Citation
Heroism of boyhood, or, What boys have done

Material Information

Title:
Heroism of boyhood, or, What boys have done
Portion of title:
What boys have done
Creator:
Goodrich, Samuel G ( Samuel Griswold ), 1793-1860
Harral, Horace ( Engraver )
Pannemaker, Adolphe François, b. 1822 ( Engraver )
Herington, E. J ( Engraver )
Foulquier, Jean Antoine Valentin, 1822-1896 ( Illustrator )
Gall & Inglis ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
London ;
Edinburgh
Publisher:
Gall & Inglis
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
vi, 282 p., [8] leaves of plates : ill. ; 18 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Heroes -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Courage -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Boys -- Biography -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Boys -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1890 ( lcsh )
Biographical fiction -- 1890 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1890
Genre:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Biographical fiction ( rbgenr )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
Scotland -- Edinburgh
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Illustrations engraved and variously signed by H. Harral, Pannemaker and E.J. Herington after V. Foulouier.
General Note:
Baldwin Library copy lacking a plate facing p. 104.
General Note:
Text printed within red ruled border.
Statement of Responsibility:
by Peter Parley [pseud.], and other popular authors ; with eight full-page illustrations.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026738997 ( ALEPH )
20124591 ( OCLC )
ALG8663 ( NOTIS )

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Full Text
Sting reesis in lens SCALES Tt ose D oat eases Es
eeichtpe nr coyt







The Baldwin Library





“Albert rushed on, and. with one stroke of his Alpenstock
stunned the wolf nearest to him” p. 167







HEROISM OF BOYHOOD

OR,

WHAT BOYS HAVE DONE.

BY
PETER PARLEY,

AUTHOR OF ‘‘THE HOLIDAY KEEPSAKE,” ‘ CHIMNEY-CORNER STORIES,” ETC. ETC,

AND OTHER POPULAR AUTHORS.

With Gight full-page Fustrations,

GALL & INGLIS.

Rondon: Gdinburgh:
25 PATERNOSTER SQUARE. | 20 BERNARD TERRACE,







PREFACE.

Tne following pages are intended to depict the

Heroism or Boynoop, and especially to exhibit the

heroism of moral worth. In former times, a man,

to be a hero, was expected to slay his thousands,
to found empires, and to subjugate nations. But
now, better taught by the experience of the past,
we understand that true heroism may consist in
performing our duty in that state of life unto
which it may please God to call us. There is a
heroism in refraining from evil, in speaking the
truth, in the exercise of humanity, in devoting
ourselves to some difficult task for the sake of
others, and in the vindication of principle. The
great and good of all countries and in all ages

afford instances of this in their early days; and in





iv PREFACE.

selecting a few of these from authentic sources,
I feel confident in performing a service to the
Boys of England, and even to England herself; as
the greatness of a nation does not consist so much
in armies, in fleets, in extended conquests, or
unbounded wealth, as in the exercise of the high
virtue of our nature, in deeds of love, gentle-

ness, honour, honesty, and truth.

Peter Partey.





CONTENTS.

Story or Davin, THE SON oF JESSE

Tue Story or Cyrus

Tue Boy-Kina—EpWaArb THE SIxTH

Tue BorHoop or OLIVER CROMWELL

Davip Livinestons ‘

Joun Kirto . 5 a a a .

Tae Mysterious ARTist—SEBAsTIAN GoME:
Boyiss Hzroisu or Sir WiL1AM JONES .

Tar Lirris Troant—Jacques AMYOT .
AmmasLe Heroism or Lovrs X VIL

Heroic Devotion of A TYRoLESE Boy

Tue Troururun Scotce Boy; or, SAwNEY MacPHERSON .
Tse Lirrte HoncHBackK—ALEXANDER Pore .
ScHoon FRIENDSHIP »

Tse Lrrtiz Drummer-Boy

Mozart, THE Younc Musician
REvBeN Percy
TURENNE, THE Little SOLDIER

Tue Covraczous Boy . .





V1 CONTENTS.

Boynoop or raz Grear Conperr . wt,
Tue Heroism or Trura—Grorce WasHINGTON
ALBERT, THE Son oF Waiam TELL A ;
BensaMIN FRANKLIN, THE YOUNG PRINTER.
JoserH Humm, THE Fisuerman’s Son .
Heroic Devotion or Two Mexican YOUTHS .
Tue Bornoop or Liynzus . 3 & 2
Tue Heroism or Trust—Sim Houmpury Davy
WINCKELMANN, THE LEARNED COBBLER .
Lorp NELson

Georcr STEPHENSON—THE HEROISM OF PERSEVERANCE

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Tur Boy Kine ann St. Grorce

Tse Lirriz TRUANT PRESENTED TO Francis L.
ALEXANDER POPE AND His AUNT

CoLBERT AND THE RopBER 3

WASHINGTON AND THE C'HERRY-TREE

FRANELIN PRACTISING ELOCUTION

LINNZUS AND His Faminy at THEIR Eventne Work

WINCKELMANN READING TO HIS FATHER fe *





THE

HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

Story of David, the Son of Jesse.

Dava, the son of Jesse, was a shepherd boy, and
kept sheep in the wilderness. No doubt the life
of a shepherd is favourable to thought and to con-
templation ; and David, while watching his flocks
by night, often cast his eyes upward to the glory
of the stars, and thought of the great God who
made them and the universe, and all that is
therein. No doubt but this gentle shepherd boy
often poured out his soul in prayer and praise to
his Creator, and thought upon the way in which
he might best serve him and glorify his name.
The Almighty was not unmindful of the poor
shepherd boy, who was anxious only to please God,
while a great and powerful King disobeyed his
will and transgressed his laws. God, therefore, de-
termined to choose him to govern his people, the
Jews, and he sent his Prophet Samuel to Jesse,





2 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

saying, « Fill thine horn with oil, and go, for |
have provided me a King among his sons.” And
Samuel went, and he came to the house of Jesse,
and commanded all his sons to pass before him.

Jesse had seven sons at home, and when they
were come before the Prophet, he looked on each
of them, but the Spirit of the Lord did not satisfy
Samuel that any of the sons present were the
chosen of the Lord. And the Lord said unto
Samuel, “ Look not on his countenance, or on the
height of his stature, for the Lord seeth not as
man seeth, for man looketh on the outward ap-
pearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.”
None of these were, therefore, chosen of the Lord.

And Samuel said unto Jesse—‘‘ Are here all thy
children ?” and he said— There remaineth yet the
youngest, and behold he keepeth the sheep.” And
Samuel ordered him to be brought in. Now, he
was ruddy, and of a beautiful countenance, and
goodly to look to, And the Lord said, ‘‘ Arise, and
anoint him, for this is he.” And Samuel took the
horn of oil, and anointed him in the midst of his
brethren.

David being thus chosen of the Lord, and having
his Spirit upon him, came down to the place where
the armies of Israel and the Philistines were en-
camped. The army of the Philistines was on a
mountain on one side, and that of the Israelites





DAVID, THE SON OF JESSE. 3

on a mountain on the other side, and there was a
valley between them.

Now, the Philistines had a mighty giant, named
Goliath, who was nearly eleven feet high. He
was armed at every point; had a coat of mail on
his body, greaves of brass upon his legs, a target
of brass between his shoulders, a brazen helmet,
and a strong and mighty spear.

And he stood and cried unto the armies of Israel
—‘‘Choose ye a man to match with me, and let
us decide the battle;” and he vaunted and defied
the army of the Israelites, and sorely discomfited
them. And he presented himself before the army
for forty days.

At this time David was in the wilderness keep-
ing his father’s sheep, as at other times. But being
ordered by his father to take provisions to his
brothers, who were soldiers in the army of Israel,
he came down to the battle-field just as the armies
were about to fight, and shouting for the battle.

And David came to his brethren, and saluted
them. While he was talking with them the
Philistine champion Goliath came forth and defied
the armies of Israel, as he had done aforetime.
And when he heard him, David expressed to those
about him his willingness to undertake the combat
with this mighty giant ; but his brothers upbraided
him, and accused him of pride and vanity. There





4 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

were, however, many in the army that admired his
boldness, and who believed that the Spirit of God
was upon David; and they brought him to Saul
the King.

When David came before Saul, he expressed
his willingness to fight the giant. But Saul said—
“Thou art not able to go against this Philistine to
fight with him, for thou art but a youth, and he is
aman of war from his youth.”

But David said to Saul—* Thy servant kept his
father’s sheep, and there came a lion, and a bear,
and took a lamb out of the flock; and I went out
after him, and smote him, and delivered it out of
his mouth; and when he arose against me, I caught
him by the beard, and smote him, and slew him.
Thy servant slew both the lion and the bear, and
this uncircumcised Philistine shall be as one of
them, seeing he hath defied the armies of the living
God. The Lord that delivered me out of the paw
of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear,
shall deliver me out of the hand of this Philis-
tine.” And Saul said unto David, “ Go, and the
Lord be with thee.”

And Saul armed David with his armour, and put
a helmet of brass upon his head, and he armed him
with a coat of mail; but David put them off him,
and he took his staff in his hand, and chose him
five smooth stones out of the brook, and put them





DAVID, THE SON OF JESSE. 5

in his scrip or: shepherd’s bag. Then he took
his sling in his hand, and he drew near to the
Philistine.

And when the Philistine looked about and saw
David, he disdained him, and he said, “Am I a
dog that thou comest to me witha stone? Come to
me, and I will give thy flesh to the fowls of the
air, and the wild beasts of the earth.” David re-
plied, “Thou comest to me with a sword, and
with a spear, and with a shield, but I come to
thee in the name of the Lord of hosts.”

And it came to pass that when Goliath came to-
wards David, thinking scon to destroy his insig-
nificant adversary, that the son of Jesse hastened
forward to meet him. David then put his hand
into his bag and took from it a stone, which he
put into his sling. And he slung the stone for-
ward with all his strength, and smote the Philis
tine in the forehead, so that he fell with his face
to the earth. So David prevailed over the enemy
of his people with a sling anda stone. And he
ran toward the Philistine and put his foot upon
his neck. But as he had no sword of his own, he
drew the giant’s weapon from its scabbard, and
slew him and cut off his head. And when the
Philistines saw their champion was dead, they
fled in dismay.

But the Israelites pursued them, and obtained





6 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

a great victory over them. Then David took the
head of Goliath, and brought it to Saul at Jeru-
salem. And the King was greatly surprised. that
this stripling had been able to overcome the giant
Goliath, and asked whence he came and who he
was. And then when Saul learned that he was
the son of Jesse, the Bethlehemite, he took him
into his favour, and bade him stay in the royal
palace, and go no more home to the house of his
father.

My young friends will find the further history
of David in that best of all books, the Bible, and
will learn how he became King of Israel, and

what he did, and what he wrote, and how he
sometimes fell into grievous sin; for the best of
us are very imperfect and full of evil. From the
history of David they will learn much, but they
can never forget the shepherd boy who was en-
abled to display the true heroism of his nature by
putting his trust in God.





The Story of Cyrus.

THE BIG COAT AND THE LITTLE COAT.

Tue Great Cyrus was once a little boy, like all
of you. But before I tell you about Cyrus as a
little boy, I must say something concerning him
as a great man.

Cyrus the Great was a King of Persia, and was
born about six hundred years before the Christian
era. His father was of what is called an ignoble
family, but his mother, Mandané, was of the Royal
blood, being daughter of Astyagés, King of the
Medes, who were then the most powerful nation
of the East. It was a custom in those days that
when a child was born who was not wanted, either
to kill it outright, or to expose it in some inhos-
pitable place, that it might die of hunger, or be
devoured by wild beasts. Soon after his birth,
Uyrus was thus exposed in a desert, but being
found by a shepherdess, who had. compassion on
him, was reared by her, and educated as her own
son.

When Cyrus grew up into boyhood, he seemed
to show by his conduct that he had royal blood in
his veins, for he became the chief or leader of all





8 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

his schoolfellows, who made him their leader or
boy-king. When Cyrus grew older, he raised a
body of troops, and made war upon his grand-
father, the King of Persia, anddethronedhim. He
then subdued the eastern parts of Asia, and made
war against Croesus, King of Lydia, whom he also
conquered, He afterwards invaded the kingdom
of Assyria, and took the city of Babylon by divert-
ing the channels of the Euphrates, and marching
his troops through the dry bed of the river. He
likewise redeemed Persia from the yoke of the
Medes, and himself became king, about the year
560 before Christ. He subsequently commenced
an expedition against the Scythians, and was de-
feated in a bloody battle, losing both his crown
and his life. This event occurred 529 years
before the birth of Christ. Such is a short begin-
ning, middle, and end of Cyrus the Great, one of
the most notable conquerors of ancient times.
Cyrus would have been a truly great king but
for his love of war and bloodshed, for he had many
noble qualities of heart, and a superior under-
standing. On one occasion when at school, in his
capacity of boy-king, he had led his schoolfellows
forth on a pomegranate expedition, in which the
plantations of a poor man were invaded, and his
pomegranates stolen. The depredators had got
clear off with their booty, and had returned to -









CYRUS THE GREAT. 9

their school without detection ; butin the morning
the owner of the fruit appeared before the “ Ma-
gister” or master of the school, complaining of his
logs, and begging of him to make inquiries among
the boys, as he strongly suspected some of them,
The boys were then brought up and interrogated,
but they all strongly denied having had any share
in the transaction, making the most ridiculous
excuses. At last Cyrus was called up, and upon
being interrogated, at once said—‘‘I did it. Let
me be punished—I was the instigator and leader.
Ican break into an orchard, I can steal a pome-
granate,” said he, ‘“‘ but I cannot tell a lie. It is
my deed, and I am ready to receive the punish-
ment that is my due for being a thief. As to my
companions in this affair, these I shall not name.
I am answerable for them.”

This noble conduct drew forth the admiration
of the Magister, who exclaimed—* Such noble
conduct is indeed worthy of a King, and your
fellows have done well in choosing you to rule over
them. That you have done wrong you yourself
admit. I shall in your case spare the lash, be-
cause you fear nothing so much as telling a lie.
Go, consult your companions, and make this poor
man compensation for his loss, and then come to
my heart, and be to me as a son.”

‘The same master, seeing the noble qualities of





10 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

this boy-king, took great pains with him, and used
to instruct him by imaginary cases: one of these
was as follows :—

There were two boys, one of whom was a great,
and the other a little boy. Now it happened that
the little boy had a coat that was very much too
big for him, and the great boy had a coat that was
very much too small for him. Upon seeing his
own condition, and that of his fellow, the great boy
" proposed to the little boy an exchange. “ Your
coat,” said he, “ is too large for you, and mine is
too small for me; therefore, if we change we shall
both be exactly fitted.” The little boy would not
consent to the proposal, and so then the great boy
called him a fool, and took away his coat by force,
and gave him his own little coat in exchange. The
great coat now fitted the great boy, and the little
coat the little boy. The little boy was, however,
very dissatisfied. “And now I want you,” said
the Magister to Cyrus, “ to tell me what ought te
be done in such an affair. Ought the little boy
to be satisfied with the coat that exactly fits him
or not ?”

“No, sir,” replied Cyrus.

“ And why not?” said the master.

“ Because,” said Cyrus, “ it was not just for the
great boy to take away the little boy’s coat without
his consent.”





CYRUS THE GREAT. 11

“ You have rightly decided in this matter,” re-
plied the master. Thus Kings and Ozars may be
still taught by the boy Cyrus.

There is also an anecdote told of Cyrus which
displays the hero even in childhood. Being en-
gaged with his youthful companions in some
meiry game or romp, one of the younger of them
fell into a deep ravine, at the bottom of which ran
a rapid stream. All the lads were horror-stricken
at the accident, but none dared to descend the
steep rugged sides of the ravine in order to save
the little fellow. At length Cyrus, who was at
some distance when his young friend met with
his disaster, was made acquainted with the fact.
He hesitated for an instant to consider the best
means of reaching the lad, who was then up to
his waist in water and was in great danger of
being borne away by the rapidity of the current.
He soon made up his mind how to act; and in
another instant he was clambering down the ra-
vine, holding on by the tufts of grass and jagged
stones that jutted out from its sides, And when
at length he reached his companion, he comforted
and sustained him till means were obtained to
rescue them both from their forlorn situation.

This was true heroism, and worthy of his princely

nature. Regardless of his own great danger, he

hastened to the assistance of his friend; and we
B





12 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

may be sure that he was well repaid by the satis-
faction of knowing that he had been instrumental
in doing good, to say nothing of the applause he
was sure to win from his companions. All his
life was a series of heroisms. Isaiah the prophet
mentions him by name, calling him the servant
of God, and telling the Jews that this prince
would be employed by the Great Master to rescue
them from the hands of the Chaldeans.





The Boy King.
EDWARD THE SIXTH.

Hooker says of this Prince, “ that though he died
young, he lived long, for life is action.” His was
quite the heroism of study, for at the age of fifteen
he had learned seven different languages. In that
of his own country and that of France ne was
perfect, as well as in the Latin—so much s0, that
when only seven years of age he wrote two letters

in this language to his godfather, the celebrated
Archbishop Cranmer. Cardan says of him as
follows :—“ In the conversations that I had with

him he spoke Latin with as much readiness and
elegance as myself.” He was a pretty good logi-
cian; he understood natural philosophy and music,
and played upon the lute. The good and the
learned had formed the highest expectations of
him from the sweetness of his disposition, and the
excellence of his talents.

In the British Museum there is a book of Hx-
ercises made by the Prince, in English, Latin, and
Greek, with the name of King Edward subscribed
to each of them in the language in which it was





14 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

written ; and Bishop Burnet has preserved in the
history of the Reformation a diary of his life,
which this Prince kept, and a discourse about Re-
formation abuses, which would have done no dis-
credit to an old statesman.

Knox tells of the noble youth’s piety and vir-
tue; Cardan, of his remarkable learning and wit,
and Hayward records how handsome was his
person, how kingly his bearing; and hardly any
will ‘deny that he was a wonderful boy.

In the year 1551 a grand festival of St. George
was held in the palace at Greenwich, after a re-
ligious service, attended by the young King, the
Duke of Somerset, the Earl of Warwick, and all
the nobility, Knights of the Order. Edward en-
tered into his presence-chamber. “ My Lords,”
said he, “I pray ye what Saint is this George that
we so honour him?” Now these good gentlemen
were not a little puzzled at this question. True,
it had often been their battle-cry upon many a
glorious field, but it had never occurred to them
to inquire into his history, and it is told that the
Marquis of Winchester replied—“ To be plain,
Sire, I never did read in history of St. George, but
only in ‘ Legenda Aurea, where it is set down that
St. George out with his sword and ran the dragon
through with his spear.” “ And, I pray you, my
Lord, what did he do with his sword the while ?”





















































































































































































said

‘My lords,
that we so honour

“Edward entered into the presence chamber.
he, ‘I pray ye what saint is this George,

him??”—Page 14,



KING EDWARD THE SIXTH. 15

asked Edward, laughing so heartily that for some
moments he could not speak.

It is related of him that just before his last ill-
ness he performed an act of unparalleled heroism.
It was when he was in his thirteenth year that his
sister Elizabeth, then very young, was at play
near the river Thames, which abutted on the Royal
Palace, and with much of the daring which was
so fully displayed by that princess in after life,
she leaped on a pony just brought up for Prince
Edward, and attempted to ride him up and down
the broad causeway before the palace. The pony
being very fresh, and somewhat restive, plunged
and capered, and at last jumped over the low wall
which separated the river from the palace, and
plunged into the river. The Prince at this mo-
ment had entered the palace terrace, and hearing
the outcry, and observing his sister clinging to
the mane of the pony, which was struggling in
the river, immediately sprang on to the back of
the horse of the groom in attendance, and plunged
after her over the terrace. The stream was run-
ning fast, and his own horse was very unmanage-
able; but he soon reached the spot where Elizabeth
was struggling. Seizing the bridle of her pony,
he endeavoured to guide it towards the land, but
the unruly brute struggled and plunged so that
this was impracticable. The two horses foun





16 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

dered together for some time; at last Elizabeth,
exhausted, dropped from her steed, and sank in
the rapid stream. In a few moments she rose
again, but at a considerable distance down ine
river. To this place the young Prince swam his
horse, but the Princess again sank. Leaping from
the saddle, Edward dived after his sister, and had
the satisfaction to lay hold of her in her descent.
He rose to the surface, swam to his horse with one
hand, clasping his sister with the other, and seizing
the reins, the animal quickly drew them to the
shore, where they landed in safety.

Many other stories are related of Edward which
would go to prove what noble things boys can do.
One of these anecdotes I cannot refrain from re-
lating. Being in the library of the palace one
day amusing himself with his young companions,
he required a book which was a little out of reach,
when one of them carelessly placed a large Bible
on a chair to stand upon, that he might the more
easily reach the volume in request. Noticing the
want of reverence for the best of books, the young
Prince immediately expostulated with the thought-
less youth, and took the book away with an air of

the profoundest veneration; observing that the
future glories of England lay around that book,
as being the birthright of every free man.

Cranmer, who was standing within hearing, could





KING EDWARD THE SIXTH. 17

not restrain his admiration, and advancing, clasped
him in his arms with the most cordial affection.
It is said that this noble act of respect for the
Scriptures was never forgotten by the Archbishop.

Hidward succeeded to the throne of his father,
the Highth Harry, when only nine years of age.
His mother, Queen Jane Seymour, maid of honour
to Anne Boleyn, died on the twelfth day after his
birth, at Hampton Court Palace; and the amiable
young Prince during his short life had three
several stepmothers—Ann of Cleves, Catherine
Howard, and Catherine Parr; though it does not
appear that either of them paid him any great
attention, or bestowed upon him any very warm
marks of affection. He was brought up, says Sir
John Hayward, who wrote a very full and inter-
esting history of his life and reign, among
nurses, until he arrived at the age of six years.
He was then committed to the care of Dr., after-
wards Sir Anthony, Cooke, and Mr., after Sir
John, Cheke; the former of whom appears to have
undertaken the Prince’s instruction in philosophy
and divinity; the latter, in Greek and Latin.
Doubiless he was surrounded with luxuries, and
princely means of enjoyment. It is told of him
that when only five years old, Archbishop Cran-
mer, his godfather, made him a handsome present,
consisting of a noble service of silver plate. The







18 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

Prince was delighted with the beautiful spoons,
dishes, and plates, and his valet, to enhance his
pleasure, reminded him that the gift was all his
own, and that he only should use it, lest others
might injureit. ‘ My good Hinchbrook,” said the
Prince, “if no one but I be permitted to touch
these valuables without spoiling them, how do
you suppose they would ever have been given to
me?” Next day Edward invited a party of friends
to visit him; and the feast was served upon the
plate, and at their departure Kdward gave to each
one of his young guests an article of the service,
as a mark of his royal regard. In all his short
life Edward displayed a sincere and earnest love
for truth, religion and charity ; so much s0, in-
deed, that even in his lifetime he was widely
known and loved as Edward the Saint.

In the spring of 1552 the boy King’s health
began to fail, and about the same time he was
attacked by the measles and small-pox, from the
effects of which his constitution never rallied.
While still suffering from these diseases he con-
ceived the idea of founding and endowing an
asylum for fatherless children. Christ’s Hospital
was opened in November, 1552, and the blue dress
worn by the boys caused it to be known as ‘“‘ The
Blue Coat School.” At or about the same time
the youthful King founded §t. Thomas’s and







KING EDWARD THE SIXTH. 19

Bridewell Hospitals—Christ’s Hospital for the
education of poor children; St. Thomas’s for the
relief of the sick and diseased, and Bridewell for
the correction and amendment of the idle and
dissolute. These three great charities are still
in active and beneficial existence. In the reign of
this Prince there were also founded, either by him,
or by great and good men who followed his royal
example, the King’s School at Sherborne, still one
of our leading public schools; the Birmingham
Free Grammar School, which Edward endowed
with moneys arising from the suppressed monas-
teries and religious houses, and which endowment
is now worth £8,000 a year; the Free Grammar
School at Lichfield ; the Tunbridge School in Kent,
which was founded by Sir Andrew Judd, who
obtained for it a charter from Edward in the very
last year of his reign; the Grammar School at
Bedford, and several other notable educational
establishments.

Edward the Sixth was familiar not only with
the learning and accomplishments of his time, but
also with many subjects which hardly came
within the education and capacity of so young
a Prince; for instance, the mercantile, financial,
and military systems of -his own country, and
those of continental nations. Had he lived, he
would have been, probably, the best of England’s





20 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD,

Kings. “He gave hopes,” says Lord Oxford,
“of proving a good king, as in so green an age he
seemed resolved to be acquainted with his sub-
jects and his kingdom.” “If you knew,” says an-
other of his panegyrists, “the towardness of that
young Prince, your hearts would melt to hear
him named ; the beautifullest creature that liveth
under the sun; the wittiest, the most amiable, and
the gentlest thing of all the world.”

On the evening of the sixth of July, 1553, the
King’s attendants heard him speaking softly to
himself, In answer to their inquiries Edward
said—“T was praying to God,” and then ex-
claimed—“ Oh! I am faint. Lord have mercy
on me, and receive my spirit, for thy Son Jesus
Christ’s sake!” and the heroic boy King Edward
was no more.

~G@@io





The Boyhood-of Oliver Cromwell.

OLIVER CROMWELL, notwithstanding his ‘‘ usurpa-
tion of authority-in England,” had many rare and
noble qualities. _ He had a strict regard for justice
as well as for truth, and although severe as a ruler
was humane as a man. In his boyhood he exhi-
pited many traits - of generous and noble conduct,
which proved. him to have the seeds of greatness
within him. He _was born at Huntingdon, on
25th of April, | 1559. “He was educated with great
care by his father, Rébert Cromwell, proprietor of
the borough of Huntingdon, who sent him to
school, and” afterwards to finish his education at
Cambridge University. . At Sydney Sussex College,
Cambridge,-Oliver was famous for his excellence
in all athletic exercises; so much so, indeed, as to
have acquired for him the character of an idler.
But he did not neglect his studies, and on the
death of his father, when he was removed from
college, and was placed—as it is generally be-
lieved —as a student in one of the Inns of Court,
he soon exhibited signs of great self-will and no
little knowledge. But even when studying the










22 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

law, it is said he wasted his time in “ dissipation,
good fellowship, and gaming.” Even when he
returned to his paternal home at Huntingdon, he
is reported to have led a low and irregular course
of life. But whatever may have been his youth-
ful follies, it is certain that he abandoned them as
he grew to man’s estate; and that when fortune
raised him into the position of Protector of
England, he was not only the greatest captain of
his age, but that he was devoted to religion and
the patronage of learning and learned men. The
immortal Milton was in his service as secretary ;
Andrew Marvell was at once his friend and
counsellor, and from Oliver the great Archbishop
Ussher received a pension.

Many strange stories are told of Cromwell’s
boyhood. When at his uncle’s house at Hinchin-
brook, in 1604, the royal family rested there on
their way from Scotland. It is related that on
that occasion the Prince Charles, then Duke of
York, was allowed to play with him. The boys
quarrelled, and Oliver heat his royal playmate,
and bruised his nose so as to make it bleed pro-
fusely. This anecdote was remembered afterwards,
and when Cromwell began to take a leading part
in the Civil War, was related as a bad omen.
That Oliver was ambitious and wished to be King
there is little doubt. When at the height of his







OLIVER CROMWELL. 23

fortune, he is said to have told his friends, that
when a boy, a gigantic figure appeared to him in
the night, and drawing aside the curtains of his
bed, told him he was destined to become the
greatest man of his age and country !

During one of the school vacations, Oliver
made a visit to his father at his native town.
During his stay there a severe pestilence, called
the black fever, made its appearance in the neigh-
bourhood. The character of this distemper was
so fearful that it spread consternation wherever it
commenced its ravages. Cromwell’s father was a
brewer by trade, and at the back of his business
premises were several small cottages secluded
in a crowded quadrangle. In one of these the
foreman lived, a man of great good-humour and
kindness, who had often been very obliging to
Oliver in his early boyhood, sometimes saving him
from the punishment which his own headstrong
conduct frequently merited. The pestilence seized
upon the family of this poor man. His wife was
its first victim ; some of the children then fell ill,
and at last the poor man was himself attacked.
The neighbours, panic-stricken, either left the
spot or would hold no communication with the
infected house. Three nurses had left in suc-
cession, the first from sickness, and the others
from fright, and the family must have perished,





24 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

but for the generous conduct of the young
puritan.

As soon as he heard that ‘his, old servant and
friend was sick, Oliver, in defiance of the danger
of infection, was at his bed-side, His father and
mother both remonstrated with him, for what
they called a tempting of, Providence, but Oliver
replied, ‘That not a sparrow could fall to the
ground without the Lord’s special permission, and
that he -wished to make himself worth many
sparrows ;” and so the youth -continued not only
to afford the most useful assistance to the family,
but cheered it up with religioiis hope and consola-
tion, At last the poor woman died, and the next
night one of the children followed her. Yet con-
stant to his post, Oliver never flinched nor fal-
tered, but, like a ministering angel, continued his
attendance upon the sick. He was for a time
physician, nurse, and housewife. He prepared
the meals of the sick family, partook of their fare,
constrained the neighbours to cherish them, called
back the fleeting and the wavering, and remained
faithful himself throughout the whole of this seri-
ous visitation, Impressed by the noble, gener-
ous, and fearless conduct of this youth, the neigh-
bours regained their courage and came to the
rescue of the stricken family, the dead bodies were
laid out in decency, and the funeral obsequies per-





OLIVER CROMWELL. 25

formed, Oliver assisting at all the painful prepara-
tions. By degrees, the remainder of the family,
inciuding the father, recovered, and Oliver retired
from the scene of suffering, unscathed. The pesti-
lence passed away, but not so the heroic conduct
of the young man, who had soon to perform a
highly conspicuous part on the world’s great stage.
His heroism remains like the fragrance of some
sweet flower long perished, to incite others to
holy deeds of elevation and of daring; and Peter
Parley truly hopes that many who read this
account of Oliver Cromwell may be enabled to
imitate all the brighter and purer shades of his
character,





David Livingstone,

THE FACTORY BOY WHO BECAME A GREAT TRAVELLER.

Ir is a remarkable and encouraging fact, that the
majority of the great men of modern times have
made their fame rather than inherited it. They
have risen from the ranks of the people, and not
from the exclusive circles of wealth and aristocracy.

