looked upon them
with mercenary feelings--as a source of revenue. It is true he had a
father's love for his child--and in this respect, Zerah, in the simple
memoir of his own life, does his parent more than justice; but still, it
was this short-sighted selfishness which made him convert his child's
endowments into a curse to him, to his friends, and Zerah himself. His
expectations had been lifted to such a pitch, that nothing could satisfy
them. The most generous offers fell short of what he felt to be his due;
liberality was turned, in his mind, to parsimony--and even friends were
regarded as little short of enemies. His sanguine temper led him
constantly to indulge high hopes, which were as constantly doomed to
disappointment. Such a struggle could not always last. His mind was torn
with thoughts of his home and family neglected for twelve years; of his
life wasted; his prospects defeated; of fond dreams, ending at last in
failure, shame and poverty. He failed gradually, and on the 14th
February, 1824, he died. A few days after, the body was consigned to the
tomb, and Zerah, in his life, notices the fact that John Dunn Hunter was
among the mourners. We mention this, as coinciding with the account we
have given in this volume of that extraordinary character.
Zerah continued in London for a few months, in the employment of Mr.
Young, in making astronomical calculations. He had, however, a desire,
enforced by his father's death-bed injunctions, to return to his
country, and his mother, at Cabot. Again aided by his friend, Lord
Bristol, he was provided with necessary means, and in June, 1824, he
arrived at New York. On the third of July he approached his mother's
door. He found there an elderly woman, and being uncertain who it was,
he asked if she could tell him where the widow Colburn lived. "I am
she," was the reply.
The mother of Zerah Colburn was a remarkable woman. During the long
absence of her husband, with a family of eight children, and almost
entirely destitute of property, she had sustained the burthen with
indomitable energy. She wrought with her own hands, in house and field;
bargained away the little farm for a better; and, as her son says, "by a
course of persevering industry, hard fare, and trials such as few women
are accustomed to, she has hitherto succeeded in supporting herself,
besides doing a good deal for her children."
Zerah Colburn was now unable to offer much aid to his mother or the
family. He found employment for a time as a teacher; but his mind at
last was impressed with religious views, and after some vicissitudes of
life, and many fluctuations of feeling, he finally adopted the Methodist
faith, and became a humble but sincere preacher of that sect. With
pious, patient assiduity he continued in this career for a number of
years. He published a modest memoir of his life and adventures, from
which we have gathered the greater part of our account,--and at last
became professor of the Greek, Latin, French and Spanish languages, as
well as of classical literature, in the "Vermont University," at
Norwich. At this place he died, March 2d, 1840, in the thirty-eighth
year of his age.
Whoever has carefully attended to the facts stated in the early part of
this notice, will be prepared to admit that Zerah Colburn was one of the
most astonishing intellectual prodigies that has ever appeared. Totally
uninstructed in figures, at the age of six years, he was able to perform
mental operations which no man living, by all the training of art, is
able to accomplish. It had been stated by scientific men, that no rule
existed for finding the factors of numbers; yet this child discovered a
rule by which he ascertained results of this kind, accessible only to
skilful arithmeticians. In the London prospectus, the following facts,
in relation to this point, are stated, which cannot fail to excite
astonishment.
At one of his exhibitions, among various questions, it was proposed that
he should give the factors of 171,395--and he named the following as the
only ones: 5x34279; 7x22485; 59x2905; 83x2065; 35x4897; 295x581;
413x415. He was then asked to give the factors of 36,083; but he
immediately replied that it had none, which is the fact, it being a
prime number. "It had been asserted and maintained by the French
mathematicians that 4294967297, was a prime number; but the celebrated
Euler detected the error by discovering that it was equal to
641x6,700,417. The same number was proposed to this child, who found out
the factors by the mere operation of his mind."
Great pains were taken to discover the processes by which this boy
performed his operations. For a long time he was too ignorant of terms,
and too little accustomed to watch the operations of his mind, to do
this. He said to a lady, in Boston, who sought to make him disclose his
mode of calculation, "I cannot tell you how I do these things. God gave
me the power." At a subsequent time, however, while at the house of Mr.
Francis Bailey, in London, upon some remark being made, the boy said
suddenly, and without being asked--"I will tell you how I extract
roots." He then proceeded to tell his operations. This is detailed in
Zerah's book; but it in no degree abates our wonder. The rule does not
greatly facilitate the operation; it still demands an effort of mind
utterly beyond the capacity of most intellects; and after all, the very
rule itself was the invention of a child.
As he did not at first know the meaning of the word factor, when desired
to find the factors of a particular number, the question was put in this
form--"What two numbers multiplied together will produce such a number?"
His rule for solving such problems was sought for with much curiosity.
At last this was discovered. While in Edinburgh, in 1813, he being then
nine years old, he waked up one night, and said suddenly to his
father--"I can tell you how I find the factors!" His father rose,
obtained a light, and wrote down the rule, at Zerah's dictation.
It appears that when he came to maturity, these faculties did not
improve; and after a time he was even less expert in arithmetical
calculations than when he was ten years old. It is probable, his whole
mind was weakened, rather than strengthened, by the peculiar
circumstances of his life. As a preacher, he was in no way
distinguished. He says this in his book, with simple honesty; and seems
at a loss to understand the design of Providence in bestowing upon him
so stupendous a gift, which, so far as he was able to discover, had
produced no adequate results.
He suggests, indeed, a single instance, in which an atheist in Vermont,
who witnessed his performances in childhood, was induced to reflect upon
the almost miraculous powers of the mind, and led to the conclusion that
it must have an intelligent author. He saw that which was as hard to
believe, as much beyond the routine of experience, as any miracle--and
hence fairly concluded that miracles could be true. By this course of
reflection he was induced to reject his infidelity, and afterwards
became a sincere Christian.
This, we doubt not, was one of the designs of Providence, in the
bestowment of Zerah Colburn's wonderful gifts. But their use should not
be confined to an individual case. If there is argument for God in a
flower, how much more in a child of Zerah Colburn's endowments? What
infidelity can withstand such an instance, and still say, there is no
God? And farther, let us reflect upon the noble powers of the mind, and
rejoice, yet with fear and trembling, that we are possessors of an
inheritance, which, at God's bidding, is capable of such mighty
expansion.
The history of Zerah Colburn may teach us one thing more--that the gifts
of genius are not always sources of happiness to the possessor; that
mental affluence, like worldly riches, often brings sorrow, rather than
peace to the possessor; and that moderate natural gifts, well
cultivated, are generally the most useful in society, and most conducive
to the happiness of the possessor.
[Illustration: _Zerah Colburn, at eight years of age._]
BARATIERE.
John Philip Baratiere was a most extraordinary instance of the early and
rapid exertion of mental faculties. He was the son of Francis Baratiere,
minister of the French church at Schwoback, near Nuremberg, where he was
born, January 10, 1721. The French was his mother tongue, and German was
the language of the people around him. His father talked to him in
Latin, and with this he became familiar; so that, without knowing the
rules of grammar, he, at four years of age, talked French to his mother,
Latin to his father, and High Dutch to the servants and neighboring
children, without mixing or confounding the respective languages.
About the middle of his fifth year, he acquired a knowledge of the
Greek: so that in fifteen months he perfectly understood all the Greek
books in the Old and New Testament, which he translated into Latin. When
five years and eight months old, he entered upon Hebrew; and in three
years more, was so expert in the Hebrew text, that, from a Bible without
points, he could give the sense of the original in Latin or French, or
translate, extempore, the Latin or French versions into Hebrew. He
composed a dictionary of rare and difficult Hebrew words; and about his
tenth year, amused himself, for twelve months, with the rabbinical
writers.
He now obtained a knowledge of the Chaldaic, Syriac and Arabic; and
acquired a taste for divinity and ecclesiastical antiquity, by studying
the Greek fathers of the first four ages of the church. In the midst of
these occupations, a pair of globes coming into his possession, he
could, in eight or ten days, resolve all the problems upon them; and in
January, 1735, at the age of fourteen, he devised his project for the
discovery of the longitude, which he communicated to the Royal Society
of London, and the Royal Academy of Sciences at Berlin!
In June, 1731, he was matriculated in the university of Altorf; and at
the close of 1732, he was presented by his father at the meeting of the
reformed churches of the circle, at Franconia; who, astonished at his
wonderful talents, admitted him to assist in the deliberations of the
synod; and, to preserve the memory of so singular an event, it was
registered in their acts. In 1734, the Margrave of Brandenburg, Anspach,
granted this young scholar a pension of fifty florins; and his father
receiving a call to the French church at Stettin, in Pomerania, young
Baratiere was, on the journey, admitted master of arts. At Berlin, he
was honored with several conversations with the king of Prussia, and was
received into the Royal Academy.
Towards the close of his life, he acquired a considerable taste for
medals, inscriptions, and antiquities, metaphysical inquiries, and
experimental philosophy. He wrote several essays and dissertations; made
astronomical remarks and laborious calculations; took great pains
towards a history of the heresies of the Anti-Trinitarians, and of the
thirty years' war in Germany. His last publication, which appeared in
1740, was on the succession of the bishops of Rome. The final work he
engaged in, and for which he had gathered large materials, was Inquiries
concerning the Egyptian Antiquities. But the substance of this blazing
meteor was now almost exhausted; he was always weak and sickly, and died
October 5th, 1740, aged nineteen years, eight months, and sixteen days.
Baratiere published eleven different pieces, and left twenty-six
manuscripts, on various subjects, the contents of which may be seen in
his Life, written by Mr. Formey, professor of philosophy at Berlin.
[Illustration]
GASSENDI
Pierre Gassendi, one of the most famous naturalists and philosophers of
France, was born at Chantersier, January 22, 1592, of poor parents. They
were, however, wise and virtuous people, and perceiving the
extraordinary gifts of their son, did everything in their power to
promote his education. At the age of four years, young Pierre used to
declaim little sermons of his own composition, which were quite
interesting. At the age of seven, he would steal away from his parents,
and spend a great part of the night in observing the stars. This made
his friends say he was born an astronomer. At this age, he had a dispute
with some boys, whether it was the moon or the clouds that moved so
rapidly; to convince them that it was the latter, he took them behind a
tree, and made them take notice that the moon kept its situation between
the same leaves, while the clouds passed on.
This early disposition to observation led his parents to place him under
the care of the clergyman of the village, who gave him the first
elements of learning. His ardor for study then became extreme: the day
was not long enough for him; and he often read a great part of the night
by the light of the lamp that was burning in the church of the village,
his family being too poor to allow him candles for his nocturnal
studies. He often took only four hours sleep in the night. At the age of
ten, he harangued his bishop in Latin, who was passing through the
village on his visitation; and he did this with such ease and spirit,
that the prelate exclaimed--"That lad will, one day or other, be the
wonder of his age." The modest and unassuming conduct of Gassendi gave
an additional charm to his talents.
[Illustration: _Gassendi and the Boys._]
In his manners, this remarkable youth was in general silent, never
ostentatiously obtruding upon others, either the acuteness of his
understanding, or the eloquence of his conversation; he was never in a
hurry to give his opinion before he knew that of the persons who were
conversing with him. When men of learning introduced themselves to him,
he was contented with behaving to them with great civility, and was not
anxious to surprise them into admiration. The entire tendency of his
studies was to make himself wiser and better; and to have his intention
more constantly before his eyes, he had all his books inscribed with
these words, _Sapere aude_; "Dare to be wise."
Such was Gassendi's reputation, that at sixteen he was called to teach
rhetoric at the seminary of Digne; in 1614, he was made professor of
theology in the same institution; and two years after, he was invited to
fill the chair of divinity and philosophy at Aix. After passing through
various promotions, and publishing several works of great merit on
philosophical subjects, Gassendi went at last to Paris, where he gained
the friendship of Cardinal Richelieu, and shared the admiration of the
learned world with the famous philosopher, Descartes.
Being appointed a professor of mathematics in the College Royal of
Paris, he gave his attention to astronomical subjects, and greatly
increased his reputation. After a life devoted to science, in which his
achievements were wonderful, he died at Paris, October 14, 1655, aged
sixty-three years. Distinguished by his vast learning, his admirable
clearness of mind, the diversity of his acquirements, the calmness and
dignity of his character, and the amiableness of his manners, Gassendi
was alike one of the brightest ornaments of his age and of human nature.
[Illustration]
PASCAL.
Blaise Pascal "perhaps the most brilliant intellect that ever lighted on
this lower world," was born at Clermont, in the province of Auvergne, on
the 19th of June, 1623. He was descended from one of the best families
in that province. As soon as he was able to speak, he discovered marks
of extraordinary capacity. This he evinced, not only by the general
pertinency and acuteness of his replies, but also by the questions which
he asked concerning the nature of things, and his reasonings upon them,
which were much superior to what is common at his age. His mother having
died in 1626, his father, who was an excellent scholar and an able
mathematician, and who lived in habits of intimacy with several persons
of the greatest learning and science at that time in France, determined
to take upon himself the whole charge of his son's education.
One of the instances in which young Pascal displayed his disposition to
reason upon everything, is the following. He had been told that God
rested from his labors on the seventh day, and hallowed it, and had
commanded all mankind to suspend their labor and do no work on the
Sabbath. When he was about seven years of age, he was seen, of a Sabbath
morning, measuring some blades of grass. When asked what he was doing,
he replied that he was going to see if the grass grew on Sunday, and if
God ceased working on the Sabbath, as he had commanded mankind to do!
Before young Pascal had attained his twelfth year, two circumstances
occurred, which deserve to be recorded, as they discovered the turn, and
evinced the superiority, of his mind. Having remarked one day, at table,
the sound produced by a person accidentally striking an earthenware
plate with a knife, and that the vibrations were immediately stopped by
putting his hand on the plate, he became anxious to investigate the
cause of this phenomenon; he employed himself in making a number of
experiments on sound, the results of which he committed to writing, so
as to form a little treatise on the subject, which was found very
correct and ingenious.
The other occurrence was his first acquisition, or, as it might not be
improperly termed, his invention of geometry. His father, though very
fond of mathematics, had studiously kept from his son all the means of
becoming acquainted with this subject. This he did, partly in conformity
to the maxim he had hitherto followed, of keeping his son superior to
his task; and partly from an apprehension that a science so engaging,
and at the same time so abstracted, and which, on that account, was
peculiarly suited to the turn of his son's mind, would probably absorb
too much of his attention, and stop the progress of his other studies,
if he were at once initiated into it.
But the activity of an inquisitive and penetrating mind is not to be so
easily restrained. As, from respect to his father's authority, however,
the youth had so far regarded his prohibition as to pursue this study
only in private, and at his hours of recreation, he went on for some
time undiscovered. But one day, while he was employed in this manner,
his father accidentally came into the room, unobserved by Pascal, who
was wholly intent on the subject of his investigation. His father stood
for some time unperceived, and observed, with the greatest astonishment,
that his son was surrounded with geometrical figures, and was then
actually employed in finding out the proportion of the angles formed by
a triangle, one side of which is produced; which is the subject of the
thirty-second proposition in the First Book of Euclid.
The father at length asked his son what he was doing. The latter,
surprised and confused to find his father was there, told him he wanted
to find out this and that, mentioning the different parts contained in
that theorem. His father then asked how he came to inquire about that.
He replied, that he had found out such a thing, naming some of the more
simple problems; and thus, in reply to different questions, he showed
that he had gone on his own investigations, totally unassisted, from the
most simple definition in geometry, to Euclid's thirty-second
proposition. This, it must be remembered, was when Pascal was but twelve
years of age.
His subsequent progress perfectly accorded with this extraordinary
display of talent. His father now gave him Euclid's Elements to peruse
at his hours of recreation. He read them, and understood them, without
any assistance. His progress was so rapid that he was soon admitted to
the meetings of a society of which his father, Roberval, and some other
celebrated mathematicians were members, and from which afterwards
originated the Royal Academy of Sciences, at Paris.
During Pascal's residence with his father at Rouen, and while he was
only in his nineteenth year, he invented his famous arithmetical
machine, by which all numerical calculations, however complex, can be
made by the mechanical operation of its different parts, without any
arithmetical skill in the person who uses it. He had a patent for this
invention in 1649. His studies, however, began to be interrupted when he
reached his eighteenth year by some symptoms of ill health, which were
thought to be the effect of intense application, and which never
afterwards entirely quitted him; so that he was sometimes accustomed to
say, that from the time he was eighteen, he had never passed a day
without pain. But Pascal, though out of health, was still Pascal; ever
active, ever inquiring, and satisfied only with that for which an
adequate reason could be assigned. Having heard of the experiments
instituted by Torricelli, to find out the cause of the rise of water in
fountains and pumps, and of the mercury in the barometer, he was induced
to repeat them, and to make others, to satisfy himself upon the
subject.
In 1654, he invented his arithmetical triangle, for the solution of
problems respecting the combinations of stakes, in unfinished games of
hazard; and long after that, he wrote his Demonstrations of the Problems
relating to the Cycloid; besides several pieces on other subjects in the
higher branches of the mathematics, for which his genius was probably
most fitted. Pascal, though not rich, was independent in his
circumstances; and as his peculiar talents, his former habits, and the
state of his health, all called for retirement, he adopted a secluded
mode of life. From 1655, he associated only with a few friends of the
same religious opinions with himself, and lived for the most part in
privacy in the society of Port Royal.
At this period, the Catholics being divided into Jesuits and Jansenists,
Pascal, being of the latter, published his famous Provincial Letters.
These are so distinguished for their admirable wit, their keen argument,
and their exquisite beauty of style, as to have even extorted praise
from Voltaire and D'Alembert. He also wrote other pieces against the
Jesuits, marked with great talent.
Pascal's health, however, continued to decline; and it is probable that
his mind suffered in consequence. Though his life had been singularly
blameless, still he seemed to be pained with a sense of inward sin. He
was accustomed to wear an iron belt around his waist, in which were
sharp points, upon which he would strike his elbows, or his arms, when
any unholy passion crossed his mind. He continued to practise charity
toward all mankind, and severe austerities to himself, until at last he
was attacked with sickness, and on the 19th of August, 1662, he died.
His last words were, "May God never forsake me!"
The latter part of his life was wholly spent in religious meditations,
though he committed to paper such pious thoughts as occurred to him.
These were published after his death, under the title of "Thoughts on
Religion and other Subjects." They have been greatly admired for their
depth, eloquence and Christian spirit.
[Illustration: _Pascal._]
[Illustration]
GROTIUS.
Hugo Grotius, celebrated for his early display of genius and learning,
as well as for his adventures and writings in after life, was born at
Delft, in Holland, April 10, 1583. He had the best masters to direct his
education, and from childhood, was not only distinguished by the great
brilliancy of his mind, but also by his application to study. Such was
his progress, that, at eight years of age, he composed Latin elegiac
verses of great cleverness, and at fourteen, he maintained public theses
in mathematics, law, and philosophy with general applause. His
reputation by this time was established, and he was mentioned by the
principal scholars of the age, as a prodigy of learning, and as
destined to make a conspicuous figure in the republic of letters.
In 1598, he accompanied Barnevelt, ambassador extraordinary of the Dutch
Republic, in a journey to France, where he was introduced to Henry IV.,
who was so pleased with his learning, that he presented him with his
picture and a gold chain. While in France, he took the degree of doctor
of laws. The following year he commenced practice as an advocate, and
pleaded his first cause at Delft. In the same year, though then only
seventeen, he was chosen historiographer to the United Provinces, in
preference to several learned men who were candidates for that office.
Grotius now rapidly rose in rank and reputation: he published several
works of great merit, and was appointed to various public offices of
high trust. On one occasion he was sent by the government to England to
attend to some negotiations, at which time he became acquainted with
King James II. But serious religious difficulties now began to agitate
Holland. In 1618, a synod met at Dort to take these into consideration.
They proceeded to condemn the Arminian doctrines, and to banish all the
preachers who upheld them. Barnevelt, who was a celebrated statesman,
Grotius, and Hoogurbetz, advocated these sentiments; they were tried and
condemned; the first was executed and the two others were sentenced to
perpetual imprisonment.
In his prison of Louvestien, Grotius found consolation in literary
pursuits. His wife, after much entreaty, was permitted to visit him, and
she did everything which the most devoted affection could suggest, to
alleviate his confinement. She was accustomed to send him books in the
chest which was conveyed out and in, with his linen: this was carefully
examined by the jailer, for a time, but finding nothing amiss, he became
less suspicious and careful.
Taking notice of this, the wife of Grotius, after he had been confined
about two years, devised a scheme for his escape. She pretended to have
a large quantity of books to send away. Having a small chest of drawers,
about three feet and a half long, she packed her husband into it, and it
was carried out by two soldiers, who supposed they were transporting a
quantity of books. The chest was now put on a horse, and carried to
Gorcum, where the illustrious prisoner was set at liberty.
Disguised in the dress of a mason, with a rule and a trowel in his hand,
he fled to Antwerp, which was not under the government of the
Stadtholder, Prince Maurice, who had caused his imprisonment. Here he
wrote to the State's General of Holland, asserting his innocence of any
wrong, in the course he had taken, and for which he had been deprived of
liberty. He afterwards went to Paris, where he received a pension from
the king.
After the death of Prince Maurice, his confiscated property and estates
were restored, and he returned to Holland; but he still found such a
spirit of rancor against him, among the principal persons, that he left
the country forever, and took up his residence at Hamburgh. Here he
received the most flattering proposals from the kings of Portugal,
Spain, Denmark, and other countries, who admired his great abilities,
and desired him to seek shelter and protection with them.
He finally adopted Sweden as his country, and becoming the queen's
ambassador to France, he proceeded, in that character, to Paris, where,
for eight years, he sustained the interests of his patron with firmness
and dignity. At last, being weary of public life, he solicited his
recall. In August, 1648, he embarked for Lubec, where he intended to
reside; but, meeting with a dreadful storm, he was driven upon the coast
of Pomerania, and obliged to take a land journey of sixty miles, in
order to reach Rostock, during which he was exposed to the rain and
inclement weather. A fever soon set in, and at midnight, on the 28th of
August, the illustrious stranger died.
Grotius has left behind him many works, some of them of great value. His
treatise upon the "Truth of the Christian Religion," written in Latin,
like his other productions, is one of the best defences of that system
which has ever appeared. His work on the law of Peace and War, is still
of high authority. We must look upon Grotius as a man of great
acuteness, as well as vast expanse of mind. He was, indeed, in advance
of his generation, and, like other patriots and philanthropists, who see
farther than those around them, he was an object of hatred and disgust,
for those very things which in an after age brought him the homage and
gratitude of mankind. In an intolerant age, Grotius was in favor of
toleration, and this alone was a crime which his generation could not
forget or forgive.
NEWTON.
Sir Isaac Newton, the greatest of natural philosophers, was born at
Woolsthorpe, in Lincolnshire, December 25, 1642, old style. At his birth
he was so small and weak that his life was despaired of. On the death of
his father, which took place while he was yet an infant, the manor of
Woolsthorpe became his heritage. His mother sent him, at an early age,
to the village school, and in his twelfth year, to the seminary of
Grantham.
While here he displayed a decided taste for mechanical and philosophical
inventions; and avoiding the society of other children, provided himself
with a collection of saws, hammers, and other instruments, with which he
constructed models of many kinds of machinery. He also made
hour-glasses, acting by the descent of water. A new windmill, of a
peculiar construction, having been erected in the town, he studied it
until he succeeded in imitating it, and placed a mouse inside, which he
called the miller.
Some knowledge of drawing being necessary in these operations, he
applied himself, without a master, to the study; and the walls of his
room were covered with all sorts of designs. After a short period,
however, his mother took him home, for the purpose of employing him on
the farm and about the affairs of the house. She sent him several times
to market, at Grantham, with the produce of the farm. A trusty servant
was sent with him, and the young philosopher left him to manage the
business, while he himself employed his time in reading. A sundial,
which he constructed on the wall of the house at Woolsthorpe, is still
shown. His irresistible passion for study and science finally induced
his mother to send him back to Grantham. Here he continued for a time,
and was entered at Trinity College, Cambridge, 1660.
[Illustration]
At the latter place he studied mathematics with the utmost assiduity. In
1667, he obtained a fellowship; in 1669, the mathematical professorship;
and in 1671, he became a member of the Royal Society. It was during his
abode at Cambridge that he made his three great discoveries, of
fluxions, the nature of light and colors, and the laws of gravitation.
To the latter of these his attention was first turned by his seeing an
apple fall from a tree. The Principia, which unfolded to the world the
theory of the universe, was not published till 1687. In that year also
Newton was chosen one of the delegates to defend the privileges of the
university against James II.; and in 1688 and 1701 he was elected one of
the members of the university. He was appointed warden of the mint in
1696; he was made master of it in 1699; was chosen president of the
Royal Society in 1703; and was knighted in 1705. He died March 20,
1727.
His "Observations on the Prophecies of Daniel and the Apocalypse"
appeared in 1733, in quarto. "It is astonishing," says Dr. Hutton, "what
care and industry Newton employed about the papers relating to
chronology, church history, &c.; as, on examining them, it appears that
many are copies over and over again, often with little or no variation."
All the works of this eminent philosopher were published by Dr. Samuel
Horsley, in 1779, in five volumes, quarto; and an English translation of
his "Philosophae Naturalis Principia Mathematicae," is extant.
The character of this great man has been thus drawn by Mr. Hume, in his
history of England. "In Newton, Britain may boast of having produced the
greatest and rarest genius that ever rose for the ornament and
instruction of the human species. Cautious in admitting no principles
but such as were founded on experiment, but resolute to adopt every such
principle, however new or unusual; from modesty, ignorant of his
superiority over the rest of mankind, and thence less careful to
accommodate such reasonings to common apprehensions; more anxious to
merit than acquire fame:--he was from these causes long unknown to the
world; but his reputation at last broke out with a lustre, which
scarcely any writer, during his own lifetime, had ever before attained.
While Newton seemed to draw off the veil from some of the mysteries of
nature, he showed at the same time some of the imperfections of the
mechanical philosophy; and thereby restored her ultimate secrets to that
obscurity in which they ever did and ever will remain."
The remains of Sir Isaac Newton were interred in Westminster Abbey,
where a magnificent monument is erected to his memory, with a Latin
inscription, concluding thus:--"Let mortals congratulate themselves that
so great an ornament of human nature has existed." His character is
shown, by Dr. Brewster, to have been that of the humble and sincere
Christian. Of nature, antiquity, and the Holy Scriptures, he was a
diligent, sagacious, and faithful interpreter. He maintained by his
philosophy the dignity of the Supreme Being, and in his manners he
exhibited the simplicity of the Gospel. "I seem to myself," he said, "to
be like a child, picking up a shell here and there on the shore of the
great ocean of truth." He would hardly admit that he had a genius above
other men, but attributed his discoveries to the intentness with which
he applied to the study of philosophy. We cannot better close our notice
of this great man, than in the words of Pope:
"Nature and nature's laws lay hid in night--
God said, 'let Newton be'--and all was light!"
[Illustration]
MAGLIABECCHI.
Antony Magliabecchi was born at Florence, on the 29th of October, in the
year 1633. His parents were so poor as to be well satisfied when they
got him into the service of a man who sold greens. He had not yet
learned to read, but he was perpetually poring over the leaves of old
books, that were used as waste paper in his master's shop. A bookseller
who lived in the neighborhood, observed this, and knowing that the boy
could not read, asked him one day what he meant by staring so much at
pieces of printed paper? He said, that he did not know how it was, but
that he loved it of all things; that he was very uneasy in the business
he was in, and should be the happiest creature in the world if he could
live with him, who had always so many books about him.
The bookseller was pleased with this answer; and at last told him, that
if his master were willing to part with him, he would take him. Young
Magliabecchi was highly delighted, and the more so, when his master,
agreeably to the bookseller's desire, gave him leave to go. He went,
therefore, directly to his new business. He had not long been there,
before he could find out any book that was asked for, as readily as the
bookseller himself. In a short period he had learned to read, and then
he was always reading when he could find time.
He seems never to have applied himself to any particular study. A love
of reading was his ruling passion, and a prodigious memory his great
talent. He read all kinds of books, almost indifferently, as they came
into his hands, and that with a surprising quickness; yet he retained
not only the sense, but often the words and the very manner of spelling.
His extraordinary application and talents soon recommended him to
Ermina, librarian to the Cardinal de Medicis, and Marmi, the Grand
Duke's librarian. He was by them introduced to the conversation of the
learned, and made known at court. He now began to be looked upon
everywhere as a prodigy, particularly for his unbounded memory.
In order to make an experiment in respect to this, a gentleman of
Florence, who had written a piece, which was to be printed, lent the
manuscript to Magliabecchi. Sometime after it had been returned, he came
to the librarian with a melancholy face, and told him that by some
accident he had lost his manuscript; and seemed almost inconsolable,
entreating Magliabecchi, at the same time, to endeavor to recollect as
much of it as he possibly could, and write it down. Magliabecchi assured
him he would do so, and on setting about it, wrote down the whole,
without missing a word.
By treasuring up everything he read, in this wonderful manner, or at
least the subject, and all the principal parts of the books he ran over,
his head became at last, as one of his acquaintance expressed it, "an
universal index, both of titles and matter."
By this time, Magliabecchi was grown so famous for the vast extent of
his reading, and his amazing retention of what he had read, that it
began to grow common amongst the learned to consult him when they were
writing on any subject. Thus, for instance, if a priest was going to
compose a panegyric upon any favorite saint, and came to communicate his
design to Magliabecchi, he would immediately tell him who had said
anything of that saint, and in what part of their works, and that,
sometimes, to the number of above a hundred authors. He would tell them
not only who had treated of their subject designedly, but of such, also,
as had touched upon it incidentally, in writing on other subjects. All
this he did with the greatest exactness, naming the author, the book,
the words, and often the very number of the page in which the passage
referred to was inserted. He did this so often, so readily, and so
exactly, that he came at last to be looked upon almost as an oracle, for
the ready and full answers that he gave to all questions proposed to him
in respect to any subject or science whatever.
It was his great eminence in this way, and his almost inconceivable
knowledge of books, that induced the Grand Duke, Cosmo the third, to
make him his librarian. What a happiness must it have been to one like
Magliabecchi, who delighted in nothing so much as reading, to have the
command and use of such a collection of books as that in the Duke's
palace! He was also very conversant with the books in the Lorenzo
library; and had the keeping of those of Leopoldo, and Francisco Maria,
the two cardinals of Tuscany.
Magliabecchi had a local memory, too, of the places where every book
stood, in the libraries which he frequented; he seems, indeed, to have
carried this even farther. One day the Grand Duke sent for him to ask
whether he could get him a book that was particularly scarce. "No, sir,"
answered Magliabecchi, "for there is but one in the world, and that is
in the Grand Signior's library at Constantinople; it is the seventh book
on the second shelf, on the right hand, as you go in."
Though Magliabecchi lived so sedentary a life, with such an intense and
almost perpetual application to books, yet he arrived to a good old age.
He died in his eighty-first year, on the 14th of July, 1714. By his will
he left a very fine library, of his own collection, for the use of the
public, with a fund to maintain it; and whatever should remain over, to
the poor.
In his manner of living, Magliabecchi affected the character of
Diogenes; three hard eggs, and a draught or two of water, were his usual
repast. When his friends went to see him, they generally found him
lolling in a sort of fixed wooden cradle, in the middle of his study,
with a multitude of books, some thrown in heaps, and others scattered
about the floor, around him. His cradle, or bed, was generally attached
to the nearest pile of books by a number of cobwebs: at the entrance of
any one, he used to call out, "Don't hurt my spiders!"
[Illustration]
JAMES CRICHTON.
James Crichton, commonly called 'The Admirable,' son of Robert Crichton,
of Eliock, who was Lord Advocate to King James VI., was born in
Scotland, in the year 1561. The precise place of his birth is not
mentioned, but he received the best part of his education at St.
Andrews, at that time the most celebrated seminary in Scotland, where
the illustrious Buchanan was one of his masters. At the early age of
fourteen, he took his degree of Master of Arts, and was considered a
prodigy, not only in abilities, but in actual attainments.
It was the custom of the time for Scotchmen of birth to finish their
education abroad, and serve in some foreign army, previously to entering
that of their own country. When he was only sixteen or seventeen years
old, Crichton's father sent him to the Continent. He had scarcely
arrived in Paris, which was then a gay and splendid city, famous for
jousting, fencing, and dancing, when he publicly challenged all scholars
and philosophers to a disputation at the College of Navarre. He proposed
that it should be carried on in any one of twelve specified languages,
and have relation to any science or art, whether practical or
theoretical. The challenge was accepted; and, as if to show in how
little need he stood of preparation, or how lightly he held his
adversaries, he spent the six weeks that elapsed between the challenge
and the contest, in a continual round of tilting, hunting, and dancing.
On the appointed day, however, and in the contest, he is said to have
encountered all the gravest philosophers and divines, and to have
acquitted himself to the astonishment of all who heard him. He received
the public praises of the president and four of the most eminent
professors. The very next day he appeared at a tilting match in the
Louvre, and carried off the ring from all his accomplished and
experienced competitors.
Enthusiasm was now at its height, particularly among the ladies of the
court, and from the versatility of his talents, his youth, the
gracefulness of his manners, and the beauty of his person, he was named
_L'Admirable_. After serving two years in the army of Henry III., who
was engaged in a civil war with his Huguenot subjects, Crichton repaired
to Italy, and repeated at Rome, in the presence of the Pope and
cardinals, the literary challenge and triumph that had gained him so
much honor at Paris.
From Rome he went to Venice, at which gay city he arrived in a depressed
state of spirits. None of his Scottish biographers are very willing to
acknowledge the fact, but it appears quite certain, that, spite of his
noble birth and connexions, he was miserably poor, and became for some
time dependent on the bounty of a Venetian printer--the celebrated Aldus
Manutius. After a residence of four months at Venice, where his
learning, engaging manners, and various accomplishments, excited
universal wonder, as is made evident by several Italian writers who were
living at the time, and whose lives were published, Crichton went to the
neighboring city of Padua, in the learned university of which he reaped
fresh honors by Latin poetry, scholastic disputation, an exposition of
the errors of Aristotle and his commentators, and as a playful wind-up
of the day's labors, a declamation upon the happiness of ignorance.
Another day was fixed for a public disputation in the palace of the
bishop of Padua; but this being prevented from taking place, gave some
incredulous or envious men the opportunity of asserting that Crichton
was a literary impostor, whose acquirements were totally superficial.
His reply was a public challenge. The contest, which included the
Aristotelian and platonic philosophies, and the mathematics of the time,
was prolonged during three days, before an innumerable concourse of
people. His friend, Aldus Manutius, who was present at what he calls
"this miraculous encounter," says he proved completely victorious, and
that he was honored by such a rapture of applause as was never before
heard.
Crichton's journeying from university to university to stick up
challenges on church doors, and college pillars, though it is said to
have been in accordance with customs not then obsolete, certainly
attracted some ridicule among the Italians; for Boccalini, after copying
one of his placards, in which he announces his arrival, and his
readiness to dispute extemporaneously on all subjects, says that a wit
wrote under it, "and whosoever wishes to see him, let him go to the
Falcon Inn, where he will be shown,"--which is the formula used by
showmen for the exhibition of a wild beast, or any other monster.