“Some men,” says Shakspere, “are born to
greatness, some achieve greatness, and some have
greatness thrust upon them.” The heroes of.
whom this volume treats, belong to the category
of those who have achieved fame, and honour, and
worldly distinction, by force of talent and indomi-
table perseverance. It is well, perhaps, to be
born rich and noble, to look back on a long line
of worthy ancestors, and to live out our lives in
accordance with the traditions of name and family ;
but how much better is it to win nobility from ob-
security, and by our own industry to found names
honoured among men and cherished by our chil-
dren !

Among the men who have won distinction from
very small and mean beginnings, David Living-
stone occupies a very high and important place.









DAVID LIVINGSTONE, 27

He was the son of a poor tea-dealer, in the vil-
lage of Blantyre, where he was born in the year
1817. But though his parents were very humble,
there were traditions of honour and glory in his
family that may possibly have fired his young am
bition. His great-grandfather was a soldier, and
fell at the famous battle of Culloden; and when
David was yet a child, his grandfather frequently
delighted him with the recital of romantic legends
and national songs. Moreover, the old man was
fond of talking about his family, which he could
trace for six generations. The great-great-grand-
father of the future African traveller seems to
have been a man of more than ordinary capacity,
though occupying only the social position of a
poor fisherman ; for on his death-bed, he called his
children about him, and, instead of money, gave
them a good moral precept by way of legacy. “I
have searched,” said he, “through all the records
and traditions of the Livingstones, and I have not
been able to find a trace of one dishonest man in
our family. If, therefore, any one of you or your
children take to dishonest ways, it will not be be-
cause dishonesty runs in our blood. Honour and
integrity I inherited from my ancestors, and I
leave them an unspotted legacy to you. My dying
- precept, children, is this—Be honest!”

When David was yet a child his father removed
¢



28 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD. —

to Glasgow, which city—the Liverpool of Scotland
—may well be proud of the fame of the lad, who
obtained his first glimpses of learning among the
whirring wheels and multitudinous noises of one
of the cotton factories. At ten years of age he
was set to earn his own living; but instead of
contenting himself by simply becoming a cotton-
spinner, he prepared his mind, by reading and
study, for the great work of missionary enterprise
and travel which hag since made him famous. He
himself tells us, that in his tenth year he was sent
into a cotton factory as a “piercer.” His wages
were only a few shillings a week, but he contrived
not only to take some of his earnings home to his
mother, in order that he might assist in supporting
the family, but also to buy books, and so satisfy
the great need of his active mind. ‘“ With a part
of my first week’s wages,’ he says, “I purchased
Ruddiman’s ‘Rudiments of Latin, and pursued
the study of the language for many years after-
wards, with unabated ardour, at an evening school,
which met between the hours of eight and ten.
The dictionary part of my labours was followed up
till twelve o’clock or later, if my mother did not
interfere by jumping up and snatching the book out
of my hands. I had to be back in the factory by
six in the morning, and continue my work, with
intervals for breakfast and dinner, until eight





DAVID LIVINGSTONE. 29

o’clock in the evening. I read in this way many
of the classical authors, and knew Virgil and
Horace better at sixteen than Ido now. Our school-
master was supported in part by the company ; he
was attentive and kind, and so moderate in
his charges that all who wished for education
might obtain it.” i

At this evening school young Livingstone made
acquaintance with the great men of the past, and
their example stirred his mind to high achieve-
ments. He determined to free himself from the
trammels of sordid labour, and to become at least
a diligent student if not a learned man. His at-
tention was particularly directed to medicine and
botany. “In recognizing,” he says, “the plants
in my first medical book—that extraordinary old
work on astrological medicine, ‘ Culpepper’s Her-
bal ’—I had the guidance of a book on the plants
of Lanarkshire, by Patrick. Limited as was my
time, I found opportunities to scour the whole
country side, ‘collecting samples.’ Deep and
anxious were my studies on the still deeper and
more perplexing profundities of astrology, and I
believe I got as far into that abyss of fantasies as
my author said he dared to lead me. It seemed
perilous ground to tread on farther, for the
dark tint seemed to my youthful mind to loom
towards ‘ selling soul and body to the devil,’ as the





80 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

price of the unfathomable knowledge of the stars.
Excursions, often in company with brothers, one
now in Canada, the other a clergyman in the
United States, gratified my intense love of nature ;
and though we generally returned so unmercifully
hungry and fatigued that the embryo parson shed
.tears, yet we discovered so many, to us, new and
interesting things, that he was always as eager to
join us next time as he was the last.

“On one of these exploring tours we entered a
limestone quarry—long before geology was so
popular as itis now. It is impossible to describe
the delight and wonder with which I began to

collect the shells found in the carboniferous lime-
stone which crops out in High Blantyre and Cam-
buslang. A quarryman seeing a little boy so en-
gaged, looked with that pitying eye which the

benevolent assume when viewing the insane. Ad-
dressing him with, ‘How ever did these shells
come into these rocks?’ ‘When God made the
rocks, he made the shells in them, was the damp-
ing reply. What would Hugh Miller have thought
of this Scotchman ?

“My reading while at work,” he again says,
“was carried on by placing the book on a portion
of the spinning-jenny, so that I could catch sen-
tence after sentence as I passed at my work; I
thus kept up a pretty constant study, undisturbed





DAVID LIVINGSTONE. 31

by the roar of the machinery. To this part of my
education I owe my present power of so completely
abstracting my mind from surrounding noises, as to
read and write with perfect comfort amidst the play
of children or the dancing and songs of savages.
The toil of cotton-spinning, to which I was pro-
moted in my nineteenth year, was excessively
severe on a slim, loose-jointed lad, but it was well
paid for; and it enabled me to support myself
while attending medical and Greek classes in
winter, also the divinity lectures of Dr. Wardlaw,
by working with my hands in summer. I never
received a farthing of aid from any one, and should
have accomplished my project of going to China
as a medical missionary, in the course of time, by
my own efforts, had not some of my friends ad-
vised my joining the London Missionary Society ;
but it was not without a pang that I offered my-
self, for it was not quite agreeable to one accus-
tomed. to work his own way to become in a mea-
sure dependent on others; and I should not have
been much put about though my offer had been
rejected,”

The great desire of his heart was near its accom-
' plishment. He was at length to be a traveller
and a missionary. He worked hard at his chosen
profession, and was admitted as a licentiate of the
College of Physicians. Owing, however, to the





382 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

China war, he did not proceed to the celestial
land as he intended ; but in 1840 he was sent out
by the London Missionary Society to Africa.

It is not necessary to our purpose to follow Dr.
Livingstone through his remarkable career as a
man. Sufficient if we have shown what he accom-
plished in his youthful days. But we can hardly
close our brief notice without directing the atten-
tion of our young friends, to the highly interesting
work, in which the indefatigable doctor tells the
story of his mission, his travels, and his discover-
ies, in that terra incognita, Central Africa. There
among, the rude natives he worked, as in his youth,
with ardour and perseverance, carrying the good

tidings of salvation to the heathen, and opening

up a new and fertile country to the commerce, the
civilization, and the Christianity of England and
the world.

No more eloquent and appropriate estimate of the
character of Dr. Livingstone has been made than
that pronounced by Mr. Gladstone, Chancellor of
the Exchequer, on the occasion of conferring upon
the great African traveller the honorary distinc-
tion of LL.D., in the Senate House of that ancient
seat of learning —Cambridge University.

“Dr. Livingstone,” said the eminent orator
and statesman, ‘is such a man as raises our idea
of the age in which we live. That simplicity









DAVID LIVINGSTONE. 33

inseparable from true grandeur, that breadth and
force, that superiority to all worldly calls and
enjoyments, that rapid and keen intelligence,
that power of governing men, and that delight
in governing them for their own good—he has
every sign upon him of a great man, and his
qualities are precisely those which commend
themselves with resistless power to the young.
Let us render to Dr. Livingstone the full tribute
of what we feel. He is a Christian, a missionary,
a great traveller; he corresponds in every parti-
cular to that great name which the admiration of
all ages has consecrated—he is a hero, Our
own great poet—the great poet of this age—
Alfred Tennyson—in his ‘Idylls of the King,
a work which has taken its place in the deathless
literature of the world, has carried us back to a
period of heroic manners, heroic deeds, and
heroic characters; but if the power which he
possesses could have gone beyond what it has
effected—could have gone beyond the almost
living men whom it has portrayed, and could
actually have evoked them from the tomb, not
one among them, though the ideal of human
nature, would have failed to recognize Dr. Living-
stone as a brother, and to acknowledge him as his
most worthy companion.”



John Kitto,

THE WORKHOUSE BOY WHO BECAME AN AUTHOR.

Tue career of Dr. Kitto, author of the world-
known ‘ Pictorial Bible,’ is an evidence, if any
were needed, that meanness of birth and wretched-
ness of social position form no real barriers to ad-
vancement; but that, on the contrary, they are
powerful incentives to the honest and laudable
ambition of true heroes.

John Kitto was born in Plymouth, in 1804.
His mother was a laundress, and his father was
a drunken slater,—and something worse ; so that
in his earliest years he was acquainted with
poverty and misery. Kitto’s first recollections
are of an old grandmother who lived in a garret,
and who took him from his wretched home that
he might be out of the way of his father’s bad
example. He was then four years old; and he
lived with his aged grandmother till he was
eight, going occasionally to a poor dame school,
where he acquired a little reading, a little
writing, and less arithmetic. But he was so





JOHN KITTO. y 35

quick at learning that he was looked upon as
quite a prodigy. To what he learned at school,
his grandmother added a vast store of fairy tales
and ghost stories, besides teaching him to work
with his needle. Possibly, this story-telling
faculty gave the first literary bent to the boy’s
mind; for, before he was eight years of age, he
had mastered the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ ‘ Gulliver's
Travels,’ ‘Robinson Crusoe,’ and the historical
books of the Old Testament. So much was he
entranced with these that he decorated the rude
pictures with which the books were illustrated
with colours, obtained from his grandmother's
“blue-bag,” and afew halfpenny paints that some
friends gave him. He soon became so enamoured.
with reading, that he eagerly perused every
volume that came in his way. The cacoethes
scribendi was very early developed, and from read-
ing books he took to writing them. He thus
describes his first effort as an author.

““My cousin came one day with a penny in
his hand, declaring his intention to buy a book

with it. I was just then sadly in want of a penny
to make up fourpence, with which to purchase
the ‘History of King Pippin’ (not Pepin), so
‘I inquired whether he bought a book for the
pictures or the story? ‘The story, to be sure.’
I then said, that, in that case, I would, for his





36 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

penny, write him both a larger and a better story
than he could get in print for the same sum;
and that he might be still further a gainer, I
would paint him a picture at the beginning, and
he knew there were no painted pictures in penny
books. He expressed the satisfaction he should
feel in my doing so, and sat down quietly on
the stool to note my operations. When I had
done, I certainly thought my cousin’s penny
pretty well earned; and as, at reading the paper
and viewing the picture, he was of the same
opinion, no one else had any right to complain
of a bargain. I believe this was the first penny
I ever earned. I happened to recollect this
circumstance when last at Plymouth, and felt
a Wish to peruse this paper, if still in existence ;
but my poor cousin, though he remembered the
circumstance, had quite forgotten both the paper
and its contents, unless that it was ‘something
about what was done in England at the time
when wild men lived in it ;;—even this was further
than my own recollection extended.”

From writing stories he took the usual course

pursued by young authors, and determined to
produce a play. We do not know what sort
of drama he wrote, but we have his own word
for it that he did write one; and, moreover, that it
was played by children—the admission to the





JOHN KITTO. 37

performance being “ladies, eight pins; gentle-
men ten.”

His grandmother suffering from an attack ot
paralysis, he was obliged to go back to his father’s
miserable home. Finding no comfort there, he
took refuge with a barber, to whom he was
apprenticed. But before he learned to ‘shave

for a penny,” a woman whom he left in charge

of his master’s razors, decamped with them,
and allowed the suspicion of the theft to fall on
the unfortunate lad. The barber would not, for
a long time, believe in his apprentice’s innocence,
and fortunately for the after-career of the boy,

insisted on cancelling his indentures.

John then returned to his father, whom he
assisted in his work. But one day he had the
misfortune to fall from a ladder as he was hand-
ing up slates to his father, and sustained such
injuries as confined him to his bed for four
months. When he partially recovered, he found
he was deaf.

Kitto was unwilling to believe, or did not
comprehend, the extent of the calamity that had
befallen-him. “I was slow in learning,” he says,
“that my hearing was entirely gone. The
unusual stillness of all things was grateful to me
in my utter exhaustion; and if, in this half-
awakened state, a thought of the matter entered





88 WEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

my mind, I ascribed it to the unusual care and
success of my friends in preserving silence around
me. 1 saw them talking, indeed, to one another,
and thought that, out of regard to my feeble
condition, they spoke in whispers, because I
heard them not. The truth was revealed to me
in consequence of my solicitude about the book
which had so much interested me on the day of
my fall. It had, it seems, been reclaimed by the
good old man who had lent it to me, and who
doubtless concluded that I should have no more
need of books in this life. He was wrong, for
there has been nothing in this life which I have
needed more. I asked for this book with much
earnestness, and was answered by signs, which I
could not comprehend. ‘ Why do you not speak ?
I cried; ‘pray let me have the book.’ This
seemed to create some confusion; and at length
some one, more clever than the rest, hit upon
the happy expedient of writing upon a slate that
the book had been reclaimed by the owner, and
that I could not, in my weak state, be allowed
to read. ‘But,’ I said, in great astonishment,
‘why do you write to me? why not speak?
Speak! speak!” Those who stood around the
bed exchanged significant looks of concern, and
the writer soon displayed upon his slate the awful
words, ‘ YoU ARE DEAF!’ ”





JOHN KITTO. 39

Then John Kitto felt wretched indeed; but
his spirit was not entirely broken. He rose from -
his bed and tried various small means of obtain-
ing a living. At one time he would wander about
on the sea-shore, and pick up pieces of rope and
driftwood; at another he would try his hand at
rude paintings of ships, flowers, birds, and trees,
which he exposed for sale in his mother’s window ;
and again he would endeavour to earn a few
pence by writing placards, &. But all the
money he earned was as nothing to his needs.
Books were necessary to his life—reading his
grand resource—writing the relief he sought
from mental depression and bodily pain. Writing
afterwards of this period of his life, he says—

“For many years I had no views towards
literature beyond the instruction and solace of
my own mind ; and, under these views, and in the
absence of other mental stimulants, the pursuit of
it eventually became a passion, which devoured
all others. I take no merit for the industry and
application with which I pursued this object, nor
for the ingenious contrivances by which I sought
to shorten the hours of needful rest, that I might
have the more time for making myself acquainted

' with the minds of other men. The reward was

great and immediate, and I was only preferring
the gratification which seemed to me the highest.





40 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

Nevertheless, now that I am, in fact, another
being, having but slight connection, excepting in
so far as ‘the child is father to the man,’ with my
former self; now that much has become a business
which was then simply a joy; and now that I
am gotten old in experiences if not in years, it
does somewhat move me to look back upon that
poor and deaf boy, in his utter loneliness, devot-
ing himself to objects in which none around
him could sympathize, and to pursuits which
none could even understand. The eagerness
with which he sought books, and the devoted
attention with which he read them, was simply an
unaccountable fancy in their view; and the hours
which he strove to gain for writing that which
was destined for no other eyes than his own, was
no more than an innocent folly, good for keeping
him quiet and out of harm’s way, but of no
possible use on earth. This want of the en-

couragement which sympathy and appreciation
give, and which cultivated friends are so anxious
to bestow on the studious application of their

young people, I now count among the sorest trials
of that day, and it serves me now as a measure
for the intensity of my devotement to such objects,
that I felt so much encouragement within as not
to need or care much for the sympathies and
encouragements which are, in ordinary circum-







JOHN KITTO. 41

stances, held of so much importance. I under-
value them not; on the contrary, an undefinable
craving was often felt for sympathy and apprecia-
tion in pursuits so dear to me; but to want this
was one of the disqualifications of my condition,
quite as much so as my deafness itself; and in the
same degree in which I submitted to my deafness
as a dispensation from Providence towards me,
did I submit to this as a necessary consequence,
It was, however, one of the peculiarities of my
condition that I was then, as I ever have been,
too much shut up. With the same dispositions
and habits, without being deaf, it would have
been easy to have found companions who would
have understood me, and sympathized with my
love for books and study, my progress in which
might also have been much advanced by such
intercommunication. As it was, the shyness and
reserve which the deaf usually exhibit, gave
increased effect to the physical disqualification,
and precluded me from seeking, and kept me from
incidentally finding, beyond the narrow sphere in
which I moved, the sympathies which were not
found in it. As time passed, my mind became
filled with ideas and sentiments, and with various
knowledge of things new and old, all of which
were as the things of another world to those among
whom my lot was cast. The conviction of this



42 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

completed my isolation; and eventually all my
human interests were concentrated in these points
—to get books, and, as they were mostly borrowed,
to preserve the most valuable points in their
contents, either by extracts or by a distinct in-
tention to impress them on the memory.”

His grandmother was unable to contribute to
his necessities; and so as he was left entirely to
the mercies of his drunken father, he had no re-
source from starvation but the workhouse. And
so, at last, he became an inmate of the Plymouth
workhouse !

But there he was kindly treated, and taught
various useful arts—among others that of making
list shoes. While in the workhouse he regularly
kept a diary, from which we make an extract or
two :—

“T was to-day most wrongfully accused of cut-
ting off the top of a cat’s tail. They did not know
me who thought me capable of such an act of wan-
ton cruelty.

“ June 2.—I am making my own shoes.

“June 9.—I have finished my shoes; they are
tolerably strong and neat.

“ Aug. 14.—I was set to close bits of leather.

“ Aug. 15.—Said bits of leather that I had closed

were approved of, and I was sent to close a pair of

women’s shoes, which were also approved of.





JOHN KITTO. 43

‘* Nov. 14._A twelvemonth in the workhouse,
during which time I have made seventy-eight
pairs of list shoes, besides mending many others,
and have received, as a premium, one penny per
week,

“Nov. 20.—I burnt a tale, of which I had
written several sheets, which I called ‘The Pro-
bationary Trial,’ but which did not, as far as 1
wrote, please me.”

Many touching entries in the journal relate to
the dear old grandmother :—

“1819.—Granny has been absent in dock these
two days. Though but for so short a period, I

severely feel her absence. IfI feel it so acutely
now, how shall I bear the final separation when
she shall be gone to that ‘undiscovered country
from whose bourne no traveller returns? She
cannot be expected to live many years longer, for
now she is more than seventy years of age. O,
Almighty Power, spare yet a few years my granny,
the protector of my infancy, and the I cannot
express my gratitude. It is useless to attempt it.”

On the 18th of the following April, his dear old
grandmother, Elizabeth Picken, died, and his sor-
row almost overwhelmed him. But when he re-
covered from his grief, he returned to his old
love of reading and writing, in which he was not
discouraged by the workhouse authorities.

D





44 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

In this way the young years of his life were
passed. In 1821, he was apprenticed to a shoe-
maker, one John Bowden, a mean, sordid man,
who took every advantage of his deafness to put
all manner of slights and mortifications upon him.

But at last he was released from his master’s
tyranny. His love of reading introduced him to
many friends, among whom was Mr. Harvey, the
mathematician—and Mr. Groves, a dentist. The
former lent him books, and the latter taught him
his trade.

In 1825, Kitto’s first volume was published ;
and from this moment he rose in the estimation. of
his friends and the public. His boyhood’s days
were over. By the time he was twenty, he was
engaged in various literary occupations. He
visited London, where he was introduced to Charles
Knight, by whom he was subsequently employed
in writing for the ‘Penny Cyclopedia.’ But pre-
vious to that he was enabled to indulge one of the
great wishes of his heart, and visit the Hast,
whither he went as tutor to the sons of his patron,
Mr. Groves.

In 1850, he was selected by Lord John Russell
as a worthy recipent of Her Majesty’s bounty ;
and received 100]. a-year from the Civil List, “on
account of his useful and meritorious literary
works,”





JOHN KITTO. 45

But he did not long enjoy this small competency.
Early application and hard work brought on a
serious illness, from which he never recovered.
He fell into the sleep of the just, in Germany, in
November, 1854, and so ended the life of the
workhouse-boy author, a man who suffered many
trials, but lived to surmount them all, and make
for himself a name which will live in English
literature as long as that literature survives. The
pauper boy became a Doctor of Divinity and a
Fellow of the Society of Antiquarians!

Is there not encouragement in this? ‘Does not
the story of Kitto, the deaf author, present many
points of interest for boys? Can any lad read this
brief and hasty sketch without feeling that there
is no condition in life so utterly mean and hopeless
as not to offer chances of honour and distinction
to him who is brave of spirit, enterprising, perse-
vering, and faithful in well doing? Kitto was not
a learned man, but he was what is much better,—
he was a Christian. He won distinction from
low estate, and has left behind him a reputation

that will remain a worthy example of pursuit of
knowledge under difficulties. How much better
this than being born to wealth and title!





The Mysterious Artist.

SEBASTIAN GOMEZ, THE MULATTO OF MURILLO.

One beautiful summer morning, about the year
1630, several youths of Seville, in Spain, ap-
proached the dwelling of the celebrated painter
Murillo, where they arrived nearly at the same
time. After the usual salutations, they entered
the studio or workshop of the artist. Murillo was
not yet there, and each of the pupils walked up -
quickly to his easel to examine if the paint had
dried, or perhaps to admire his work of the previous
evening,

“Pray, gentlemen,” exclaimed one, by name
Isturitz, angrily, ‘‘ which of you remained behind
in the studio last night?”

“What an absurd question!” replied Cordova ;
“don’t you recollect that we all came away to-
gether ?”

“This is a foolish jest, gentlemen,” answered
Isturitz, “Last evening I cleaned my palette
with the greatest care, and now it is as dirty as
if some one had used it all night.”





THE MYSTERTOUS ARTIST. 47

“Took!” exclaimed Carlos; “here is a small
figure in the corner of my canvas, and it is not
badly done. I should like to know who it is that
amuses himself. every morning with sketching
figures, sometimes on my canvas, sometimes on
the walls.”

At these words, Mendez, with a careless air,
approached his easel, when an exclamation of as-
tonishment escaped him, and he gazed with mute
surprise at his canvas, on which was roughly
sketched a most beautiful head of the Virgin ; but
the expression was so admirable, the lines so

clear, the pose so graceful, that, compared with

the figures by which it was encircled, it seemed as
if some heavenly visitant had descended among
them.

“Ah! what is the matter?” said a rough voice.
The pupils turned at the sound, and all made a
respectful obeisance to the great master.

““Look, Senor Murillo, look!” exclaimed the
youths, as they pointed to the easel of Mendez.

‘* Who has painted this? who has painted this,
gentlemen ?” asked Murillo, eagerly ; ‘‘ speak, tell
me. He who has sketched this Virgin will one
day be the master of us all. Murillo wishes he
had done it. What a touch! what delicacy! what
skill! Mendez, my dear pupil, was it you?”

“No, Senor,” said Mendez, in a sorrowful tone.





48 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

«Was it you then, Isturitz, or Ferdinand, or
Carlos ?”

But they all gave the same answer as Mendez.

“Tt could not, however, come here in the night
without hands,” said Murillo, impatiently.

“T think, sir,” said Cordova, the youngest of the
pupils, “that these strange pictures are very
alarming; indeed, this is not the first unaccount-
able event which has happened in your studio,
To tell the truth, such wonderful things have
happened here, one scarcely knows what to
believe.”

“What are they?” asked Murillo, still lost in
admiration of the head of the Virgin by the un-
known artist.

“According to your orders, senor,” answered
Ferdinand, ‘“‘we never leave the studio without
first putting everything in order, cleaning our
palettes, washing our brushes, and arranging our
easels; but when we arrive in the morning, not
only is everything in confusion, our brushes filled
with paint, our palettes soiled, but here and there
are sketches (beautiful ones, to be sure, they are!),
sometimes of the head of an angel, sometimes of a
demon, then, again, the profile of a young girl;
or the figure of an old man; but all admirable, as

you have yourself seen, senor.”
“ This is certainly a curious affair, gentlemen,”





THE MYSTERIOUS ARTIST. 49

observed Murillo; “but we shall soon learn who
is this nightly visitant.” “Sebastian,” he con-
tinued, addressing a little mulatto boy of about
fourteen years old, who appeared at his call, “ did
I not desire you to sleep here every night ?”

“Yes, master,” said the boy, timidly.

“Speak, then; who was here last night and this
morning, before these gentlemen came? Ah! you
don’t choose to answer,” said Murillo, pulling his
ear.

“No one, master, no one,” replied the trembling
Sebastian with eagerness.

“ That is false,” exclaimed Murillo.

“No one but me, I swear to you, master,” cried
the mulatto, throwing himself on his knees in the
middle of the studio, and holding out his hands in
supplication before his master.

“Listen to me,” pursued Murillo. “I wish to
know who has sketched the head of this Virgin, and
all the figures which my pupils find here every
morning, on coming tothe studio. This night, in-
stead of going to bed, youshall keep watch; and if
by to morrow you donot discover who the culprit is,
you shall have twenty-five strokes from the lash.—
You hear! I have said it; now go, and grind. the

2

colours; and you, gentlemen, to work.”
From the commencement till the termination of
the hour of instruction, Murillo was too much ab-





50 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

sorbed with his pencil to allow a word to be
spoken but what regarded their occupation, but
the moment he disappeared the pupils made ample
amends for this restraint, and as the unknown
painter occupied all their thoughts, the conversa-
tion naturally turned to that subject.

“ Beware, Sebastian, of the lash,” said Mendez,
‘and watch well for the culprit. Give me the
Naples yellow.”

“You do not.need it, Senor Mendez,” said Sebas-
tian, quietly; ‘you have made it yellow enough
already.”

“Do you know, gentlemen,” said Isturitz as he
glanced at the painting, ‘that the remarks of Se-
bastian are extremely just, and much to the point.”

“Oh, they say that negroes have the faces of
asses, and the tongues of parrots,” rejoined Mendez,
in a tone of indifference.

‘‘ Who knows,” said he, for he had not digested
the Naples yellow, “that from grinding the colours,
he may one day astonish us by showing that he
knows one from another.”

‘“‘T'o know one colour from another, and to know
how to use them, are two very different things,”
replied Sebastian, whom the liberty of the studio
allowed to join in the conversation of the pupils;
and truth obliges us to confess that his taste was
so exquisite, his eye so correct,.that many of them





THE MYSTERIOUS ARTIST 51

did not disdain to follow the advice he ee
gave them respecting their paintings.

Tt was night, and the studio of Murillo, the
most celebrated painter in Seville, was silent as

the grave. A single lamp burned upon a marble
table, and a young boy, whose sable hue harmo-
nized with the surrounding darkness, but whose
eyes sparkled like diamonds at midnight, leaned
against an easel, immovable and still. He was so
deeply absorbed in his meditations that the door
of the studio was opened by one who several

times called him by name, and who, on receiving
no answer, approached and touched him. Sebas-
tian raised his eyes, which rested on a tall and
handsome mulatto.

“Why do you come here, father?” said he, in
a melancholy tone,

“To keep you company, Sebastian.”

““There is no need, father ; I can watch alone.”

“ Oh, how sad, how dreadful it is to be a slave !”
exclaimed the boy.

“Tt is the will of God,” replied the negro, with
an air of resignation.

“God! I pray constantly to him, father, (and I
hope he will one day listen to me,) that we may no
longer be slaves. But go to bed, father ; go, go; and
I shall go to mine there in that corner, and I shall
soon fall asleep. Good-night, father, good-night.”





52 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

>

and, having kissed the

“ Good-night, my son ;’
boy, the mulatto retired.

The moment Sebastian found himself alone, he
said, “ Seventy-five lashes to-morrow if I do not
tell who sketched these figures, and perhaps more
ifIdo. Oh, my God, come to my aid!” And then
the little mulatto threw himself upon the mat,
which served him for a bed, where he soon fell
fast asleep.

Sebastian awoke at daybreak; it was only three
o’clock. Any other boy would probably have gone
to sleep again ; not so Sebastian, who had but three
hours he could call his own.

“Courage, courage, Sebastian.” he exclaimed, as
he shook himself awake; “three hours are thine
—only three hours—then profit by them; the rest
belong to thy master, slave! Let me at least be
my own master for three short hours. So begin;
these figures must be effaced;” and, seizing a
brush, he approached the Virgin, which, viewed
by the soft light of the morning dawn, appeared
more beautiful than ever.

“ Eifface this!” he exclaimed, “efface this! no!
I will die first—efface this—they dare not—neither
dare I. No! that head—she breathes—she speaks !
It seems as if her blood would flow if I should
offer to efface it, and I should be her murderer.
No, no, no; rather let me finish it.”





THE MYSTERIOUS ARTIST. 53

Scarcely had he uttered these words when,
seizing a palette, he seated himself at the easel,
and was soon totally absorbed in his occupation.
Hour after hour passed unheeded by Sebastian,
who was too much engrossed by the beautiful
creation of his pencil, which seemed bursting into
life, to mark the flight of time. “Another touch,”
he exclaimed, “a soft shade here—now the mouth.
Yes! there! it opens—those eyes—they pierce
me through!—what a forehead !—what delicacy!
Oh my beautiful—” and Sebastian forgot the hour,
forgot he was a slave, forgot his dreaded punish-
ment—all, all was obliterated from the soul of the
youthful artist, who thought of nothing, saw no-
thing, but his beautiful picture.

But who can describe the horror and conster-
nation of the unhappy slave when, on suddenly
turning round, he beheld all the pupils, with the
master at their head, standing beside him.

Sebastian never once dreamt of justifying him-
self, and with his palette in one hand, and his
brushes in the other, he hung down his head,
awaiting in silence the punishment he believed
he justly merited.

Murillo, having, with a gesture of the hand,
imposed silence on his pupils, who could hardly
restrain themselves from giving way to their ad-
miration, approached Sebastian, and concealing his





54 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

emotion, said, in a cold and severe tone, while he
looked alternately from the beautiful head of the
Virgin to the terrified slave, who stood like a sta-
tue before him——

“ Who is your master, Sebastian ?”

“You,” replied the boy, in a voice scarcely au-
dible. :

“JT mean your drawing-master,” said Murillo.

“You, Senor,” again replied the trembling
slave. :

“Tt cannot be; I never gave you lessons,” said
the astonished painter.

“But you gave them to others, and I listened to
them,” rejoined the boy, emboldened by the kind-
ness of his master.