We next hear of Crichton at Mantua, and as the hero of a combat more
tragical than those carried on by the tongue or the pen. A certain
Italian gentleman, "of a mighty, able, nimble, and vigorous body, but by
nature fierce, cruel, warlike, and audacious, and superlatively expert
and dexterous in the use of his weapon," was in the habit of going from
one city to another, to challenge men to fight with cold steel, just as
Crichton did to challenge them to scholastic combats. This itinerant
gladiator, who had marked his way through Italy with blood, had just
arrived in Mantua, and killed three young men, the best swordsmen of
that city. By universal consent, the Italians were the ablest masters of
fence in Europe; a reputation to which they seem still entitled. To
encounter a victor among such masters, was a stretch of courage; but
Crichton, who had studied the sword from his youth, and who had probably
improved himself in the use of the rapier in Italy, did not hesitate to
challenge the redoubtable bravo.
Though the duke was unwilling to expose so accomplished a gentleman to
so great a hazard, yet, relying upon the report he had heard of his
warlike qualifications, he agreed to the proposal; and the time and
place being appointed, the whole court attended to behold the
performance. At the beginning of the combat, Crichton stood only upon
his defence, while the Italian made his attack with such eagerness and
fury, that, having exhausted himself, he began to grow weary. The young
Scotsman now seized the opportunity of attacking his antagonist in
return; which he did with so much dexterity and vigor, that he ran him
through the body in three different places, of which wounds he
immediately died.
The acclamations of the spectators were loud and long-continued upon
this occasion; and it was acknowledged by all, that they had never seen
nature second the precepts of art in so lively and graceful a manner as
they had beheld it on that day. To crown the glory of the action,
Crichton bestowed the rich prize awarded for his victory, upon the
widows of the three persons who had lost their lives in fighting with
the gladiator.
In consequence of this and his other wonderful performances, the duke of
Mantua made choice of him for preceptor to his son, Vicentio de Gonzago,
who is represented as being of a riotous temper, and dissolute life. The
appointment was highly pleasing to the court. Crichton, to testify his
gratitude to his friends and benefactors, and to contribute to their
diversion, framed a comedy, wherein he exposed and ridiculed the
weaknesses and failures of the several occupations and pursuits in which
men are engaged. This composition was regarded as one of the most
ingenious satires that ever was made upon mankind. But the most
astonishing part of the story, is, that Crichton sustained fifteen
characters in the representation of his own play. Among the rest, he
acted the divine, the philosopher, the lawyer, the mathematician, the
physician, and the soldier, with such inimitable skill, that every time
he appeared upon the theatre, he seemed to be a different person.
From being the principal actor in a comedy, Crichton soon became the
subject of a dreadful tragedy. One night, during the time of Carnival,
as he was walking along the streets of Mantua, and playing upon his
guitar, he was attacked by half a dozen people in masks. The assailants
found that they had no ordinary person to deal with, for they were not
able to maintain their ground against him. At last the leader of the
company, being disarmed, pulled off his mask, and begged his life,
telling Crichton that he was the prince, his pupil. Crichton immediately
fell upon his knees, and expressed his concern for his mistake; alleging
that what he had done was only in his own defence, and that if Gonzago
had any design upon his life, he might always be master of it. Then,
taking his own sword by the point, he presented it to the prince, who
immediately received it, and was so irritated by the affront which he
thought he had sustained, in being foiled with all his attendants, that
he instantly ran Crichton through the heart.
His tragical end excited very great and general lamentation. The whole
court of Mantua went three-quarters of a year into mourning for him; and
numerous epitaphs and elegies were composed upon his death.
To account in some manner for the extent of Crichton's attainments, it
must be recollected that the first scholars of the age were his
instructors: for, besides having Rutherford as a tutor, it is stated by
Aldus Manutius, that he was also taught by Buchanan, Hessburn, and
Robertson; and hence his extraordinary proficiency in the languages, as
well as in the sciences, as then taught in the schools of Europe. It
must also be recollected that no expense would be spared in his
education, as his father was Lord Advocate in Queen Mary's reign, from
1561 to 1573, and his mother, the daughter of Sir James Stuart, was
allied to the royal family. It is evident, however, that these
advantages were seconded by powers of body and mind rarely united in any
human being.
[Illustration]
BERONICIUS.
The history of this man is involved in some obscurity, yet enough is
known to show that he was a person of wonderful endowments, and great
eccentricity of life and character.
In the year 1674, the celebrated Dutch poet, Antonides Vander Goes,
being in Zealand, happened to be in company with a young gentleman, who
spoke of the wonderful genius of his language master. Vander Goes
expressed a desire to see him, and while they were talking upon the
subject, the extraordinary man entered. He was a little, sallow dumpling
of a fellow, with fiery eyes, and nimble, fidgety motions; he was withal
a sight to see for the raggedness of his garments.
The strange man soon showed that he was drunk, and shortly after took
his leave. But in a subsequent interview with the Dutch poet, he fully
justified the character his pupil had given him. His great talent lay in
being able with almost miraculous quickness, to turn any written theme
into Latin or Greek verse. Upon being put to the trial, by Vander Goes,
he succeeded, to the admiration of all present.
The poet had just shown him his verses, and asked his opinion of them.
Beronicius read them twice, praised them, and said, "What should hinder
me from turning them into Latin instantly?" The company viewed him with
curiosity, and encouraged him by saying, "Well, pray let us see what you
can do." In the meantime, the man appeared to be startled. He trembled
from head to foot, as if possessed. However, he selected an epigram from
the poems, and asked the precise meaning of two or three Dutch words, of
which he did not clearly understand the force, and requested that he
might be allowed to Latinize the name of _Hare_, which occurred in the
poem, in some manner so as not to lose the pun. They agreed; and he
immediately said, "I have already found it,--I shall call him
_Dasypus_," which signifies an animal with rough legs, and is likewise
taken by the Greeks for a hare. "Now, read a couple of lines at a time
to me, and I shall give them in Latin," said he;--upon which a poet
named Buizero, began to read to him, and Beronicius burst out in the
following verses:--
Egregia Dasypus referens virtute leonem
In bello, adversus Britonas super aequora gesto,
Impavidus pelago stetit, aggrediente molossum.
Agmine quem tandem glans ferrea misit ad astra,
Vindictae cupidum violato jure profundi.
Advena, quisquis ades, Zelandae encomia gentis
Ista refer, lepores demta quod pelle leonem,
Assumant, quotquot nostro versantur in orbe.
Epitaphium Herois Adriani de Haze, ex Belgico versum.
When the poet had finished, he laughed till his sides shook; at the same
time he was jeering and pointing at the company, who appeared surprised
at his having, contrary to their expectations, acquitted himself so
well; everybody highly praised him, which elated him so much that he
scratched his head three or four times; and fixing his fiery eyes on
the ground, repeated without hesitation, the same epigram in Greek
verse, calling out, "There ye have it in Greek." Every one was
astonished, which set him a-laughing and jeering for a quarter of an
hour.
The Greek he repeated so rapidly, that no one could write from his
recitation. John Frederick Gymnick, professor of the Greek language at
Duisburgh, who was one of the auditors, said that he esteemed the Greek
version as superior to the Latin. Beronicius was afterwards examined in
various ways, and gave such proofs of his wonderful learning, as amazed
all the audience.
This singular genius spoke several languages so perfectly, that each
might have passed for his mother tongue; especially Italian, French, and
English. But Greek was his favorite, and he used it as correctly and as
fluently as if he had always spoken it. He knew by heart the whole of
Horace and Virgil, the greatest part of Cicero, and both the Plinys; and
would immediately, if a line were mentioned, repeat the whole passage,
and tell the exact work, volume, chapter, and verse, of all these, and
many more, especially poets. The works of Juvenal were so interwoven
with his brain, that he retained every word.
Of the Greek poets, he had Homer strongly imprinted on his memory,
together with some of the comedies of Aristophanes; he could directly
turn to any line required, and repeat the whole contiguous passage. His
Latin was full of words selected from the most celebrated writers.
The reader will probably be desirous of knowing to what country
Beronicius belonged; but this is a secret he never would disclose. When
he was asked what was his native land, he always answered, "that the
country of every one, was that in which he could live most comfortably."
It was well known that he had wandered about many years in France,
England, and the Netherlands, carrying his whole property with him. He
was sometimes told that he deserved to be a professor in a college;--but
his reply was, that he could have no pleasure in such a worm-like life.
Strange to say, this eccentric being gained his living chiefly by
sweeping chimneys, grinding knives and scissors, and other mean
occupations. But his chief delight was in pursuing the profession of a
juggler, mountebank, or merry-andrew, among the lowest rabble. He never
gave himself any concern about his food or raiment; for it was equal to
him whether he was dressed like a nobleman or a beggar. His hours of
relaxation from his studies were chiefly spent in paltry wine-houses,
with the meanest company, where he would sometimes remain a whole week,
or more, drinking without rest or intermission.
His miserable death afforded reason to believe that he perished whilst
intoxicated, for he was found dead at Middleburgh, drowned and smothered
in mud, which circumstance is alluded to in the epitaph which the before
named poet, Buizero, wrote upon him, and which was as follows:--
Here lies a wonderful genius,
He lived and died like a beast;
He was a most uncommon satyr--
He lived in wine, and died in water.
This is all that is known of Beronicius. The poet, Vander Goes, often
witnessed the display of his talents, and he says that he could at once
render the newspapers into Greek and Latin verse. Professor John de
Raay, who was living at the time of Beronicius's death, which occurred
in 1676, saw and affirms the same wonderful fact.
[Illustration]
MASTER CLENCH.
Of this astonishing youth, we have no information except what is
furnished by the following account, extracted from Mr. Evelyn's diary,
of 1689, very shortly after the landing of William III. in England.
"I dined," says Mr. Evelyn, "at the Admiralty, where a child of twelve
years old was brought in, the son of Dr. Clench, of the most prodigious
maturity of knowledge, for I cannot call it altogether memory, but
something more extraordinary. Mr. Pepys and myself examined him, not in
any method, but with promiscuous questions, which required judgment and
discernment, to answer so readily and pertinently.
"There was not anything in chronology, history, geography, the several
systems of astronomy, courses of the stars, longitude, latitude,
doctrine of the spheres, courses and sources of rivers, creeks, harbors,
eminent cities, boundaries of countries, not only in Europe, but in
every part of the earth, which he did not readily resolve, and
demonstrate his knowledge of, readily drawing with a pen anything he
would describe.
"He was able not only to repeat the most famous things which are left us
in any of the Greek or Roman histories, monarchies, republics, wars,
colonies, exploits by sea and land, but all the Sacred Scriptures of the
Old and New Testaments; the succession of all the monarchies,
Babylonian, Persian, Greek and Roman; with all the lower emperors,
popes, heresiarchs, and councils; what they were called about; what they
determined; or in the controversy about Easter; the tenets of the
Sabellians, Arians, Nestorians; and the difference between St. Cyprian
and Stephen about re-baptization; the schisms.
"We leaped from that to other things totally different,--to Olympic
years and synchronisms; we asked him questions which could not be
answered without considerable meditation and judgment; nay, of some
particulars of the civil wars; of the digest and code. He gave a
stupendous account of both natural and moral philosophy, and even of
metaphysics.
"Having thus exhausted ourselves, rather than this wonderful child, or
angel rather, for he was as beautiful and lovely in countenance as in
knowledge, we concluded with asking him, if, in all he had ever heard or
read of, he had ever met with anything which was like the expedition of
the Prince of Orange, with so small a force, as to obtain three kingdoms
without any contest. After a little thought, he told us that he knew of
nothing that resembled it, so much as the coming of Constantine the
Great out of Great Britain, through France and Italy, so tedious a
march, to meet Maxentius, whom he overthrew at Pons Melvius, with very
little conflict, and at the very gates of Rome, which he entered, and
was received with triumph, and obtained the empire not of three kingdoms
only, but of the then known world.
"He was perfect in the Latin authors, spoke French naturally, and gave
us a description of France, Italy, Savoy and Spain, anciently and
modernly divided; as also of ancient Greece, Scythia, and the northern
countries and tracts.
"He answered our questions without any set or formal repetitions, as one
who had learned things without book, but as if he minded other things,
going about the room, and toying with a parrot, seeming to be full of
play, of a lively, sprightly temper, always smiling, and exceedingly
pleasant; without the least levity, rudeness, or childishness."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
JEDEDIAH BUXTON.
This extraordinary man was born in 1705, at Elmeton, in Derbyshire. His
father was a schoolmaster; and yet, from some strange neglect, Jedediah
was never taught either to read or write. So great, however, were his
natural talents for calculation, that he became remarkable for his
knowledge of the relative proportions of numbers, their powers and
progressive denominations. To these objects he applied all the powers of
his mind, and his attention was so constantly rivetted upon them, that
he was often totally abstracted from external objects. Even when he did
notice them, it was only with respect to their numbers. If any space of
time happened to be mentioned before him, he would presently inform the
company that it contained so many minutes; and if any distance, he
would assign the number of hair-breadths in it, even though no question
were asked him.
Being, on one occasion, required to multiply 456 by 378, he gave the
product by mental arithmetic, as soon as a person in company had
completed it in the common way. Being requested to work it audibly, that
his method might be known, he first multiplied 456 by 5, which produced
2,280; this he again multiplied by 20, and found the product 45,600,
which was the multiplicand, multiplied by 100. This product he again
multiplied by 3, which gave 136,800, the product of the multiplicand by
300. It remained, therefore, to multiply this by 78, which he effected
by multiplying 2,280, or the product of the multiplicand, multiplied by
5, by 15, as 5 times 15 is 75. This product being 34,200, he added to
136,800, which gave 171,000, being the amount of 375 times 456. To
complete his operation, therefore, he multiplied 456 by 3, which
produced 1,368, and this being added to 171,000, yielded 172,368, as the
product of 456 multiplied by 378.
From these particulars, it appears that Jedediah's method of calculation
was entirely his own, and that he was so little acquainted with the
common rules of arithmetic, as to multiply first by 5, and the product
by 20, to find the amount when multiplied by 100, which the addition of
two ciphers to the multiplicand would have given at once.
A person who had heard of these efforts of memory, once meeting with him
accidentally, proposed the following question, in order to try his
calculating powers. If a field be 423 yards long, and 383 broad, what
is the area? After the figures were read to him distinctly, he gave the
true product, 162,009 yards, in the space of two minutes; for the
proposer observed by the watch, how long it took him. The same person
asked how many acres the said field measured; and in eleven minutes, he
replied, 33 acres, 1 rood, 35 perches, 20 yards and a quarter. He was
then asked how many barley-corns would reach eight miles. In a minute
and a half, he answered 1,520,640. The next question was: supposing the
distance between London and York to be 204 miles, how many times will a
coach-wheel turn round in that space, allowing the circumference of that
wheel to be six yards. In thirteen minutes, he answered, 59,840 times.
On another occasion a person proposed to him this question: in a body,
the three sides of which are 23,145,789 yards, 5,642,732 yards, and
54,965 yards, how many cubic eighths of an inch? In about five hours
Jedediah had accurately solved this intricate problem, though in the
midst of business, and surrounded by more than a hundred laborers.
Next to figures, the only objects of Jedediah's curiosity were the king
and royal family. So strong was his desire to see them, that in the
beginning of the spring of 1754, he walked up to London for that
purpose, but returned disappointed, as his majesty had removed to
Kensington just as he arrived in town. He was, however, introduced to
the Royal Society, whom he called the _Folk of the Siety Court_. The
gentlemen present asked him several questions in arithmetic to try his
abilities, and dismissed him with a handsome present.
During his residence in the metropolis, he was taken to see the tragedy
of King Richard the Third, performed at Drury Lane, Garrick being one of
the actors. It was expected that the novelty of everything in that
place, together with the splendor of the surrounding objects, would have
filled him with astonishment; or that his passions would have been
roused in some degree, by the action of the performers, even though he
might not fully comprehend the dialogue. This, certainly, was a rational
idea; but his thoughts were far otherwise employed. During the dances,
his attention was engaged in reckoning the number of steps; after a fine
piece of music, he declared that the innumerable sounds produced by the
instruments perplexed him beyond measure, but he counted the words
uttered by Mr. Garrick, in the whole course of the entertainment; and
declared that in this part of the business, he had perfectly succeeded.
Heir to no fortune, and educated to no particular profession, Jedediah
Buxton supported himself by the labor of his hands. His talents, had
they been properly cultivated, might have qualified him for acting a
distinguished part on the theatre of life; he, nevertheless, pursued the
"noiseless tenor of his way," content if he could satisfy the wants of
nature, and procure a daily subsistence for himself and family. He was
married and had several children. He died in the year 1775, aged seventy
years. Though a man of wonderful powers of arithmetical calculation,
and generally regarded as a prodigy in his way--it is still obvious
that, after the practice of years, he was incapable of solving
questions, which Zerah Colburn, at the age of six or seven years,
answered in the space of a few seconds.
[Illustration]
WILLIAM GIBSON.
William Gibson was born in the year 1720, at the village of Bolton, in
Westmoreland, England. On the death of his father, he put himself to a
farmer to learn his business. When he was about eighteen or nineteen, he
rented a small farm of his own, at a place called Hollins, where he
applied himself assiduously to study.