“And you have done better than listen —
you have profited by them,” exclaimed Murillo,
unable longer to conceal his admiration. “Gen-
tlemen, does this boy merit punishment or re-
ward ?”

At the word punishment, Sebastian’s heart beat
quickly: the word reward gave him a little
courage; but fearing that his ears deceived him,
he looked with timid and imploring eyes towards
his master.

“A reward, Senor!” cried the pupils, in a
breath,

“That is well; but what shall it be ?”





THE MYSTERIOUS ARTIST.

Sebastian began to breathe.

“Ten ducats, at least,” said Mendez.

“No,” said Gonzalo; “a beautiful new dress for
the next holiday.”

“Speak, Sebastian,” said Murillo; “are these
things to your taste? Tell me what you wish for.
I am so much pleased with your beautiful compo-
sition, that I will grant any request you may
make. Speak, then; do not be afraid.”

“Oh, master, if I dared—”’ and Sebastian, clasp -
ing his hands, fell at the feet of his master. It
was easy to read in the half-opened lips of the
boy and his sparkling eyes some devouring
thoughts within, which timidity prevented him
from uttering.

With the view of encouraging him, each of the
pupils suggested some favour for him to demand.

“ Ask gold, Sebastian.”

‘*« Ask rich dresses, Sebastian.”

‘‘ Ask to be received as a pupil, Sebastian.”

A faint smile passed over the countenance of
the slave at the last words, but he hung down his
head and remained silent.

“Ask for the best place in the studio,” said
Gonzalo, who, from being the last pupil, had the
worst light for his easel.

“Come, take courage,” said Murillo, gaily.

“The master is so kind to-day,” said Ferdinand,





56 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

“that I would risk something. Ask your jreedom,
Sebastian.”

At these words Sebastian uttered a cry of anguish,
and raising his eyes to his master, he exclaimed,
in a voice’ choked with sobs, “ The freedom of my
Jather !—ithe freedom of my father !”

“ And thine, also!” said Murillo. who, no longer
able to conceal his emotion, threw his arms around
Sebastian, and pressed him to his breast.

“Your pencil,” he continued, “shows that you
have talent ; your request proves that you have a
heart; the artist is complete. From this day con-
sider yourself not only as my pupil, but my son.

Happy Murillo! I have done more than paint—I

1??

have made a painter

Murillo kept his word, and Sebastian Gomez,
known better under the name of the Mulatto of
Murillo, became one of the most celebrated painters
in Spain. There may yet be seen in one of the
churches of Seville the celebrated picture which he
had been found painting by his master; also a St.
Anne, admirably done; a holy Joseph, which is
extremely beautiful; and others of the highest
merit.





Boyish Heroism of Sir William Jones.

As we have already said, heroism does not only
consist of deeds of exploit and adventure, but also
in struggling against adverse circumstances, when-
ever they beset us. This kind of heroism was
displayed during the boyhood of Sir William
Jones. This celebrated Oriental scholar was born
in London in the year 1746. He had the misfor-
tune to lose his father, who was an eminent ma-
thematician, when only three years old, and had
mainly to teach himself all that he knew. He
learned to read by the aid of his mother, a wo-
man of considerable learning and great good sense.
When in his fifth year he left her for school, long
before he had learned to write, he corresponded
with her by means of printed characters. It is
told of him that at this time his imagination was
wonderfully excited by the sublime description of

the angel in the tenth chapter of Revelations, and

that the impression so made was never effaced.
At last he was placed at Harrow school, under
Dr. Thackeray and Dr. Sumner, and commenced
the study of the Latin language in his ninth





58 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

‘year. In this he made very rapid progress, owing
to his contrivances to aid him in his studies. He
procured a lamp, which he took to his bedroom,
and contrived an alarm that awoke him at three
o'clock every morning, at which hour he used to
get up for study. In this he was so diligent, that
he not only outstripped all his schoolfellows in
his Latin exercises, but secretly commenced the
study of the Greek language, and at the end of
the year, at which time his tutor had intended
him to comménce the study of Greek, he found, to
his astonishment, that young Jones had already
mastered the Greek grammar and the principal
difficulties of that language. At the same time,
besides the usual exercises imposed upon him, he
translated into English verse several of the epistles
of Ovid, and all the pastorals of Virgil, and he
composed a dramatic piece on the story of Me-
leager, which he denominated a tragedy, and
which during the vacation was acted by his more
intimate schoolfellows, the part of the hero being
performed by himself.

At Harrow he invented many other dramatic
pieces, and got up several very extraordinary
exhibitions. He and his associates divided the
fields and hills lying round Harrow into states and
kingdoms, like those of ancient Greece. Hach of
the school heroes fixed upon some one of these as





SIR WILLIAM JONES. 59

their dominions, and assumed an ancient name.
Some of the schoolboys consented to be barbarians,
and, like some kings and emperors of modern
times, undertook to invade the territories of the
more civilized states, and attack their hillocks,
which were denominated fortresses. The chicfs
vigorously defended their respective domains
against the incursions of the enemy, and in these
imitative wars the young generals and statesmen
held councils, made vehement harangues, and
composed memorials—all doubtless very boyish‘
but well calculated to fill their minds with ideas
of heroism, patriotism, and civil government. In
these unusual amusements Jones was always their
leader; and conducted himself with such energy,
tact, and judgment, as to obtain the name of Old
Ulysses.

The exploits of the “Spartan band,” as Jones’s
party was called, were very numerous. One of
these I shall relate. A poor fruit-seller had a
donkey which he used to turn out every night.
This unfortunate animal, by some means or other
being tired of thistles, found his way into the
*“« Parson’s glebe,” in which he nibbled a series of
mathematical figures, of unusual forms and di-
mensions, to the great discomfiture of- the parson,
who, in the energy of his wrath, impounded the
donkey, and sent ina bill of the damage to the

E





60 HEROISM OF BOYHUOD.

fruit-seller. The sum charged was far too great
for the poor man to pay, and the poor donkey
languished in the pound for some days, upon the
most scanty provender, and till the bones began
to snow through his hide like that of Don
Quixole’s Rosinante, and transposed the poor
peast into a walking trapezeum. Jones and his
Spartans viewed the poor creature’s condition
with great sympathy; and looking upon him as
a hero deprived of liberty, determined to rescus
him from his degraded captivity. Accordingly,
mustering his band, the whole sallied forth at the
dead of the night, and, entering the pound, con-
trived by placing the donkey’s forefeet on its
top and pushing him up behind, holding him up
here and pushing him along there, till at last the
animal was safely on the right side of his prison .
bars. They then ornamented him with their
pocket-handkerchiefs, and rode him, one at a
time, to the hut of his master. To make all
right, they entered into a subscription among
themselves to pay the fine imposed; and had in
return the gratitude of the poor man, and the
everlasting goodwill of the ass.

The after-career of Sir William Jones fully
realized the bright hopes entertained of him. In
1764 he was entered as a student at University
College, Oxford. Here his taste for Oriental li-





SIR WILLIAM JONES. 61

terature was fostered; and, on the completion of
his academical career, he became, through the in-
terest of Dr. Sumner and Dr. Parr, private tutor
to Lord Althorpe, afterwards Earl Spenser. A
fellowship at Oxford was conferred upon him; and
he became one of the most celebrated and learned
men of his age and nation; and made himself
master of no fewer than twenty-eight languages—
English, Latin, French, Italian, Greek, Arabio,
Persian, Sanscrit, Spanish, Portuguese, German,
Runic, Hebrew, Bengalee, Hindostanee, Turkish,
Tibetian, Pali, Phalavi, Deri, Russian, Syriac,
Ethiopic, Coptic, Welsh, Swedish, Dutch, and
Chinese. His good feelings and generosity were

ever predominant in his character. He always set
himself against oppression and wrong; was ever

ready to defend the weak against the strong; and.
died in the forty-eighth year of his age, with a
character for probity, justice, and honour which
has been seldom equalled and never surpassed.





The Little Truant.

It was bitterly cold:all the country round was
white with hoarfrost, and in the distance the
roofs of the houses and the village steeples
appeared covered with snow. The naked branches
of the trees looked like withered skeletons; icicles
usurped the place of foliage. A poor child of about
thirteen years of age, poorly clad, with stocking-
less feet and wearing a pair of clumsy worn-out
shoes, was toiling painfully along the scarcely-
defined road from Melun to Orleans; it was not a
fine broad road as at present, still less did a rail-
way whirl passengers in a few hours from Melun
tc Paris; for the time of which we are now writing
was nearly three hundred years ago, and at that
period the roads in France were furrowed with
deep muddy ruts, strewn with stones and occa-
sionally with the trunks of trees, and sometimes
all traces of these rough roads would suddenl
cease, and make it very difficult to track you
way across a common or through a wood.

It took, consequently, at that time several days
to go from Melun to Paris, and the poor boy,





THE LITTLE TRUANT. 63

completely ignorant of the distance, had imagined
that he could reach it that very evening. He
had been told that the Seine flowed from Melun
to Paris, and he had reasoned with himself, “ It
must be very near, then; I shall arrive there as
the Seine does.” Although he had set out at
daybreak, and had walked courageously all day,
night was beginning to fall, and he had not yet
caught sight of the steeple at Orleans. He be-
gan to think he must have lost his way; but of
whom to inquire his road? By a fatality which
seemed to him as a just judgment of heaven, he
had walked since morning without encountering
a single traveller, either on foot or on horse-
back; and yet he must have relied on the assist-
ance of the passers-by, for he had started on his
wearisome journey without having tasted a single
morsel of bread. With the careless indifference
and hopefulness of childhood, he had in the early
stage of his journey walked gaily and swiftly,
even running at times to keep himself warm.
But a hungry stomach has its effect on the legs,
and he soon relaxed his pace, first walking and
then dragging himself wearily along until he at
length sank exhausted on the stump of a tree,
no longer able to find his way through the
thick flakes of snow that were beginning to fall,
and the shades of night that were fast approach-





64 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

ing. Overcome with fatigue and hunger, he ex-
claimed, “Oh my God! oh my good mother!
what will become of me!” Such expressions are
often uttered by strong men, women, and chil-
dren in deep distress; for if God is to us a protec-
tion from on high, a mother is the refuge which,
until death, never forsakes or fails us here below.

The poor little truant, therefore, in his dis-
tress called upon his mother, his mother whom
he had resolutely quitted in the. morning with-
out bidding her farewell. Just as he was begin-
ning to despair, and already felt his poor little
body becoming benumbed with cold, he heard
the clatter of horses’ hoofs on the flinty road.
He sobbed more loudly, hoping to attract the
pitying notice of the travellers, and he was not
unsuccessful, for two horses were very soon pulled
up beside him.

The first was ridden by a gentleman, the mag-
nificence of whose attire was plainly seen beneath
the thick folds of his heavy travelling-cloak. He
was followed by an armed domestic.

The gentleman perceived by the expiring twi-
light the poor child lying exhausted with fatigue
and hunger.

“What is this?” said he, touching him with
the tip of his whip; ‘‘ whence come you? and
whither are you going ?”





THE LITTLE TRUANT. 65

“T come from Melun, and I wanted to go to
Orleans,” replied the poor little boy, “but my
legs will not carry me any farther, and I am
dying with hunger.”

“Your countenance pleases me,” replied the
gentleman: then turning towards the servant;
‘“« Give some of the contents of your gourd to this
poor little fellow to restore him; then hoist him
up in front of me like a portmanteau; my horse
goes better than yours, and as we ride along, and
so soon as he is sufficiently recovered, the little
rascal shall relate to me his story.”

The servant hastened to execute the orders of
his master, and in a short time the two horses
and their riders had resumed their journey. The
motion and the cordial which he had swallowed,
in a few moments restored the child to conscious.
ness. As he clung to the saddle which the
gentleman bestrode, he thanked him warmly for
his kindness.

“Well, come, as we shall be obliged to slacken
our pace up this steep hill, tell me your story, and
do not lie,” said the benevolent nobleman.

“Oh! I will not hide the truth, however bad
and disgraceful it is to me; I will not lie to you

who have saved my life. My name is Jacques;
I am the son of a poor haberdasher of Melun,
living near the church.”





66 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

“T am from Melun, too, and I can see it from
here,” replied the gentleman ; “ continue.”

“T have two sisters older than myself, who
willingly assist my father in his business, whilst
I, for my part, have never had the least taste for
it. I have my mother, of whom I am the
favourite, and who, seeing my love for books, has
managed to pay for my schooling in spite of my
father, who wished to keep me at home to help
him, and always called me a lazy lout when he
found me reading. I have had this taste for
books ever since I can remember. When I went
to church of a Sunday, during divine service
I used to covet the beautiful Prayer-books that
the ministers had, and longed to possess them.
One is sometimes urged by instincts that are
stronger than ourselves, and I do not think they
always come from the evil one. I learnt to read
very quickly and without knowing how, and I
can also read the Latin psalms, and I understand
thema little. But I could only read in the books
belonging to the school; I had nota book of my
own—they were too dear. My poor mother was
always promising to buy me a fine Prayer-book :
but months passed by without her ever being
able to procure the necessary amount of money.

My father kept a close watch upon her, and pre-
vented her putting anything aside. It is true









THE LITTLE TRUANT. 67

that we were very poor, and that the united
labour of all, scarcely sufficed to procure us a
living. I alone wasidle, as my father was daily
repeating, abusing me as he did so; it seemed to
me, however, as if my mind was not idle, only
my hands refused to do the work he put into
them.

“Yesterday my mother had gone with my
sisters to the bake-house to make the large brown
loaves that we eat: my father was called out of
doors on some little business.

“<«Take care of the shop at least, lazy-bones,’
said he to me, ‘and above all do not touch any-
thing.’

“He quitted me with a threatening gesture, and
I placed myself at the door watching the passers.
All at once I saw a hawker approach, who sold
books, and maybe on his way to the church and
the school, to endeavour to dispose of them.

“<¢Come this way,’ said I, ‘and let me look at
your beautiful books, for, as the proverb says,
Looking costs nothing.’

‘*** Looking would cost me my time,’ replied the
hawker; ‘I am in haste, and unless you are going
to purchase I cannot open my pack.’

“¢ Open it, said 1; ‘I can at least buy one book.’

“The words escaped my lips, I know not how,
and. it was that, that ruined me ; for once spoken.



68 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

I would not unsay them, in dread lest the hawker
should laugh at me. He entered the shop, undid
his pack in haste, and showed me a volume of the
holy Gospel in Latin, which delighted me greatly.

“That is worth a crown; you can either take
it or leave ihe said the pedlar; ‘but I see that it’s
too dear for you,’ he added with a mocking air,
which set my blood on fire.

“« Wait a little,” I resolutely replied, and ap-
proaching the till where my father kept his
money, I shook it, opened it, and took thence a
crown’s worth of change.

“As soon as the hawker was gone, I hid the
book in my pocket. I trembled: I was afraid;
I understood how that 1 had just committed a
theft; I would fain have recalled the pedlar, but
it was now too late. What was to be done? My
father might return, from one moment to another,
and I already felt his anger falling upon me like
thunder. If even my mother had been there, she
might have been able to protect me; but in her
absence I felt myself lost. In my terror I pushed
the shop-door to, ran up stairs to the top of the
house, and barricaded myself in the little loft
where I slept. I seated myself upon my bed, and
finding that all continued silent, I ventured to
peep into my book. I took it from my pocket,
and began eagerly reading the beautiful story







THs LITTLE TRUANT. 69

of the passion of Christ. I only half understood
the Latin words, and I made such great efforts
to comprehend them entirely, that by degrees
I forgot my bad action, the anger of my father,
the punishment that awaited me; I forgot every-
thing except my book.

“But suddenly the sound of voices ascended
from the shop. I then understood that my father
had returned and was very angry with me. I
guessed that my mother was endeavouring to
pacify him, but without success. Oh! I would
have given the world at that moment to be a
mouse, that a cat might eat me up. I hid the book
under my mattress, and I hid myself under my
bed. Soon I heard footsteps ascending, which I
thought were those of my father, and already I
felt a shower of blows. I gained courage, how-
ever, a little, as the footsteps sounded to me
lighter, and I thought they announced the coming
of my mother or one of my sisters. Somebody
knocked at the door. ‘It is I, Jacques; open
quickly,’ said my eldest sister. I opened the
door, but took care to shut it again the moment
she had entered.

“*You must get away from here,’ she hastily ex-
claimed, ‘or father will kill you. He says that
you are a thief; that you have taken some money
out of the till.’










70 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

“*T took a crown to buy this book,’ said I,
taking the Testament from under the mattress.

““*You have none the less committed a robbery
on our father,’ said my sister, severely. ‘You must
conceal ‘yourself away from here, for our father,
who thinks you are roaming about the town, de-
clares that if he finds you, he will be the death of
you, or else give you up to the magistrate as a
thief.’

“The repetition of this word thief made me feel
very deeply, I assure you. I began to sob and
cry.

“«This is no time for crying,’ said my sister.
‘Pass through the yard, and go and hide yourself
at your godfather’s the butcher’s. My mother will
come to you there this evening.’

“I placed my book, the cause of all my mis-
fortune, between my shirt and my coat, and
took to flight, as my sister had advised. I soon
reached the house of my godfather the butcher;
but as I dared not enter, for fear of explanation
and remonstrance, I sat down in the shed where
the oxen were stalled; and feeling myself safe and
warmly sheltered there, I began reading in my
book while waiting till it should be dark enough
to allow my mother to visit me in safety. I
was able to watch for her coming from the spot
where I had stationed myself, and as soon as I







THE LITTLE TRUANT. 71

heard the sound of her footsteps, I sprang up to
meet her. My mother, far from frightening me
like my father, seemed to me like succour from
Heaven coming to my assistance. I fell on her
neck, and related to her with tears what I had
done.

“*T was quite sure,’ said she, as her eyes fell
upon the book which I held in my hand, ‘that
you had not taken that money for bad purposes ;
but your father will not listen to reason: it will
take a long while to bring him round, and in the
mean time what is to become of you, my poor
child? I had an idea of speaking to your god-

father to take you in; but your father would be
sure to hear of you, and there is no knowing what
might happen then.’

“* Yes, mother, said I, ‘I must go a long way

from here to gain my living; I want to see Paris,
and learn a great many things that my school-
fellows have told me about. I will go there.’

“<*You are mad, my little Jacques: what would
become of a poor child like you in that great
city ?

“T cannot remember all 1 said then, in order to
persuade her that Paris would be a perfect para-
dise to me; it seemed as if a spirit within me
prompted my words while I was talking to her.
It was at length agreed between us that on the





72 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

very next day she should confide me to the care of
the boatmen who plied on the Seine between
Melun and Paris, and that every week she should
send me by them a large loaf, which would, at all
events, help to keep me in the great city.

“<< But talking of bread, you have had no supper,
my poor Jacques: see, here are some nuts and a
cake which I have baked for you; eat, and then
go to sleep in this shed, since you find yourself
comfortable here, and to-morrow, at daybreak, 1
will come to you again,’ said my dear mother.

‘She departed, and when I had eaten enough,
I went to sleep on the clean straw put for the
cows, and I had a wonderful dream.

“T thought J was in the palace of the King of
France, grandly dressed, and conversing familiarly
with the King’s children, or rather, that they
treated me with the greatest respect, and called
me their master. What it meant is more than I
can say; but I saw such beautiful things in this
dream—monuments of all sorts, palaces, churches,
colleges, that I am certain I shall see again at
Paris; I heard so many voices calling me, that
this morning, at the first dawn of day, without
well knowing what I was doing, forgetting my
mother, and her despair when she should find me
gone, I set off running at full speed along the road
from Melun to Paris; I was so dreadfully afraid





THE LITTLE TRUANT. 73

that something would happen to prevent the
accomplishment of my design to go to Paris,
that I added to my bad action of yesterday the far
worse one of leaving my mother without even
bidding her good-bye. God has already punished
me; but for you, my good gentleman, I should
have died of cold upon the road, and been eaten by
wolves.” :

“Come, come, you are not such a bad boy as I
feared,” replied the gentleman, when the child had
finished his recital; “you shall pass two or three
days at Orleans to recruit your strength; then
you can continue your way to Paris, and to-mor-
row, when I return to Melun,~I will let your
mother, who must think you are lost, know what
has become of you.”

Little Jacques gratefully thanked the worthy
gentleman, and kissed the hands that held the
bridle. And so they travelled on. But they
had now reached a plain, where the road before
which Orleans lay, became much better. The
horse broke into a trot again, the child re-
lapsed into silence, and remained quiet in his
seat. The gentleman imagined he was asleep
and thought no more about him; but whén
they reached the door of the inn, where he
was going to put up, and gave Jacques a
gentle push to awaken him, he perceived that





74 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

he was not only unconscious, but that he was
attacked with a high fever. The cordial he
had drunk had only imparted an hour’s factitious
strength,

What was to be done? The gentleman knew
the charitable and kindly nature of the good
nurses of the hospital, and thither he conducted
the little wanderer.

On the morrow he paid him a visit before re-
turning to Melun. The child’s fever had abated,
but his limbs were quite stiff, and he could not
turn in his bed. The excellent gentleman con-
fided him to the care of the kind-hearted nurses,
gave him a letter of recommendation for Paris, and
departed, again promising him to go that very
evening to console his mother.

Three days of repose so completely cured little
Jacques, that at their expiration he was able to
set out again on his journey to Paris. They gave
him twelve sous and some food before he quitted
the hospital, so that he was able to accomplish
the rest of his journey with ease and comfort. As
he was quitting the hospital, so well named in
French, Hotel Dieu (God’s House), for aid is
never refused to needy sufferers, he made a very
serious resolution; he determined that, if he
should ever become rich, he would endow the
hospital at Orleans.





THE LITTLE TRUANT. 75

The weather was bright and clear when he
arrived at Paris, which enabled him to go and
admire the King’s Palace, the Tower of Nesle, the
Pré aux Clercs, the beautiful churches, and all the
monuments which adorned old Paris.

The letter which the good gentleman had given
him was for the principal of one of the numerous
colleges of Paris. He did not ask for him to be
admitted as a pupil into the interior of the college;
that would have been too much to hope for the
little truant, dressed in a poor gaberdine, and the
son of a petty haberdasher ; he only requested that
he might be employed as messenger and servant
to the pupils and professors, feeling sure that he
would ultimately be admitted into the college if
he displayed any striking aptitude for study.

The master to whom little Jacques delivered his
letter was a man of naturally abrupt and hasty
manners.

“Choose your place at the college gate,” said
he; “I will give orders that you shall be suffered
to remain there, and we will try and get you
some errands to do.” Then, with a gesture of im-
patience, he dismissed the poor child.

But Jacques was of a resolute and persevering
nature not easily discouraged. To the walls of
the colleges, the convents, the churches, and al-
most all the public buildings of that period were

F





76 HERUISM OF BOYHOOD.

attached little parasitical constructions. Against
the front of the college whence Jacques had just
issued, was a cobbler’s stall; another little hut
was occupied by an image-seller, who traded in
chaplets, reliquaries, and missals; then came a
little hut that just afforded shelter to a blind man
and his dog. The little truant chose himself a
place between the two pillars of a postern door
that was always kept shut. He then placed on a
very low bench, sheltered by the portico of this
door, a truss of straw which he bought for a few
pence; and having thus snugly ensconced him-
self, he supped gaily off the remainder of the
food which the good sisters had given him. The
night was rough, but he lay curled up in his
straw, and felt not its rigour. As soon as he awoke
he began to run up and down as hard as he could,
to warm himself, and it was not long before he

was perceived by the cobbler and the image man,
by both of whom he was employed in some little
commissions, in return for which they each gave
him some soup and bread, and he felt quite com-
forted by a warm meal.

At that time the students were all out-door

pupils, and in the morning as they went to
college, they saw the little errand-boy, the ex-
pression of whose countenance pleased them. He
was sitting with his legs hanging down from his





THE LITTLE TRUANT. 77

bench covered with the clean straw, and was
reading his Latin Testament.

Several of the elder pupils questioned him,
and having learned that he wished to run errands,

employed him immediately, so that he gained, the
very first day, several small pieces of money. He
arranged with the image-man to take his food and
warm himself at his stall; and, oh, aemé of hap-
piness! the image-man even went so far as to lend
him some of his books to read. He lost no time
in writing to his mother, and he soon after
received information that a large loaf had been
brought to him from Melun by the boatmen of
that place. He immediately went down to the
river’s bank to the part where the boatmen moor
their boats, and soon recognized in one of them
their neighbour at Melun, who, having in his turn
espied him, exclaimed—

“Holloa! my little man, come on board my
boat; I have a cargo for you.”

When the child went on board the boat, he
shook hands with the master, and received in his
arms an enormous brown loaf, of sweet home-
made bread. He could not look at this great
loaf of bread without feeling moved; if was his
mother who had baked it, and every week she
was to send him a similar one, in order that he
might not starve in Paris.





78 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

He talked with the boatman for a long time
of his good mother, then of his father and sisters,
and when he bade him good-bye, and found him
self alone in the streets of Paris, he began to
dream of what he could do to prove, some day, his
gratitude to his mother.

To cross the threshold of the college, to be
admitted there as a pupil, and become a learned
man, such were the objects he strove to attain.
But how to accomplish them? He remembered
the short and abrupt reception which the master
had given him, and hardly dared to count on his
protection.

With his thoughts occupied on these subjects,
he regained the college gates; he deposited his
large loaf in the image-man’s stall, after having
cut off a great slice which he ate with avidity ;
he then seated himself in his own little corner,
awaiting customers. It was the day following a
holiday, and a lady passed who was bringing her
two sons back to college.

Jacques touched his cap, according to his usual
mode of addressing the passers-by.

“ Took! it is our little messenger,” said one of
the lads to his brother. “We must recommend
him to mamma, who can help him to earn more
money than we can,” and they immediately
pointed out little Jacques to their mother. The

2





THE LITTLE TRUANT. 19

latter looked at the poor child, and was pleased
with his countenance and manners; he was at
that moment holding his Testament in his hand :
the lady having looked at the book, and questioned
Jacques, learned from him his ardent desire for
reading and instruction. ‘‘ Would you like,” she
kindly said, “‘ to accompany my sons every day to
the college? I will obtain permission from the
professors for you to be present at their lessons,

and you will then be always learning some-
thing.”

The child, overpowered with emotion, and not
knowing how to prove the excess of his gratitude
to the kind lady, threw himself on his knees to

thank her.

Some minutes after, he was admitted into the
interior of the college ; the lady had recommended
him to the same master to whom he had delivered
the letter on his arrival at Paris. This time he
was much better received. The master told him
that he should have a little room to himself right
at the top of the building, and that he might, if
he pleased, while attending on the sons of the kind
lady, share the studies of the other pupils, and
that his advancement would thenceforth depend
upon himself.

From that time the life of little Jacques became
an ardent struggle. The large loaf which he re-





80 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

ceived every week from Melun secured him from
want; to this home-made bread he was able to add
a little fruit and some vegetables, and to buy him-
self a better coat with the modest wages regularly
paid him by the kind lady ; and, what was to him
still greater happiness, to. buy himself afew books!
He was still very poor, but he was rich in hope—
rich in the consciousness of what was opening
before him. He never dreamed of envying the fate
of his fellow-pupils; he only thought of surpassing
them all in his studies.

It was an admirable example that was set by
this poor child of the people, waiting upon others

in play-hours, while in those devoted to lessons he
showed himself the most assiduous of them all.

He even encroached upon his hours of sleep to
study, and not having any lamp, he read and wrote
by the light of a few live embers. He soon made
rapid progress in the study of the Latin language,
but his ambition went still further; he thirsted
for a knowledge of the beautiful Greek tongue, with
which only a few of the literati of France were at
that time perfectly familiar. The most celebrated
works of Greek literature had only been printed in
Paris about twenty years before ; these books were
very dear, and little Jacques was very poor; but the
strength of his will supplied the want of every-
thing. By dint of hard labour he obtained a



























Sue JER















“The king and princess, astonished at his learning, loaded him with praise, and declared that they would take under
their protection the young Jacques.”—Page, 81.







THE LITTLE TRUANT. 8]

mastery over Greek. He followed first the course of
lectures of Bonchamps, called Eivagrius, the most
learned professor of his time; and shortly after,
Francis I. having instituted a Greek chair, the
professors of which, two learned and erudite men,
named Jacques Thusan and Pierre Danés, were
commissioned, under the style and title of Royal
Lecturers, to teach, one the poetry and the other
the philosophy of antiquity, Jacques was to be
seen assiduously attending their lectures, ques-
tioned by them, and astonishing and dazzling
them by his replies. They confessed, at length,
that they had nothing more to teach to the won-
derful pupil, who now knew as well as they did
how to comment upon Plato, Demosthenes, and
Plutarch.

A day came, at length, when they examined him
in presence of Francis I. and of his sister Margaret
of Navarre, who also herself understood Greek.
The king and the princess, astonished at his learn-
ing, loaded him with praises, and declared that
they would take under their protection the young
Jacques Amyot, one of the future glories of France.

On the morrow succeeding this happy day, the
boats of Melun deposited at Paris a poor man and
his wife, attired in the simple garb of the peasants
of that time. They were the mother and father of
Jacques Amyot.



8&Z HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

«Ah, my dear son,” said his mother as she
strained him to her breast, “I bring you your
father, who has forgiven you and who is very
proud of you!”