A short time previous to this, he had admired the operation of figures,
but labored under every disadvantage, for want of education. As he had
not yet been taught to read, he got a few lessons in English, and was
soon enabled to comprehend a plain author. He then purchased a treatise
on arithmetic; and though he could not write, he soon became so expert a
calculator, from mental operations only, that he could tell, without
setting down a figure, the product of any two numbers multiplied
together, although the multiplier and the multiplicand each of them
consisted of nine figures. It was equally astonishing that he could
answer, in the same manner, questions in division, in decimal fractions,
or in the extraction of the square or cube roots, where such a
multiplicity of figures is often required in the operation. Yet at this
time he did not know that any merit was due to himself, conceiving that
the capacity of other people was like his own.
Finding himself still laboring under farther difficulties for want of a
knowledge of writing, he taught himself to write a tolerable hand. As he
had not heard of mathematics, he had no idea of anything, in regard to
numbers, beyond what he had learned. He thought himself a master of
figures, and challenged all his companions and the members of a society
he attended, to a trial. Something, however, was proposed to him
concerning Euclid. As he did not understand the meaning of the word, he
was silent; but afterwards found it meant a book, containing the
elements of geometry; this he purchased, and applied himself very
diligently to the study of it, and against the next meeting he was
prepared with an answer in this new science.
He now found himself launching out into a field, of which before he had
no conception. He continued his geometrical studies; and as the
demonstration of the different propositions in Euclid depend entirely
upon a recollection of some of those preceding, his memory was of the
utmost service to him. Besides, it was a study exactly adapted to his
mind; and while he was attending to the business of his farm, and
humming over some tune or other, his attention was often engaged with
some of his geometrical propositions. A few figures with a piece of
chalk, upon the knee of his breeches, or any other convenient spot, were
all he needed to clear up the most difficult parts of the science.
He now began to be struck with the works of nature, and paid particular
attention to the theory of the earth, the moon, and the rest of the
planets belonging to this system, of which the sun is the centre; and
considering the distance and magnitude of the different bodies belonging
to it, and the distance of the fixed stars, he soon conceived each of
them to be the centre of a different system. He well considered the law
of gravity, and that of the centripetal and centrifugal forces, and the
cause of the ebbing and flowing of the tides; also the projection of the
sphere--stereographic, orthographic, and gnomical; also trigonometry and
astronomy. By this time he was possessed of a small library.
He next turned his thoughts to algebra, and took up Emerson's treatise
on that subject, and went through it with great success. He also
grounded himself in the art of navigation and the principles of
mechanics; likewise the doctrine of motion, of falling bodies, and the
elements of optics, &c., as a preliminary to fluxions, which had but
lately been discovered by Sir Isaac Newton; as the boundary of the
mathematics, he went through conic sections, &c. Though he experienced
some difficulty at his first entrance, yet he did not rest till he made
himself master of both a fluxion and a flowing quantity. As he had paid
a similar attention to the intermediate parts, he soon became so
conversant with every branch of the mathematics, that no question was
ever proposed to him which he could not answer.
He used to take pleasure in solving the arithmetical questions then
common in the magazines, but his answers were seldom inserted, except by
or in the name of some other person, for he had no ambition to make his
abilities known. He frequently had questions from his pupils and other
gentlemen in London; from the universities of Oxford and Cambridge, and
different parts of the country, as well as from the university of
Gottingen in Germany. These, however difficult, he never failed to
answer; and from the minute inquiry he made into natural philosophy,
there was scarcely a phenomenon in nature, that ever came to his
knowledge or observation, but he could, in some measure at least,
reasonably account for it.
He went by the name of Willy-o'-th'-Hollins, for many years after he
left his residence in that place. The latter portion of his life was
spent in the neighborhood of Cartmell, where he was best known by the
name of Willy Gibson, still continuing his former occupation. For the
last forty years he kept a school of about eight or ten gentlemen, who
boarded and lodged at his own farm-house; and having a happy turn in
explaining his ideas, he formed a great number of very able
mathematicians, as well as expert accountants. This self-taught
philosopher and wonderful man, died on the 4th of October, 1792, at
Blaith, near Cartmell, in consequence of a fall, leaving behind him a
widow and ten children.
EDMUND STONE.
Of the life of this extraordinary man we have little information. He was
probably born in Argyleshire, Scotland, at the close of the seventeenth
century. His father was gardener to the Duke of Argyle, and the son
assisted him. The duke was walking one day in his garden, when he
observed a Latin copy of Newton's Principia, lying on the grass, and
supposing it had been brought from his own library, called some one to
carry it back to its place. Upon this, young Stone, who was in his
eighteenth year, claimed the book as his own. "Yours!" replied the duke;
"do you understand geometry, Latin, and Newton?" "I know a little of
them," said the young man.
The duke was surprised, and having a taste for the sciences, he entered
into conversation with the young mathematician. He proposed several
inquiries, and was astonished at the force, the accuracy and the
clearness of his answers. "But how," said the duke, "came you by the
knowledge of all these things?" Stone replied, "A servant taught me to
read ten years since. Does one need to know anything more than the
twenty-six letters, in order to learn everything else that one wishes?"
The duke's curiosity was now greatly increased, and he sat down upon a
bank and requested a detail of the whole process by which he had
acquired such knowledge. "I first learned to read," said Stone;
"afterwards, when the masons were at work at your house, I approached
them one day, and observed that the architect used a rule and compass,
and that he made calculations. I inquired what might be the meaning and
use of these things; and I was informed that there was a science called
arithmetic. I purchased a book of arithmetic, and studied it. I was told
that there was another science, called geometry. I bought the necessary
books, and learned geometry.
"By reading, I found there were good books on these two sciences in
Latin; I therefore bought a dictionary and learned Latin. I understood,
also, that there were good books of the same kind in French; I bought a
dictionary and learned French; and this, my lord, is what I have done.
It seems to me that we may learn everything when we know the twenty-six
letters of the alphabet."
Under the duke's patronage, Stone rose to be a very considerable
mathematician, and was elected a member of the Royal Society of London,
in 1725. He seems to have lost the favor of the Duke of Argyle, for, in
the latter part of his life, he gave lessons in mathematics, and at last
died in poverty.
RICHARD EVELYN.
John Evelyn, a very learned English writer, was born in 1620, and died
in 1706. He published several works, all of which are valuable. His
treatises upon Natural History are greatly valued. He kept a diary,
which has been published, and which contains much that is interesting.
Of one of his children, who died early, he gives us the following
account:
"After six fits of ague, died, in the year 1658, my son Richard, five
years and three days old, but, at that tender age, a prodigy of wit and
understanding; for beauty of body, a very angel; for endowment of mind,
of incredible and rare hopes. To give only a little taste of some of
them, and thereby glory to God:
"At two years and a half old, he could perfectly read any of the
English, Latin, French, or Gothic letters, pronouncing the three first
languages exactly. He had, before the fifth year, not only skill to read
most written hands, but to decline all the nouns, conjugate the verbs
regular and most of the irregular; learned Pericles through; got by
heart almost the entire vocabulary of Latin and French primitives and
words, could make congruous syntax, turn English into Latin, and _vice
versa_, construe and prove what he read, and did the government and use
of relative verbs, substantives, ellipses, and many figures and tropes,
and made a considerable progress in Comenius's Janua; began himself to
write legibly, and had a strong passion for Greek.
"The number of verses he could recite was enormous; and when seeing a
Plautus in one's hand, he asked what book it was, and being told it was
comedy and too difficult for him, he wept for sorrow. Strange was his
apt and ingenious application of fables and morals, for he had read
AEsop. He had a wonderful disposition to mathematics, having by heart
divers propositions of Euclid, that were read to him in play, and he
would make lines and demonstrate them.
"As to his piety, astonishing were his applications of Scripture upon
occasion, and his sense of God: he had learned all his catechism early,
and understood the historical part of the Bible and Testament to a
wonder--how Christ came to mankind; and how, comprehending these
necessaries himself, his godfathers were discharged of their promise.
These and like illuminations, far exceeding his age and experience,
considering the prettiness of his address and behavior cannot but leave
impressions in me at the memory of him. When one told him how many days
a Quaker had fasted, he replied, that was no wonder, for Christ had said
'man should not live by bread alone, but by the word of God.'
"He would, of himself, select the most pathetic Psalms, and chapters out
of Job, to read to his maid during his sickness, telling her, when she
pitied him, that all God's children must suffer affliction. He declaimed
against the vanities of the world, before he had seen any. Often he
would desire those who came to see him, to pray by him, and a year
before he fell sick, to kneel and pray with him, alone in some corner.
How thankfully would he receive admonition! how soon be reconciled! how
indifferent, yet continually cheerful! He would give grave advice to his
brother John, bear with his impertinences, and say he was but a child.
"If he heard of, or saw any new thing, he was unquiet till he was told
how it was made; he brought to us all such difficulties as he found in
books, to be expounded. He had learned by heart divers sentences in
Greek and Latin, which on occasions he would produce even to wonder. He
was all life, all prettiness, far from morose, sullen, or childish in
anything he said or did. The last time he had been at church, which was
at Greenwich, I asked him, according to custom, what he remembered of
the sermon. 'Two good things, father,' said he, '_bonum gratiae_, and
_bonum gloriae_;" the excellence of grace, and the excellence of
glory,--with a just account of what the preacher said.
"The day before he died, he called to me, and, in a more serious manner
than usual, told me, that for all I loved him so dearly, I should give
my house, land, and all my fine things to his brother Jack,--he should
have none of them; and next morning, when he found himself ill, and I
persuaded him to keep his hands in bed, he demanded whether he might
pray to God with his hands unjoined; and a little after, whilst in
great agony, whether he should not offend God by using his holy name so
often by calling for ease.
"What shall I say of his frequent pathetical ejaculations uttered of
himself: 'Sweet Jesus, save me, deliver me, pardon my sins, let thine
angels receive me!' So early knowledge, so much piety and perfection!
But thus God, having dressed up a saint fit for himself, would no longer
permit him with us, unworthy of the future fruits of this incomparable,
hopeful blossom. Such a child I never saw! for such a child I bless God,
in whose bosom he is! May I and mine become as this little child, which
now follows the child Jesus, that lamb of God, in a white robe,
whithersoever he goes! Even so, Lord Jesus, let thy will be done. Thou
gavest him to us, thou hast taken him from us; blessed be the name of
the Lord! That I had anything acceptable to thee was from thy grace
alone, since from me he had nothing but sin; but that thou hast
pardoned, blessed be my God forever! Amen."
[Illustration]
QUENTIN MATSYS.
This great painter was born at Antwerp, in 1460, and followed the trade
of a blacksmith and farrier, till he approached manhood. His health at
that time was feeble, and rendered him unfit for so laborious a pursuit;
he therefore undertook to execute lighter work. He constructed an iron
railing around a well near the great church of Antwerp, which was
greatly admired for its delicacy and the devices with which it was
ornamented. He also executed an iron balustrade for the college of
Louvain, which displayed extraordinary taste and skill.
His father had died, when he was young, leaving him and his mother
entirely destitute. Notwithstanding his feeble constitution, he was
obliged to support both himself and her. While necessity thus urged him,
his taste guided his efforts toward works of art. At Louvain there was
an annual procession of lepers, who were accustomed to distribute little
images of saints upon that occasion. Matsys devoted himself to the
making of these, in which he was very successful.
[Illustration: MATSYS' WELL, AT ANTWERP.]
He had now reached the age of twenty, when it appears that he fell in
love with the daughter of a painter, of some cleverness, in Antwerp. His
affection was returned, but when he applied to the father to obtain his
consent to their union, he was answered by a flat refusal, and the
declaration, that no man but a painter, as good as himself, should wed
his daughter. Matsys endeavored in vain to overcome this resolution, and
finally, despairing of other means to accomplish the object which now
engrossed his whole soul, he determined to become a painter. The
difficulties in his way vanished before that confidence which genius
inspires, and taking advantage of his leisure hours, he began to
instruct himself secretly in the art of painting. His progress was
rapid, and the time of his triumph speedily approached.
He was one day on a visit to his mistress, where he found a picture on
the easel of her father, and nearly finished. The old man was absent,
and Quentin, seizing the pencil, painted a bee upon a flower in the
foreground of the painting, and departed. The artist soon returned, and
in sitting down to his picture, immediately discovered the insect, which
had so strangely intruded itself upon his canvass. It was so life-like
as to make it seem a real insect, that had been deceived by the mimic
flower, and had just alighted upon it. The artist was in raptures, for
it appears that he had a heart to appreciate excellence, even if it was
not his own. He inquired of his daughter who had painted the bee. Though
the details of the interview which followed are not handed down to us,
we may be permitted to fill up the scene.
_Father._ Tell me, child, who painted the insect?
_Daughter._ Who painted the insect? Really, how should I know?
_F._ You ought to know,--you must know. It was not one of my pupils. It
is beyond them all.
_D._ Is it as good as you could have done yourself, father?
_F._ Yes; I never painted anything better in my life. It is like
nature's own work, it is so light, so true; on my soul, I was deceived
at first, and was about to brush the insect away with my handkerchief.
_D._ And so, father, you think it is as well as you could have done
yourself?
_F._ Yes.
_D._ Well, I will send for Quentin Matsys; perhaps he can tell you who
did it.
_F._ Aye, girl, is that it? Did Quentin do it? Then he is a clever
fellow, and shall marry you.
Whether such a dialogue as this actually took place, we cannot say; but
it appears that Quentin's acknowledged excellence as an artist soon won
the painter's consent, and he married the daughter. From this time he
devoted his life to the art which love alone had at first induced him to
pursue. He soon rose to the highest rank in his profession, and has left
behind him an enduring fame. Though he was destitute of early education,
and never had the advantage of studying the great masters of the Italian
school, he rivalled, in some respects, even their best productions. His
designs were correct and true to nature, and his coloring was forcible.
His pictures are now scarce and command great prices. One of them,
called the Two Misers, is in the Royal Gallery of Windsor, England, and
is greatly admired. Matsys died at Antwerp, in 1529.
[Illustration]
WEST.
Benjamin West was born at Springfield, Pennsylvania, October 10, 1738.
His father was a merchant, and Benjamin was the tenth child. The first
six years of his life passed away in calm uniformity, leaving only the
placid remembrance of enjoyment. In the month of June, 1745, one of his
sisters who was married, came with her infant daughter to spend a few
days at her father's. When the child was asleep in her cradle, Mrs. West
invited her daughter to gather flowers in the garden, and committed the
infant to the care of Benjamin, during their absence; giving him a fan
to drive away the flies from molesting his little charge.
After some time, the child happened to smile in its sleep, and its
beauty attracted the boy's attention. He looked at it with a pleasure,
which he never before experienced; and observing some paper on a table,
together with pens, and red and black ink, he seized them with
agitation, and endeavored to delineate a portrait, although at this
period, he was only in the seventh year of his age.
Hearing the approach of his mother and sister, he endeavored to
conceal what he had been doing; but the old lady observing his
confusion, inquired what he was about, and requested him to show her the
paper. He obeyed, entreating her not to be angry. Mrs. West, after
looking at the drawing with evident pleasure, said to her daughter, "I
declare, he has made a likeness of little Sally;" she kissed him with
much fondness and satisfaction. This encouraged him to say that if it
would give her any pleasure, he would make pictures of the flowers which
she held in her hand; for the instinct of his genius was now awakened,
and he felt that he could imitate the forms of those things which
pleased his sight.
[Illustration: _Christ healing the sick._]
Some time after this, Benjamin having heard that pencils for painting
were made in Europe of camel's hair, determined to manufacture a
substitute, for his own use: accordingly, seizing upon a black cat, kept
in the family, he extracted the requisite hairs from her tail for his
first brush, and afterwards pillaged it again for others.
Such was the commencement of a series of efforts which raised West to be
a favorite painter in England, and, at last, president of the Royal
Academy of London. His parents were Quakers, but they encouraged his
efforts. He, however, had no advantages, and for some time he was
obliged to pursue his labors with such pencils as he made himself, and
with red and yellow colors, which he learned to prepare from some
Indians who roamed about the town of Springfield: to these, his mother
added a little indigo.
He had a cousin by the name of Pennington, who was a merchant, and
having seen some of his sketches, sent him a box of paints and pencils,
with canvass prepared, and six engravings. The possession of this
treasure almost prevented West's sleeping. He now went into a garret as
soon as it was light, and began his work. He was so wrapt up in his
task, as to stay from school. This he continued till his master called
to inquire what had become of him. A search was consequently made, and
he was found at his easel, in the garret. His mother's anger soon
subsided, when she saw his picture, now nearly finished. He had not
servilely copied one of the engravings, as might have been expected, but
had formed a new picture by combining the parts of several of them. His
mother kissed the boy with rapture, and procured the pardon of his
father and teacher. Mr. Galt, who wrote West's life, says, that,
sixty-seven years after, he had the pleasure of seeing this very piece,
hanging by the side of the sublime picture of Christ Rejected.
Young West's fame was soon spread abroad, and he was shortly crowded
with applications for portraits, of which he painted a considerable
number. He was now of an age to require a decision of his parents in
respect to the profession he was to follow, in life. They deliberated
long and anxiously upon this subject, and at last concluded to refer the
matter to the society of Quakers to which they belonged. These decided,
that, although they did not acknowledge the utility of painting to
mankind, yet they would allow the youth to follow a path for which he
had so evident a genius.
At the age of eighteen, he established himself in Philadelphia, as a
portrait painter, and afterwards spent some time at New York, in the
same capacity. In both places, his success was considerable. In 1760,
aided by friends, he proceeded to Italy, to study his art; in 1763, he
went to London, where he soon became established for life. The king,
George III., was his steadfast friend, and he became painter to his
majesty. He was offered a salary of seven hundred pounds a year, by the
Marquis of Rockingham, to embellish his mansion at Yorkshire with
historical paintings, but this he declined.