Jacques Amyot, the hero of the above little tale,
was born at Melun, October 3rd, 1513, of humble
parents, his father being a little shopkeeper of the
town. The young Amyot, evincing a distaste for
his father’s business, quitted his home at an early
period, and went to Paris, travelling thither on
foot. Sinking with exhaustion and fatigue by the
way, he was conducted to the hospital of Orleans.
As soon as he was recovered, he left the hospital

with twelve sous (6d.), which were given to him,
and which constituted all his resources until his
arrival at Paris. His mother, who was tenderly
attached to him, contributed to his support by

sending him every week an enormous loaf of
bread from Melun. He installed himself in the
first instance at the gate of one of the colleges,
where he ran of errands and executed commissions
for the pupils and professors. Remarked for his
intelligence and pleasing manners, he was admitted
into the interior of the college, of which he soon
became one of the most promising pupils; for
although obliged by reason of his straitened cir-
cumstances to act in the capacity of servant to the
other pupils, that did not prevent him from prose-





THE LITTLE TRUANT. 83

cuting his studies with the utmost ardour. At
night, for want of oil and candle, he is said to have
studied by the light of a few live charcoal embers.
After having finished his classical studies and ter-
minated his courses of lectures under the most dis-
tinguished professors, he was elected Master of
Aris. He then repaired to Bourges, to study civil
law there. ‘There also, J: acques Collin, Reader to
the King, entrusted to him the education of his
nephews, and obtained for him a Professor’s chair
for both Greek and Latin. It was during the twelve
years that he occupied this chair that he made the
translation of the Greek romance of Theagenes and
Charicles, and commenced that of Plutarch’s Lives.
He dedicated the first of the Lives to Francis L.,
who ordered him to continue this translation, and
granted him, as a reward, the abbey of Bellezane.
Being desirous of obtaining possession of the
manuscripts of Plutarch which were in existence
in Italy, he repaired thither with the French am-
bassador. He was shortly after commissioned by
the latter and by Cardinal Tournon to be the
bearer of aletter to King Henry II. at the council
at that time assembled at Trent. He acquitted
himself so skilfully of his mission that, on his re-
turn to Paris, he was appointed preceptor to the
two sons of Henry II. While conducting their
education he finished his translation of Plutarch’s





84 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

Lives, which he dedicated to Henry I., and began
that of the moral works of the same writer, which
he did not finish till the reign of Charles IX., his
pupil, to whom he paid a similar compliment.
Immediately on his succession to the throne, King
Charles IX. appointed him his grand almoner.
Some time after, the chair of Auxerre falling
vacant, the king bestowed it upon his Master, as
he always called Amyot.

When his other pupil, Henry III., succeeded to
the throne, he confirmed him in all his offices, and
appointed him commander of the order of the Holy
‘Ghost, which he had just created. Amyot passed

his last years in his diocese, solely occupied with
study and the exercise of his duties. He died at
Auxerre, February 6th, 1593, in his eightieth
year. He left a fortune of 200,000 crowns. He
bequeathed to the hospital of Orleans, where he
had been sheltered in his childhood, a legacy of
1200 crowns. His translation of Plutarch is

esteemed the best in the French language.

iQ ism





Amiable Heroism of Louis X VII.

Tun immediate successor of the unfortunate Louis
XVI. bore only for a short time the title of King
of France. After his father’s execution the revo-
lutionists imprisoned him in the Temple in Paris,
in the dungeons of which he languished for a few
months, and then died, being only ten years and a
few months old. This royal youth was the second
son of Louis XVI. This unfortunate monarch
was tried by the Convention, which in 1792 de-
creed the abolition of royalty in France, and
accused the monarch of conspiracy and high
treason against the liberties of the people. He was
condemned to death by a majority of eleven votes,
and suffered death by the guillotine on the 21st of
January, 1793. Nine months after, Marie Antoi-
nette, the beloved mother of our hero, ascended
the revolutionary scaffold, and he was left an
orphan in the world. He was at his birth known
as the Duke of Normandy, but afterwards, on the
death of his elder brother, became Dauphin. Ac-
knowledged King of France by the Royalists, and





86 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

also by foreign powers, the provinces of La Bre-
tagne, Toulon, and La Vendée took up arms in his
name. But they were unsuccessful, and it is
generally suspected that he died of poison in his
prison, which event occurred on the 8th of June,
1795.

Some might suppose that the life of sucha child
tould present few circumstances worthy of remem-
brance, but if we may credit the memoirs which
appeared after the restoration of the monarchy,

since again overthrown, there never was a prince
of the house of Capet who gave at so early an age
so bright a promise of doing justice to the ancient
motto— Bonté et Valeur.”

From the anecdotes that are related of him I
shall select a few of the more striking.

Every morning the Dauphin, while yet a child,
was in the habit of ranging through the gardens
of the Palace of Versailles, and collecting the
fairest flowers to deposit in his mother’s boudoir
before she arose. When bad weather prevented
him on any occasion from gathering his usual
morning bouquet, he would say, mournfully—
“Alas! how sorry am I! Nothing have I done
to-day for my dear mamma, who has done so much
for me. ButI will make her a drawing of the
flowers I would have gathered for her on my
slate, to show her that I love her.”





LOUIS XVII. 8?

On one of the anniversaries of his mother’s birth,
the King, Louis XVI., expressed a wish to the
Dauphin that he would present his mother with an
extraordinary bouquet, and accompany it with
some compliment of his own composing. “ Papa,”
replied the Prince, “I have a beautiful evergreen
in my garden—I would wish nothing better than
that for both my bouquet and my compliment. In
presenting it to my mamma I will say to her, ‘My
dear mamma, may you resemble my tree, and be
always green in your age and in my remem-
brance.’ ”

One day, in a fit of absence, he had mingled
some marigolds, the emblems of care, in a bouquet
which he had designed for the Queen. Perceiving
his mistake at the moment of presenting it, he
plucked them out hastily. “Ah, mamma, you
have enough of care! I will take these away.—
But stay,” he continued ; and running to a bed of
Tricolor viola, or heartsease, he plucked a few, and
introducing them to the bouquet, said, ‘ There,
mamma, may I always be able to give you
these!”

In his repartees he showed an uncommon degree
of point and archness. When reading his lessons
one day he fell into a hissing tone; his preceptor,
the Abbé D’Arraux, corrected him; the Queen,
too, joined in her censures. ‘“ Mamma,” said the





88 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

Prince, “I said my lessons so ill that I hissed
myself.”

On another occasion, when in the garden called
La Bagatelle, carried away by his vivacity, he
threw himself ona bed of roses. His attendant, who
was an English gentleman, especially retained to
speak English with him, cried out, alarmed, “Sir,
do you not know that these roses may put out
your eyes ?” The little boy arose, and regarding
him with an air as noble as decided, replied,
“ Thorny ways, sir, lead to glory.”

A regiment of young boys was formed at Paris
under the name of the ‘“ Regiment du Dauphin.”
The Dauphin was its petit colonel, and it was often
admitted to exercise before him in a small garden
of the Tuileries. In order to fulfil the duties of
his command well, he was constantly with a little
musket on his shoulder, making himself familiar
with all the manual evolutions. On one occasion,
when going out to walk, he was for carrying his
musket about with him. The officer of the Na-
tional Guard who was in attendance said, “Sir,
you are going out, you must surrender your mus-
ket.” The Dauphin refused indignantly. The
Marchioness of Tourville, his governess, being in-
formed of this circumstance, reprimanded the
Prince for his indiscretion. “If,” replied the
spirited buy, “ he had asked me to give him the





LOUIS XVIL. 89

musket, I would have done so. But to ask me to
surrender it ” He could add no more; a rising
flood of indignation choked his utterance.

At another time, when playing at quoits with an
officer of the National Guard, the officer gained the
match, and exclaimed exultingly, “Ah! I have
conquered the Dauphin.” Piqued at the expres-
sion, the Prince replied with warmth of temper.
The affair being represented to the Queen, she rep-
rimanded the Dauphin for having so far forgotten
himself. ‘I feel,” said the youth, “that I have
done wrong; but why did he not satisfy himself
by saying that he had won the match? It was the
word conquered that put me beyond myself.”

Louis, desirous of knowing the progress which
his son had made in geographical knowledge, con-
ducted him blindfold one morning to some dis-
tance from Rambouillet, and on arriving at the
open country, his Majesty delivered a compass
into the hands of the Dauphin, and said, “ Now,
my son, take which road you please; I will take
another, and let us meet before night at the old
chateau.” The Prince began wandering about
the fields, watched all the time by some persons
of the court disguised as peasants. He stopped
often, as if in difficulty, but although he passed
several countrymen he put no questions to them.
Every now and then he had recourse to the com-





Full Text


Sting reesis in lens SCALES Tt ose D oat eases Es
eeichtpe nr coyt




The Baldwin Library


“Albert rushed on, and. with one stroke of his Alpenstock
stunned the wolf nearest to him” p. 167




HEROISM OF BOYHOOD

OR,

WHAT BOYS HAVE DONE.

BY
PETER PARLEY,

AUTHOR OF ‘‘THE HOLIDAY KEEPSAKE,” ‘ CHIMNEY-CORNER STORIES,” ETC. ETC,

AND OTHER POPULAR AUTHORS.

With Gight full-page Fustrations,

GALL & INGLIS.

Rondon: Gdinburgh:
25 PATERNOSTER SQUARE. | 20 BERNARD TERRACE,

PREFACE.

Tne following pages are intended to depict the

Heroism or Boynoop, and especially to exhibit the

heroism of moral worth. In former times, a man,

to be a hero, was expected to slay his thousands,
to found empires, and to subjugate nations. But
now, better taught by the experience of the past,
we understand that true heroism may consist in
performing our duty in that state of life unto
which it may please God to call us. There is a
heroism in refraining from evil, in speaking the
truth, in the exercise of humanity, in devoting
ourselves to some difficult task for the sake of
others, and in the vindication of principle. The
great and good of all countries and in all ages

afford instances of this in their early days; and in


iv PREFACE.

selecting a few of these from authentic sources,
I feel confident in performing a service to the
Boys of England, and even to England herself; as
the greatness of a nation does not consist so much
in armies, in fleets, in extended conquests, or
unbounded wealth, as in the exercise of the high
virtue of our nature, in deeds of love, gentle-

ness, honour, honesty, and truth.

Peter Partey.


CONTENTS.

Story or Davin, THE SON oF JESSE

Tue Story or Cyrus

Tue Boy-Kina—EpWaArb THE SIxTH

Tue BorHoop or OLIVER CROMWELL

Davip Livinestons ‘

Joun Kirto . 5 a a a .

Tae Mysterious ARTist—SEBAsTIAN GoME:
Boyiss Hzroisu or Sir WiL1AM JONES .

Tar Lirris Troant—Jacques AMYOT .
AmmasLe Heroism or Lovrs X VIL

Heroic Devotion of A TYRoLESE Boy

Tue Troururun Scotce Boy; or, SAwNEY MacPHERSON .
Tse Lirrte HoncHBackK—ALEXANDER Pore .
ScHoon FRIENDSHIP »

Tse Lrrtiz Drummer-Boy

Mozart, THE Younc Musician
REvBeN Percy
TURENNE, THE Little SOLDIER

Tue Covraczous Boy . .


V1 CONTENTS.

Boynoop or raz Grear Conperr . wt,
Tue Heroism or Trura—Grorce WasHINGTON
ALBERT, THE Son oF Waiam TELL A ;
BensaMIN FRANKLIN, THE YOUNG PRINTER.
JoserH Humm, THE Fisuerman’s Son .
Heroic Devotion or Two Mexican YOUTHS .
Tue Bornoop or Liynzus . 3 & 2
Tue Heroism or Trust—Sim Houmpury Davy
WINCKELMANN, THE LEARNED COBBLER .
Lorp NELson

Georcr STEPHENSON—THE HEROISM OF PERSEVERANCE

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Tur Boy Kine ann St. Grorce

Tse Lirriz TRUANT PRESENTED TO Francis L.
ALEXANDER POPE AND His AUNT

CoLBERT AND THE RopBER 3

WASHINGTON AND THE C'HERRY-TREE

FRANELIN PRACTISING ELOCUTION

LINNZUS AND His Faminy at THEIR Eventne Work

WINCKELMANN READING TO HIS FATHER fe *


THE

HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

Story of David, the Son of Jesse.

Dava, the son of Jesse, was a shepherd boy, and
kept sheep in the wilderness. No doubt the life
of a shepherd is favourable to thought and to con-
templation ; and David, while watching his flocks
by night, often cast his eyes upward to the glory
of the stars, and thought of the great God who
made them and the universe, and all that is
therein. No doubt but this gentle shepherd boy
often poured out his soul in prayer and praise to
his Creator, and thought upon the way in which
he might best serve him and glorify his name.
The Almighty was not unmindful of the poor
shepherd boy, who was anxious only to please God,
while a great and powerful King disobeyed his
will and transgressed his laws. God, therefore, de-
termined to choose him to govern his people, the
Jews, and he sent his Prophet Samuel to Jesse,


2 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

saying, « Fill thine horn with oil, and go, for |
have provided me a King among his sons.” And
Samuel went, and he came to the house of Jesse,
and commanded all his sons to pass before him.

Jesse had seven sons at home, and when they
were come before the Prophet, he looked on each
of them, but the Spirit of the Lord did not satisfy
Samuel that any of the sons present were the
chosen of the Lord. And the Lord said unto
Samuel, “ Look not on his countenance, or on the
height of his stature, for the Lord seeth not as
man seeth, for man looketh on the outward ap-
pearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.”
None of these were, therefore, chosen of the Lord.

And Samuel said unto Jesse—‘‘ Are here all thy
children ?” and he said— There remaineth yet the
youngest, and behold he keepeth the sheep.” And
Samuel ordered him to be brought in. Now, he
was ruddy, and of a beautiful countenance, and
goodly to look to, And the Lord said, ‘‘ Arise, and
anoint him, for this is he.” And Samuel took the
horn of oil, and anointed him in the midst of his
brethren.

David being thus chosen of the Lord, and having
his Spirit upon him, came down to the place where
the armies of Israel and the Philistines were en-
camped. The army of the Philistines was on a
mountain on one side, and that of the Israelites


DAVID, THE SON OF JESSE. 3

on a mountain on the other side, and there was a
valley between them.

Now, the Philistines had a mighty giant, named
Goliath, who was nearly eleven feet high. He
was armed at every point; had a coat of mail on
his body, greaves of brass upon his legs, a target
of brass between his shoulders, a brazen helmet,
and a strong and mighty spear.

And he stood and cried unto the armies of Israel
—‘‘Choose ye a man to match with me, and let
us decide the battle;” and he vaunted and defied
the army of the Israelites, and sorely discomfited
them. And he presented himself before the army
for forty days.

At this time David was in the wilderness keep-
ing his father’s sheep, as at other times. But being
ordered by his father to take provisions to his
brothers, who were soldiers in the army of Israel,
he came down to the battle-field just as the armies
were about to fight, and shouting for the battle.

And David came to his brethren, and saluted
them. While he was talking with them the
Philistine champion Goliath came forth and defied
the armies of Israel, as he had done aforetime.
And when he heard him, David expressed to those
about him his willingness to undertake the combat
with this mighty giant ; but his brothers upbraided
him, and accused him of pride and vanity. There


4 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

were, however, many in the army that admired his
boldness, and who believed that the Spirit of God
was upon David; and they brought him to Saul
the King.

When David came before Saul, he expressed
his willingness to fight the giant. But Saul said—
“Thou art not able to go against this Philistine to
fight with him, for thou art but a youth, and he is
aman of war from his youth.”

But David said to Saul—* Thy servant kept his
father’s sheep, and there came a lion, and a bear,
and took a lamb out of the flock; and I went out
after him, and smote him, and delivered it out of
his mouth; and when he arose against me, I caught
him by the beard, and smote him, and slew him.
Thy servant slew both the lion and the bear, and
this uncircumcised Philistine shall be as one of
them, seeing he hath defied the armies of the living
God. The Lord that delivered me out of the paw
of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear,
shall deliver me out of the hand of this Philis-
tine.” And Saul said unto David, “ Go, and the
Lord be with thee.”

And Saul armed David with his armour, and put
a helmet of brass upon his head, and he armed him
with a coat of mail; but David put them off him,
and he took his staff in his hand, and chose him
five smooth stones out of the brook, and put them


DAVID, THE SON OF JESSE. 5

in his scrip or: shepherd’s bag. Then he took
his sling in his hand, and he drew near to the
Philistine.

And when the Philistine looked about and saw
David, he disdained him, and he said, “Am I a
dog that thou comest to me witha stone? Come to
me, and I will give thy flesh to the fowls of the
air, and the wild beasts of the earth.” David re-
plied, “Thou comest to me with a sword, and
with a spear, and with a shield, but I come to
thee in the name of the Lord of hosts.”

And it came to pass that when Goliath came to-
wards David, thinking scon to destroy his insig-
nificant adversary, that the son of Jesse hastened
forward to meet him. David then put his hand
into his bag and took from it a stone, which he
put into his sling. And he slung the stone for-
ward with all his strength, and smote the Philis
tine in the forehead, so that he fell with his face
to the earth. So David prevailed over the enemy
of his people with a sling anda stone. And he
ran toward the Philistine and put his foot upon
his neck. But as he had no sword of his own, he
drew the giant’s weapon from its scabbard, and
slew him and cut off his head. And when the
Philistines saw their champion was dead, they
fled in dismay.

But the Israelites pursued them, and obtained


6 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

a great victory over them. Then David took the
head of Goliath, and brought it to Saul at Jeru-
salem. And the King was greatly surprised. that
this stripling had been able to overcome the giant
Goliath, and asked whence he came and who he
was. And then when Saul learned that he was
the son of Jesse, the Bethlehemite, he took him
into his favour, and bade him stay in the royal
palace, and go no more home to the house of his
father.

My young friends will find the further history
of David in that best of all books, the Bible, and
will learn how he became King of Israel, and

what he did, and what he wrote, and how he
sometimes fell into grievous sin; for the best of
us are very imperfect and full of evil. From the
history of David they will learn much, but they
can never forget the shepherd boy who was en-
abled to display the true heroism of his nature by
putting his trust in God.


The Story of Cyrus.

THE BIG COAT AND THE LITTLE COAT.

Tue Great Cyrus was once a little boy, like all
of you. But before I tell you about Cyrus as a
little boy, I must say something concerning him
as a great man.

Cyrus the Great was a King of Persia, and was
born about six hundred years before the Christian
era. His father was of what is called an ignoble
family, but his mother, Mandané, was of the Royal
blood, being daughter of Astyagés, King of the
Medes, who were then the most powerful nation
of the East. It was a custom in those days that
when a child was born who was not wanted, either
to kill it outright, or to expose it in some inhos-
pitable place, that it might die of hunger, or be
devoured by wild beasts. Soon after his birth,
Uyrus was thus exposed in a desert, but being
found by a shepherdess, who had. compassion on
him, was reared by her, and educated as her own
son.

When Cyrus grew up into boyhood, he seemed
to show by his conduct that he had royal blood in
his veins, for he became the chief or leader of all


8 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

his schoolfellows, who made him their leader or
boy-king. When Cyrus grew older, he raised a
body of troops, and made war upon his grand-
father, the King of Persia, anddethronedhim. He
then subdued the eastern parts of Asia, and made
war against Croesus, King of Lydia, whom he also
conquered, He afterwards invaded the kingdom
of Assyria, and took the city of Babylon by divert-
ing the channels of the Euphrates, and marching
his troops through the dry bed of the river. He
likewise redeemed Persia from the yoke of the
Medes, and himself became king, about the year
560 before Christ. He subsequently commenced
an expedition against the Scythians, and was de-
feated in a bloody battle, losing both his crown
and his life. This event occurred 529 years
before the birth of Christ. Such is a short begin-
ning, middle, and end of Cyrus the Great, one of
the most notable conquerors of ancient times.
Cyrus would have been a truly great king but
for his love of war and bloodshed, for he had many
noble qualities of heart, and a superior under-
standing. On one occasion when at school, in his
capacity of boy-king, he had led his schoolfellows
forth on a pomegranate expedition, in which the
plantations of a poor man were invaded, and his
pomegranates stolen. The depredators had got
clear off with their booty, and had returned to -






CYRUS THE GREAT. 9

their school without detection ; butin the morning
the owner of the fruit appeared before the “ Ma-
gister” or master of the school, complaining of his
logs, and begging of him to make inquiries among
the boys, as he strongly suspected some of them,
The boys were then brought up and interrogated,
but they all strongly denied having had any share
in the transaction, making the most ridiculous
excuses. At last Cyrus was called up, and upon
being interrogated, at once said—‘‘I did it. Let
me be punished—I was the instigator and leader.
Ican break into an orchard, I can steal a pome-
granate,” said he, ‘“‘ but I cannot tell a lie. It is
my deed, and I am ready to receive the punish-
ment that is my due for being a thief. As to my
companions in this affair, these I shall not name.
I am answerable for them.”

This noble conduct drew forth the admiration
of the Magister, who exclaimed—* Such noble
conduct is indeed worthy of a King, and your
fellows have done well in choosing you to rule over
them. That you have done wrong you yourself
admit. I shall in your case spare the lash, be-
cause you fear nothing so much as telling a lie.
Go, consult your companions, and make this poor
man compensation for his loss, and then come to
my heart, and be to me as a son.”

‘The same master, seeing the noble qualities of


10 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

this boy-king, took great pains with him, and used
to instruct him by imaginary cases: one of these
was as follows :—

There were two boys, one of whom was a great,
and the other a little boy. Now it happened that
the little boy had a coat that was very much too
big for him, and the great boy had a coat that was
very much too small for him. Upon seeing his
own condition, and that of his fellow, the great boy
" proposed to the little boy an exchange. “ Your
coat,” said he, “ is too large for you, and mine is
too small for me; therefore, if we change we shall
both be exactly fitted.” The little boy would not
consent to the proposal, and so then the great boy
called him a fool, and took away his coat by force,
and gave him his own little coat in exchange. The
great coat now fitted the great boy, and the little
coat the little boy. The little boy was, however,
very dissatisfied. “And now I want you,” said
the Magister to Cyrus, “ to tell me what ought te
be done in such an affair. Ought the little boy
to be satisfied with the coat that exactly fits him
or not ?”

“No, sir,” replied Cyrus.

“ And why not?” said the master.

“ Because,” said Cyrus, “ it was not just for the
great boy to take away the little boy’s coat without
his consent.”


CYRUS THE GREAT. 11

“ You have rightly decided in this matter,” re-
plied the master. Thus Kings and Ozars may be
still taught by the boy Cyrus.

There is also an anecdote told of Cyrus which
displays the hero even in childhood. Being en-
gaged with his youthful companions in some
meiry game or romp, one of the younger of them
fell into a deep ravine, at the bottom of which ran
a rapid stream. All the lads were horror-stricken
at the accident, but none dared to descend the
steep rugged sides of the ravine in order to save
the little fellow. At length Cyrus, who was at
some distance when his young friend met with
his disaster, was made acquainted with the fact.
He hesitated for an instant to consider the best
means of reaching the lad, who was then up to
his waist in water and was in great danger of
being borne away by the rapidity of the current.
He soon made up his mind how to act; and in
another instant he was clambering down the ra-
vine, holding on by the tufts of grass and jagged
stones that jutted out from its sides, And when
at length he reached his companion, he comforted
and sustained him till means were obtained to
rescue them both from their forlorn situation.

This was true heroism, and worthy of his princely

nature. Regardless of his own great danger, he

hastened to the assistance of his friend; and we
B


12 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

may be sure that he was well repaid by the satis-
faction of knowing that he had been instrumental
in doing good, to say nothing of the applause he
was sure to win from his companions. All his
life was a series of heroisms. Isaiah the prophet
mentions him by name, calling him the servant
of God, and telling the Jews that this prince
would be employed by the Great Master to rescue
them from the hands of the Chaldeans.


The Boy King.
EDWARD THE SIXTH.

Hooker says of this Prince, “ that though he died
young, he lived long, for life is action.” His was
quite the heroism of study, for at the age of fifteen
he had learned seven different languages. In that
of his own country and that of France ne was
perfect, as well as in the Latin—so much s0, that
when only seven years of age he wrote two letters

in this language to his godfather, the celebrated
Archbishop Cranmer. Cardan says of him as
follows :—“ In the conversations that I had with

him he spoke Latin with as much readiness and
elegance as myself.” He was a pretty good logi-
cian; he understood natural philosophy and music,
and played upon the lute. The good and the
learned had formed the highest expectations of
him from the sweetness of his disposition, and the
excellence of his talents.

In the British Museum there is a book of Hx-
ercises made by the Prince, in English, Latin, and
Greek, with the name of King Edward subscribed
to each of them in the language in which it was


14 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

written ; and Bishop Burnet has preserved in the
history of the Reformation a diary of his life,
which this Prince kept, and a discourse about Re-
formation abuses, which would have done no dis-
credit to an old statesman.

Knox tells of the noble youth’s piety and vir-
tue; Cardan, of his remarkable learning and wit,
and Hayward records how handsome was his
person, how kingly his bearing; and hardly any
will ‘deny that he was a wonderful boy.

In the year 1551 a grand festival of St. George
was held in the palace at Greenwich, after a re-
ligious service, attended by the young King, the
Duke of Somerset, the Earl of Warwick, and all
the nobility, Knights of the Order. Edward en-
tered into his presence-chamber. “ My Lords,”
said he, “I pray ye what Saint is this George that
we so honour him?” Now these good gentlemen
were not a little puzzled at this question. True,
it had often been their battle-cry upon many a
glorious field, but it had never occurred to them
to inquire into his history, and it is told that the
Marquis of Winchester replied—“ To be plain,
Sire, I never did read in history of St. George, but
only in ‘ Legenda Aurea, where it is set down that
St. George out with his sword and ran the dragon
through with his spear.” “ And, I pray you, my
Lord, what did he do with his sword the while ?”


















































































































































































said

‘My lords,
that we so honour

“Edward entered into the presence chamber.
he, ‘I pray ye what saint is this George,

him??”—Page 14,
KING EDWARD THE SIXTH. 15

asked Edward, laughing so heartily that for some
moments he could not speak.

It is related of him that just before his last ill-
ness he performed an act of unparalleled heroism.
It was when he was in his thirteenth year that his
sister Elizabeth, then very young, was at play
near the river Thames, which abutted on the Royal
Palace, and with much of the daring which was
so fully displayed by that princess in after life,
she leaped on a pony just brought up for Prince
Edward, and attempted to ride him up and down
the broad causeway before the palace. The pony
being very fresh, and somewhat restive, plunged
and capered, and at last jumped over the low wall
which separated the river from the palace, and
plunged into the river. The Prince at this mo-
ment had entered the palace terrace, and hearing
the outcry, and observing his sister clinging to
the mane of the pony, which was struggling in
the river, immediately sprang on to the back of
the horse of the groom in attendance, and plunged
after her over the terrace. The stream was run-
ning fast, and his own horse was very unmanage-
able; but he soon reached the spot where Elizabeth
was struggling. Seizing the bridle of her pony,
he endeavoured to guide it towards the land, but
the unruly brute struggled and plunged so that
this was impracticable. The two horses foun


16 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

dered together for some time; at last Elizabeth,
exhausted, dropped from her steed, and sank in
the rapid stream. In a few moments she rose
again, but at a considerable distance down ine
river. To this place the young Prince swam his
horse, but the Princess again sank. Leaping from
the saddle, Edward dived after his sister, and had
the satisfaction to lay hold of her in her descent.
He rose to the surface, swam to his horse with one
hand, clasping his sister with the other, and seizing
the reins, the animal quickly drew them to the
shore, where they landed in safety.

Many other stories are related of Edward which
would go to prove what noble things boys can do.
One of these anecdotes I cannot refrain from re-
lating. Being in the library of the palace one
day amusing himself with his young companions,
he required a book which was a little out of reach,
when one of them carelessly placed a large Bible
on a chair to stand upon, that he might the more
easily reach the volume in request. Noticing the
want of reverence for the best of books, the young
Prince immediately expostulated with the thought-
less youth, and took the book away with an air of

the profoundest veneration; observing that the
future glories of England lay around that book,
as being the birthright of every free man.

Cranmer, who was standing within hearing, could


KING EDWARD THE SIXTH. 17

not restrain his admiration, and advancing, clasped
him in his arms with the most cordial affection.
It is said that this noble act of respect for the
Scriptures was never forgotten by the Archbishop.

Hidward succeeded to the throne of his father,
the Highth Harry, when only nine years of age.
His mother, Queen Jane Seymour, maid of honour
to Anne Boleyn, died on the twelfth day after his
birth, at Hampton Court Palace; and the amiable
young Prince during his short life had three
several stepmothers—Ann of Cleves, Catherine
Howard, and Catherine Parr; though it does not
appear that either of them paid him any great
attention, or bestowed upon him any very warm
marks of affection. He was brought up, says Sir
John Hayward, who wrote a very full and inter-
esting history of his life and reign, among
nurses, until he arrived at the age of six years.
He was then committed to the care of Dr., after-
wards Sir Anthony, Cooke, and Mr., after Sir
John, Cheke; the former of whom appears to have
undertaken the Prince’s instruction in philosophy
and divinity; the latter, in Greek and Latin.
Doubiless he was surrounded with luxuries, and
princely means of enjoyment. It is told of him
that when only five years old, Archbishop Cran-
mer, his godfather, made him a handsome present,
consisting of a noble service of silver plate. The




18 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

Prince was delighted with the beautiful spoons,
dishes, and plates, and his valet, to enhance his
pleasure, reminded him that the gift was all his
own, and that he only should use it, lest others
might injureit. ‘ My good Hinchbrook,” said the
Prince, “if no one but I be permitted to touch
these valuables without spoiling them, how do
you suppose they would ever have been given to
me?” Next day Edward invited a party of friends
to visit him; and the feast was served upon the
plate, and at their departure Kdward gave to each
one of his young guests an article of the service,
as a mark of his royal regard. In all his short
life Edward displayed a sincere and earnest love
for truth, religion and charity ; so much s0, in-
deed, that even in his lifetime he was widely
known and loved as Edward the Saint.

In the spring of 1552 the boy King’s health
began to fail, and about the same time he was
attacked by the measles and small-pox, from the
effects of which his constitution never rallied.
While still suffering from these diseases he con-
ceived the idea of founding and endowing an
asylum for fatherless children. Christ’s Hospital
was opened in November, 1552, and the blue dress
worn by the boys caused it to be known as ‘“‘ The
Blue Coat School.” At or about the same time
the youthful King founded §t. Thomas’s and




KING EDWARD THE SIXTH. 19

Bridewell Hospitals—Christ’s Hospital for the
education of poor children; St. Thomas’s for the
relief of the sick and diseased, and Bridewell for
the correction and amendment of the idle and
dissolute. These three great charities are still
in active and beneficial existence. In the reign of
this Prince there were also founded, either by him,
or by great and good men who followed his royal
example, the King’s School at Sherborne, still one
of our leading public schools; the Birmingham
Free Grammar School, which Edward endowed
with moneys arising from the suppressed monas-
teries and religious houses, and which endowment
is now worth £8,000 a year; the Free Grammar
School at Lichfield ; the Tunbridge School in Kent,
which was founded by Sir Andrew Judd, who
obtained for it a charter from Edward in the very
last year of his reign; the Grammar School at
Bedford, and several other notable educational
establishments.