On the death of Sir Joshua Reynolds, he was elected president of the
Royal Academy, and took his place in March, 1792. In his sixty-fifth
year, he painted his great picture of Christ healing the sick, to aid
the Quakers of Philadelphia in the erection of a hospital for that city.
It was so much admired that he was offered no less than fifteen thousand
dollars for this performance. He accepted the offer, as he was not rich,
upon condition that he should be allowed to make a copy for the Friends
of Philadelphia, for whom he had intended it. This great picture, of
which we give an engraving, was long exhibited at Philadelphia, and the
profits essentially aided the benevolent object which suggested the
picture.
West continued to pursue his profession, and painted several pictures of
great size, under the idea that his talent was best suited to such
performances. In 1817, his wife, with whom he had long lived in
uninterrupted happiness, died, and he followed her in 1820. If his
standing, as an artist, is not of the highest rank, it is still
respectable, and his history affords a striking instance of a natural
fitness and predilection for a particular pursuit. If we consider the
total want of encouragement to painting, in a Quaker family, in a
country town in Pennsylvania, more than a century ago, and advert to the
spontaneous display of his taste and its persevering cultivation, we
shall see that nature seems to have given him an irresistible impulse in
the direction of the art to which he devoted his life.
West was tall, firmly built, and of a fair complexion. He always
preserved something of the sedate, even and sober manners of the sect to
which his parents belonged; in disposition, he was mild, liberal and
generous. He seriously impaired his fortune by the aid he rendered to
indigent young artists. His works were very numerous, and the exhibition
and sale of those in his hands, at the time of his death, yielded a
handsome sum to his family. Though his early education was neglected, he
supplied the defect by study and observation, and his writings connected
with the arts are very creditable to him as a man, a philosopher and an
artist.
[Illustration]
BERRETINI.
Pietro Berretini was born 1596, at Cortona, in Italy. He is called
Pietro Da Cortona, from the place of his birth. Even when a child, he
evinced uncommon genius for painting; but he appeared likely to remain
in obscurity and ignorance, as the extreme poverty of his situation
precluded him from the usual means of improving natural talent. He
struggled, however, with his difficulties, and ultimately overcame every
obstacle which opposed him.
When twelve years old, he went, alone and on foot, to Florence, the seat
of the fine arts, possessed of no money, and, in fact, completely
without resources of any kind. Notwithstanding this gloomy aspect of
affairs, he did not lose his courage, but still persevered in a
resolution he had thus early formed, to become "an eminent painter."
Pietro knew of no person to whom he could apply for assistance in
Florence, excepting a poor boy from Cortona, who was then a scullion in
the kitchen of Cardinal Sachetti. Pietro sought him out; his little
countryman welcomed him very kindly, shared with him his humble meal,
offered him the half of his little bed as a lodging, and promised to
supply him with food from the spare meat of his kitchen.
Thus provided with the necessaries of life, Pietro applied himself with
indefatigable diligence to the art to which he had devoted himself, and
soon made such progress in it, as, in his own opinion, amply recompensed
him for all the toil, privation and difficulties he had undergone. It
was interesting to observe this poor, destitute child, without a friend
to guide his conduct or direct his studies, devoting himself with such
unceasing assiduity to his own improvement. His little friend, the
scullion, did not relax in kindness and generosity towards him; for all
that he possessed he shared with Pietro, and the latter, in return,
brought him all the drawings he made, and with these he adorned the
walls of the little garret in which they slept.
Pietro was in the habit of wandering to a distance from Florence, to
take views of the beautiful scenery in the environs of that city. When
night overtook him unawares, which was often the case, he very
contentedly slept under the shelter of a tree, and arose as soon as
daylight dawned to renew his employment. During his absence, on one of
these excursions, some of his pictures accidentally fell into the hands
of Cardinal Sachetti, who, struck with the merit that distinguished
them, inquired by what artist they were executed. He was not a little
astonished to hear that they were the performances of a poor child, who
had, for more than two years, been supported by the bounty of one of his
kitchen boys. The cardinal desired to see Pietro; and when the young
artist was brought before him, he received him in a kind manner,
assigned him a pension and placed him as a scholar under one of the best
painters of Rome.
Pietro afterwards became a very eminent painter, and made the most
grateful returns to his friend, the scullion, for the kindness he had
shown him in poverty and wretchedness. He spent the latter part of his
life at Rome, where he enjoyed the patronage of successive pontiffs, and
was made a knight by Pope Alexander III. He was an architect as well as
a painter, and designed the church of Saint Martin, at Rome, where he
was buried, and to which he bequeathed a hundred thousand crowns. He
died 1669, full of wealth and honors. His works display admirable
talents, and his history affords a striking example of native genius,
overcoming all obstacles, and hewing its way to success in that pursuit
for which nature had seemed to create it.
[Illustration]
HENRY KIRK WHITE.
This youthful bard, whose premature death was so sincerely regretted by
every admirer of genius, was the son of a butcher of Nottingham,
England, and born March 21, 1788. He manifested an ardent love of
reading in his infancy; this was, indeed, a passion to which everything
else gave way. "I could fancy," says his eldest sister, "that I see him
in his little chair, with a large book upon his knee, and my mother
calling, 'Henry, my love, come to dinner,' which was repeated so often
without being regarded, that she was obliged to change the tone of her
voice, before she could rouse him."
When he was seven years old, he would creep unperceived into the
kitchen, to teach the servant to read and write; and he continued this
for some time before it was discovered that he had been thus laudably
employed. He wrote a tale of a Swiss emigrant, which was probably his
first composition, and gave it to this servant, being ashamed to show it
to his mother. "The consciousness of genius," says his biographer, Mr.
Southey, "is always, at first, accompanied by this diffidence; it is a
sacred, solitary feeling. No forward child, however extraordinary the
promise of his childhood, ever produced anything truly great."
When Henry was about eleven years old, he one day wrote a separate theme
for every boy in his class, which consisted of about twelve or fourteen.
The master said he had never known them write so well upon any subject
before, and could not refrain from expressing his astonishment at the
excellence of Henry's own composition.
At the age of thirteen, he wrote a poem, "On being confined to school
one pleasant morning in spring," from which the following is an extract:
"How gladly would my soul forego
All that arithmeticians know,
Or stiff grammarians quaintly teach,
Or all that industry can reach,
To taste each morn of all the joys
That with the laughing sun arise;
And unconstrained to rove along
The bushy brakes and glens among;
And woo the muse's gentle power
In unfrequented rural bower;
But ah! such heaven-approaching joys
Will never greet my longing eyes;
Still will they cheat in vision fine,
Yet never but in fancy shine."
The parents of Henry were anxious to put him to some trade, and when he
was nearly fourteen, he was placed at a stocking loom, with the view, at
some future period, of getting a situation in a hosier's warehouse; but
the youth did not conceive that nature had intended to doom him to spend
seven years of his life in folding up stockings, and he remonstrated
with his friends against the employment. His temper and tone of mind at
this period, are displayed in the following extracts from his poems:
----"Men may rave,
And blame and censure me, that I don't tie
My ev'ry thought down to the desk, and spend
The morning of my life in adding figures
With accurate monotony; that so
The good things of this world may be my lot,
And I might taste the blessedness of wealth.
But oh! I was not made for money-getting."
* * * * * * *
----"For as still
I tried to cast, with school dexterity,
The interesting sums, my vagrant thoughts
Would quick revert to many a woodland haunt,
Which fond remembrance cherished; and the pen
Dropt from my senseless fingers, as I pictur'd
In my mind's eye, how on the shores of Trent
I erewhile wander'd with my early friends
In social intercourse."
* * * * * * *
"Yet still, oh contemplation! I do love
T' indulge thy solemn musings; still the same
With thee alone I know how to melt and weep,
In thee alone delighting. Why along
The dusty track of commerce should I toil,
When with an easy competence content,
I can alone be happy, where with thee
I may enjoy the loveliness of nature,
And loose the wings of Fancy? Thus alone
Can I partake of happiness on earth;
And to be happy here is man's chief end,
For, to be happy, he must needs be good."
Young White was soon removed from the loom to the office of a solicitor,
which afforded a less obnoxious employment. He became a member of a
literary society in Nottingham, and delivered an extempore lecture on
genius, in which he displayed so much talent, that he received the
unanimous thanks of the society, and they elected him their professor of
literature.
At the age of fifteen, he gained a silver medal for a translation from
Horace; and the following year, a pair of globes, for an imaginary tour
from London to Edinburgh. He determined upon trying for this prize one
evening when at tea with his family, and at supper, he read them his
performance. In his seventeenth year, he published a small volume of
poems which possessed considerable merit.
Soon after, he was sent to Cambridge, and entered Saint John's College,
where he made the most rapid progress. But the intensity of his studies
ruined his constitution, and he fell a victim to his ardent thirst for
knowledge. He died October 19, 1806, leaving behind him several poems
and letters, which gave earnest of the high rank he would have attained
in the republic of letters, had his life been spared. His productions
were published, with an interesting memoir, by Mr. Southey.
[Illustration]
MOZART.
John Chrysostomus Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, was born at Salzburg, in
1756. His father was an eminent musician, and the early proficiency of
his son in music was almost incredible. He began the piano at three
years of age; and from this period lost all pleasure in his other
amusements. His taste was so scientific that he would spend his time in
looking for thirds, and felt charmed with their harmony. At five years
old, he began to compose little pieces, of such ingenuity that his
father wrote them down.
He was a creature of universal sensibility, a natural enthusiast--from
his infancy fond, melancholy and tearful. When scarcely able to walk,
his first question to his friends, who took him on their knee, was,
whether they loved him; and a negative always made him weep. His mind
was all alive; and whatever touched it, made it palpitate throughout.
When he was taught the rudiments of arithmetic, the walls and tables of
his bed-chamber were found covered with figures. But the piano was the
grand object of his devotion.
At six years old, this singular child commenced, with his father, and
sister two years older than himself, one of those musical tours common
in Germany; and performed at Munich before the Elector, to the great
admiration of the most musical court on the continent. His ear now
signalized itself, by detecting the most minute irregularities in the
orchestra. But its refinement was almost a disease; a discord tortured
him; he conceived a horror of the trumpet, except as a single
accompaniment, and suffered from it so keenly, that his father, to
correct what he regarded as the effect of ignorant terror, one day
desired a trumpet to be blown in his apartment. The child entreated him
not to make the experiment; but the trumpet sounded. Young Mozart
suddenly turned pale, fell on the floor, and was on the point of going
into convulsions, when the trumpeter was sent out of the room.
When only seven years old, he taught himself the violin; and thus, by
the united effort of genius and industry, mastered the most difficult of
all instruments. From Munich, he went to Vienna, Paris, and London. His
reception in the British metropolis was such as the curious give to
novelty, the scientific to intelligence, and the great to what
administers to stately pleasure. He was flattered, honored, and
rewarded. Handel had then made the organ a favorite, and Mozart took the
way of popularity. His execution, which on the piano had astonished the
English musicians, was equally wonderful on the organ, and he overcame
all rivalry. On his departure from England, he gave a farewell concert,
of which all the symphonies were composed by himself. This was the
career of a child nine years old.
With the strengthening of his frame, the acuteness of his ear became
less painful; the trumpet had lost its terror for him at ten years old;
and before he had completed that period, he distinguished the church of
the Orphans, at Vienna, by the composition of a mass and a trumpet duet,
and acted as director of the concert.
Mozart had travelled the chief kingdoms of Europe, and seen all that
could be shown to him there, of wealth and grandeur. He had yet to see
the empire of musical genius. Italy was an untried land, and he went at
once to its capital. He was present at the performance of Handel's
admirable chant, the Miserere, which seems then to have been performed
with an effect unequalled since. The singers had been forbidden to give
a copy of this composition. Mozart bore it away in his memory, and wrote
it down. This is still quoted among musicians, as almost a miracle of
remembrance; but it may be more truly quoted as an evidence of the power
which diligence and determination give to the mind. Mozart was not
remarkable for memory; what he did, others may do; but the same triumph
is to be purchased only by the same exertion. The impression of this day
lasted during Mozart's life; his style was changed; he at once adopted a
solemn reverence for Handel, whom he called "The Thunderbolt," and
softened the fury of his inspiration, by the taste of Boccherini. He now
made a grand advance in his profession, and composed an opera,
"Mithridates," which was played twenty nights at Milan.
Mozart's reputation was soon established, and he was liberally
patronised by the Austrian court. The following anecdote shows the
goodness of his heart, and the estimation in which he was held. One
day, as he was walking in the suburbs of Vienna, he was accosted by a
mendicant, of a very prepossessing appearance and manner, who told his
tale of wo with such effect, as to interest the musician strongly in his
favor; but the state of his purse not corresponding with the impulse of
his humanity, he desired the applicant to follow him to a coffee-house.
Here Mozart, drawing paper from his pocket, in a few minutes composed a
minuet, which, with a letter, he gave to the distressed man, desiring
him to take it to his publisher. A composition from Mozart was a bill
payable at sight; and to his great surprise, the now happy beggar was
immediately presented with five double ducats.
The time which Mozart most willingly employed in compositions, was the
morning, from six or seven o'clock till about the hour of ten. After
this, he usually did no more for the rest of the day, unless he had to
finish some piece that was wanted. He however always worked irregularly.
When an idea struck him, he was not to be drawn from it, even if he were
in the midst of his friends. He sometimes passed whole nights with his
pen in his hand. At other times, he had such a disinclination to work,
that he could not complete a piece till the moment of its performance.
It once happened, that he put off some music which he had engaged to
furnish for a court concert, so long, that he had not time to write out
the part he was to perform himself. The Emperor Joseph, who was peeping
everywhere, happening to cast his eyes on the sheet which Mozart seemed
to be playing from, was surprised to see nothing but empty lines, and
said to him, "Where's your part?" "Here," said Mozart, putting his hand
to his forehead.
The Don Giovanni of this eminent composer, which is one of the most
popular compositions ever produced, was composed for the theatre at
Prague, and first performed in that city in 1787. This refined and
intellectual music was not at that time understood in Germany; a
circumstance which Mozart seems to have anticipated, for, previous to
its first representation, he remarked to a friend, "This opera is not
calculated for the people of Vienna; it will be more justly appreciated
at Prague; but in reality I have written it principally to please myself
and my friends." Ample justice has however at length been rendered to
this great production; it is heard with enthusiasm in nearly all the
principal cities of that quarter of the globe where music is cultivated
as a science--from the frozen regions of Russia, to the foot of Mount
Vesuvius. Its praise is not limited by the common attributes of good
musical composition; it is placed in the higher rank of fine poetry; for
not only are to be found in it exquisite melodies and profound
harmonies, but the playful, the tender, the pathetic, the mysterious,
the sublime, and the terrible, are to be distinctly traced in its
various parts.
The overture to this opera is generally esteemed Mozart's best effort;
yet it was only composed the night previous to the first representation,
after the general rehearsal had taken place. About eleven o'clock in the
evening, when retired to his apartment, he desired his wife to make him
some punch, and to stay with him, in order to keep him awake. She
accordingly began to tell him fairy tales, and odd stories, which made
him laugh till the tears came. The punch, however, made him so drowsy,
that he could go on only while his wife was talking, and dropped asleep
as soon as she ceased. The efforts which he made to keep himself awake,
the continual alternation of sleep and watching, so fatigued him, that
his wife persuaded him to take some rest, promising to awake him in an
hour's time. He slept so profoundly that she suffered him to repose for
two hours. At five o'clock in the morning, she awoke him. He had
appointed the music copiers to come at seven, and by the time they
arrived, the overture was finished. They had scarcely time to write out
the copy necessary for the orchestra, and the musicians were obliged to
play it without a rehearsal. Some persons pretend, that they can
discover in this overture the passages where Mozart dropped asleep and
those where he suddenly awoke again.
This great composer was so absorbed in music, that he was a child in
every other respect. He was extremely apprehensive of death; and it was
only by incessant application to his favorite study, that he prevented
his spirits from sinking totally under the fears of approaching
dissolution. At all other times he labored under a profound melancholy,
during which he composed some of his best pieces, particularly his
celebrated Requiem. The circumstances attending this were remarkable.
One day, when his spirits were unusually oppressed, a stranger, of a
tall, dignified appearance, was introduced. His manners were grave and
impressive. He told Mozart that he came from a person who did not wish
to be known, to request that he would compose a solemn mass, as a
requiem for the soul of a friend, whom he had recently lost, and whose
memory he was desirous of commemorating by this imposing service. Mozart
undertook the task, and engaged to have it completed in a month. The
stranger begged to know what price he set upon his work; and immediately
paying him one hundred ducats, he departed.
The mystery of this visit seemed to have a strong effect on the mind of
the musician. He brooded over it for some time; and then suddenly
calling for writing materials, began to compose with extraordinary
ardor. This application, however, was more than his strength could
support; it brought on fainting fits, and his increasing illness obliged
him to suspend his work. "I am writing the requiem for myself," said he
one day to his wife; "it will serve for my own funeral service;" and
this impression never afterwards left him. At the expiration of the
month, the mysterious stranger appeared, and demanded the requiem. "I
have found it impossible," said Mozart, "to keep my word; the work has
interested me more than I expected, and I have extended it beyond my
first design. I shall require another month to finish it."