Edward the Sixth was familiar not only with
the learning and accomplishments of his time, but
also with many subjects which hardly came
within the education and capacity of so young
a Prince; for instance, the mercantile, financial,
and military systems of -his own country, and
those of continental nations. Had he lived, he
would have been, probably, the best of England’s


20 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD,

Kings. “He gave hopes,” says Lord Oxford,
“of proving a good king, as in so green an age he
seemed resolved to be acquainted with his sub-
jects and his kingdom.” “If you knew,” says an-
other of his panegyrists, “the towardness of that
young Prince, your hearts would melt to hear
him named ; the beautifullest creature that liveth
under the sun; the wittiest, the most amiable, and
the gentlest thing of all the world.”

On the evening of the sixth of July, 1553, the
King’s attendants heard him speaking softly to
himself, In answer to their inquiries Edward
said—“T was praying to God,” and then ex-
claimed—“ Oh! I am faint. Lord have mercy
on me, and receive my spirit, for thy Son Jesus
Christ’s sake!” and the heroic boy King Edward
was no more.

~G@@io


The Boyhood-of Oliver Cromwell.

OLIVER CROMWELL, notwithstanding his ‘‘ usurpa-
tion of authority-in England,” had many rare and
noble qualities. _ He had a strict regard for justice
as well as for truth, and although severe as a ruler
was humane as a man. In his boyhood he exhi-
pited many traits - of generous and noble conduct,
which proved. him to have the seeds of greatness
within him. He _was born at Huntingdon, on
25th of April, | 1559. “He was educated with great
care by his father, Rébert Cromwell, proprietor of
the borough of Huntingdon, who sent him to
school, and” afterwards to finish his education at
Cambridge University. . At Sydney Sussex College,
Cambridge,-Oliver was famous for his excellence
in all athletic exercises; so much so, indeed, as to
have acquired for him the character of an idler.
But he did not neglect his studies, and on the
death of his father, when he was removed from
college, and was placed—as it is generally be-
lieved —as a student in one of the Inns of Court,
he soon exhibited signs of great self-will and no
little knowledge. But even when studying the







22 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

law, it is said he wasted his time in “ dissipation,
good fellowship, and gaming.” Even when he
returned to his paternal home at Huntingdon, he
is reported to have led a low and irregular course
of life. But whatever may have been his youth-
ful follies, it is certain that he abandoned them as
he grew to man’s estate; and that when fortune
raised him into the position of Protector of
England, he was not only the greatest captain of
his age, but that he was devoted to religion and
the patronage of learning and learned men. The
immortal Milton was in his service as secretary ;
Andrew Marvell was at once his friend and
counsellor, and from Oliver the great Archbishop
Ussher received a pension.

Many strange stories are told of Cromwell’s
boyhood. When at his uncle’s house at Hinchin-
brook, in 1604, the royal family rested there on
their way from Scotland. It is related that on
that occasion the Prince Charles, then Duke of
York, was allowed to play with him. The boys
quarrelled, and Oliver heat his royal playmate,
and bruised his nose so as to make it bleed pro-
fusely. This anecdote was remembered afterwards,
and when Cromwell began to take a leading part
in the Civil War, was related as a bad omen.
That Oliver was ambitious and wished to be King
there is little doubt. When at the height of his




OLIVER CROMWELL. 23

fortune, he is said to have told his friends, that
when a boy, a gigantic figure appeared to him in
the night, and drawing aside the curtains of his
bed, told him he was destined to become the
greatest man of his age and country !

During one of the school vacations, Oliver
made a visit to his father at his native town.
During his stay there a severe pestilence, called
the black fever, made its appearance in the neigh-
bourhood. The character of this distemper was
so fearful that it spread consternation wherever it
commenced its ravages. Cromwell’s father was a
brewer by trade, and at the back of his business
premises were several small cottages secluded
in a crowded quadrangle. In one of these the
foreman lived, a man of great good-humour and
kindness, who had often been very obliging to
Oliver in his early boyhood, sometimes saving him
from the punishment which his own headstrong
conduct frequently merited. The pestilence seized
upon the family of this poor man. His wife was
its first victim ; some of the children then fell ill,
and at last the poor man was himself attacked.
The neighbours, panic-stricken, either left the
spot or would hold no communication with the
infected house. Three nurses had left in suc-
cession, the first from sickness, and the others
from fright, and the family must have perished,


24 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

but for the generous conduct of the young
puritan.

As soon as he heard that ‘his, old servant and
friend was sick, Oliver, in defiance of the danger
of infection, was at his bed-side, His father and
mother both remonstrated with him, for what
they called a tempting of, Providence, but Oliver
replied, ‘That not a sparrow could fall to the
ground without the Lord’s special permission, and
that he -wished to make himself worth many
sparrows ;” and so the youth -continued not only
to afford the most useful assistance to the family,
but cheered it up with religioiis hope and consola-
tion, At last the poor woman died, and the next
night one of the children followed her. Yet con-
stant to his post, Oliver never flinched nor fal-
tered, but, like a ministering angel, continued his
attendance upon the sick. He was for a time
physician, nurse, and housewife. He prepared
the meals of the sick family, partook of their fare,
constrained the neighbours to cherish them, called
back the fleeting and the wavering, and remained
faithful himself throughout the whole of this seri-
ous visitation, Impressed by the noble, gener-
ous, and fearless conduct of this youth, the neigh-
bours regained their courage and came to the
rescue of the stricken family, the dead bodies were
laid out in decency, and the funeral obsequies per-


OLIVER CROMWELL. 25

formed, Oliver assisting at all the painful prepara-
tions. By degrees, the remainder of the family,
inciuding the father, recovered, and Oliver retired
from the scene of suffering, unscathed. The pesti-
lence passed away, but not so the heroic conduct
of the young man, who had soon to perform a
highly conspicuous part on the world’s great stage.
His heroism remains like the fragrance of some
sweet flower long perished, to incite others to
holy deeds of elevation and of daring; and Peter
Parley truly hopes that many who read this
account of Oliver Cromwell may be enabled to
imitate all the brighter and purer shades of his
character,


David Livingstone,

THE FACTORY BOY WHO BECAME A GREAT TRAVELLER.

Ir is a remarkable and encouraging fact, that the
majority of the great men of modern times have
made their fame rather than inherited it. They
have risen from the ranks of the people, and not
from the exclusive circles of wealth and aristocracy.

“Some men,” says Shakspere, “are born to
greatness, some achieve greatness, and some have
greatness thrust upon them.” The heroes of.
whom this volume treats, belong to the category
of those who have achieved fame, and honour, and
worldly distinction, by force of talent and indomi-
table perseverance. It is well, perhaps, to be
born rich and noble, to look back on a long line
of worthy ancestors, and to live out our lives in
accordance with the traditions of name and family ;
but how much better is it to win nobility from ob-
security, and by our own industry to found names
honoured among men and cherished by our chil-
dren !

Among the men who have won distinction from
very small and mean beginnings, David Living-
stone occupies a very high and important place.






DAVID LIVINGSTONE, 27

He was the son of a poor tea-dealer, in the vil-
lage of Blantyre, where he was born in the year
1817. But though his parents were very humble,
there were traditions of honour and glory in his
family that may possibly have fired his young am
bition. His great-grandfather was a soldier, and
fell at the famous battle of Culloden; and when
David was yet a child, his grandfather frequently
delighted him with the recital of romantic legends
and national songs. Moreover, the old man was
fond of talking about his family, which he could
trace for six generations. The great-great-grand-
father of the future African traveller seems to
have been a man of more than ordinary capacity,
though occupying only the social position of a
poor fisherman ; for on his death-bed, he called his
children about him, and, instead of money, gave
them a good moral precept by way of legacy. “I
have searched,” said he, “through all the records
and traditions of the Livingstones, and I have not
been able to find a trace of one dishonest man in
our family. If, therefore, any one of you or your
children take to dishonest ways, it will not be be-
cause dishonesty runs in our blood. Honour and
integrity I inherited from my ancestors, and I
leave them an unspotted legacy to you. My dying
- precept, children, is this—Be honest!”

When David was yet a child his father removed
¢
28 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD. —

to Glasgow, which city—the Liverpool of Scotland
—may well be proud of the fame of the lad, who
obtained his first glimpses of learning among the
whirring wheels and multitudinous noises of one
of the cotton factories. At ten years of age he
was set to earn his own living; but instead of
contenting himself by simply becoming a cotton-
spinner, he prepared his mind, by reading and
study, for the great work of missionary enterprise
and travel which hag since made him famous. He
himself tells us, that in his tenth year he was sent
into a cotton factory as a “piercer.” His wages
were only a few shillings a week, but he contrived
not only to take some of his earnings home to his
mother, in order that he might assist in supporting
the family, but also to buy books, and so satisfy
the great need of his active mind. ‘“ With a part
of my first week’s wages,’ he says, “I purchased
Ruddiman’s ‘Rudiments of Latin, and pursued
the study of the language for many years after-
wards, with unabated ardour, at an evening school,
which met between the hours of eight and ten.
The dictionary part of my labours was followed up
till twelve o’clock or later, if my mother did not
interfere by jumping up and snatching the book out
of my hands. I had to be back in the factory by
six in the morning, and continue my work, with
intervals for breakfast and dinner, until eight


DAVID LIVINGSTONE. 29

o’clock in the evening. I read in this way many
of the classical authors, and knew Virgil and
Horace better at sixteen than Ido now. Our school-
master was supported in part by the company ; he
was attentive and kind, and so moderate in
his charges that all who wished for education
might obtain it.” i

At this evening school young Livingstone made
acquaintance with the great men of the past, and
their example stirred his mind to high achieve-
ments. He determined to free himself from the
trammels of sordid labour, and to become at least
a diligent student if not a learned man. His at-
tention was particularly directed to medicine and
botany. “In recognizing,” he says, “the plants
in my first medical book—that extraordinary old
work on astrological medicine, ‘ Culpepper’s Her-
bal ’—I had the guidance of a book on the plants
of Lanarkshire, by Patrick. Limited as was my
time, I found opportunities to scour the whole
country side, ‘collecting samples.’ Deep and
anxious were my studies on the still deeper and
more perplexing profundities of astrology, and I
believe I got as far into that abyss of fantasies as
my author said he dared to lead me. It seemed
perilous ground to tread on farther, for the
dark tint seemed to my youthful mind to loom
towards ‘ selling soul and body to the devil,’ as the


80 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

price of the unfathomable knowledge of the stars.
Excursions, often in company with brothers, one
now in Canada, the other a clergyman in the
United States, gratified my intense love of nature ;
and though we generally returned so unmercifully
hungry and fatigued that the embryo parson shed
.tears, yet we discovered so many, to us, new and
interesting things, that he was always as eager to
join us next time as he was the last.

“On one of these exploring tours we entered a
limestone quarry—long before geology was so
popular as itis now. It is impossible to describe
the delight and wonder with which I began to

collect the shells found in the carboniferous lime-
stone which crops out in High Blantyre and Cam-
buslang. A quarryman seeing a little boy so en-
gaged, looked with that pitying eye which the

benevolent assume when viewing the insane. Ad-
dressing him with, ‘How ever did these shells
come into these rocks?’ ‘When God made the
rocks, he made the shells in them, was the damp-
ing reply. What would Hugh Miller have thought
of this Scotchman ?

“My reading while at work,” he again says,
“was carried on by placing the book on a portion
of the spinning-jenny, so that I could catch sen-
tence after sentence as I passed at my work; I
thus kept up a pretty constant study, undisturbed


DAVID LIVINGSTONE. 31

by the roar of the machinery. To this part of my
education I owe my present power of so completely
abstracting my mind from surrounding noises, as to
read and write with perfect comfort amidst the play
of children or the dancing and songs of savages.
The toil of cotton-spinning, to which I was pro-
moted in my nineteenth year, was excessively
severe on a slim, loose-jointed lad, but it was well
paid for; and it enabled me to support myself
while attending medical and Greek classes in
winter, also the divinity lectures of Dr. Wardlaw,
by working with my hands in summer. I never
received a farthing of aid from any one, and should
have accomplished my project of going to China
as a medical missionary, in the course of time, by
my own efforts, had not some of my friends ad-
vised my joining the London Missionary Society ;
but it was not without a pang that I offered my-
self, for it was not quite agreeable to one accus-
tomed. to work his own way to become in a mea-
sure dependent on others; and I should not have
been much put about though my offer had been
rejected,”

The great desire of his heart was near its accom-
' plishment. He was at length to be a traveller
and a missionary. He worked hard at his chosen
profession, and was admitted as a licentiate of the
College of Physicians. Owing, however, to the


382 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

China war, he did not proceed to the celestial
land as he intended ; but in 1840 he was sent out
by the London Missionary Society to Africa.

It is not necessary to our purpose to follow Dr.
Livingstone through his remarkable career as a
man. Sufficient if we have shown what he accom-
plished in his youthful days. But we can hardly
close our brief notice without directing the atten-
tion of our young friends, to the highly interesting
work, in which the indefatigable doctor tells the
story of his mission, his travels, and his discover-
ies, in that terra incognita, Central Africa. There
among, the rude natives he worked, as in his youth,
with ardour and perseverance, carrying the good

tidings of salvation to the heathen, and opening

up a new and fertile country to the commerce, the
civilization, and the Christianity of England and
the world.

No more eloquent and appropriate estimate of the
character of Dr. Livingstone has been made than
that pronounced by Mr. Gladstone, Chancellor of
the Exchequer, on the occasion of conferring upon
the great African traveller the honorary distinc-
tion of LL.D., in the Senate House of that ancient
seat of learning —Cambridge University.

“Dr. Livingstone,” said the eminent orator
and statesman, ‘is such a man as raises our idea
of the age in which we live. That simplicity






DAVID LIVINGSTONE. 33

inseparable from true grandeur, that breadth and
force, that superiority to all worldly calls and
enjoyments, that rapid and keen intelligence,
that power of governing men, and that delight
in governing them for their own good—he has
every sign upon him of a great man, and his
qualities are precisely those which commend
themselves with resistless power to the young.
Let us render to Dr. Livingstone the full tribute
of what we feel. He is a Christian, a missionary,
a great traveller; he corresponds in every parti-
cular to that great name which the admiration of
all ages has consecrated—he is a hero, Our
own great poet—the great poet of this age—
Alfred Tennyson—in his ‘Idylls of the King,
a work which has taken its place in the deathless
literature of the world, has carried us back to a
period of heroic manners, heroic deeds, and
heroic characters; but if the power which he
possesses could have gone beyond what it has
effected—could have gone beyond the almost
living men whom it has portrayed, and could
actually have evoked them from the tomb, not
one among them, though the ideal of human
nature, would have failed to recognize Dr. Living-
stone as a brother, and to acknowledge him as his
most worthy companion.”
John Kitto,

THE WORKHOUSE BOY WHO BECAME AN AUTHOR.

Tue career of Dr. Kitto, author of the world-
known ‘ Pictorial Bible,’ is an evidence, if any
were needed, that meanness of birth and wretched-
ness of social position form no real barriers to ad-
vancement; but that, on the contrary, they are
powerful incentives to the honest and laudable
ambition of true heroes.

John Kitto was born in Plymouth, in 1804.
His mother was a laundress, and his father was
a drunken slater,—and something worse ; so that
in his earliest years he was acquainted with
poverty and misery. Kitto’s first recollections
are of an old grandmother who lived in a garret,
and who took him from his wretched home that
he might be out of the way of his father’s bad
example. He was then four years old; and he
lived with his aged grandmother till he was
eight, going occasionally to a poor dame school,
where he acquired a little reading, a little
writing, and less arithmetic. But he was so


JOHN KITTO. y 35

quick at learning that he was looked upon as
quite a prodigy. To what he learned at school,
his grandmother added a vast store of fairy tales
and ghost stories, besides teaching him to work
with his needle. Possibly, this story-telling
faculty gave the first literary bent to the boy’s
mind; for, before he was eight years of age, he
had mastered the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ ‘ Gulliver's
Travels,’ ‘Robinson Crusoe,’ and the historical
books of the Old Testament. So much was he
entranced with these that he decorated the rude
pictures with which the books were illustrated
with colours, obtained from his grandmother's
“blue-bag,” and afew halfpenny paints that some
friends gave him. He soon became so enamoured.
with reading, that he eagerly perused every
volume that came in his way. The cacoethes
scribendi was very early developed, and from read-
ing books he took to writing them. He thus
describes his first effort as an author.

““My cousin came one day with a penny in
his hand, declaring his intention to buy a book

with it. I was just then sadly in want of a penny
to make up fourpence, with which to purchase
the ‘History of King Pippin’ (not Pepin), so
‘I inquired whether he bought a book for the
pictures or the story? ‘The story, to be sure.’
I then said, that, in that case, I would, for his


36 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

penny, write him both a larger and a better story
than he could get in print for the same sum;
and that he might be still further a gainer, I
would paint him a picture at the beginning, and
he knew there were no painted pictures in penny
books. He expressed the satisfaction he should
feel in my doing so, and sat down quietly on
the stool to note my operations. When I had
done, I certainly thought my cousin’s penny
pretty well earned; and as, at reading the paper
and viewing the picture, he was of the same
opinion, no one else had any right to complain
of a bargain. I believe this was the first penny
I ever earned. I happened to recollect this
circumstance when last at Plymouth, and felt
a Wish to peruse this paper, if still in existence ;
but my poor cousin, though he remembered the
circumstance, had quite forgotten both the paper
and its contents, unless that it was ‘something
about what was done in England at the time
when wild men lived in it ;;—even this was further
than my own recollection extended.”

From writing stories he took the usual course

pursued by young authors, and determined to
produce a play. We do not know what sort
of drama he wrote, but we have his own word
for it that he did write one; and, moreover, that it
was played by children—the admission to the


JOHN KITTO. 37

performance being “ladies, eight pins; gentle-
men ten.”

His grandmother suffering from an attack ot
paralysis, he was obliged to go back to his father’s
miserable home. Finding no comfort there, he
took refuge with a barber, to whom he was
apprenticed. But before he learned to ‘shave

for a penny,” a woman whom he left in charge

of his master’s razors, decamped with them,
and allowed the suspicion of the theft to fall on
the unfortunate lad. The barber would not, for
a long time, believe in his apprentice’s innocence,
and fortunately for the after-career of the boy,

insisted on cancelling his indentures.

John then returned to his father, whom he
assisted in his work. But one day he had the
misfortune to fall from a ladder as he was hand-
ing up slates to his father, and sustained such
injuries as confined him to his bed for four
months. When he partially recovered, he found
he was deaf.

Kitto was unwilling to believe, or did not
comprehend, the extent of the calamity that had
befallen-him. “I was slow in learning,” he says,
“that my hearing was entirely gone. The
unusual stillness of all things was grateful to me
in my utter exhaustion; and if, in this half-
awakened state, a thought of the matter entered


88 WEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

my mind, I ascribed it to the unusual care and
success of my friends in preserving silence around
me. 1 saw them talking, indeed, to one another,
and thought that, out of regard to my feeble
condition, they spoke in whispers, because I
heard them not. The truth was revealed to me
in consequence of my solicitude about the book
which had so much interested me on the day of
my fall. It had, it seems, been reclaimed by the
good old man who had lent it to me, and who
doubtless concluded that I should have no more
need of books in this life. He was wrong, for
there has been nothing in this life which I have
needed more. I asked for this book with much
earnestness, and was answered by signs, which I
could not comprehend. ‘ Why do you not speak ?
I cried; ‘pray let me have the book.’ This
seemed to create some confusion; and at length
some one, more clever than the rest, hit upon
the happy expedient of writing upon a slate that
the book had been reclaimed by the owner, and
that I could not, in my weak state, be allowed
to read. ‘But,’ I said, in great astonishment,
‘why do you write to me? why not speak?
Speak! speak!” Those who stood around the
bed exchanged significant looks of concern, and
the writer soon displayed upon his slate the awful
words, ‘ YoU ARE DEAF!’ ”


JOHN KITTO. 39

Then John Kitto felt wretched indeed; but
his spirit was not entirely broken. He rose from -
his bed and tried various small means of obtain-
ing a living. At one time he would wander about
on the sea-shore, and pick up pieces of rope and
driftwood; at another he would try his hand at
rude paintings of ships, flowers, birds, and trees,
which he exposed for sale in his mother’s window ;
and again he would endeavour to earn a few
pence by writing placards, &. But all the
money he earned was as nothing to his needs.
Books were necessary to his life—reading his
grand resource—writing the relief he sought
from mental depression and bodily pain. Writing
afterwards of this period of his life, he says—

“For many years I had no views towards
literature beyond the instruction and solace of
my own mind ; and, under these views, and in the
absence of other mental stimulants, the pursuit of
it eventually became a passion, which devoured
all others. I take no merit for the industry and
application with which I pursued this object, nor
for the ingenious contrivances by which I sought
to shorten the hours of needful rest, that I might
have the more time for making myself acquainted

' with the minds of other men. The reward was

great and immediate, and I was only preferring
the gratification which seemed to me the highest.


40 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

Nevertheless, now that I am, in fact, another
being, having but slight connection, excepting in
so far as ‘the child is father to the man,’ with my
former self; now that much has become a business
which was then simply a joy; and now that I
am gotten old in experiences if not in years, it
does somewhat move me to look back upon that
poor and deaf boy, in his utter loneliness, devot-
ing himself to objects in which none around
him could sympathize, and to pursuits which
none could even understand. The eagerness
with which he sought books, and the devoted
attention with which he read them, was simply an
unaccountable fancy in their view; and the hours
which he strove to gain for writing that which
was destined for no other eyes than his own, was
no more than an innocent folly, good for keeping
him quiet and out of harm’s way, but of no
possible use on earth. This want of the en-

couragement which sympathy and appreciation
give, and which cultivated friends are so anxious
to bestow on the studious application of their

young people, I now count among the sorest trials
of that day, and it serves me now as a measure
for the intensity of my devotement to such objects,
that I felt so much encouragement within as not
to need or care much for the sympathies and
encouragements which are, in ordinary circum-




JOHN KITTO. 41

stances, held of so much importance. I under-
value them not; on the contrary, an undefinable
craving was often felt for sympathy and apprecia-
tion in pursuits so dear to me; but to want this
was one of the disqualifications of my condition,
quite as much so as my deafness itself; and in the
same degree in which I submitted to my deafness
as a dispensation from Providence towards me,
did I submit to this as a necessary consequence,
It was, however, one of the peculiarities of my
condition that I was then, as I ever have been,
too much shut up. With the same dispositions
and habits, without being deaf, it would have
been easy to have found companions who would
have understood me, and sympathized with my
love for books and study, my progress in which
might also have been much advanced by such
intercommunication. As it was, the shyness and
reserve which the deaf usually exhibit, gave
increased effect to the physical disqualification,
and precluded me from seeking, and kept me from
incidentally finding, beyond the narrow sphere in
which I moved, the sympathies which were not
found in it. As time passed, my mind became
filled with ideas and sentiments, and with various
knowledge of things new and old, all of which
were as the things of another world to those among
whom my lot was cast. The conviction of this
42 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

completed my isolation; and eventually all my
human interests were concentrated in these points
—to get books, and, as they were mostly borrowed,
to preserve the most valuable points in their
contents, either by extracts or by a distinct in-
tention to impress them on the memory.”

His grandmother was unable to contribute to
his necessities; and so as he was left entirely to
the mercies of his drunken father, he had no re-
source from starvation but the workhouse. And
so, at last, he became an inmate of the Plymouth
workhouse !

But there he was kindly treated, and taught
various useful arts—among others that of making
list shoes. While in the workhouse he regularly
kept a diary, from which we make an extract or
two :—

“T was to-day most wrongfully accused of cut-
ting off the top of a cat’s tail. They did not know
me who thought me capable of such an act of wan-
ton cruelty.

“ June 2.—I am making my own shoes.

“June 9.—I have finished my shoes; they are
tolerably strong and neat.

“ Aug. 14.—I was set to close bits of leather.

“ Aug. 15.—Said bits of leather that I had closed

were approved of, and I was sent to close a pair of

women’s shoes, which were also approved of.


JOHN KITTO. 43

‘* Nov. 14._A twelvemonth in the workhouse,
during which time I have made seventy-eight
pairs of list shoes, besides mending many others,
and have received, as a premium, one penny per
week,

“Nov. 20.—I burnt a tale, of which I had
written several sheets, which I called ‘The Pro-
bationary Trial,’ but which did not, as far as 1
wrote, please me.”

Many touching entries in the journal relate to
the dear old grandmother :—

“1819.—Granny has been absent in dock these
two days. Though but for so short a period, I

severely feel her absence. IfI feel it so acutely
now, how shall I bear the final separation when
she shall be gone to that ‘undiscovered country
from whose bourne no traveller returns? She
cannot be expected to live many years longer, for
now she is more than seventy years of age. O,
Almighty Power, spare yet a few years my granny,
the protector of my infancy, and the I cannot
express my gratitude. It is useless to attempt it.”

On the 18th of the following April, his dear old
grandmother, Elizabeth Picken, died, and his sor-
row almost overwhelmed him. But when he re-
covered from his grief, he returned to his old
love of reading and writing, in which he was not
discouraged by the workhouse authorities.

D


44 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

In this way the young years of his life were
passed. In 1821, he was apprenticed to a shoe-
maker, one John Bowden, a mean, sordid man,
who took every advantage of his deafness to put
all manner of slights and mortifications upon him.

But at last he was released from his master’s
tyranny. His love of reading introduced him to
many friends, among whom was Mr. Harvey, the
mathematician—and Mr. Groves, a dentist. The
former lent him books, and the latter taught him
his trade.

In 1825, Kitto’s first volume was published ;
and from this moment he rose in the estimation. of
his friends and the public. His boyhood’s days
were over. By the time he was twenty, he was
engaged in various literary occupations. He
visited London, where he was introduced to Charles
Knight, by whom he was subsequently employed
in writing for the ‘Penny Cyclopedia.’ But pre-
vious to that he was enabled to indulge one of the
great wishes of his heart, and visit the Hast,
whither he went as tutor to the sons of his patron,
Mr. Groves.

In 1850, he was selected by Lord John Russell
as a worthy recipent of Her Majesty’s bounty ;
and received 100]. a-year from the Civil List, “on
account of his useful and meritorious literary
works,”


JOHN KITTO. 45

But he did not long enjoy this small competency.
Early application and hard work brought on a
serious illness, from which he never recovered.
He fell into the sleep of the just, in Germany, in
November, 1854, and so ended the life of the
workhouse-boy author, a man who suffered many
trials, but lived to surmount them all, and make
for himself a name which will live in English
literature as long as that literature survives. The
pauper boy became a Doctor of Divinity and a
Fellow of the Society of Antiquarians!

Is there not encouragement in this? ‘Does not
the story of Kitto, the deaf author, present many
points of interest for boys? Can any lad read this
brief and hasty sketch without feeling that there
is no condition in life so utterly mean and hopeless
as not to offer chances of honour and distinction
to him who is brave of spirit, enterprising, perse-
vering, and faithful in well doing? Kitto was not
a learned man, but he was what is much better,—
he was a Christian. He won distinction from
low estate, and has left behind him a reputation

that will remain a worthy example of pursuit of
knowledge under difficulties. How much better
this than being born to wealth and title!


The Mysterious Artist.

SEBASTIAN GOMEZ, THE MULATTO OF MURILLO.

One beautiful summer morning, about the year
1630, several youths of Seville, in Spain, ap-
proached the dwelling of the celebrated painter
Murillo, where they arrived nearly at the same
time. After the usual salutations, they entered
the studio or workshop of the artist. Murillo was
not yet there, and each of the pupils walked up -
quickly to his easel to examine if the paint had
dried, or perhaps to admire his work of the previous
evening,

“Pray, gentlemen,” exclaimed one, by name
Isturitz, angrily, ‘‘ which of you remained behind
in the studio last night?”

“What an absurd question!” replied Cordova ;
“don’t you recollect that we all came away to-
gether ?”

“This is a foolish jest, gentlemen,” answered
Isturitz, “Last evening I cleaned my palette
with the greatest care, and now it is as dirty as
if some one had used it all night.”


THE MYSTERTOUS ARTIST. 47

“Took!” exclaimed Carlos; “here is a small
figure in the corner of my canvas, and it is not
badly done. I should like to know who it is that
amuses himself. every morning with sketching
figures, sometimes on my canvas, sometimes on
the walls.”

At these words, Mendez, with a careless air,
approached his easel, when an exclamation of as-
tonishment escaped him, and he gazed with mute
surprise at his canvas, on which was roughly
sketched a most beautiful head of the Virgin ; but
the expression was so admirable, the lines so

clear, the pose so graceful, that, compared with

the figures by which it was encircled, it seemed as
if some heavenly visitant had descended among
them.

“Ah! what is the matter?” said a rough voice.
The pupils turned at the sound, and all made a
respectful obeisance to the great master.

““Look, Senor Murillo, look!” exclaimed the
youths, as they pointed to the easel of Mendez.

‘* Who has painted this? who has painted this,
gentlemen ?” asked Murillo, eagerly ; ‘‘ speak, tell
me. He who has sketched this Virgin will one
day be the master of us all. Murillo wishes he
had done it. What a touch! what delicacy! what
skill! Mendez, my dear pupil, was it you?”

“No, Senor,” said Mendez, in a sorrowful tone.


48 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

«Was it you then, Isturitz, or Ferdinand, or
Carlos ?”

But they all gave the same answer as Mendez.

“Tt could not, however, come here in the night
without hands,” said Murillo, impatiently.

“T think, sir,” said Cordova, the youngest of the
pupils, “that these strange pictures are very
alarming; indeed, this is not the first unaccount-
able event which has happened in your studio,
To tell the truth, such wonderful things have
happened here, one scarcely knows what to
believe.”

“What are they?” asked Murillo, still lost in
admiration of the head of the Virgin by the un-
known artist.

“According to your orders, senor,” answered
Ferdinand, ‘“‘we never leave the studio without
first putting everything in order, cleaning our
palettes, washing our brushes, and arranging our
easels; but when we arrive in the morning, not
only is everything in confusion, our brushes filled
with paint, our palettes soiled, but here and there
are sketches (beautiful ones, to be sure, they are!),
sometimes of the head of an angel, sometimes of a
demon, then, again, the profile of a young girl;
or the figure of an old man; but all admirable, as

you have yourself seen, senor.”
“ This is certainly a curious affair, gentlemen,”


THE MYSTERIOUS ARTIST. 49

observed Murillo; “but we shall soon learn who
is this nightly visitant.” “Sebastian,” he con-
tinued, addressing a little mulatto boy of about
fourteen years old, who appeared at his call, “ did
I not desire you to sleep here every night ?”

“Yes, master,” said the boy, timidly.