The stranger made no objection; but observing that for this additional
trouble it was but just to increase the premium, laid down fifty ducats
more, and promised to return at the time appointed. Astonished at his
whole proceeding, Mozart ordered a servant to follow this singular
personage, and, if possible, to find out who he was. The man, however,
lost sight of him, and was obliged to return as he went. Mozart, now
more than ever persuaded that he was a messenger from the other world,
sent to warn him that his end was approaching, applied with fresh zeal
to the requiem; and in spite of his exhausted state, both of body and
mind, he completed it before the end of the month. At the appointed day,
the stranger returned; the requiem was finished; but Mozart was no more!
He died at Vienna, 1791, aged 35 years.
[Illustration]
ELIHU BURRITT.
In an address delivered by Governor Everett, before a Mechanics'
Association, in Boston, 1837, he introduced a letter from Elihu Burritt,
a native of Connecticut, and then a resident of Worcester,
Massachusetts, of which the following is a copy:--
"I was the youngest of many brethren, and my parents were poor. My means
of education were limited to the advantages of a district school, and
those again were circumscribed by my father's death, which deprived me,
at the age of fifteen, of those scanty opportunities which I had
previously enjoyed.
"A few months after his decease, I apprenticed myself to a blacksmith in
my native village. Thither I carried an indomitable taste for reading,
which I had previously acquired through the medium of the society
library,--all the historical works in which I had at that time perused.
At the expiration of a little more than half my apprenticeship, I
suddenly conceived the idea of studying Latin.
"Through the assistance of an elder brother, who had himself obtained a
collegiate education by his own exertions, I completed my Virgil during
the evenings of one winter. After some time devoted to Cicero, and a few
other Latin authors, I commenced the Greek: at this time it was
necessary that I should devote every hour of daylight, and a part of the
evening, to the duties of my apprenticeship.
"Still I carried my Greek grammar in my hat, and often found a moment,
when I was heating some large iron, when I could place my book open
before me against the chimney of my forge, and go through with _tupto_,
_tupteis_, _tuptei_, unperceived by my fellow-apprentices. At evening I
sat down, unassisted, to the Iliad of Homer, twenty books of which
measured my progress in that language during the evenings of another
winter.
"I next turned to the modern languages, and was much gratified to learn
that my knowledge of Latin furnished me with a key to the literature of
most of the languages of Europe. This circumstance gave a new impulse to
the desire of acquainting myself with the philosophy, derivation, and
affinity of the different European tongues. I could not be reconciled to
limit myself in these investigations, to a few hours, after the arduous
labors of the day.
"I therefore laid down my hammer, and went to New Haven, where I recited
to native teachers, in French, Spanish, German, and Italian. I returned,
at the expiration of two years, to the forge, bringing with me such
books in those languages as I could procure. When I had read these
books through, I commenced the Hebrew, with an awakened desire of
examining another field; and, by assiduous application, I was enabled in
a few weeks to read this language with such facility, that I allotted it
to myself as a task to read two chapters in the Hebrew Bible before
breakfast, each morning; this, and an hour at noon, being all the time
that I could devote to myself during the day.
"After becoming somewhat familiar with this language, I looked around me
for the means of initiating myself into the fields of Oriental
literature; and, to my deep regret and concern, I found my progress in
this direction hedged in by the want of requisite books. I began
immediately to devise means of obviating this obstacle; and, after many
plans, I concluded to seek a place as a sailor on board some ship bound
to Europe, thinking in this way to have opportunities of collecting, at
different ports, such works in the modern and Oriental languages as I
found necessary for this object. I left the forge at my native place, to
carry this plan into execution.
"I travelled on foot to Boston, a distance of more than a hundred miles,
to find some vessel bound to Europe. In this I was disappointed; and,
while revolving in my mind what steps next to take, I accidentally heard
of the American Antiquarian Society, at Worcester. I immediately bent my
steps toward this place. I visited the hall of the American Antiquarian
Society, and found there, to my infinite gratification, such a
collection in ancient, modern, and Oriental languages, as I never before
conceived to be collected in one place; and, sir, you may imagine with
what sentiments of gratitude I was affected, when, upon evincing a
desire to examine some of these rich and rare works, I was kindly
invited to unlimited participation in all the benefits of this noble
institution.
"Availing myself of the kindness of the directors, I spent three hours
daily at the hall, which, with an hour at noon, and about three in the
evening, make up the portion of the day which I appropriate to my
studies, the rest being occupied in arduous manual labor. Through the
facilities afforded by this institution, I have added so much to my
previous acquaintance with the ancient, modern, and Oriental languages,
as to be able to read upwards of FIFTY of them with more or less
facility."
This statement, however extraordinary it may seem, is well known to be
but a modest account of Mr. Burritt's wonderful acquirements. He is
still (1843) a practical blacksmith, yet he finds time to pursue his
studies. Nor are his acquisitions his only merit. He has been frequently
invited to deliver lectures before lyceums, and other associations, and
in these he has displayed no small degree of eloquence and rhetorical
power. As he is still a young man, we may venture to affirm that his
history affords an instance of self-cultivation, which, having regard to
all the circumstances, is without a parallel.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
GEORGE MORLAND.
This eccentric man and clever artist was born in London, in 1763. He
gave very early indications of genius, and when quite a child, used to
draw objects on the floor, with the implements of his father, who was a
painter, in crayons. He executed pictures of pencils, scissors, and
other things of the kind, with so much perfection, that his father often
mistook them for real ones, and stooped down to pick them up. Some of
George's drawings, executed before he was five years old, were exhibited
with great applause at the society of artists in London.
These and other evidences of talent rendered him a favorite child; his
father saw the germs of excellence in his own art, and, at the age of
fourteen, had him apprenticed to himself, for seven years, during which
his application was incessant. His father appears to have been harsh,
unfeeling and selfish, and to have thought more of obtaining money from
the talents and exertions of his son, than of giving him such training
as should insure his success in life.
During his apprenticeship, George was confined to an upper room, copying
drawings or pictures, and drawing from plaster casts. Being almost
entirely restricted from society, all the opportunities he had for
amusement were obtained by stealth, and his associates were a few boys
in the neighborhood. The means of enjoyment were obtained by such close
application to his business, as secretly to produce a few drawings or
pictures more than his father imagined he could complete in a given
time. These he lowered by a string from the window of his apartment, to
his youthful companions, by whom they were converted into money, which
they spent in common when opportunities offered.
In this manner passed the first seventeen years of the life of George
Morland; and to this unremitted diligence and application he was
indebted for the extraordinary power he possessed over the implements of
his art. Avarice, however, was the ruling passion of his father, and
this was so insatiable, that he kept his son incessantly at work, and
gave him little, if any, education, except as an artist. To this cause
must doubtless be attributed the irregularities of his subsequent life.
Morland's earlier compositions were small pictures of two or three
figures, chiefly from the ballads of the day. These his father put into
frames and sold for from one to three guineas. They were remarkable for
their simple truth, and were much admired. Many of them were engraved,
and widely circulated, which gave the young artist an extensive
reputation. About this time, he went to Margate to spend the summer,
and, by the advice of a friend, commenced portrait painting there. Great
numbers of fashionable persons came to sit to him, and he commenced
several pictures.
But the society of accomplished people made him feel his own ignorance
to such a degree as to render him unhappy, and he sought relief at pig
races and in other coarse amusements, projected for the lower order of
visitors at Margate. These at last engaged his whole attention, and the
portraits were thrown aside, to be finished in town. He at last
returned, with empty pockets and a large cargo of unfinished canvasses.
Morland continued, however, to rise rapidly in his profession, and he
might easily have secured an ample fortune. The subjects he selected for
his pencil, were, generally, rural scenes, familiar to every eye, and
the sentiment they conveyed was felt by every beholder. Many of these
were admirably engraved by the celebrated J. B. Smith, and immense
numbers were sold. Morland now had demands for more pictures than he
could execute, and at almost any price.
But, unhappily, this gifted artist had already become addicted to the
society of low picture dealers, and other dissipated persons, and his
habits were, consequently, exceedingly irregular. His chief pleasures
seemed to be--a ride into the country to a grinning match, a jolly
dinner with a drinking bout after it, and a mad scamper home with a
flounce in the mud.
Such, at last, was Morland's dislike of the society of gentlemen, and
his preference of low company, that he would not paint pictures for the
former class, but preferred selling them to certain artful dealers, who
were his associates, and who flattered his vices, so that they might
prey upon his genius. Of these persons, who pretended to be his friends,
he did not obtain more than half price for his paintings. This system
was carried to such an extent that Morland was at last entirely cut off
from all connection with the real admirers of his works. If a gentleman
wished to get one of his pictures, he could only do it by employing one
of these harpies who had access to the artist, and who would wheedle a
picture out of him for a mere trifle, and all under the mask of
friendship.
About the year 1790, Morland lived in the neighborhood of Paddington. At
this period, he had reached the very summit of his professional fame,
and also of his extravagance. He kept, at one time, no less than eight
saddle horses at livery, at the sign of the White Lion, opposite to his
house, and affected to be a good judge of horse-flesh. Frequently,
horses, for which one day he would give thirty or forty guineas, he
would sell the next, for less than half that sum; but as the honest
fraternity of horse-dealers knew their man, and would take his note at
two months, he could the more easily indulge this propensity, and
appear, for a short time, in cash, until the day of payment came, when a
picture was produced as a douceur for a renewal of the notes.
This was one source of calamity which neither his industry, for which he
was not remarkable, nor his talents, were by any means adequate to
overcome. His wine merchant, who was also a gentleman in the discounting
line, would sometimes obtain a picture worth fifty pounds, for the
renewal of a bill. By this conduct, he heaped folly upon folly, to such
a degree, that a fortune of ten thousand a year would have proved
insufficient for the support of his waste and prodigality.
Morland's embarrassments, which now crowded upon him, were far from
producing any change in his conduct; and, at length, they conducted him,
through the hands of a bailiff, into prison, of which, by the way, he
had always entertained a foreboding apprehension. This, however, did not
render him immediately unhappy, but rather afforded him an opportunity
of indulging, without restraint of any kind, his fatal propensities.
There, he could mingle with such companions as were best adapted to his
taste, and there too, in his own way, he could, without check or
control, reign or revel, surrounded by the very lowest of the vicious
rabble.
When in confinement, and even sometimes when he was at liberty, it was
common for him to have four guineas a day and his drink,--an object of
no small consequence, as he began to drink before he began to paint, and
continued to do both alternately, till he had painted as much as he
pleased, or till the liquor had completely overcome him, when he claimed
his money, and business was at an end for that day.
This laid his employer under the necessity of passing his whole time
with him, in order to keep him in a state fit for labor, and to carry
off the day's work when it was done; otherwise some eavesdropper snapped
up his picture, and his employer was left to obtain what redress he
could. By pursuing this fatal system, he ruined his health, enfeebled
his genius, and sunk himself into general contempt. His constitution
could not long sustain such an abuse of its powers. He was attacked with
paralysis, and soon after, he died.
Thus perished George Morland, at the early age of forty-one years; a man
whose best works will command esteem as long as any taste for the art of
painting remains; one whose talents might have insured him happiness and
distinction, if he had been educated with care, and if his entrance into
life had been guided by those who were able and willing to caution him
against the snares which are continually preparing by knavery for the
inexperience and heedlessness of youth. Many of the subjects of
Morland's pencil, are such as, of themselves, are far from pleasing. He
delighted in representations of the pigsty. Yet even these, through the
love we possess of truthful imitations, and the hallowing powers of
genius, excite emotions of pleasure. His pictures of scenery around the
cottage door, and of those rustic groups familiar to every eye, have the
effect of poetry, and call into exercise those gentle sentiments, which,
however latent, exist in every bosom. It is sad to reflect, that one who
did so much to refine and civilize mankind, should himself have been the
victim of the coarsest of vices.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
WILLIAM PENN.
This remarkable man was born in the parish of St Catherine's, near the
tower of London, on the 14th day of October, 1644. His father, who
served in the time of the Commonwealth, in some of the highest maritime
offices, was knighted by Charles the Second, and became a peculiar
favorite of the then Duke of York.
Young Penn had good advantages for education, and made such early
improvement, that, about the fifteenth year of his age, he was entered a
student in Christ's Church College, Oxford, where he continued two
years. He delighted much in manly sports at times of recreation; but at
length, being influenced by an ardent desire after pure and spiritual
religion, of which he had before received some taste through the
ministry of Thomas Lee, one of the people denominated Friends, or
Quakers, he, with certain other students of that University, withdrew
from the national way of worship, and held private meetings for the
exercise of religion. Here they both preached and prayed among
themselves. This gave great offence to the heads of the college, and
young Penn, being but sixteen years of age, was fined for
non-conformity, and at length, for persevering in his peculiar religious
practices, was expelled the college.
Having in consequence returned home, he still took great delight in the
company of sober and religious people. His father, perceiving that this
would be an obstacle in the way of his son's preferment, endeavored by
words, and even very severe measures, to persuade him to change his
conduct. Finding these methods ineffectual, he was at length so
incensed, that he turned young William out of doors. The latter was
patient under this trial, and at last the father's affection subdued his
anger. He then sent his son to France, in company with some persons of
quality that were making a tour thither.
He continued in France a considerable time, and, under the influence of
those around him, his mind was diverted from religious subjects. Upon
his return, his father, finding him not only a proficient in the French
language, but also possessed of courtly manners, joyfully received him,
hoping now that his point was gained. Indeed, some time after his return
from France, his carriage was such as justly to entitle him to the
character of a finished gentleman.
"Great about this time," says one of his biographers, "was his spiritual
conflict. His natural inclination, his lively and active disposition,
his father's favor, the respect of his friends and acquaintance,
strongly pressed him to embrace the glory and pleasures of this world,
then, as it were, courting and caressing him, in the bloom of youth, to
accept them. Such a combined force seemed almost invincible; but the
earnest supplication of his soul being to the Lord for preservation, He
was pleased to grant such a portion of his power or spirit, as enabled
him in due time to overcome all opposition, and with an holy resolution
to follow Christ, whatsoever reproaches or persecutions might attend
him."
About the year 1666, and when he was twenty-two years of age, his father
committed to his care and management a considerable estate in Ireland,
which occasioned his residence in that country. Thomas Lee, whom we have
before mentioned, being at Cork, and Penn hearing that he was to be
shortly at a meeting in that city, went to hear him; and by the
preaching of this man, which had made some impression on his mind ten
years before, he was now thoroughly and effectually established in the
faith of the Friends, and afterwards constantly attended the meetings of
that people. Being again at a meeting at Cork, he, with many others, was
apprehended, and carried before the mayor, and, with eighteen of his
associates, was committed to prison; but he soon obtained his discharge.
This imprisonment was so far from terrifying, that it strengthened him
in his resolution of a closer union with that people, whose religious
innocence was the only crime for which they suffered. He now openly
joined with the Quakers, and brought himself under the reproach of that
name, then greatly ridiculed and hated. His former companions turned
their caresses and compliments into bitter gibes and malignant derision.
His father, receiving information of what had passed, ordered him home;
and the son readily obeyed. His deportment attested the truth of the
information his father had received. He now again attempted, by every
argument in his power, to move him; but finding it impossible to obtain
a general compliance with the customs of the times, he would have borne
with him, provided he would have taken off his hat, in the presence of
the king, the duke of York, and himself.
This being proposed to the son, he desired time to consider of it. His
father, supposing this to be with an intention of consulting his
friends, the Quakers, assured him that he should see the face of none of
them, but retire to his chamber till he could return him an answer.
"Accordingly he withdrew, humbling himself before God, with fasting and
supplication, to know his heavenly mind and will, and became so
strengthened in his resolution, that, returning to his father, he humbly
signified that he could not comply with his desire."
All endeavors proving ineffectual to shake his constancy, his father,
seeing himself utterly disappointed in his hopes, again turned him out
of doors. After a considerable time, his steady perseverance evincing
his integrity, his father's wrath became somewhat abated, so that he
winked at his return to, and continuance with, his family; and though he
did not publicly seem to countenance him, yet, when imprisoned for being
at meetings, he would privately use his interest to get him released. In
the twenty-fourth year of his age, he became a minister among the
Quakers, and continued his useful labors, inviting the people to that
serenity and peace of conscience he himself witnessed, till the close of
his life.
A spirit warmed with the love of God, and devoted to his service, ever
pursues its main purpose; thus, when restrained from preaching, Penn
applied himself to writing. The first of his publications appears to
have been entitled "Truth Exalted." Several treatises were also the
fruits of his solitude, particularly the one entitled "No Cross, no
Crown."
In the year 1670, came forth the Conventicle Act, prohibiting
Dissenters' meetings, under severe penalties. The edge of this new
weapon was soon turned against the Quakers, who, not accustomed to
flinch in the cause of religion, stood particularly exposed. Being
forcibly kept out of their meeting-house in Grace Church street, they
met as near it, in the open street, as they could: and Penn, preaching
there, was apprehended, and committed to Newgate. At the next sessions
of the Old Bailey, together with William Mead, he was indicted for
"being present at, and preaching to, an unlawful, seditious, and riotous
assembly." At his trial he made a brave defence, discovering at once
both the free spirit of an Englishman and the undaunted magnanimity of a
Christian, insomuch that, notwithstanding the frowns and menaces of the
bench, the jury acquitted him.
Not long after this trial, and his discharge from Newgate, his father
died, perfectly reconciled to his son, and left him both his paternal
blessing, and an estate of fifteen hundred pounds a year. He took leave
of his son with these remarkable words: "Son William, if you and your
friends keep to your plain way of preaching, and keep to your plain way
of living, you will make an end of the priests to the end of the world.
Bury me by my mother; live all in love; shun all manner of evil; and I
pray God to bless you all; and he will bless you."
In February, 1670, Penn was preaching at a meeting in Wheeler street,
Spitalfields, when he was pulled down, and led out by soldiers into the
street, and carried away to the Tower, by order of Sir John Robinson,
lieutenant of the Tower. He was examined before Sir John and several
others, and then committed, by their orders, to Newgate, for six months.
Being at liberty at the expiration of that time, he soon after went to
Holland and Germany, where he zealously endeavored to propagate the
principles of the Quakers.
In March, 1680, he obtained from Charles II. a grant of the territory
which now bears the name of Pennsylvania. This was in compensation of a
crown debt due to his father. Having previously published an account of
the province, inviting emigrants to accompany him thither, he set sail
in June, 1682, with many friends, especially Quakers, and after a
prosperous voyage of six weeks, they came within sight of the American
coast. Sailing up the river Delaware, they were received by the
inhabitants with demonstrations of joy and satisfaction. Having landed
at Newcastle, a place mostly inhabited by the Dutch, Penn next day
summoned the people to the court-house, where possession of the country
was legally given him.
Having invited the Indians to meet him, many chiefs and persons of
distinction, appointed to represent them, came to see him. To these he
gave several valuable presents, the produce of English manufactures, as
a testimony of that treaty of amity and good understanding, which, by
his benevolent disposition, he ardently wished to establish with the
native inhabitants. He made a most favorable impression upon the
savages, and thus secured to Pennsylvania their favor. He then more
fully stated the purpose of his coming, to the people, and the
benevolent object of his government, giving them assurances of the free
enjoyment of liberty of conscience in things spiritual, and of perfect
civil freedom in matters temporal. He recommended to them to live in
sobriety and peace one with another. After about two years residence in
the country, all things being in a thriving and prosperous condition, he
returned to England; and James II. coming soon after to the throne, he
was taken into favor by that monarch, who, though a bigot in religion,
was nevertheless a friend to toleration.
At the revolution, being suspected of disaffection to the government,
and looked upon as a Papist or a Jesuit, under the mask of a Quaker, he
was examined before the Privy Council, Dec., 1688; but, on giving
security, was discharged. In 1690, when the French fleet threatened a
descent on England, he was again examined before the council, upon an
accusation of corresponding with King James, and was held to bail for
some time, but was released in Trinity Term. He was attacked a third
time the same year, and deprived of the privilege of appointing a
governor for Pennsylvania; till, upon his vindication, he was restored
to his right of government. He designed now to go over a second time to
Pennsylvania, and published proposals in print for another settlement
there; when a fresh accusation appeared against him, backed by one
William Fuller, who was afterwards declared by parliament to be a
notorious imposter. A warrant was granted for Penn's apprehension, which
he narrowly escaped at his return from the funeral of George Fox, the
founder and head of the Quakers. He now concealed himself for two or
three years, and during this recess, wrote several pieces. At the end of
1693, through the interest of Lord Somers and others, he was allowed to
appear before the king and council, when he represented his innocence so
effectually that he was acquitted.
In 1699, he again went out to Pennsylvania, accompanied by his family,
and was received by the colonists with demonstrations of the most
cordial welcome. During his absence, some persons endeavored to
undermine the American proprietary governments, under pretence of
advancing the prerogative of the crown, and a bill for that purpose was
brought into the H. of Lords. Penn's friends, the proprietors and
adventurers then in England, immediately represented the hardships of
their case to the parliament, soliciting time for his return, to answer
for himself, and accordingly pressing him to come over as soon as
possible. Seeing it necessary to comply, he summoned an assembly at
Philadelphia, to whom, Sept. 15th, 1701, he made a speech, declaring his
reasons for leaving them; and the next day he embarked for England,
where he arrived about the middle of December. After his return, the
bill, which, through the solicitations of his friends, had been
postponed the last session of parliament, was wholly laid aside.
In the year 1707, he was unhappily involved in a suit at law with the
executors of a person who had been formerly his steward, against whose
demands he thought both conscience and justice required his endeavors to
defend himself. But his cause, though many thought him aggrieved, was
attended with such circumstances, that the court of chancery did not
think it proper to relieve him; wherefore he was obliged to dwell in the
Old Bailey, within the rules of the Fleet, some part of this and the
ensuing year, until such time as the matter in dispute was accommodated.
In the year 1710, the air of London not agreeing with his declining
constitution, he took a seat at Rushcomb, in Buckinghamshire. Here he
experienced three successive shocks of apoplexy in 1712, the last of
which sensibly impaired his memory and his understanding. His religious
zeal, however, never abated, and up to 1716, he still frequently went to
the meeting at Reading. Two friends calling upon him at this time,
although very weak, he expressed himself sensibly, and when they were
about to take leave of him, he said, "My love is with you; the Lord
preserve you, and remember me in the Everlasting Covenant."
After a life of ceaseless activity and usefulness, Penn closed his
earthly career on the 13th of May, 1718, in the seventy-sixth year of
his age. He was buried at Jourdans, in Buckinghamshire, where several of
his family had been interred.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
JOHN SMITH.
There are few names that excite more interest or awaken more romantic
associations than that of Captain John Smith. He passed through a series
of the most remarkable events in Europe; and coming to our country at a
period which was favorable to the exercise of his peculiar genius, he
became the hero of many stirring adventures.
He was born at Willoughby, in the county of Lincolnshire, England, in
the year 1579, and was descended from an ancient family. He displayed a
love of enterprise in his early childhood, and he says that at thirteen
years old he was "set upon brave adventures." This disposition led him
to dispose of his books, his satchel, and what other little property he
had, for the purpose of raising money to take him to sea; but losing his
parents about this time, he received from them a considerable fortune.
He was now induced to change his plans, and became apprenticed to an
eminent merchant in London.
As might be expected, the drudgery and confinement of a compting house
were very distasteful to one who was bent upon adventure; accordingly,
with but ten shillings in his pocket, he became a follower of the son of
Lord Willoughby, who was going to France. When he arrived there, he went
into the service of Captain Joseph Duxbury, with whom he remained four
years in Holland. How he was occupied during this period is uncertain.
About this time, a Scotch gentleman kindly gave him some money, and
letters to Scotland, assuring him of the favor of King James.
Smith now set sail, and arrived in Scotland after many disasters by sea,
and great sickness of body. He delivered his letters, and was treated
with kindness and hospitality; but his stay was short. Returning to his
native town, and disappointed in not having found food for his wild love
of adventure, he went into a forest, built himself a sort of hut, and
studied military history and tactics. Here he lived for a time, being
provided by his servant with the comforts of civilization, at the same
time that he pleased his imagination with the idea of being a hermit.
Accident throwing him into the society of an Italian gentleman, in
military service, his ardor for active life was revived, and he set out
again upon his travels, intending to fight against the Turks.
Being robbed of all his baggage and property in the Low Countries by
some dastardly Frenchmen, he fortunately met with great kindness and
generosity from several noble families. Prompted, however, by the same
restless spirit with which he commenced life, he left those who were
strongly interested in his welfare, and set out upon a journey, with a
light purse and a good sword. In the course of his travels, he was soon
in such a state of suffering from hunger and exposure, that he threw
himself down in a wood, and there expected to die. But relief again
appeared; a rich farmer chanced to come that way, who, upon hearing his
story, supplied his purse, thus giving him the means of prosecuting his
journey. There is scarcely an instance on record of a stranger receiving
such kindness from his fellow-men, as did this same Smith.
He now went from port to port in search of a ship of war. During his
rambles, he met, near a town in Brittany, with one of the villains who
had robbed him. Smith immediately fought and vanquished him, making him
confess his villany before a crowd of spectators. He then went to the
seat of the Earl of Ployer, who gave him money, with which he embarked
from Marseilles for Italy, in a ship in which there was a number of
Catholic pilgrims of various nations. A furious storm arising, these
devotees took it into their heads that Heaven, in anger at the presence
of a heretic, thus manifested its displeasure. They, therefore, set upon
our hero, who, in spite of a valorous defence, was, like a second
Jonah, thrown into the sea; but whether the angry elements were appeased
by the offering, history saith not.
Being near the island of Saint Mary's, Smith easily swam thither, and
was the next day taken on board a French ship, the commander of which,
fortunately for Smith, was a friend of the Earl of Ployer, and treated
him with great kindness. They then sailed to Alexandria, in Egypt. In
the course of their voyage in the Levant, they met with a rich Venetian
merchant ship, which, taking the French ship for a pirate, fired a
broadside into her. This rough salutation, of course, brought on an
engagement, in which the Venetians were defeated, and her cargo taken on
board the victorious ship. Smith here met with something congenial to
his wild and reckless spirit; and showing great valor on the occasion,
he was rewarded with a large share of the booty. With this, he was
enabled to travel in Italy, gratifying his curiosity by the interesting
objects with which that country is filled. He at length set off for
Gratz, the residence of Ferdinand, Archduke of Austria, and afterwards
emperor of Germany.
The war was now raging between Rodolph, emperor of Germany, and Mahomet
III., Grand Seignor of Turkey. Smith, by the aid of two of his
countrymen, became introduced to some officers of distinction in the
imperial army, who were very glad to obtain so valiant a soldier as
Smith was likely to prove. This was in the year 1601. The Turkish army,
under the command of Ibrahim Pasha, had besieged and taken a fortress in
Hungary, and were ravaging the country. They were also laying siege to
Olympach, which they had reduced to extremity.
Baron Kissel, who annoyed the besiegers from without, was desirous of
sending a message to the commander of the garrison. Here was now an
opportunity for Smith's talents and prowess to come into play. He
entered upon his duty, and by means of telegraphs, he communicated the
desired intelligence to the besieged fortress; and then, exercising his
ingenuity, he arranged some thousands of matches on strings, so that
when they were fired, the report deceived the Turks into the idea that a
body of men were there. They consequently marched out to attack them.
Smith's forces, with those of the garrison, which had been duly apprized
of the scheme, fell upon them, and routed them. The Turks were now
obliged to abandon the siege. This brilliant and successful exploit
placed our hero at the head of a troop of two hundred and fifty horse,
in the regiment of Count Meldritch.
The next adventure in which Smith's ingenuity was called into exercise
was at the siege of Alba Regalis, in Hungary. He here contrived a sort
of bomb, by which the Turks were greatly annoyed and their city set on
fire; a bold military manoeuvre being adopted at the critical moment,
the place was taken, the Turks suffering great loss. A number of sieges
and undecisive skirmishes now followed, which brought upon the
Christians the jeers and scoffs of the Turks. One of their number, Lord
Turbashaw, a man of military renown, sent a challenge to any captain of
the Christian army to fight with him in single combat. The choice fell
upon Smith, who ardently desired to meet the haughty Mussulman.
The day was appointed, the ground selected and lined with warlike
soldiers and fair ladies. Lord Turbashaw entered the lists in splendid
gilt armor, with wings on his shoulders, of eagle's feathers, garnished
with gold and jewels. A janizary bore his lance, and two soldiers walked
by the side of his horse. Smith was attended only by a page, bearing his
lance. He courteously saluted his antagonist, and, at the sound of the
trumpet, their horses set forward. They met with a deadly shock. Smith's
lance pierced the visor of the Turk, and he fell dead from his horse.
The day after, another challenge was sent to Smith; another encounter
took place; and he was again victorious. Still another challenge met
with the same result, and Smith was rewarded for his prowess in a signal
manner, being made major of his regiment, and receiving all sorts of
military honors. The Prince of Transylvania gave him a pension of three
hundred ducats a year, and bestowed upon him a patent of nobility.
These events occurred about the year 1600. Various military movements
followed in Moldavia, Smith taking an active part in whatever of
enterprise and daring was going forward. In one instance, he narrowly
escaped with his life.
In a mountainous pass, he was decoyed into an ambuscade, and though the
christians fought desperately, they were nearly all cut to pieces. Smith
was wounded and taken, but his life was spared by the cupidity of the
conquerors, who expected a large sum for his ransom. He was sold as a
slave and sent to Constantinople. He was afterwards removed to Tartary,
where he suffered abuse, cruelty, and hardships of every description. At
last he seized a favorable opportunity, rose against his master, slew
him, clothed himself in his dress, mounted his horse, and was again at
liberty.
Roaming about in a vast desert for many days, chance at length directed
him to the main road, which led from Tartary to Russia, and in sixteen
days he arrived at a garrison, where the governor and his lady took off
his irons and treated him with great care and kindness. Thence he
travelled into Transylvania, where he arrived in 1603. Here he met many
of his old companions in arms, who overwhelmed him with honors and
attentions. They had thought him dead, and rejoiced over him as one
risen from the grave.
Still unsatisfied with perils and honors, hearing that a civil war had
broken out in Barbary, he sailed to Africa, but, not finding the cause
worthy of his sword, he returned to England in 1604, where a new field
of adventure opened before him. Attention had been awakened in England
upon the subject of colonizing America, by the representation of Captain
Gosnold, who, in 1602, had made a voyage to the coast of New England. He
gave delightful accounts of the fertility of the country and salubrity
of the climate, and was anxious to colonize it. Of course, this plan was
embraced with ardor by Smith, being a project just suited to his roving
disposition, and his love for "hair breadth 'scapes."
James I., who was now king, being inclined to the plan, an expedition
was fitted out in 1606, of one hundred and five colonists, in three
small vessels. Among the foremost of the adventurers were Gosnold and
Smith, who seemed to be drawn together by a kind of instinct. After a
voyage of four months, in which dissensions and mutiny caused much
trouble and uneasiness, and which resulted in Smith's imprisonment
during the voyage, the colonists arrived at Chesapeake Bay in April,
1607. The landscape, covered with the new grass of spring, and varied
with hills and valleys, seemed like enchantment to the worn-out
voyagers. With joy they left their ships, and passed many days in
choosing a spot for a resting-place and a home.
Here new troubles assailed them. The Indians in the vicinity looked upon
their encroachments with jealous eyes, and attacked them with their
arrows, but the colonists quickly dispersed them with muskets. Others,
however, more peaceable, treated our adventurers with kindness. A
settlement was now made upon a peninsula on James's river, to which they
gave the name of Jamestown.
Of course, in a settlement like this, there must be suffering, and
consequently, discontent. Much of this was manifested towards Smith,
who, by his energy and perseverance, excited the envy of those
associated with him in the management of the infant colony. At the same
time, he became the object of dread to the Indians, by his bravery and
resources. Many of the colonists died of hunger and disease; many were
dispirited; and at last, in despair, they turned to our adventurer as
their only hope in this hour of need. Like all generous spirits, he
forgot his injuries, and set himself to work to remedy the evils that
beset them. By his ingenuity and daring, he obtained from the Indians
liberal supplies of corn, venison, and wild fowl, and, under the
influence of good cheer, the colonists became, comparatively, happy.
But a new and unforeseen calamity awaited our hero. Having penetrated
into the country, with but few followers, he was beset by a large party
of Indians, and, after a brave resistance, was taken prisoner. But the
spirit and presence of mind of this remarkable man did not forsake him
in this alarming crisis. He did not ask for life, for this would,
probably, have hastened his death; but requesting that he might see the
Indian chief, he at the same time drew from his pocket a compass, and
directed attention to it, partly by signs and partly by words which he
had learned. The curious instrument amused and surprised his savage
captors, and averted, for a time, the fate that awaited him.
They soon, however, tied him to a tree, and prepared to shoot him with
their arrows. Changing their plans suddenly, they led him in a
procession to a village, where they confined him and fed him so
abundantly, that Smith thought they were probably fattening him for
food. After a variety of savage ceremonies, the Indians took him to
Werowcomoco--the residence of Powhatan, a celebrated chief, of a noble
and majestic figure, and a countenance bespeaking the severity and
haughtiness of one whose nod is law.
Powhatan was seated on a throne, with one of his daughters on each side
of him. Many Indians were standing in the hut, their skins covered with
paint, and ornamented with feathers and beads. As Smith was brought
bound into the room, there was a loud shout of triumph, which warned him
that his last hour had arrived. They gave him water to wash, and food to
eat, and then, holding a consultation, they determined to kill him. Two
large stones were brought in and placed before the unbending chief.
Smith was dragged forward, his head placed upon the stones, and the
fatal club raised for the cruel deed.
But what stays the savage arm? A child of twelve or thirteen, Pocahontas
by name, the chief's favorite child, melted by the pity that seldom
moves the heart of her race, ran to our hero, clasped his head in her
arms, laid herself down with him on the block, determined to share his
fate. Surely, of the numberless acts of kindness and benevolence which
had been showered at different times upon Smith, this transcended them
all! Startled by the act, and perhaps sympathizing with the feelings of
his child, Powhatan raised Smith from the earth, and in two days, sent
him with twelve Indian guides to Jamestown, from which place he had been
absent seven weeks.
Smith found the colony disheartened by his absence, and in want of
provisions. These he procured from the Indians, bartering blue beads for
corn and turkeys. A fire broke out about this time, and burned up many
of the houses of the colony; this damage, however, Smith set about
repairing--his patience and energy surmounting every evil.
In June, 1608, our adventurer, tired of his mode of life, set out, with
fourteen others, to explore Chesapeake Bay and the Potomac river. They
encountered many tribes of Indians, but Smith's boldness always averted
their assaults; and his frank and open demeanor generally turned his
enemies into friends. The party returned to Jamestown in July, when
Smith was made the president of the colony.
He now made several expeditions, frequently meeting with adventures, and
falling in with numerous tribes of Indians. He and his party had many
skirmishes, and suffered considerably from the assaults of the savages;
but Smith's sagacity and ingenuity rendered them comparatively harmless.
He explored the whole of Chesapeake Bay, sailing nearly 3000 miles, in
the space of three months.