“Speak, then; who was here last night and this
morning, before these gentlemen came? Ah! you
don’t choose to answer,” said Murillo, pulling his
ear.

“No one, master, no one,” replied the trembling
Sebastian with eagerness.

“ That is false,” exclaimed Murillo.

“No one but me, I swear to you, master,” cried
the mulatto, throwing himself on his knees in the
middle of the studio, and holding out his hands in
supplication before his master.

“Listen to me,” pursued Murillo. “I wish to
know who has sketched the head of this Virgin, and
all the figures which my pupils find here every
morning, on coming tothe studio. This night, in-
stead of going to bed, youshall keep watch; and if
by to morrow you donot discover who the culprit is,
you shall have twenty-five strokes from the lash.—
You hear! I have said it; now go, and grind. the

2

colours; and you, gentlemen, to work.”
From the commencement till the termination of
the hour of instruction, Murillo was too much ab-


50 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

sorbed with his pencil to allow a word to be
spoken but what regarded their occupation, but
the moment he disappeared the pupils made ample
amends for this restraint, and as the unknown
painter occupied all their thoughts, the conversa-
tion naturally turned to that subject.

“ Beware, Sebastian, of the lash,” said Mendez,
‘and watch well for the culprit. Give me the
Naples yellow.”

“You do not.need it, Senor Mendez,” said Sebas-
tian, quietly; ‘you have made it yellow enough
already.”

“Do you know, gentlemen,” said Isturitz as he
glanced at the painting, ‘that the remarks of Se-
bastian are extremely just, and much to the point.”

“Oh, they say that negroes have the faces of
asses, and the tongues of parrots,” rejoined Mendez,
in a tone of indifference.

‘‘ Who knows,” said he, for he had not digested
the Naples yellow, “that from grinding the colours,
he may one day astonish us by showing that he
knows one from another.”

‘“‘T'o know one colour from another, and to know
how to use them, are two very different things,”
replied Sebastian, whom the liberty of the studio
allowed to join in the conversation of the pupils;
and truth obliges us to confess that his taste was
so exquisite, his eye so correct,.that many of them


THE MYSTERIOUS ARTIST 51

did not disdain to follow the advice he ee
gave them respecting their paintings.

Tt was night, and the studio of Murillo, the
most celebrated painter in Seville, was silent as

the grave. A single lamp burned upon a marble
table, and a young boy, whose sable hue harmo-
nized with the surrounding darkness, but whose
eyes sparkled like diamonds at midnight, leaned
against an easel, immovable and still. He was so
deeply absorbed in his meditations that the door
of the studio was opened by one who several

times called him by name, and who, on receiving
no answer, approached and touched him. Sebas-
tian raised his eyes, which rested on a tall and
handsome mulatto.

“Why do you come here, father?” said he, in
a melancholy tone,

“To keep you company, Sebastian.”

““There is no need, father ; I can watch alone.”

“ Oh, how sad, how dreadful it is to be a slave !”
exclaimed the boy.

“Tt is the will of God,” replied the negro, with
an air of resignation.

“God! I pray constantly to him, father, (and I
hope he will one day listen to me,) that we may no
longer be slaves. But go to bed, father ; go, go; and
I shall go to mine there in that corner, and I shall
soon fall asleep. Good-night, father, good-night.”


52 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

>

and, having kissed the

“ Good-night, my son ;’
boy, the mulatto retired.

The moment Sebastian found himself alone, he
said, “ Seventy-five lashes to-morrow if I do not
tell who sketched these figures, and perhaps more
ifIdo. Oh, my God, come to my aid!” And then
the little mulatto threw himself upon the mat,
which served him for a bed, where he soon fell
fast asleep.

Sebastian awoke at daybreak; it was only three
o’clock. Any other boy would probably have gone
to sleep again ; not so Sebastian, who had but three
hours he could call his own.

“Courage, courage, Sebastian.” he exclaimed, as
he shook himself awake; “three hours are thine
—only three hours—then profit by them; the rest
belong to thy master, slave! Let me at least be
my own master for three short hours. So begin;
these figures must be effaced;” and, seizing a
brush, he approached the Virgin, which, viewed
by the soft light of the morning dawn, appeared
more beautiful than ever.

“ Eifface this!” he exclaimed, “efface this! no!
I will die first—efface this—they dare not—neither
dare I. No! that head—she breathes—she speaks !
It seems as if her blood would flow if I should
offer to efface it, and I should be her murderer.
No, no, no; rather let me finish it.”


THE MYSTERIOUS ARTIST. 53

Scarcely had he uttered these words when,
seizing a palette, he seated himself at the easel,
and was soon totally absorbed in his occupation.
Hour after hour passed unheeded by Sebastian,
who was too much engrossed by the beautiful
creation of his pencil, which seemed bursting into
life, to mark the flight of time. “Another touch,”
he exclaimed, “a soft shade here—now the mouth.
Yes! there! it opens—those eyes—they pierce
me through!—what a forehead !—what delicacy!
Oh my beautiful—” and Sebastian forgot the hour,
forgot he was a slave, forgot his dreaded punish-
ment—all, all was obliterated from the soul of the
youthful artist, who thought of nothing, saw no-
thing, but his beautiful picture.

But who can describe the horror and conster-
nation of the unhappy slave when, on suddenly
turning round, he beheld all the pupils, with the
master at their head, standing beside him.

Sebastian never once dreamt of justifying him-
self, and with his palette in one hand, and his
brushes in the other, he hung down his head,
awaiting in silence the punishment he believed
he justly merited.

Murillo, having, with a gesture of the hand,
imposed silence on his pupils, who could hardly
restrain themselves from giving way to their ad-
miration, approached Sebastian, and concealing his


54 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

emotion, said, in a cold and severe tone, while he
looked alternately from the beautiful head of the
Virgin to the terrified slave, who stood like a sta-
tue before him——

“ Who is your master, Sebastian ?”

“You,” replied the boy, in a voice scarcely au-
dible. :

“JT mean your drawing-master,” said Murillo.

“You, Senor,” again replied the trembling
slave. :

“Tt cannot be; I never gave you lessons,” said
the astonished painter.

“But you gave them to others, and I listened to
them,” rejoined the boy, emboldened by the kind-
ness of his master.

“And you have done better than listen —
you have profited by them,” exclaimed Murillo,
unable longer to conceal his admiration. “Gen-
tlemen, does this boy merit punishment or re-
ward ?”

At the word punishment, Sebastian’s heart beat
quickly: the word reward gave him a little
courage; but fearing that his ears deceived him,
he looked with timid and imploring eyes towards
his master.

“A reward, Senor!” cried the pupils, in a
breath,

“That is well; but what shall it be ?”


THE MYSTERIOUS ARTIST.

Sebastian began to breathe.

“Ten ducats, at least,” said Mendez.

“No,” said Gonzalo; “a beautiful new dress for
the next holiday.”

“Speak, Sebastian,” said Murillo; “are these
things to your taste? Tell me what you wish for.
I am so much pleased with your beautiful compo-
sition, that I will grant any request you may
make. Speak, then; do not be afraid.”

“Oh, master, if I dared—”’ and Sebastian, clasp -
ing his hands, fell at the feet of his master. It
was easy to read in the half-opened lips of the
boy and his sparkling eyes some devouring
thoughts within, which timidity prevented him
from uttering.

With the view of encouraging him, each of the
pupils suggested some favour for him to demand.

“ Ask gold, Sebastian.”

‘*« Ask rich dresses, Sebastian.”

‘‘ Ask to be received as a pupil, Sebastian.”

A faint smile passed over the countenance of
the slave at the last words, but he hung down his
head and remained silent.

“Ask for the best place in the studio,” said
Gonzalo, who, from being the last pupil, had the
worst light for his easel.

“Come, take courage,” said Murillo, gaily.

“The master is so kind to-day,” said Ferdinand,


56 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

“that I would risk something. Ask your jreedom,
Sebastian.”

At these words Sebastian uttered a cry of anguish,
and raising his eyes to his master, he exclaimed,
in a voice’ choked with sobs, “ The freedom of my
Jather !—ithe freedom of my father !”

“ And thine, also!” said Murillo. who, no longer
able to conceal his emotion, threw his arms around
Sebastian, and pressed him to his breast.

“Your pencil,” he continued, “shows that you
have talent ; your request proves that you have a
heart; the artist is complete. From this day con-
sider yourself not only as my pupil, but my son.

Happy Murillo! I have done more than paint—I

1??

have made a painter

Murillo kept his word, and Sebastian Gomez,
known better under the name of the Mulatto of
Murillo, became one of the most celebrated painters
in Spain. There may yet be seen in one of the
churches of Seville the celebrated picture which he
had been found painting by his master; also a St.
Anne, admirably done; a holy Joseph, which is
extremely beautiful; and others of the highest
merit.


Boyish Heroism of Sir William Jones.

As we have already said, heroism does not only
consist of deeds of exploit and adventure, but also
in struggling against adverse circumstances, when-
ever they beset us. This kind of heroism was
displayed during the boyhood of Sir William
Jones. This celebrated Oriental scholar was born
in London in the year 1746. He had the misfor-
tune to lose his father, who was an eminent ma-
thematician, when only three years old, and had
mainly to teach himself all that he knew. He
learned to read by the aid of his mother, a wo-
man of considerable learning and great good sense.
When in his fifth year he left her for school, long
before he had learned to write, he corresponded
with her by means of printed characters. It is
told of him that at this time his imagination was
wonderfully excited by the sublime description of

the angel in the tenth chapter of Revelations, and

that the impression so made was never effaced.
At last he was placed at Harrow school, under
Dr. Thackeray and Dr. Sumner, and commenced
the study of the Latin language in his ninth


58 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

‘year. In this he made very rapid progress, owing
to his contrivances to aid him in his studies. He
procured a lamp, which he took to his bedroom,
and contrived an alarm that awoke him at three
o'clock every morning, at which hour he used to
get up for study. In this he was so diligent, that
he not only outstripped all his schoolfellows in
his Latin exercises, but secretly commenced the
study of the Greek language, and at the end of
the year, at which time his tutor had intended
him to comménce the study of Greek, he found, to
his astonishment, that young Jones had already
mastered the Greek grammar and the principal
difficulties of that language. At the same time,
besides the usual exercises imposed upon him, he
translated into English verse several of the epistles
of Ovid, and all the pastorals of Virgil, and he
composed a dramatic piece on the story of Me-
leager, which he denominated a tragedy, and
which during the vacation was acted by his more
intimate schoolfellows, the part of the hero being
performed by himself.

At Harrow he invented many other dramatic
pieces, and got up several very extraordinary
exhibitions. He and his associates divided the
fields and hills lying round Harrow into states and
kingdoms, like those of ancient Greece. Hach of
the school heroes fixed upon some one of these as


SIR WILLIAM JONES. 59

their dominions, and assumed an ancient name.
Some of the schoolboys consented to be barbarians,
and, like some kings and emperors of modern
times, undertook to invade the territories of the
more civilized states, and attack their hillocks,
which were denominated fortresses. The chicfs
vigorously defended their respective domains
against the incursions of the enemy, and in these
imitative wars the young generals and statesmen
held councils, made vehement harangues, and
composed memorials—all doubtless very boyish‘
but well calculated to fill their minds with ideas
of heroism, patriotism, and civil government. In
these unusual amusements Jones was always their
leader; and conducted himself with such energy,
tact, and judgment, as to obtain the name of Old
Ulysses.

The exploits of the “Spartan band,” as Jones’s
party was called, were very numerous. One of
these I shall relate. A poor fruit-seller had a
donkey which he used to turn out every night.
This unfortunate animal, by some means or other
being tired of thistles, found his way into the
*“« Parson’s glebe,” in which he nibbled a series of
mathematical figures, of unusual forms and di-
mensions, to the great discomfiture of- the parson,
who, in the energy of his wrath, impounded the
donkey, and sent ina bill of the damage to the

E


60 HEROISM OF BOYHUOD.

fruit-seller. The sum charged was far too great
for the poor man to pay, and the poor donkey
languished in the pound for some days, upon the
most scanty provender, and till the bones began
to snow through his hide like that of Don
Quixole’s Rosinante, and transposed the poor
peast into a walking trapezeum. Jones and his
Spartans viewed the poor creature’s condition
with great sympathy; and looking upon him as
a hero deprived of liberty, determined to rescus
him from his degraded captivity. Accordingly,
mustering his band, the whole sallied forth at the
dead of the night, and, entering the pound, con-
trived by placing the donkey’s forefeet on its
top and pushing him up behind, holding him up
here and pushing him along there, till at last the
animal was safely on the right side of his prison .
bars. They then ornamented him with their
pocket-handkerchiefs, and rode him, one at a
time, to the hut of his master. To make all
right, they entered into a subscription among
themselves to pay the fine imposed; and had in
return the gratitude of the poor man, and the
everlasting goodwill of the ass.

The after-career of Sir William Jones fully
realized the bright hopes entertained of him. In
1764 he was entered as a student at University
College, Oxford. Here his taste for Oriental li-


SIR WILLIAM JONES. 61

terature was fostered; and, on the completion of
his academical career, he became, through the in-
terest of Dr. Sumner and Dr. Parr, private tutor
to Lord Althorpe, afterwards Earl Spenser. A
fellowship at Oxford was conferred upon him; and
he became one of the most celebrated and learned
men of his age and nation; and made himself
master of no fewer than twenty-eight languages—
English, Latin, French, Italian, Greek, Arabio,
Persian, Sanscrit, Spanish, Portuguese, German,
Runic, Hebrew, Bengalee, Hindostanee, Turkish,
Tibetian, Pali, Phalavi, Deri, Russian, Syriac,
Ethiopic, Coptic, Welsh, Swedish, Dutch, and
Chinese. His good feelings and generosity were

ever predominant in his character. He always set
himself against oppression and wrong; was ever

ready to defend the weak against the strong; and.
died in the forty-eighth year of his age, with a
character for probity, justice, and honour which
has been seldom equalled and never surpassed.


The Little Truant.

It was bitterly cold:all the country round was
white with hoarfrost, and in the distance the
roofs of the houses and the village steeples
appeared covered with snow. The naked branches
of the trees looked like withered skeletons; icicles
usurped the place of foliage. A poor child of about
thirteen years of age, poorly clad, with stocking-
less feet and wearing a pair of clumsy worn-out
shoes, was toiling painfully along the scarcely-
defined road from Melun to Orleans; it was not a
fine broad road as at present, still less did a rail-
way whirl passengers in a few hours from Melun
tc Paris; for the time of which we are now writing
was nearly three hundred years ago, and at that
period the roads in France were furrowed with
deep muddy ruts, strewn with stones and occa-
sionally with the trunks of trees, and sometimes
all traces of these rough roads would suddenl
cease, and make it very difficult to track you
way across a common or through a wood.

It took, consequently, at that time several days
to go from Melun to Paris, and the poor boy,


THE LITTLE TRUANT. 63

completely ignorant of the distance, had imagined
that he could reach it that very evening. He
had been told that the Seine flowed from Melun
to Paris, and he had reasoned with himself, “ It
must be very near, then; I shall arrive there as
the Seine does.” Although he had set out at
daybreak, and had walked courageously all day,
night was beginning to fall, and he had not yet
caught sight of the steeple at Orleans. He be-
gan to think he must have lost his way; but of
whom to inquire his road? By a fatality which
seemed to him as a just judgment of heaven, he
had walked since morning without encountering
a single traveller, either on foot or on horse-
back; and yet he must have relied on the assist-
ance of the passers-by, for he had started on his
wearisome journey without having tasted a single
morsel of bread. With the careless indifference
and hopefulness of childhood, he had in the early
stage of his journey walked gaily and swiftly,
even running at times to keep himself warm.
But a hungry stomach has its effect on the legs,
and he soon relaxed his pace, first walking and
then dragging himself wearily along until he at
length sank exhausted on the stump of a tree,
no longer able to find his way through the
thick flakes of snow that were beginning to fall,
and the shades of night that were fast approach-


64 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

ing. Overcome with fatigue and hunger, he ex-
claimed, “Oh my God! oh my good mother!
what will become of me!” Such expressions are
often uttered by strong men, women, and chil-
dren in deep distress; for if God is to us a protec-
tion from on high, a mother is the refuge which,
until death, never forsakes or fails us here below.

The poor little truant, therefore, in his dis-
tress called upon his mother, his mother whom
he had resolutely quitted in the. morning with-
out bidding her farewell. Just as he was begin-
ning to despair, and already felt his poor little
body becoming benumbed with cold, he heard
the clatter of horses’ hoofs on the flinty road.
He sobbed more loudly, hoping to attract the
pitying notice of the travellers, and he was not
unsuccessful, for two horses were very soon pulled
up beside him.

The first was ridden by a gentleman, the mag-
nificence of whose attire was plainly seen beneath
the thick folds of his heavy travelling-cloak. He
was followed by an armed domestic.

The gentleman perceived by the expiring twi-
light the poor child lying exhausted with fatigue
and hunger.

“What is this?” said he, touching him with
the tip of his whip; ‘‘ whence come you? and
whither are you going ?”


THE LITTLE TRUANT. 65

“T come from Melun, and I wanted to go to
Orleans,” replied the poor little boy, “but my
legs will not carry me any farther, and I am
dying with hunger.”

“Your countenance pleases me,” replied the
gentleman: then turning towards the servant;
‘“« Give some of the contents of your gourd to this
poor little fellow to restore him; then hoist him
up in front of me like a portmanteau; my horse
goes better than yours, and as we ride along, and
so soon as he is sufficiently recovered, the little
rascal shall relate to me his story.”

The servant hastened to execute the orders of
his master, and in a short time the two horses
and their riders had resumed their journey. The
motion and the cordial which he had swallowed,
in a few moments restored the child to conscious.
ness. As he clung to the saddle which the
gentleman bestrode, he thanked him warmly for
his kindness.

“Well, come, as we shall be obliged to slacken
our pace up this steep hill, tell me your story, and
do not lie,” said the benevolent nobleman.

“Oh! I will not hide the truth, however bad
and disgraceful it is to me; I will not lie to you

who have saved my life. My name is Jacques;
I am the son of a poor haberdasher of Melun,
living near the church.”


66 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

“T am from Melun, too, and I can see it from
here,” replied the gentleman ; “ continue.”

“T have two sisters older than myself, who
willingly assist my father in his business, whilst
I, for my part, have never had the least taste for
it. I have my mother, of whom I am the
favourite, and who, seeing my love for books, has
managed to pay for my schooling in spite of my
father, who wished to keep me at home to help
him, and always called me a lazy lout when he
found me reading. I have had this taste for
books ever since I can remember. When I went
to church of a Sunday, during divine service
I used to covet the beautiful Prayer-books that
the ministers had, and longed to possess them.
One is sometimes urged by instincts that are
stronger than ourselves, and I do not think they
always come from the evil one. I learnt to read
very quickly and without knowing how, and I
can also read the Latin psalms, and I understand
thema little. But I could only read in the books
belonging to the school; I had nota book of my
own—they were too dear. My poor mother was
always promising to buy me a fine Prayer-book :
but months passed by without her ever being
able to procure the necessary amount of money.

My father kept a close watch upon her, and pre-
vented her putting anything aside. It is true






THE LITTLE TRUANT. 67

that we were very poor, and that the united
labour of all, scarcely sufficed to procure us a
living. I alone wasidle, as my father was daily
repeating, abusing me as he did so; it seemed to
me, however, as if my mind was not idle, only
my hands refused to do the work he put into
them.

“Yesterday my mother had gone with my
sisters to the bake-house to make the large brown
loaves that we eat: my father was called out of
doors on some little business.

“<«Take care of the shop at least, lazy-bones,’
said he to me, ‘and above all do not touch any-
thing.’

“He quitted me with a threatening gesture, and
I placed myself at the door watching the passers.
All at once I saw a hawker approach, who sold
books, and maybe on his way to the church and
the school, to endeavour to dispose of them.

“<¢Come this way,’ said I, ‘and let me look at
your beautiful books, for, as the proverb says,
Looking costs nothing.’

‘*** Looking would cost me my time,’ replied the
hawker; ‘I am in haste, and unless you are going
to purchase I cannot open my pack.’

“¢ Open it, said 1; ‘I can at least buy one book.’

“The words escaped my lips, I know not how,
and. it was that, that ruined me ; for once spoken.
68 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

I would not unsay them, in dread lest the hawker
should laugh at me. He entered the shop, undid
his pack in haste, and showed me a volume of the
holy Gospel in Latin, which delighted me greatly.

“That is worth a crown; you can either take
it or leave ihe said the pedlar; ‘but I see that it’s
too dear for you,’ he added with a mocking air,
which set my blood on fire.

“« Wait a little,” I resolutely replied, and ap-
proaching the till where my father kept his
money, I shook it, opened it, and took thence a
crown’s worth of change.

“As soon as the hawker was gone, I hid the
book in my pocket. I trembled: I was afraid;
I understood how that 1 had just committed a
theft; I would fain have recalled the pedlar, but
it was now too late. What was to be done? My
father might return, from one moment to another,
and I already felt his anger falling upon me like
thunder. If even my mother had been there, she
might have been able to protect me; but in her
absence I felt myself lost. In my terror I pushed
the shop-door to, ran up stairs to the top of the
house, and barricaded myself in the little loft
where I slept. I seated myself upon my bed, and
finding that all continued silent, I ventured to
peep into my book. I took it from my pocket,
and began eagerly reading the beautiful story




THs LITTLE TRUANT. 69

of the passion of Christ. I only half understood
the Latin words, and I made such great efforts
to comprehend them entirely, that by degrees
I forgot my bad action, the anger of my father,
the punishment that awaited me; I forgot every-
thing except my book.

“But suddenly the sound of voices ascended
from the shop. I then understood that my father
had returned and was very angry with me. I
guessed that my mother was endeavouring to
pacify him, but without success. Oh! I would
have given the world at that moment to be a
mouse, that a cat might eat me up. I hid the book
under my mattress, and I hid myself under my
bed. Soon I heard footsteps ascending, which I
thought were those of my father, and already I
felt a shower of blows. I gained courage, how-
ever, a little, as the footsteps sounded to me
lighter, and I thought they announced the coming
of my mother or one of my sisters. Somebody
knocked at the door. ‘It is I, Jacques; open
quickly,’ said my eldest sister. I opened the
door, but took care to shut it again the moment
she had entered.

“*You must get away from here,’ she hastily ex-
claimed, ‘or father will kill you. He says that
you are a thief; that you have taken some money
out of the till.’







70 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

“*T took a crown to buy this book,’ said I,
taking the Testament from under the mattress.

““*You have none the less committed a robbery
on our father,’ said my sister, severely. ‘You must
conceal ‘yourself away from here, for our father,
who thinks you are roaming about the town, de-
clares that if he finds you, he will be the death of
you, or else give you up to the magistrate as a
thief.’

“The repetition of this word thief made me feel
very deeply, I assure you. I began to sob and
cry.

“«This is no time for crying,’ said my sister.
‘Pass through the yard, and go and hide yourself
at your godfather’s the butcher’s. My mother will
come to you there this evening.’

“I placed my book, the cause of all my mis-
fortune, between my shirt and my coat, and
took to flight, as my sister had advised. I soon
reached the house of my godfather the butcher;
but as I dared not enter, for fear of explanation
and remonstrance, I sat down in the shed where
the oxen were stalled; and feeling myself safe and
warmly sheltered there, I began reading in my
book while waiting till it should be dark enough
to allow my mother to visit me in safety. I
was able to watch for her coming from the spot
where I had stationed myself, and as soon as I




THE LITTLE TRUANT. 71

heard the sound of her footsteps, I sprang up to
meet her. My mother, far from frightening me
like my father, seemed to me like succour from
Heaven coming to my assistance. I fell on her
neck, and related to her with tears what I had
done.

“*T was quite sure,’ said she, as her eyes fell
upon the book which I held in my hand, ‘that
you had not taken that money for bad purposes ;
but your father will not listen to reason: it will
take a long while to bring him round, and in the
mean time what is to become of you, my poor
child? I had an idea of speaking to your god-

father to take you in; but your father would be
sure to hear of you, and there is no knowing what
might happen then.’

“* Yes, mother, said I, ‘I must go a long way

from here to gain my living; I want to see Paris,
and learn a great many things that my school-
fellows have told me about. I will go there.’

“<*You are mad, my little Jacques: what would
become of a poor child like you in that great
city ?

“T cannot remember all 1 said then, in order to
persuade her that Paris would be a perfect para-
dise to me; it seemed as if a spirit within me
prompted my words while I was talking to her.
It was at length agreed between us that on the


72 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

very next day she should confide me to the care of
the boatmen who plied on the Seine between
Melun and Paris, and that every week she should
send me by them a large loaf, which would, at all
events, help to keep me in the great city.

“<< But talking of bread, you have had no supper,
my poor Jacques: see, here are some nuts and a
cake which I have baked for you; eat, and then
go to sleep in this shed, since you find yourself
comfortable here, and to-morrow, at daybreak, 1
will come to you again,’ said my dear mother.

‘She departed, and when I had eaten enough,
I went to sleep on the clean straw put for the
cows, and I had a wonderful dream.

“T thought J was in the palace of the King of
France, grandly dressed, and conversing familiarly
with the King’s children, or rather, that they
treated me with the greatest respect, and called
me their master. What it meant is more than I
can say; but I saw such beautiful things in this
dream—monuments of all sorts, palaces, churches,
colleges, that I am certain I shall see again at
Paris; I heard so many voices calling me, that
this morning, at the first dawn of day, without
well knowing what I was doing, forgetting my
mother, and her despair when she should find me
gone, I set off running at full speed along the road
from Melun to Paris; I was so dreadfully afraid


THE LITTLE TRUANT. 73

that something would happen to prevent the
accomplishment of my design to go to Paris,
that I added to my bad action of yesterday the far
worse one of leaving my mother without even
bidding her good-bye. God has already punished
me; but for you, my good gentleman, I should
have died of cold upon the road, and been eaten by
wolves.” :

“Come, come, you are not such a bad boy as I
feared,” replied the gentleman, when the child had
finished his recital; “you shall pass two or three
days at Orleans to recruit your strength; then
you can continue your way to Paris, and to-mor-
row, when I return to Melun,~I will let your
mother, who must think you are lost, know what
has become of you.”

Little Jacques gratefully thanked the worthy
gentleman, and kissed the hands that held the
bridle. And so they travelled on. But they
had now reached a plain, where the road before
which Orleans lay, became much better. The
horse broke into a trot again, the child re-
lapsed into silence, and remained quiet in his
seat. The gentleman imagined he was asleep
and thought no more about him; but whén
they reached the door of the inn, where he
was going to put up, and gave Jacques a
gentle push to awaken him, he perceived that


74 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

he was not only unconscious, but that he was
attacked with a high fever. The cordial he
had drunk had only imparted an hour’s factitious
strength,

What was to be done? The gentleman knew
the charitable and kindly nature of the good
nurses of the hospital, and thither he conducted
the little wanderer.

On the morrow he paid him a visit before re-
turning to Melun. The child’s fever had abated,
but his limbs were quite stiff, and he could not
turn in his bed. The excellent gentleman con-
fided him to the care of the kind-hearted nurses,
gave him a letter of recommendation for Paris, and
departed, again promising him to go that very
evening to console his mother.

Three days of repose so completely cured little
Jacques, that at their expiration he was able to
set out again on his journey to Paris. They gave
him twelve sous and some food before he quitted
the hospital, so that he was able to accomplish
the rest of his journey with ease and comfort. As
he was quitting the hospital, so well named in
French, Hotel Dieu (God’s House), for aid is
never refused to needy sufferers, he made a very
serious resolution; he determined that, if he
should ever become rich, he would endow the
hospital at Orleans.


THE LITTLE TRUANT. 75

The weather was bright and clear when he
arrived at Paris, which enabled him to go and
admire the King’s Palace, the Tower of Nesle, the
Pré aux Clercs, the beautiful churches, and all the
monuments which adorned old Paris.

The letter which the good gentleman had given
him was for the principal of one of the numerous
colleges of Paris. He did not ask for him to be
admitted as a pupil into the interior of the college;
that would have been too much to hope for the
little truant, dressed in a poor gaberdine, and the
son of a petty haberdasher ; he only requested that
he might be employed as messenger and servant
to the pupils and professors, feeling sure that he
would ultimately be admitted into the college if
he displayed any striking aptitude for study.

The master to whom little Jacques delivered his
letter was a man of naturally abrupt and hasty
manners.

“Choose your place at the college gate,” said
he; “I will give orders that you shall be suffered
to remain there, and we will try and get you
some errands to do.” Then, with a gesture of im-
patience, he dismissed the poor child.

But Jacques was of a resolute and persevering
nature not easily discouraged. To the walls of
the colleges, the convents, the churches, and al-
most all the public buildings of that period were

F


76 HERUISM OF BOYHOOD.

attached little parasitical constructions. Against
the front of the college whence Jacques had just
issued, was a cobbler’s stall; another little hut
was occupied by an image-seller, who traded in
chaplets, reliquaries, and missals; then came a
little hut that just afforded shelter to a blind man
and his dog. The little truant chose himself a
place between the two pillars of a postern door
that was always kept shut. He then placed on a
very low bench, sheltered by the portico of this
door, a truss of straw which he bought for a few
pence; and having thus snugly ensconced him-
self, he supped gaily off the remainder of the
food which the good sisters had given him. The
night was rough, but he lay curled up in his
straw, and felt not its rigour. As soon as he awoke
he began to run up and down as hard as he could,
to warm himself, and it was not long before he

was perceived by the cobbler and the image man,
by both of whom he was employed in some little
commissions, in return for which they each gave
him some soup and bread, and he felt quite com-
forted by a warm meal.

At that time the students were all out-door

pupils, and in the morning as they went to
college, they saw the little errand-boy, the ex-
pression of whose countenance pleased them. He
was sitting with his legs hanging down from his


THE LITTLE TRUANT. 77

bench covered with the clean straw, and was
reading his Latin Testament.

Several of the elder pupils questioned him,
and having learned that he wished to run errands,

employed him immediately, so that he gained, the
very first day, several small pieces of money. He
arranged with the image-man to take his food and
warm himself at his stall; and, oh, aemé of hap-
piness! the image-man even went so far as to lend
him some of his books to read. He lost no time
in writing to his mother, and he soon after
received information that a large loaf had been
brought to him from Melun by the boatmen of
that place. He immediately went down to the
river’s bank to the part where the boatmen moor
their boats, and soon recognized in one of them
their neighbour at Melun, who, having in his turn
espied him, exclaimed—

“Holloa! my little man, come on board my
boat; I have a cargo for you.”