About this time, an expedition arrived from the mother country, under
Capt. Newport, whose object was to make discoveries, and as they were to
pass through Powhatan's territories, it was thought best to secure his
favor by various presents. Accordingly, a bed and hangings, a chair of
state, a suit of scarlet clothes, a crown, and other articles, were
presented to him with great ceremony. At his coronation, having been
with difficulty persuaded by the English to kneel, the moment the crown
touched his head, a volley was fired from the boats, which caused the
newly-made monarch to start up with affright. By way of return for these
honors, Powhatan generously presented Captain Newport with his old shoes
and mantle!
Notwithstanding Smith's exertions in behalf of the colony, the council
in England were constantly dissatisfied with him. But he did not allow
anything to abate his zeal for the welfare of the colony under his
command; even though they were harassed by the Indians, and suffering
from sickness and privation, he still kept up his courage and energy. He
entreated the managers in England to send them out mechanics and
husbandmen, instead of the idle young gentlemen who had come with
Newport, and took every step in his power to promote the prosperity of
the settlement.
The colony being now in great want of supplies, Smith made many
exertions to procure them, but the Indians refused to part with any more
provisions. A great war of words ensued between Smith and Powhatan,
which ended in hostilities, Smith endeavoring to take the latter
prisoner. The Indians, in their turn, made preparations to attack the
English by night. Of this, they were warned by Pocahontas, who continued
her kind interpositions in favor of Smith.
Our hero had now experienced, it would seem, enough of adventure and
peril to satisfy his desires. He often narrowly escaped with his life,
for the Indians held him in dread, as one to whose prowess they were
always obliged to yield, and whose address was always an overmatch for
their own. If they suspected him of any hostile intentions towards them,
they propitiated him by loads of provisions. To give some idea of
this--Smith returned from one of his expeditions with two hundred pounds
of deer's flesh, and four hundred and seventy-nine bushels of corn. But
at length, growing weary of exertion, and of the animadversion of the
English company, with trouble abroad, and mutiny and sickness at home,
he returned to England in 1609.
From this period to 1614, little or nothing is known of him. At this
date, we again find him, true to his nature, sailing with two ships to
Maine, for the purpose of capturing whales and searching for gold.
Failing in these expectations, Smith left his men fishing for cod, while
he surveyed the coast, from Penobscot to Cape Cod, trafficking with the
Indians for furs. He then returned to England, and gave his map to the
king, Charles I., and requested him to change some of the barbarous
names which had been given to the places discovered. Smith gave the
country the name of New England. Cape Cod, the name given by Gosnold, on
account of the number of cod-fish found there, was altered by King
Charles to Cape James, but the old title has always been retained. With
the modesty ever manifested by Smith, he gave his own name only to a
small cluster of islands, which, by some strange caprice, are now called
the Isles of Shoals.
In January, 1615, Captain Smith set sail for New England, with two
ships, from Plymouth in England, but was driven back by a storm. He
embarked again in June, but met with all kinds of disasters, and was at
last captured by a French squadron, and obliged to remain all summer in
the admiral's ship. When this ship went to battle with English vessels,
Smith was sent below; but when they fell in with Spanish ships, they
obliged him to fight with them. They at length carried him to Rochelle,
where they put him on board a ship in the harbor. This was but a
miserable existence to our hero, and he sought various opportunities of
escape.
At length, a violent storm arising, all hands went below, to avoid the
pelting rain, and Smith pushed off in a boat, with a half pike for an
oar, hoping to reach the shore. But a strong current carried him out to
sea, where he passed twelve hours in imminent danger, being constantly
covered with the spray. At last, he was thrown upon a piece of marshy
land, where some fowlers found him, nearly drowned. He was relieved and
kindly treated at Rochelle, and soon returned to England.
While these adventures were happening to Smith, Pocahontas became
attached to an English gentleman, of the name of Rolfe, having
previously separated herself from her father. This would seem an
unnatural step, were it not for the fact that she had a more tender and
mild nature than that of her nation, and could not endure to see the
cruelties practised against the English, in whom she felt so strong an
interest. She was married in 1613, and by means of this event a lasting
peace was established with Powhatan and his tribe.
In 1616, Pocahontas visited England with her husband. She had learned to
speak English well, and was instructed in the doctrines of Christianity.
As soon as Smith heard of her arrival, he went immediately to see her,
and he describes her in this interview as "turning about and obscuring
her face," no doubt, overcome by old recollections. She afterwards,
however, held a long conversation with Smith. This interesting creature
was not destined to return to her own land, for, being taken sick at
Gravesend, in 1617, she died, being only twenty-two years old.
Much has been written concerning this friend of the whites, and all
agree in ascribing to her character almost every quality that may
command respect and esteem. She combined the utmost gentleness and
sweetness, with great decision of mind and nobleness of heart. Captain
Smith has immortalized her by his eloquent description of her kindness
to him and his people. From her child are descended some honorable
families now living in Virginia.
Captain Smith intended to sail for New England in 1617, but his plans
failed, and he remained in England, using constant exertions to persuade
his countrymen to settle in America. In 1622, the Indians made a
dreadful massacre at Jamestown, destroying three hundred and forty-seven
of the English settlers. This news affected Smith very much, and he
immediately made proposals to go over to New England, with forces
sufficient to keep the Indians in check. But the people of England made
so many objections to the plan, that it was given up by our hero, though
with great regret. From this period, his story is little known, and we
are only told that he died in 1631. His life is remarkable for the
variety of wild adventures in which he was engaged; his character is
marked as well by courage and daring, as by the somewhat opposite
qualities of boldness and perseverance. He seems also to have possessed
many noble and generous qualities of heart. He had, indeed, the elements
of greatness, and had he been called to a wider field of action, he
might have left a nobler fame among the annals of mankind.
ETHAN ALLEN.
This extraordinary man was born at Litchfield, or Salisbury,
Connecticut, about the year 1740. He had five brothers and two sisters,
named Heman, Heber, Levi, Zimri, Ira, Lydia and Lucy. Four or five of
the former emigrated to Vermont, with Ethan, where their bold, active
and enterprising spirits found an abundant opportunity for its display.
Many a wild legend, touching their adventures, still lingers among the
traditions of the Green Mountains.
About the year 1770, a dispute between New York and New Hampshire, as to
the dividing line between the two provinces, and which had long been
pending, came to a crisis. The territory of Vermont was claimed by both
parties; and some of the settlers who had received grants from Governor
Wentworth, of New Hampshire, were threatened with being ejected from
their lands by legal processes, proceeding from the province of New
York.
The Allens had selected their lands in the township of Bennington, which
had now become a considerable place. The New York government, in
conformity with their interpretation of their rights, had proceeded to
grant patents, covering these very lands on which farms had now been
brought to an advanced state of culture, and where houses had been built
and orchards planted by the original purchasers. These proprietors were
now called upon to take out new patents, at considerable expense, from
New York, or lose their estates.
This privilege of purchasing their own property was regarded by the
Vermonters as rather an insult, than a benefit, and most of them refused
to comply. The question was at last brought to trial at Albany, before a
New York court, Allen being employed by the defendants as their agent.
The case was, of course, decided against them, and Allen was advised, by
the king's attorney-general, to go home and make the best terms he could
with his new masters, remarking, that "might generally makes right." The
reply of the mountaineer was brief and significant: "The gods of the
valley are not the gods of the hills;" by which he meant that the agents
of the New York government would find themselves baffled at Bennington,
should they undertake to enforce the decision of the court, against the
settlers there.
Allen's prediction was prophetic. The sheriffs sent by the government
were resisted, and finally, a considerable force was assembled, and
placed under the command of Allen, who obliged the officers to desist
from their proceedings. A proclamation was now issued by the governor of
New York, offering a reward of twenty pounds for the apprehension of
Allen. The latter issued a counter proclamation, offering a reward of
five pounds to any one who would deliver the attorney-general of the
colony into his power.
Various proceedings took place, and for several years, the present
territory of Vermont presented a constant series of disturbances. The
New York government persevered in its claims, and the settlers as
obstinately resisted. In all these measures, whether of peace or war,
Allen was the leader of the Green Mountain yeomanry. Various plots were
laid for his apprehension, but his address and courage always delivered
him from the impending danger. At last, the revolution broke out, and
the dispute was arrested by events which absorbed the public attention.
The rival claims being thus suspended, the people of Vermont were left
to pursue their own course.
A few days after the battle of Lexington, a project was started at
Hartford, Connecticut, for the capture of Fort Ticonderoga, then
belonging to the British. Several persons set out upon this enterprise,
and taking Bennington in their way, Allen joined them with some of his
"Green Mountain Boys," and was appointed commander of the expedition.
The little band arrived, without molestation, on the banks of Lake
George, opposite the fort. They procured boats sufficient to carry
eighty-three men. These crossed in the night, and landed just at the
dawn of day. While the boats were gone back with the remainder of the
troops, Allen resolved to attack the fort.
He drew up the men in three ranks, addressed them in a short harangue,
ordered them to face to the right, and placing himself at the head of
the middle file, led them silently, but with a quick step, up the
heights where the fortress stood; and before the sun rose, he had
entered the gate, and formed his men on the parade between the barracks.
Here they gave three huzzas, which aroused the sleeping inmates. When
Colonel Allen passed the gate, a sentinel snapped his fusee at him, and
then retreated under a covered way. Another sentinel made a thrust at an
officer with a bayonet, which slightly wounded him. Colonel Allen
returned the compliment with a cut on the side of the soldier's head, at
which he threw down his musket, and asked quarter.
No more resistance was made. Allen now demanded to be shown to the
apartment of Captain Delaplace, the commander of the garrison. It was
pointed out, and Allen, with Beman, his guide, at his elbow, hastily
ascended the stairs, which were attached to the outside of the barracks,
and called out with a voice of thunder at the door, ordering the
astonished captain instantly to appear, or the whole garrison should be
sacrificed.
Startled at so strange and unexpected a summons, the commandant sprang
from his bed and opened the door, when the first salutation of his
boisterous and unseasonable visitor was an order immediately to
surrender the fort. Rubbing his eyes, and trying to collect his
scattered senses, the captain asked by what authority he presumed to
make such a demand. "In the name of the Great Jehovah, and the
Continental Congress!" said Allen.
Not accustomed to hear much of the continental congress in this remote
corner, nor to respect its authority when he did, the commandant began
to remonstrate; but Colonel Allen cut short the thread of his
discourse, by lifting his sword over his head, and reiterating the
demand for an immediate surrender. Having neither permission to argue,
nor power to resist, Captain Delaplace submitted, ordering his men to
parade, without arms, and the garrison was given up to the victors.[A]
The fruit of this victory was about fifty prisoners, with one hundred
and twenty pieces of cannon, beside other arms and military stores. A
few days after, the fort at Crown Point was taken, and some other
successful enterprises were achieved. Allen obtained great credit by
these performances.
In the following autumn, he was twice despatched into Canada, to engage
the inhabitants to lend their support to the American cause. In the last
of these expeditions, he formed a plan, in concert with Colonel Brown,
to reduce Montreal. Allen, accordingly, crossed the river in September,
1775, at the head of one hundred and ten men, but was attacked, before
Brown could join him, by the British troops, consisting of five hundred
men, and, after a most obstinate resistance, was taken prisoner. The
events of his captivity he himself has recorded in a narrative compiled
after his release, in the most singular style, but apparently with great
fidelity.
For some time he was kept in irons, and treated with much severity. He
was sent to England as a prisoner, with an assurance that, on his
arrival there, he would meet with the halter. During the passage,
extreme cruelty was exercised towards him and his fellow-prisoners. They
were all, to the number of thirty-four, thrust, handcuffed, into a small
place in the vessel, not more than twenty feet square. After about a
month's confinement in Pendennie castle, near Falmouth, he was put on
board a frigate, January 8, 1776, and carried to Halifax. Thence, after
an imprisonment of five months, he was removed to New York.
On the passage from Halifax to the latter place, he was treated with
great kindness by Captain Smith, the commander of the vessel, and he
evinced his gratitude by refusing to join in a conspiracy on board to
kill the British captain and seize the frigate. His refusal prevented
the execution of the plan. He remained at New York for a year and a
half, sometimes in confinement, and sometimes at large, on parole.
In 1778, Allen was exchanged for Colonel Campbell, and immediately
afterwards, repaired to the head quarters of General Washington, by whom
he was received with much respect. As his health was impaired, he
returned to Vermont, after having made an offer of his services to the
commander-in-chief, in case of his recovery. His arrival in Vermont was
celebrated by the discharge of cannon; and he was soon appointed to the
command of the state militia, as a mark of esteem for his patriotism and
military talents. A fruitless attempt was made by the British to bribe
him to lend his support to a union of Vermont with Canada. He died
suddenly at his estate at Colchester, February 13, 1789.
Allen was a man of gigantic stature, being nearly seven feet in height,
and every way of relative proportions. He possessed undaunted courage,
and blended bold enterprise with much sagacity. His early education was
imperfect, but he was the master-spirit in the society among which he
lived, and he exercised a powerful influence in laying the foundations
of the state of Vermont. He was a sincere friend of his country, and did
much in behalf of the revolution. When applied to by the rebel Shays, to
become the leader of the insurrection in 1786, he rejected the proffer
with indignation.
Allen was a man of great determination, and, living in the midst of
turmoil, was somewhat reckless in his temper. While he held a military
command, during the revolution, a notorious spy was taken and brought to
his quarters. Allen immediately sentenced him to be hung at the end of
two or three days, and arrangements were accordingly made for the
execution. At the appointed time, a large concourse of people had
collected around the gallows, to witness the hanging. In the mean time,
however, it had been intimated to Allen that it was necessary to have a
regular trial of the spy.
This was so obvious, that he felt compelled to postpone the execution of
the culprit. Irritated, however, at this delay of justice, he proceeded
to the gallows, and, mounting the scaffold, harangued the assembly
somewhat as follows: "I know, my friends, you have all come here to see
Rowley hanged, and, no doubt, you will be greatly disappointed to learn
that the performances can't take place to-day. Your disappointment
cannot be greater than mine, and I now declare that if you'll come here
a fortnight from this day, Rowley shall be hung, or I will be hung
myself."
The rude state of society in which Allen spent the greater part of his
life was little calculated to polish his manners. Being at Philadelphia,
before the election of General Washington as president, he was invited
to dinner, by the general upon an occasion of some ceremony. He took his
seat by the side of Mrs. Washington, and in the course of the meal,
seeing some Spanish olives before him, he took one of them, and put it
in his mouth. It was the first he had ever tasted, and, of course, his
palate revolted. "With your leave, ma'am," said he, turning to Lady
Washington, "I'll take this plaguy thing out of my mouth."
When Allen was in England, a prisoner, persons who had heard him
represented as a giant in stature, and scarcely short of a cannibal in
habits and disposition, came to see him, and gazed at him with mingled
wonder and disgust. It is said, that, on one occasion, a tenpenny nail
was thrown in to him, as if he were a wild animal. He is reported to
have picked it up, and, in his vexation, to have bitten it in two. It is
in allusion to this that Doctor Hopkins wrote,--
"Lo, Allen 'scaped from British jails,
His tushes broke by biting nails," &c.
But however rude were Allen's manners, he was a man of inflexible
integrity. He was sued, upon a certain occasion, for a note of hand,
which was witnessed by an individual residing at Boston. When the case
came on for trial in one of the Vermont courts, the lawyer whom Allen
had employed to manage it so as to get time, rose, and, for the purpose
of securing this object, pleaded a denial of the signature.
It chanced that Allen was in the court-house at this moment, and hearing
this plea, he strode across the court-room, and, while his eyes flashed
with indignation, he spoke to the court as follows: "May it please your
honors, that's a lie! I say I did sign that note, and I didn't employ
Lawyer C****** to come here and tell a falsehood. That's a genuine note,
and I signed it, please your honors, and I mean to pay it; all I want is
to put it over till next court, when I expect to have money enough to
meet it!" This speech gratified the opposing counsel so much, that he
immediately consented to the delay which Allen desired.
Though Allen's education was limited, by reading and reflection he had
acquired a considerable amount of knowledge. Presuming upon this, and
guided by the eccentricity which marked his character, he ventured to
assail the Christian religion, in a book entitled, "The Oracles of
Reason." Though he here expressed belief in a God, and a future state of
rewards and punishments, he rejected the Bible, and seemed to favor the
Pythagorian doctrine of transmigration of souls. He entertained the idea
that he was himself destined to reappear on earth in the condition of a
great white horse! These absurdities show into what depths of folly a
great man may be led, if he permit his self-conceit to involve him in
the discussion of subjects beyond his grasp.
DAVID CROCKETT.
This individual was one of those remarkable characters, formed by the
rough and adventurous circumstances of western life. His paternal
grandfather and grandmother, who were of Irish descent, were murdered by
the Creek Indians, in Tennessee. He had an uncle who was wounded at the
same time, and remained in captivity with the savages for seventeen
months. The subject of our memoir was born in 1786, on the banks of
Nola-chucky river, he being the fifth son.
At this period, Tennessee was nearly a wilderness, and the forests were
still, to a great extent, the dominion of the Indian and the wild beast.
Brought up in this condition, his youthful imagination tinged by the
tragic story of his ancestors, it was natural that our young hero should
have become an early lover of those wild enterprises and hazardous
adventures which belong to border life.
In the memoir with which Crockett has favored us, he gives an account of
many events, some of which are not a little marvellous, though we have
no reason to doubt their truth. The following will serve as a specimen
of his style, as well as of the circumstances which attended his
childhood. "Joseph Hawkins, who was a brother to my mother, was in the
woods hunting for deer. He was passing near a thicket of brush, in which
one of our neighbors was gathering some grapes, as it was in the fall of
the year, and the gr
Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/39333