When the child went on board the boat, he
shook hands with the master, and received in his
arms an enormous brown loaf, of sweet home-
made bread. He could not look at this great
loaf of bread without feeling moved; if was his
mother who had baked it, and every week she
was to send him a similar one, in order that he
might not starve in Paris.


78 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

He talked with the boatman for a long time
of his good mother, then of his father and sisters,
and when he bade him good-bye, and found him
self alone in the streets of Paris, he began to
dream of what he could do to prove, some day, his
gratitude to his mother.

To cross the threshold of the college, to be
admitted there as a pupil, and become a learned
man, such were the objects he strove to attain.
But how to accomplish them? He remembered
the short and abrupt reception which the master
had given him, and hardly dared to count on his
protection.

With his thoughts occupied on these subjects,
he regained the college gates; he deposited his
large loaf in the image-man’s stall, after having
cut off a great slice which he ate with avidity ;
he then seated himself in his own little corner,
awaiting customers. It was the day following a
holiday, and a lady passed who was bringing her
two sons back to college.

Jacques touched his cap, according to his usual
mode of addressing the passers-by.

“ Took! it is our little messenger,” said one of
the lads to his brother. “We must recommend
him to mamma, who can help him to earn more
money than we can,” and they immediately
pointed out little Jacques to their mother. The

2


THE LITTLE TRUANT. 19

latter looked at the poor child, and was pleased
with his countenance and manners; he was at
that moment holding his Testament in his hand :
the lady having looked at the book, and questioned
Jacques, learned from him his ardent desire for
reading and instruction. ‘‘ Would you like,” she
kindly said, “‘ to accompany my sons every day to
the college? I will obtain permission from the
professors for you to be present at their lessons,

and you will then be always learning some-
thing.”

The child, overpowered with emotion, and not
knowing how to prove the excess of his gratitude
to the kind lady, threw himself on his knees to

thank her.

Some minutes after, he was admitted into the
interior of the college ; the lady had recommended
him to the same master to whom he had delivered
the letter on his arrival at Paris. This time he
was much better received. The master told him
that he should have a little room to himself right
at the top of the building, and that he might, if
he pleased, while attending on the sons of the kind
lady, share the studies of the other pupils, and
that his advancement would thenceforth depend
upon himself.

From that time the life of little Jacques became
an ardent struggle. The large loaf which he re-


80 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

ceived every week from Melun secured him from
want; to this home-made bread he was able to add
a little fruit and some vegetables, and to buy him-
self a better coat with the modest wages regularly
paid him by the kind lady ; and, what was to him
still greater happiness, to. buy himself afew books!
He was still very poor, but he was rich in hope—
rich in the consciousness of what was opening
before him. He never dreamed of envying the fate
of his fellow-pupils; he only thought of surpassing
them all in his studies.

It was an admirable example that was set by
this poor child of the people, waiting upon others

in play-hours, while in those devoted to lessons he
showed himself the most assiduous of them all.

He even encroached upon his hours of sleep to
study, and not having any lamp, he read and wrote
by the light of a few live embers. He soon made
rapid progress in the study of the Latin language,
but his ambition went still further; he thirsted
for a knowledge of the beautiful Greek tongue, with
which only a few of the literati of France were at
that time perfectly familiar. The most celebrated
works of Greek literature had only been printed in
Paris about twenty years before ; these books were
very dear, and little Jacques was very poor; but the
strength of his will supplied the want of every-
thing. By dint of hard labour he obtained a
























Sue JER















“The king and princess, astonished at his learning, loaded him with praise, and declared that they would take under
their protection the young Jacques.”—Page, 81.




THE LITTLE TRUANT. 8]

mastery over Greek. He followed first the course of
lectures of Bonchamps, called Eivagrius, the most
learned professor of his time; and shortly after,
Francis I. having instituted a Greek chair, the
professors of which, two learned and erudite men,
named Jacques Thusan and Pierre Danés, were
commissioned, under the style and title of Royal
Lecturers, to teach, one the poetry and the other
the philosophy of antiquity, Jacques was to be
seen assiduously attending their lectures, ques-
tioned by them, and astonishing and dazzling
them by his replies. They confessed, at length,
that they had nothing more to teach to the won-
derful pupil, who now knew as well as they did
how to comment upon Plato, Demosthenes, and
Plutarch.

A day came, at length, when they examined him
in presence of Francis I. and of his sister Margaret
of Navarre, who also herself understood Greek.
The king and the princess, astonished at his learn-
ing, loaded him with praises, and declared that
they would take under their protection the young
Jacques Amyot, one of the future glories of France.

On the morrow succeeding this happy day, the
boats of Melun deposited at Paris a poor man and
his wife, attired in the simple garb of the peasants
of that time. They were the mother and father of
Jacques Amyot.
8&Z HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

«Ah, my dear son,” said his mother as she
strained him to her breast, “I bring you your
father, who has forgiven you and who is very
proud of you!”

Jacques Amyot, the hero of the above little tale,
was born at Melun, October 3rd, 1513, of humble
parents, his father being a little shopkeeper of the
town. The young Amyot, evincing a distaste for
his father’s business, quitted his home at an early
period, and went to Paris, travelling thither on
foot. Sinking with exhaustion and fatigue by the
way, he was conducted to the hospital of Orleans.
As soon as he was recovered, he left the hospital

with twelve sous (6d.), which were given to him,
and which constituted all his resources until his
arrival at Paris. His mother, who was tenderly
attached to him, contributed to his support by

sending him every week an enormous loaf of
bread from Melun. He installed himself in the
first instance at the gate of one of the colleges,
where he ran of errands and executed commissions
for the pupils and professors. Remarked for his
intelligence and pleasing manners, he was admitted
into the interior of the college, of which he soon
became one of the most promising pupils; for
although obliged by reason of his straitened cir-
cumstances to act in the capacity of servant to the
other pupils, that did not prevent him from prose-


THE LITTLE TRUANT. 83

cuting his studies with the utmost ardour. At
night, for want of oil and candle, he is said to have
studied by the light of a few live charcoal embers.
After having finished his classical studies and ter-
minated his courses of lectures under the most dis-
tinguished professors, he was elected Master of
Aris. He then repaired to Bourges, to study civil
law there. ‘There also, J: acques Collin, Reader to
the King, entrusted to him the education of his
nephews, and obtained for him a Professor’s chair
for both Greek and Latin. It was during the twelve
years that he occupied this chair that he made the
translation of the Greek romance of Theagenes and
Charicles, and commenced that of Plutarch’s Lives.
He dedicated the first of the Lives to Francis L.,
who ordered him to continue this translation, and
granted him, as a reward, the abbey of Bellezane.
Being desirous of obtaining possession of the
manuscripts of Plutarch which were in existence
in Italy, he repaired thither with the French am-
bassador. He was shortly after commissioned by
the latter and by Cardinal Tournon to be the
bearer of aletter to King Henry II. at the council
at that time assembled at Trent. He acquitted
himself so skilfully of his mission that, on his re-
turn to Paris, he was appointed preceptor to the
two sons of Henry II. While conducting their
education he finished his translation of Plutarch’s


84 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

Lives, which he dedicated to Henry I., and began
that of the moral works of the same writer, which
he did not finish till the reign of Charles IX., his
pupil, to whom he paid a similar compliment.
Immediately on his succession to the throne, King
Charles IX. appointed him his grand almoner.
Some time after, the chair of Auxerre falling
vacant, the king bestowed it upon his Master, as
he always called Amyot.

When his other pupil, Henry III., succeeded to
the throne, he confirmed him in all his offices, and
appointed him commander of the order of the Holy
‘Ghost, which he had just created. Amyot passed

his last years in his diocese, solely occupied with
study and the exercise of his duties. He died at
Auxerre, February 6th, 1593, in his eightieth
year. He left a fortune of 200,000 crowns. He
bequeathed to the hospital of Orleans, where he
had been sheltered in his childhood, a legacy of
1200 crowns. His translation of Plutarch is

esteemed the best in the French language.

iQ ism


Amiable Heroism of Louis X VII.

Tun immediate successor of the unfortunate Louis
XVI. bore only for a short time the title of King
of France. After his father’s execution the revo-
lutionists imprisoned him in the Temple in Paris,
in the dungeons of which he languished for a few
months, and then died, being only ten years and a
few months old. This royal youth was the second
son of Louis XVI. This unfortunate monarch
was tried by the Convention, which in 1792 de-
creed the abolition of royalty in France, and
accused the monarch of conspiracy and high
treason against the liberties of the people. He was
condemned to death by a majority of eleven votes,
and suffered death by the guillotine on the 21st of
January, 1793. Nine months after, Marie Antoi-
nette, the beloved mother of our hero, ascended
the revolutionary scaffold, and he was left an
orphan in the world. He was at his birth known
as the Duke of Normandy, but afterwards, on the
death of his elder brother, became Dauphin. Ac-
knowledged King of France by the Royalists, and


86 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

also by foreign powers, the provinces of La Bre-
tagne, Toulon, and La Vendée took up arms in his
name. But they were unsuccessful, and it is
generally suspected that he died of poison in his
prison, which event occurred on the 8th of June,
1795.

Some might suppose that the life of sucha child
tould present few circumstances worthy of remem-
brance, but if we may credit the memoirs which
appeared after the restoration of the monarchy,

since again overthrown, there never was a prince
of the house of Capet who gave at so early an age
so bright a promise of doing justice to the ancient
motto— Bonté et Valeur.”

From the anecdotes that are related of him I
shall select a few of the more striking.

Every morning the Dauphin, while yet a child,
was in the habit of ranging through the gardens
of the Palace of Versailles, and collecting the
fairest flowers to deposit in his mother’s boudoir
before she arose. When bad weather prevented
him on any occasion from gathering his usual
morning bouquet, he would say, mournfully—
“Alas! how sorry am I! Nothing have I done
to-day for my dear mamma, who has done so much
for me. ButI will make her a drawing of the
flowers I would have gathered for her on my
slate, to show her that I love her.”


LOUIS XVII. 8?

On one of the anniversaries of his mother’s birth,
the King, Louis XVI., expressed a wish to the
Dauphin that he would present his mother with an
extraordinary bouquet, and accompany it with
some compliment of his own composing. “ Papa,”
replied the Prince, “I have a beautiful evergreen
in my garden—I would wish nothing better than
that for both my bouquet and my compliment. In
presenting it to my mamma I will say to her, ‘My
dear mamma, may you resemble my tree, and be
always green in your age and in my remem-
brance.’ ”

One day, in a fit of absence, he had mingled
some marigolds, the emblems of care, in a bouquet
which he had designed for the Queen. Perceiving
his mistake at the moment of presenting it, he
plucked them out hastily. “Ah, mamma, you
have enough of care! I will take these away.—
But stay,” he continued ; and running to a bed of
Tricolor viola, or heartsease, he plucked a few, and
introducing them to the bouquet, said, ‘ There,
mamma, may I always be able to give you
these!”

In his repartees he showed an uncommon degree
of point and archness. When reading his lessons
one day he fell into a hissing tone; his preceptor,
the Abbé D’Arraux, corrected him; the Queen,
too, joined in her censures. ‘“ Mamma,” said the


88 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

Prince, “I said my lessons so ill that I hissed
myself.”

On another occasion, when in the garden called
La Bagatelle, carried away by his vivacity, he
threw himself ona bed of roses. His attendant, who
was an English gentleman, especially retained to
speak English with him, cried out, alarmed, “Sir,
do you not know that these roses may put out
your eyes ?” The little boy arose, and regarding
him with an air as noble as decided, replied,
“ Thorny ways, sir, lead to glory.”

A regiment of young boys was formed at Paris
under the name of the ‘“ Regiment du Dauphin.”
The Dauphin was its petit colonel, and it was often
admitted to exercise before him in a small garden
of the Tuileries. In order to fulfil the duties of
his command well, he was constantly with a little
musket on his shoulder, making himself familiar
with all the manual evolutions. On one occasion,
when going out to walk, he was for carrying his
musket about with him. The officer of the Na-
tional Guard who was in attendance said, “Sir,
you are going out, you must surrender your mus-
ket.” The Dauphin refused indignantly. The
Marchioness of Tourville, his governess, being in-
formed of this circumstance, reprimanded the
Prince for his indiscretion. “If,” replied the
spirited buy, “ he had asked me to give him the


LOUIS XVIL. 89

musket, I would have done so. But to ask me to
surrender it ” He could add no more; a rising
flood of indignation choked his utterance.

At another time, when playing at quoits with an
officer of the National Guard, the officer gained the
match, and exclaimed exultingly, “Ah! I have
conquered the Dauphin.” Piqued at the expres-
sion, the Prince replied with warmth of temper.
The affair being represented to the Queen, she rep-
rimanded the Dauphin for having so far forgotten
himself. ‘I feel,” said the youth, “that I have
done wrong; but why did he not satisfy himself
by saying that he had won the match? It was the
word conquered that put me beyond myself.”

Louis, desirous of knowing the progress which
his son had made in geographical knowledge, con-
ducted him blindfold one morning to some dis-
tance from Rambouillet, and on arriving at the
open country, his Majesty delivered a compass
into the hands of the Dauphin, and said, “ Now,
my son, take which road you please; I will take
another, and let us meet before night at the old
chateau.” The Prince began wandering about
the fields, watched all the time by some persons
of the court disguised as peasants. He stopped
often, as if in difficulty, but although he passed
several countrymen he put no questions to them.
Every now and then he had recourse to the com-


90 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

pass as his only counsellor, and at last, after five
hours of turning and winding, the night came on,
and he lost his way in a wood. Nothing daunted,
however, he proceeded by his compass, sitting
down often in the darkness, and gently feeling
with his fingers the direction of the needle in the
compass-box. In the middle of the night he
reached the chateau. Louis welcomed him with
open arms. “Ah! my son,” said he, “I thought
we had lost you.”

“Why so, papa?” replied the Prince; ‘my
heart turned to you as surely as the needle turns
to the pole-star. Love is its great attraction, and
will save me in every danger.”

Such are a few amiable traits in the short his-
tory of the “ Dauphin.” His untimely death may
be regretted by many, but not by those who are
acquainted with the horrible scenes that took
place in France during the Revolution. His liitle
history teaches us that, however short life may be,
yet there is always much time in it to do good,
and that the cultivation of love and duty to those
who are our best friends, is one of the noblest
kinds of true heroism.

~ai7@ san


Heroic Devotion of a Tyrolese Boy.

ALBERT SPECKBACHER.

Durins the war in the Tyrol, not only the wo-
men engaged in the great cause, and guarded
the prisoners that were taken, but the little chil-
dren whose age would not permit them to bear
arms, still lingered about the ranks of their fathers,
and sought by any little offices to render them-
selves useful to the common cause. One of these,
a son of Speckbacher, a Tyrolese leader and a
companion of Hofer, a boy of ten years of age,
followed his father into the battle. The French
troops had advanced upon a village which was
separated from them by a rustic bridge, con-
structed of a large tree which had been felled
from the mountain side, so as to catch over on the
rocks in front of it. Beneath was a deep ravine,
at the bottom of which the river Ard ran with in-
conceivable velocity. The French troops had no
means of getting to the village but by the passage
of this bridge, over which only one man could pass
at a time; and it was here that the Tyrolese pea-
sants made a resolute stand to protect their village.
qa


92 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

A detachment from the main army, consisting ot
about 300 men, had been despatched to the de-
fence of this pass, and Speckbacher was its leader.
They arrived only a few minutes before the ad-
vanced guard of the French reached the other
side of the ravine, and prepared in single file to
pass over the bridge. As they mounted the rocks
in front and advanced towards the other side,
Speckbacher’s company opened a rifle fire upon
them, and scores fell from the rocks adjacent and
from the bridge itself into the ravine. Still the
French resolutely advanced; but the thicker the
grass the easier it is mown; and the Tyrolese, by
a well-directed fire, suffered no man to pass to-
wards them, and destroyed hundreds as they ap-
proached. For more than an hour this point of
passage was thus disputed; but at last the French
General Lacermine directed a couple of cannon to
be got up the rocks, which began firing shells
upon the Tyrolese party, and in a very short time
destroyed more than half of them, among whom
was the brave Speckbacher. The poor youth saw
his father fall and die; yet nothing daunted, he
determined to behave with his father’s spirit, and
kneeling over his dead body, in spite of the shells
bursting about him, picked off with his rifle those
who advanced upon the bridge. The cannon,
however, continued to play, and the shells to fall


ALBERT SPECKBACHER. 93

on every side, and the only chance of keeping the
French troops from advancing was the destruction
of the bridge. Having procured axes, some of the
Tyrolese began to cut away the roots of the fallen
tree, and part of the tree itself, from the bank on
their side of the ravine. But while thus engaged
the French rifles picked them off one after the
other with dreadful celerity: Yet as the salvation
of the village depended upon the defence of this
pass, every effort was made to destroy the bridge.
Still, however, the Tyrolese continued to fall, and
at last, so dreadful was the risk, that no one would
approach the place to handle the axe. A great
portion of the tree had been cut through; but
every cut had perilled a life, and the appearance
of any one at the place was the mark for a hun-
dred French bullets to play upon. Nothing
daunted, however, at the carnage, young Speck-
bacher resolutely took the axe, and wielding it
with great dexterity, amid a shower of balls, at
last cut the whole nearly through. The tree,
however, still held tenaciously at a point which
could not be reached by the axe—a mere slip of
the inner bark. There was but one way to de-

tach the tree from this bearing, i.e, by bringing a
weight on the top of it; and, waiting for the dis-
charge of the Frenchmen’s fire, young Speckbacher
immediately leaped on the tree, jumping with all


04, HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

his might till the whole mass of the tree gave way,
and he and the bridge toppled down the dark
ravine.

Thus did this heroic youth give up his life for
the salvation of his native village. The French,
foiled in passing the ravine, now retired, and the
next morning they found floating in the deep
stream at the foot of the mountain the dead body
of the poor lad. With the generosity which be-
longs to the gallant French nation, they buried
young Speckbacher in the mountain side, and
placed a stone upon the grave with an inscrip-
tion recording the heroic event.


The Truthful Scotch Boy;

OR, SAWNEY MACPHERSON.

Mosr of our young readers will have read of the
adventures of Prince Charles Edward, the grand-
son of James II., and how he raised his standard
in Scotland to regain his father’s throne and king-
dom. How he marched victoriously to Derby.
How he marched back from thence, and how the
Duke of Cumberland followed him till he came
up with him at “ Culloden,” at which battle Prince
Charles was totally defeated, and his army en-
tirely routed.

Charles, or rather Prince Edward, as he is
commonly called, had after this battle to fly for
his life. He fled into Scotland with a few trusty
followers; but the royal troops were close in
pursuit of him. He traversed the north of
Scotland, and at last took refuge in Long Island.
But to this lovely spot his enemies followed him.
The whole island was invested by strife of war,
and troops were thrown upon it at various places.
But the faithful Scots never betrayed their Prince,
who, amid many narrow escapes, always contrived


96 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

to evade his pursuers, and at last got safely away
to France.

During his wanderings in the Highlands, a
little episode occurred well deserving a record
among traits of boyish heroism, which it is my
pleasure to relate. The prince had been wan-
dering among the rocks and ravines of Loch Awe,
attended by only a few followers, and a company
of a hundred red-coats had descended the moun-
tains close: to the loch where they supposed the
Prince to be concealed. At last they came toa
cave, the ground around which bore evidence of
the Prince having been there and recently de-
parted. The captain of the troop, a ferocious
soldier, eager for the £30,000 set upon the Prince’s
head, determined to take him at every hazard.
As he was pondering beside the entrance of the
cave, wondering which way the fugitive had taken,
he beheld a sturdy Scotchman, in his tartan,
approaching from the lake. He ordered him to
be secured, and then interrogated him as to which
road the Prince had taken. The Mackenzie, for
that was his clan, knew very well, for he had just
seen him turn to the left as he came up the pass.
“Which road has he taken ?” inquired the captain.
Now Mackenzie thought it no more than proper to
save his Prince’s life at any risk, and boldly said,
«To the right.” ‘To the right,” said the captain,


SAWNEY MACPHERSON. 97

and the soldiers filed off to the right, and a smile
was on the lip of the Scot, who congratulated
himself that he had saved the life of his Prince,
although he nad done so by a lie. Before the
troops had proceeded on their way, another Scot, a
Malcolm, was seen approaching. “ Let us ask of
him,” said the captain, ‘“‘ and see if he agrees with
the other. Which way went the Prince?” said he
sternly ; “we know you saw him, now;—to the
right or the left? Speak quickly, or thou diest.”
The Malcolm thought to himself, “How shall I
know what was said by him who has spoken
before me? He might not speak the truth.
How shall I know that I may say the same?”
“Which way did he go?” thundered the captain.
“T know not,” said the Scot. “Thou art a liar!”
said the captain; “and the other is a liar like unto
thee: bind them both back to back, and if he who
said our foe went to the right prove false, shoot
the pair.” While the men were being bound, a
little boy was seen approaching. “Here,” said
the captain, “is a true witness. Children and
fools always speak the truth.” It was little
Sawney Macpherson, a youth only twelve years of
age, ragged and barefooted, and as wild in ap-
pearance as a young colt. “Now, child,” said the
captain, “thou sawest the Prince, didst thou not?”
“Yea, I did,” replied the youth. ‘“ Which way


98 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

did he go? tell me, or thou shalt die,” exclaimed
the captain, with a fierce look, and laying his hand
upon his sword. “I know,” said the lad fear-
lessly, ‘‘ but I will not tell thee.” ‘ Vile caitiff!”
said the captain, “then I will beat thee till thou
dost.” With that he struck him several blows with
the blunt side of his sword, which caused screams
of anguish from the poor lad. ‘Tell me, or I
will cut thy flesh from thy bones!” screamed the
captain. ‘Though you should cut my head from
my shoulders, yet will I not tell. I will never
betray my Prince. Jama Macpherson, my Prince’s
friend, and were I only his dog, I would not
betray him.” ‘So,” said the captain, putting up
his sword, while a tear stood in his eye, “ that is
enough. Soldiers, forward; let us do our best:
and for you, noble youth, take this, and when I
am far away, think of me.”

The gift thus given, in token of ihe soldier’s
admiration for the youth’s courage and veracity,
was a small silver cross; and this cross was, and
is still, treasured among the Macphersons, as a
token of their love of truth,

~d S® FST,






The Little Hunchback.

WHENEVER you have an opportunity, my dear
reader, I advise you to visit Windsor, and pass at
least one day in the beautiful forest that sur-
rounds this ancient royal residence.

In this majestic and extensive forest, trees
extend their gnarled trunks above the smooth and
daisy-covered sward; and even in the hottest
summer-day, there is a delightful freshness in the
perfumed air; and profound peace reigns unbroken,
save by the warbling of the birds and the flutter-
ing of the leaves.

One fine morning in the month of August,
1698, a travelling-carriage was crossing the most
solitary and least cultivated part of Windsor
Forest. It was easy to see by the quantity of
luggage piled up in the imperial that the family
in the interior were not merely taking a drive,
and the speed at which they were travelling
denoted an object which it was desirable to attain
as quickly as possible. Although the temperature
was mild, and the air balmy, the windows were
closed, and even the blinds were partially down.
On one side of this carriage was a lady of ahout
100 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

thirty years of age, who was supporting in her
arms a little boy, whose head was partially con-
cealed beneath the silken mantle of this very
beautiful lady, whom it required no great amount
of penetration to discover was his mother, judging
by the tender manner in which she stroked with
her white hands the fair curling locks of the silent
child. The latter was eleven years of age, but so
frail and delicate that he scarcely looked seven. His
figure was crooked, and would have appeared still
more awry and ill-proportioned, but for his little
velvet tunic, in the manufacture of which, ma-
ternal love had exercised indescribable skill in
concealing, as much as possible, the natural defects
of the poor child’s form.

Opposite them sat a gentleman of a haughty
and severe countenance, who only smiled when
his look fell upon the child, who appeared to
be asleep.

“He is at-rest now,” said the mother. ‘“ How
quietly he reposes! and what he must have suf-
fered in that school from the wickedness and
tricks of his companions! Our dear little Alex-
ander is quite right; we must henceforth live
in solitude, and conceal his infirmity from all
eyes.”

“Solitude will be as agreeable to me as to our
son,” replied the gentleman; “for I shall no




THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK. 101

longer be exposed to the annoyance of meeting,
as in the streets of London, that swarm of de-
tested Protestants, and those creatures of the
traitor Cromwell, who caused our King Charles
the First to be beheaded.”

The gentleman took off his hat as he pro-
nounced this name, and the lady made an incli-
nation of her head.

“I would wager,” continued the father, “ that
it is because our child is a good Catholic, and
son of an adherent of the Stuarts, that his school-
fellows have ill-treated him! The young ruffians!
To insult him! He so intelligent! so full of
talent already! To call him ‘The hunchback!’”

At this word, the child started as though he
had been stung by an adder. He quitted his
mother’s lap, and stood between her and his
father.

“Yes,” said he passionately, clinching his
little fists; ‘they called me hunchback, and that
in public, the day of the distribution of the school
_ prizes, before their assembled parents. Oh! I
am sure, father, that if you had been there, you
would have drawn your sword. But you were
travelling with my mother, and could not avenge
your son.”

As he spoke thus his little frame was con-
vulsed with agitation, his eyes flashed fire, his


102 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

countenance shone with indignation; he looked
really handsome.

‘“‘Calm yourself,” said the mother; ‘ you know
well that they were jealous because you carried
away all the prizes.”

“Yes, they were jealous,’ continued the child,
“especially of that eclogue of Theocritus which
I had translated into English verse, and which
my master wanted to make me recite in public.
But when I approached the edge of the platform,
dressed in that pretty shepherd’s costume that
my good aunt had taken such pains to make
for me, and which I thought suited me so well,
their voices formed a mocking murmur, and they
all exclaimed: ‘Oh! the little hunchback! the
little hunchback !’”

“Silence! my child,” said the mother; “you
have already told us all that—do not repeat it;
think no more of it; think of your good aunt
whom we are going to meet in our pretty cottage
at Binfield: she has prepared everything for
your reception ; she has placed in your chamber
the books you love; she has added some birds
recently arrived from India to your aviary ; and
then see, how beautiful is nature!” continued
his mother, who had raised the carriage blinds,

and was pointing out to the child the noble
avenues of trees through which they were driv-


THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK. lugs

ing. ‘We shall find our flower-beds in full
bloom, our sheep grazing peacefully on the
grassy turf: our beautiful cows will come fami-
liarly to eat bread from your hand. Come, smile
then, my little poet, and forget those wicked
boys !”

“You are right, dear mother,’ replied the
child, with a grave and serious air. ‘I would
also forget myself—that is tosay, this deformed
body which provokes a smile when I pass by.
I would think only of the faculties of my soul
and mind—develop them, cultivate them ; I desire,
in short, that the creations of my brain should one
day raise me far above those who mock me now.
To-morrow, father, we will begin to study
seriously.”

“Yes, my son,” replied the gentleman.. ‘1
have written to our good and learned neighbour,
the Rev. Mr. Dean, and between us we will
thoroughly ground you in Greek and Latin.”

“Yes, yes, so that i may be able to read all
the poets of antiquity, and become a poet myself,”
replied the child, who had quite recovered his
composure. “See!” he exclaimed, leaning out
of the carriage window, “that frightened stag,
that flies so swiftly at our approach, has taken
refuge in those. leafy thickets and has disap-
peared !”


104 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

“There is a subject for an eclogue,” said the
father. ‘We will choose thus together little
themes on which you can practise the art of
making verses.”

“Oh, what a happy idea!” said the child,
throwing his arms round his father’s neck.

Meanwhile the carriage was rapidly approach-
ing the cottage, and it soon entered a broad
avenue, shaded on each side by a row of stately
elms, leading to the white house, at the door
of which Miss Lydia, the kind aunt of little
Alexander, and his father’s sister, stood awaiting
their arrival: she was an excellent and kindly-
hearted spinster of about forty or thereabouts,
who had never wished to marry, preferring to
remain single in order that she might bestow
all her care upon her dear nephew. Her placid
countenance was partially concealed by a large
straw hat; and a dress of lilac muslin, exquisitely
clean and extremely fine, displayed to advantage
her figure, which, if somewhat robust, was still
comely and well-proportioned. She no sooner
heard the sound of approaching wheels, than she
ran down the avenue with the agility of a young
girl of eighteen ; and the carriage having stopped,
she took the child in her arms, and carried him
into the house like a treasure of inestimable
price.


THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK. 105

Whilst the father and mother were superintend-
ing the unloading of the carriage and having the
luggage carried in, she conducted the little Alex-
ander to the poultry-yard, to the fish-pond, then to
his pretty room adjoining hers, in order that she
might be near him during the night; and finally,
to the dining-room, where the, table was covered
with innumerable delicacies made by the fair hands
of Miss Lydia herself, such as whipt cream, jellies,
patties, open tarts, gingerpread cakes, and every-
thing likely to tempt the capricious appetite of
one who was at the same time an invalid and a
schoolboy.

They placed themselves at the table, and Alex-
ander, forgetting his visions of books and study,
tasted and enjoyed with a keen appetite the vari-
ous good things prepared for him by his kind
aunt.

On the morrow, the Rev. Mr. Dean, an old
college companion of our hero’s father, and who
lived retired on a neighbouring farm, was sum
moned to the cottage of Binfield. A council was
held, and it was decided that the child’s days
should be divided between mental and bodily
exercises: after the hours appropriated for study
he was to take long airings in the forest, either on
foot, or else on a pretty little pony which his
father had bought for him.


106 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

The child submitted to these excursions because
he could, while taking them, compose verses and
recite them aloud, alone with silent and attentive
Nature, who seemed to listen to his rhapsodies.
The verses of Homer and Virgil were those that
he took especia. delight in declaiming in this
manner. He loved to wed the harmony of those
beautiful antique languages to the melodious rust-
ling of the tops of the tall trees.

A year had hardly passed in this calm and
peaceful existence, and the child, fortified by con-
stant exercise in the open air, showed, by the
blooming colour in bis cheeks, and the animation
that sparkled in his eyes, that he was gaining
health and almost strength. His figure alone
remained thin and wasted ; and when he happened —
to catch a glimpse of himself in a mirror, he
would sorrowfully exclaim: “Oh! I shall be
always the little hunchback ;” but almost immedi-
ately after, recovering himself, he would proudly
add, “ Well! what matter, if I am a great poet ?”

His imagination was so excited by the ‘“ Iliad”

that he occupied himself, unknown to his tutor
and his father, in dramatizing some of the person-
ages in Homer’s great work. It was thus at the
age of twelve he wrote ‘ Ajax,” a tragedy in blank
verse, avery wonderful imitation, for a boy of that
age, of the style of the great Greek poet. When


THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK.

he had finished this attempt, he read it one even-
ing in presence of his assembled family, whose
astonishment and admiration knew no bounds.
His mother and aunt, in particular, gave vent to
their enthusiasm in tears and caresses, which they
lavished unrestrainedly upon the youthful poet.

“His birthday is near at hand,” said the aunt ;
“and we must celebrate it in a manner worthy of
this dear child, who will one day be the glory of
his family.”

The father proposed to invite all the families of
the nobility residing in the neighbourhood, and to
read to them on the anniversary of his son’s birth-
day this tragedy of “ Ajax.”

The good minister, the mother, and the aunt
applauded this idea.

‘“‘ Father,” replied the child, “that will be a
very dull and lifeless affair. If our good pastor
could procure among his acquaintances and pupils
the necessary actors, would it not be better to
convert this room into a theatre, and to act my
tragedy ? I myself will undertake the charac-
ter of Ajax !”

“What an idea!” timidly exclaimed his
mother.

“Oh, I understand you, dear mother,” replied
the child, with a tinge of sadness in his tone:
‘you are afraid I should provoke a laugh: set

H


108 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

your mind at rest; my figure will be forgotten,
my verses only will be heard, and this time, I
feel so sure of myself, that I should like my old
schoolfellows who made fun of me to be present
at the representation.”

The wishes of the child were never thwarted
by his admiring family ; it was therefore decided
that a grand party should be given in the month
of May, at the charming cottage of Binfield.
The good clergyman undertook to superintend the
rehearsals of the tragedy of “ Ajax,” the father to
despatch the invitations, while to the worthy aunt
was confided the care of seeing that the lunch was
on a scale of magnificence in accordance with the
aristocratic company invited. As for the tender
and affectionate mother, she busied herself with
anxious care in preparing the costume of “ Ajax,”
in which her little Alexander was to be attired.
She designed with much ingenuity a sort of
sandal to add to his stature, and a kind of cuirass
which should conceal the roundness of his shoul-
ders.

The eventful day at length arrived, and along
the broad drives of the majestic forest rolled
carriages from all parts. The birds warbling
in the branches of the trees seemed to carol a gay
welcome to the guests. Not one of little Alex-
ander’s old schoolfellows but had accepted the


THE LITTLE HUNUHBACK. 109

invitation, There were several distinguished
noblemen, and many celebrated writers of the

period, fair and courtly dames, and pretty, sim-
pering misses. After partaking of a sumptuous
repast, the company repaired to the wainscoted
apartment that was fitted up as a temporary
theatre, at one end of which a platform had been

erected which served as a stage, and in front of
which was suspended a rich curtain of Beauvais
tapestry.

This curtain rose to the accompaniment of
music, and discovered Ajax in his tent. The one
who represented the Greek hero appeared rather
slight and delicate in form, but he had no sooner
opened his lips than he was listened to in breath-
less silence. The verses which he recited were
an echo of the greatness and heroism of Homer:
it was a, new era in English poetry, which charmed
the ear and ravished the heart.

The most distinguished persons among the
spectators gave the signal for applause; little
Alexander’s old schoolfellows clapped their hands
in their turn. It was a perfect triumph.

At the end of the piece there was a universal
call for the author and the actor. He kept thema
little in suspense, but the acclamations were re-
doubled. At length he reappeared, divested of
his costume and of his stilted buskins; his head


110 HEROISM_OF BOYHOOD.

was expressive and finely formed, but the meagre-
ness of his frame and his deformity were painfully
apparent; he turned towards the group of his
former companions; ‘ Alas!” he murmured, “I
am still the little hunchback !”

“No, no,” they all exclaimed with one accord,
“you are a great poet!” And the entire assembly
applauded to the echo, amid shouts of “ Long live
Alexander Pope!”

The forest echoes repeated the words, ‘‘ Long
live Alexander Pope!”

The subject of this story was born at London
the 22nd of May, 1688, of a Catholic family, who
entertained a devoted attachment to the Stuarts.
During the Revolution, Pope’s father retired to
Binfield, a peaceful and beautiful retreat which
he possessed in Windsor Forest. It was there
that Pope was brought up, and that his great
talent for poetry was developed. He had hitherto
received his education in small preparatory
schools, conducted by Catholic priests. But from
the age of twelve, his father superintended his
education, and encouraged his taste for poetry.
He used to choose him subjects for small poems,
and was prodigal of praise to him, when he had
succeeded in producing some good verses. He
was assisted in the task of educating his son by
a Catholic priest of the name of Dean.


THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK. 111

Pope was rickety and rather humpbacked from
his birth; he was of an irritable temper, which
led him to like solitude, and yet the world had
charms for him. Acknowledged a poet at the age
of sixteen, Pope repaired to London, where he
extended the circle of his literary studies, and
. formed ties of friendship with some of the leading
wits and geniuses of the day. It was at this
tender age, when the minds of ordinary youths
are yet unformed, that Alexander Pope published
in Addison’s “Spectator,” and other periodicals,
many of his best essays, and wrote some of his
finest poems. He was in his twenty-fifth year
when he commenced his translation of Homer’s
Iliad, which occupied him five years. Such
was the success of the work, which went rapidly
through a great number of editions, that he was
enabled to purchase with its proceeds a beau-
’ tiful country-house at Twickenham, whither he
removed with his parents, to whom he was fondly
attached, and for whom he entertained an almost
religious respect. Pope afterwards undertook the
translation of the Odyssey, and subsequently pub-
lished “The Dunciad,” a satirical poem, in which
he gave full vent to his splenetic and irritable
temper, and which made him many enemies. To
this succeeded an ethical poem entitled an “ Essay
on Man,” chiefly remarkable for its magnificent


112 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

eulogium of his noble patron, Lord Bolingbroke,
who was also the friend of the great French phi-
losopher, Voltaire.

Pope’s health was always delicate, and his
person small and slightly deformed, but his
countenance was animated and expressive. He
died at the age of fifty-five, lamented by many, and
particularly by Lord Bolingbroke. His friends
were few, although he valued the pure joys of
friendship. One of his last sentences before his
death was, “There is no merit save in virtue and
friendship ; and, in truth, ene is itself a
part of virtue.”


School Friendship.

In the north of England, owing to the cheapness of
living, education is obtained at a much cheaper
rate than in the southern counties. Hence it arises
that there are several boarding-schools, to which
boys are sent in great numbers from London and
sometimes from America and the West Indies. To
one of these schools a boy was sent from the United
States, about twelve years ago, under mysterious
circumstances. He was well supplied with clothes,
the expense of his board and education for two —
years in advance was paid, and an allowance of
pocket-money placed at the discretion of the tutor.
There was also an intimation given that before the
two years were expired a second advance of money
should be made. But there was not the slightest
reference to any person in England, nor even the
means of tracing the transatlantic connections of
the boy. He was then about twelve years of age,
and of a most sweet and agreeable disposition,
which endeared him to everybody in the school.
Two years elapsed, during which he rapidly im-
proved in every branch of education, but no
money arrived from his friends. Another year


114 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

had passed, during which the tutor had anxiously
waited the remittance, but in vain. He knew not
to whom to apply, and the boy could give him no
assistance. The tutor, although at the head of a
respectable boarding-school, was poor, and had a
large family. He could not bear the idea of turn-
ing the boy from the school, and yet he could not
afford to keep him. He then delicately intimated
to him that he should remain six months longer, and
if at the end of that period no intelligence arrived
from his friends, it would then be necessary for him
to think of some means of employment, assuring
him of his best endeavours to serve him, The six
months passed over and still no news came; and
Henry, for such was the boy’s name, must now be
doomed to some servile employment. A bitter
old maid, the sister of the schoolmaster’s wife, who
had taken a great dislike to Henry because every-
body else liked him, urged that he should go out
as errand boy to a bellows-maker. His school-
fellows, no sooner became acquainted with these
circumstances and with the froward antipathy of
old Bridget to our young hero, than they met
together, and having talked the matter well over,
sent a deputation to the tutor entreating him still
to suffer their friend and much-loved schoolmate
to remain at school for another year, and offered
to give up the whole of their pocket-money


SCHOOL FRIENDSHIP, 115

towards his support. The tutor was affected by
so generous an offer on the part of his scholars,
and declared that could he but receive one half of
the usual charge of board and education he would
be satisfied. Then commenced a struggle among
the boys who should be first in these subscriptions.
Their little savings were collected, and many who
had no money sold their playthings and instruments
of amusement to contribute to the benevolent and
praiseworthy object. On the approaching vaca-
tion the boys related the circumstance of poor
Henry’s misfortune to their friends, and thus
received additional means of serving him. For
two years he was thus kept at school when his
father, who had intrusted his son to an agent, re-
turned to England, paid the generous tutor all his
demands, and being a man of considerable wealth
and influence, was enabled to repay many of the
boys for their kindness. He gave each a hand-
some memorial in silver, and was afterwards in-
strumental in obtaining mercantile situations for
many of them, from which they rose to respecta-
bility and opulence. The boy is now in business

‘with his father, who is one of the most wealthy
and respectable merchants in Quebec.

~YOisa


The Little Drummer-Boy.

In the year 1794 the Emperor of Russia made war
against the Poles, a brave people who were fond of
liberty and of their own king and constitution ,
but the tyrannical Czar, who, as all the potentates
of that semi-barbarous power, hated liberty and
independence, with the aid of the Emperor of
Austria and the King of Prussia, determined to
crush Polish liberty, and to divide the kingdom of
Poland amongst those three powers. They accord-
ingly assembled large armies, and entered the
country of the Poles, laying waste all with fire and
sword, till at last they came to Warsaw. To this
they laid siege, investing it on every side with
troops and batteries of guns. But the brave Poles
held out for many months, and the Russians,
although in very great force, could make no im-
pression upon the town, as it was bravely de-
fended by the Polish soldiers, who had resolved to
perish in the ruins of their fortresses rather than
surrender themselves to their enemies. At last
’ the Russians began to despair of taking the place,
for the Poles had made several sorties and killed a


THE LITTLE DRUMMER-BOY. 117

great many of the Russians, although a consider-
able number of their own soldiers were left dead
upon the field. At last the Russians thought of
an expedient:—they put on the clothes of the
Polish soldiers they had slain, which made
them look like Poles. They then took the
advantage of another sortie made by the Poles,
and when they retired into the town they followed
them in their disguise. They had spared the life
of a poor Polish drummer-boy, Alexis Spakumen,
and made him play at the head of the disguised
soldiers a Polish war march, such as the troops
usually played. This he continued to do till he
came close to the fort protecting the gates of the
town, and those of the fort ran to open the great
gates for their friends, as they thought, to enter.
The poor little drummer-boy saw the danger, and
knew that there was but one way to save many
lives, and that was by the sacrifice of his own. At
once he made a change in the tune, and beat the
“ Alarm,” in the hopes that his countrymen would
understand it. The “ Alarm” was too well under-
stood by them to be unheeded, and Alexis beat it
with all his might. The gates were closed; the
cannon opened their fire; the Russians retreated,
and the fort was saved. The brave little drum-
mer-boy knew what his fate would be. He had
foreseen his own death when he beat the “ Alarm,”


118 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

But he was ready to die for his country. Hxaspe-
rated at the failure of their enterprise, the Rus-
sians closed round him, and by the fierce thrusts
of many swords he fell. But his friends were
safe; and in the moments of his agony he ex-
claimed, “ I have lost my life, but I have saved my
countrymen!” Hewas atrue hero. His short life
was one of real glory ; for the fear of pain and the
dread of a cruel death did not make him shrink
from his duty.

There is a great pleasure in life as well as in
death in knowing that we have done our duty.
This was the aim of the great Duke of Wellington.
He was only satisfied at doing his duty ; he cared
little for the world’s opinion or the world’s glory.
It was the same in Nelson. His great motto at the
commencement of one of his greatest naval battles
was—‘‘Hngland expects every man to do his
duty.”

Let us do ours in whatever situation we may
be placed ; for this is the substance of all religion,
and highly pleasing in the sight of God.

~2Oaa


Mozart, the Young Musician. ~

In the year 1770, Pope Clement XIV. was offici-
ating in the Sistine Chapel, surrounded by his car-
dinals, and a numerous body of priests. The
chapel was filled with high dignitaries, foreign
ambassadors, and other distinguished persons. The
people who had not been able to gain access to
this reserved portion of the sacred edifice, crowded
into the immense basilica of St. Peter, whence the
distant sound of the chanting could be heard. In
the Sistine Chapel, the most celebrated singers
were performing the marvellous Miserere of Al-
legri, an effort of religious genius so fine, so touch-
ing, and of a character so purely sacred, that it
seems to have been transmitted to the composer
by some divine inspiration.

As the service proceeded, hundreds of yellow
wax tapers shed their pale religious light on the
grand fresco by Michael Angelo, who also painted
the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel with magnificent
frescoes. The eyes of the multitude were turned |
to the masterpiece of the artist over the great altar,
and gazed upon it with admiration not unmixed


120 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

with terror. One only, a child of from twelve to
fourteen years of age, of a tall and slender figure
and intelligent countenance, with a high and open
forehead and eyes of a bright clear blue, which
sparkled from under his powdered hair, appeared
to pay no attention to the fresco so marvellously
litup. With head erect, and somewhat thrown back,
beaming eyes, listening ears, and mouth smiling
and half-open as if to drink in the sweet sounds of
music, everything in this child expressed the live-
liest and most profound attention. He was ab-
sorbed in the harmony of sweet sounds.

Placed by the side of the Austrian ambassador,
the child who was thus listening stood motionless,
like one petrified. He was somewhat fantastically
attired in salmon-coloured silk breeches, green
velvet coat lined with white satin and adorned
with silver buttons, laced frill and buckled shoes.
As the last notes of the Miserere died away, the
child seemed to arouse himself like one awakening
from a dream. He then made what seemed a sign
of assent to himself, and quitted the church hand-
in-hand with one of the secretaries of the Austrian
embassy. If he had been motionless a moment
since, he was dumb now, for he did not appear to
hear the remarks his companion made concern-
ing the beauty of the religious ceremony they had
just witnessed. Arrived at the ambassador’s


MOZART. 121

palace, the boy hastily ascended to the room he
cecupied, and began to trace signs unintelligible
to any but himself on a ruled copybook, which lay
open on his desk.

That evening, at the ambassador's table, the
conversation fell on the religious service of the
day, and of the wonderful effect which the Miserere
of Allegri had produced.

‘* What a pity,” said the Austrian ambassador,
“that the whole world should not be made ac-
quainted with this sublime composition! The
music is moralizing—nay, entrancing, in its very
sadness ; those who hear it must dread to incur the

agonies it 80 powerfully describes.”

“You should make use of that argument with
his Holiness,” replied the ambassador of France,
who was dining with him, “to obtain a copy of
that sacred work.”

‘All our arguments would be useless,” replied
the other. “It is more than a hundred years
since that music was composed by Allegri, and
never has it been heard anywhere than within the
walls of the Sistine Chapel; neither kings nor
emperors have been able to obtain it from the
popes who have succeeded each other; and their
answer to the royal requests has invariably been
that this composition forms part of the sacred pos-
sescions of St. Peter's.


122 - HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

A proud smile curled the lip of the child in the
green velvet coat who was dining at the ambassa-
dor’s table.

The next day being Good Friday, at the hour of
service, the same child might have been seen in
the same place listening again to the famous
Miserere. But this time his head, instead of being
raised in contemplation, was sunk upon his breast,
his eyes were cast down, and were reading as if by
stealth-in his hat which he held in his hand, and
in the crown of which he had concealed a copy-
book. He was observed by a cardinal, who from
that moment never ceased to watch his move-
ments.

In the evening there was a grand concert at the
Villa Borghese. The palace and the gardens were
illuminated, and the lamps, suspended like golden
fruit from the branches of the trees, vied with the
stars in dazzling lustre. Marble statues gleamed
among the shrubberies, resembling in their partial
concealment timid beings listening to the melo-
dious sounds of music that floated through the open
windows of the saloons. To the songs succeeded
pieces of instrumental music. Suddenly there was
a rush of all the company to one of the galleries,
whence the sound of some preludes on the harpsi-
chord, executed by a practised hand, proceeded.
“It is he! itis he!” was buzzed around; ‘‘it is




MOZART. 123

the wonder of Germany!” and every one pointed
to the child in the velvet coat who was meditating
in the morning in the Sistine Chapel. The Aus-
trian ambassador stood by his side, encouraging
him with a look. All at once, after a prelude
upon the instrument, the child’s voice rose, and he
intoned with surprising power and sweetness the
Miserere of Allegri. It had never been given with
greater truth and precision. All the visitors were
speechless with surprise and admiration. Some
exclaimed that it was a miracle, while others
whispered that it was a downright robbery and
profanation.

“To know this music so perfectly, he must have
written it down while they were performing it,”
was observed by several.

“Yes, he did write it down,” exclaimed a
cardinal; the same who in the morning had
watched the child in the Sistine Chapel.

“Is your Eminence quite sure of this?” asked
the Austrian ambassador, who, holding the young
musician by the hand, approached the cardinal.

“Well, I thought I saw him,” murmured his
Eminence. ;

“You saw me read, my lord, and not write,”
respectfully, but confidently, replied the child.

“But you were reading what you had previously
written, no doubt.”


124 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD

‘Yes, I wrote it from memory.”

“From memory! impossible! for there is not
a single note missing. What we have just heard
is the copy, note for note, of the Miserere of Allegri.”

“Doubtless, my lord,” replied the child mo-
destly, “and what is more simple? That music
made so deep an impression on my mind, that
every bar of it is impressed on it. That is the
truth, my lord.”

The. company appeared very much surprised.
The princes and high dignitaries surrounded the
child and overwhelmed him with congratulations
and compliments. But a few cross-grained in-
dividuals contented themselves with mutter-
ing :—

“He ought, though, to be forbidden to play that
music, and above all, to transcribe it. And how
is that to be done ?”

“The Pope must decide,” said the cardinal ;
“for my part, I do not believe in such a memory.”

On the morrow this young genius was sum-
moned to the Vatican: the Pope had expressed a
wish to see him. He crossea with a light and
silent step those vast and magnificent apartments
which the master-hand of Raphael has decorated,
and his haughty and intelligent blue eye stopped
to gaze admiringly on the immortal frescoes of the
great Italian painter.


MOZART. 125

After having waited for some time in one of the
ante-rooms, he was at length introduced into the
Pope’s presence. Two attachés from the Austrian
embassy followed him. Clement XIV. extended
to him his ring to kiss, and said to him in a bene-
volent tone—

“Ts it true, my child, that this sacred anthem,
reserved hitherto exclusively for the service of
our Sistine Chapel, was engraven on your memory
at the first hearing ?”

“Tt is the truth, holy father.”

“« And how can that be ?”

“Doubtless by the permission of God,” in-
genuously replied the young musician.

“Yes, all genius comes from God,” replied the
holy father, “‘ and you are evidently, my son, one
of his elect. If it has been God’s will that you
should miraculously appropriate this anthem, it
is a proof, no doubt, that you are destined to create
for the church others as sublime and grand. Go,
then, in peace, my child.” And he gave him his
benediction ; to which were added, by his orders,
some costly presents.

This wonderfully gifted child was Wolfgang
Amedée Mozart, who was born at Saltzbourg on
the 26th of January, 1756. At the age of three,
he was taught the rudiments of music by his
father, and he had hardly attained the age of six,


126 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

when he executed some sonatas on the harpsichord
before the Emperor, Francis I. of Austria, who
called him his Little Magician, took him under
his powerful protection, and even permitted him
to share the sports of the Archduchess Marie
Antoinette, then a child. Mozart visited France
in 1762, and played the organ before King Louis
the Sixteenth in the chapel of Versailles. The
year following he came to England, here he was
greatly. patronized by George the Third, who,
passionately fond of music, delighted in encou-
raging the talent of the young German. After
travelling through the Netherlands and Holland,
he returned to Saltzbourg, where he devoted him-
self entirely to the study of his beautiful art. In
1798, at the age of twelve, he wrote a complete
opera by desire of the Emperor, Joseph the Second.
Two years afterwards he visited Italy, whence
he wrote one day from Bologna the following
letter, admirable for a boy of his age :—

“J am the same as ever—always gay. To-day
I took a fancy to mount an ass, which being the
fashion in Italy, I thought I might as well make
the attempt. We have the honour to be associated
here with a certain Dominican, who passes for a
saint. For my part I donot put much faith in his
sanctity, because I see him breakfast first on a good
cup of chocolate topped with a large bumper of.


MOZART. 127

Spanish wine. I have had the pleasure of dining
in company with this saint, who drinks wine
bravely all through the repast, winding up with a
large glass of the strongest wine, with two good
slices of melon, with peaches, pears, five cups of
coffee, a plate of little biscuits, and, perhaps, a
cream. But, may be, he does all this by way of
penance ; yet I find it hard to believe; it would
be too much at a time, and then, besides his
dinner, he takes such good care of his supper.”

During his travels in Italy, in the course of
which we have just met him at Rome, giving
such striking proofs of his precocious genius,
Mozart remained for some time at Bologna, where
he was introduced to the Maestro Martini, who
was very celebrated for his knowledge of the
science of counterpoint. This consummate har-
monist was confounded, to use his own expression,
at the flashes of genius that emanated from that
youthful brain, and he confidently predicted for
him the fame that subsequently awaited him.

The Philharmonic Society of Bologna, desirous
of admitting the young German as a member of
their body, subjected him to the trial invariably
imposed upon candidates. He was shut up ina

room, where he found the theme of a four-part
fugue. In half an hour the piece was composed,
and Mozart received his diploma. No one at his


128 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

age had ever before obtained this mark of distiuc-
tion.

From Bologna he went to the Court of Tuscany,
where the grand duke loaded him with honours
and presents. The beautiful picture-gallery of
the ancient palace of the Medicis resounded with
his music, and it seemed as if he drew fresh in-
spiration from the presence of these master-pieces
of the sister-art. He surpassed himself. Never
had his improvisations been more sublime. He
had found an atmosphere worthy of himself. Like
those bright-plumed birds of the tropics, who
warble their songs amid the triple lustre of gaudy
flowers, dazzling light, and murmuring waters, so

did the young musician pour forth his strains
amid marbles, pictures, and the soothing and cap-
tivating luxury of a court, friendly to arts and

letters.

But his greatest and most singular triumph
was at Naples. There the people could not bring
themselves to believe in the natural and in-born
genius of the gifted boy. Enthusiasm changed
to superstition. Some said that his magic talent
was the effect of a talisman. The mystery that
man’s pride failed to penetrate was referred to
occult science. Do not smile, young reader;
this is one of the consequences of the weakness
of the human mind. Those who at Naples lis-






MOZART 129

tened to the young Mozart, not being capable
of comprehending, and still less of equalling
him, found a sort of vain consolation in crying
out ‘ Witchcraft!” On his return to Germany,
he formed a close friendship with the great com-
posers Gluck and Haydn. He then revisited
Paris, and finally settled at Vienna, where he died
before he had attained his thirty-sixth year.
His lamentable decease took place on the 5th of
December, 1791. ‘I die,” he sorrowfully said,
“just as I was about to enjoy my labours; I
am forced to renounce my art when I could have
given myself up to it entirely ; when, after having
triumphed over all obstacles, I was going to
write according to the dictates of my heart.”
Mozart’s riper years had not, however, be-
trayed the promise of his glorious childhood.
As we cannot follow him through his brilliant,
though brief, career, or bestow more than a
cursory glance on his superb operas of ‘ Mithri-
date” (composed in his sixteenth year), “I Flauto
Magico,” ‘La Clemenza di Tito,’ ‘“‘Le Nozze
di Figaro,” and ‘‘ Don Giovanni ”—to say nothing
of symphonies, sonatas, and valses without num-
ber—we will only add that it was closed: by
a religious composition, the world-famous ‘ Re-
quiem.” The genius of Allegri, which had in-
spired his boyhood, seemed to smile upon him at
180 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

the close of his earthly career. With trembling
hand and failing voice he put the last touches to

this funereal anthem, and requested that it might
be sung at his grave. An hour before his death,
as he was looking over it for the last time,
“ Ah!” he exclaimed, ‘said I not rightly that
it was for my own obsequies I was composing
this dirge ?”


Reuben Percy.

INGENIOUS EXPLOIT ON THE ICE.

ty the winter of 1720, as a number of boys were
skating on a lake in a remote part of Yorkshire,
the ice happened to break at a considerable dis-
tance from the shore, and one of them unfortu-
nately fell in. No house was near where ropes
or the assistance of more aged hands could be
procured, and the boys were afraid to venture
forward to save their struggling companion, from
a natural dread that where the ice had given way
it might give way again, and involve more of
them in jeopardy. In this alarming emergency,
one of them, Reuben Percy, of more sagacity than
the rest, suggested an experiment, which, for its
scientific conception, would have done honour
to the boyhood of a Watt or a Ferguson. He
might, probably, remember having seen that,
while a plank, placed perpendicularly on the ice,
will break through, the same plank, if laid hori-
zontally along the ice, will be firmly borne, and
afford a safe footing; and applying, with great


182 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

ingenuity and presence of mind, the obvious prin-
ciple of this method to the danger before them, he
proposed to his companions that they should lay
themselves flat upon the ice, ina line, one behind
the other, and each push forward the boy before
him till they reached the hole where their play-
mate was still plunging; heroically volunteering
himself as the first link to the chain. The plan
was instantly adopted ; and, to the great joy of the
boy and their gallant leader, they succeeded in
rescuing their companion from a watery grave, at
a moment when, overcome by terror and exhaus-
tion, he was unable to make another effort to save
himself. This Reuben Percy became famous in
after life, and was not only remarkable for quick
expedient and ingenuity, but also for his noble
and generous qualities of heart, which won for him
on the judicial bench the admiration of all his
contemporaries and the public at large.

~Sg@ dsm


Turenne, the Little Soldier.

On a certain evening all was bustle and confusion in
the Castle of Sedan. The Duchess of Bouillon had
just been supping with her youngest son, Henry
of Turenne, and the Chevalier de Vassignac, pre-
ceptor to the child. The Duke of Bouillon, his
father, sovereign prince of Sedan, had remained
upon the ramparts of that town to give orders to
the garrison. After supper, little Henry, who
was scarcely nine years old, led the conversation
to the subject of war, and the lives of the Greek
and Roman heroes, which his preceptor had been
reading and discussing with him. He was talking
eagerly of their exploits and adventures, and
telling his mother that he longed to imitate them.
Why should he remain inactive? Why be con-
tent with knowing glory only through the medium
of historians and poets?

His mother listened admiringly, and yet timidly,
to these proofs of her son’s adventurous spirit.
This conversation was prolonged to a late hour of
the evening. The child accompanied his animated
language with gesture and action, and at times


134 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

urged his preceptor to join him in simulating some
attack or defence of a strong place ; and when the
Chevalier de Vassignac grew weary of this sport,
“Oh! why is not my father here!” the young
Henry would exclaim; “he is never tired of
playing with me. Why is he not coming back
this evening ?”

“He will sleep in the garrison,” replied the
Duchess of Bouillon; ‘and in this bitter snow-
storm which is falling so heavily, I fear that his
inspection of the ramparts will be a very painful
task.”

“How I wish I were with him!” exclaimed
Henry; ‘that is the way to learn to be a soldier.”

“Age will come soon enough,” replied his
mother; “and in the mean time, Henry, go to
bed; it is quite time.”

“‘Good-night, mother,” said the young Viscount,
with a thoughtful air.

The Duchess embraced her son, whom a servant
preceded, torch in hand. His preceptor followed
him; they ascended the staircase which led from
the saloon to the chamber of Henry, which was
reached by a long passage. They had proceeded
about half-way along this passage, when the young
Turenne, leaning on the shoulder of the domestic
who was preceding him, blew out the torch,

tripped past his preceptor, and sped like an arrow


TURENNE. 135

down the staircase, across the dining-room, the
entrance hall, and out at a door which led to the
garden and grounds. The snow lay thick upon
the country round, soft and white as a carpet of
ermine. The young fugitive was not long in
reaching the ramparts of Sedan, adjoining the
castle, made himself known to the sentinel on
duty at one of the gates, and, telling him he
wanted to speak with his father, entered the
town.

Meanwhile the Duchess of Bouillon, attracted
by the voice of her son’s preceptor, who was
bursting with laughter at this fresh outbreak on
the part of the little madcap, ran towards the
place whence the noise proceeded, followed by
several attendants. They called vainly upon
Henry of Turenne; they sought for him from hall
to hall, room to room, in the galleries, on the
roof, in the most distant corners of the castle.
The idea even occurred to M. de Vassignac to
imitate the shouts and cries of a warlike attack
in the hope of attracting him; but the echoes of
the old castle alone responded to the now terrified
preceptor and the half-distracted mother,

“Perhaps he is gone out into the fields!” sud-
denly exclaimed the Duchess, struck by one of
those instinctive presentiments which are a sort
of second-sight with mothers.


136 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

Just as she pronounced these words, they
reached the door by which young Turenne had
escaped. ‘‘ Look at this door left open!” eagerly
exclaimed the Duchess: “it is through that, I am
sure, that he has quitted the castle.”:

“‘ Hixactly so, my lady ; here are the prints of
his little feet,” said an attendant, lowering his
torch towards the snow-covered ground.

“Oh, the unfortunate child! where has he
gone?” said the preceptor. “ What is to be done ?
—where seek for him ?”

“This is no time for deliberation,” replied the
Duchess, “but for action, M. de Vassignac; my
son must be found! Come, let us set forward, my
friends !”

And she placed herself at he head of her
attendants to conduct the search.

“No, my lady,” they exclaimed. ‘It will
never do for your ladyship to go out on such a
bitterly cold night. We will bring you back our
young master ; leave it to us.”

“Yes, leave it to us, my lady,” said the Cheva-
lier de Vassignac; “I will conduct them.” The
Duchess of Bouillon only yielded with great
difficulty to their united entreaties; and, in spite
of the supplications of her women, she would not
be persuaded to quit a high terrace, from the top
of which she could perceive at a distance the






TURENNE. 137

torches of those who were hastening in search of
her child. The troop of domestics, stimulated
by M. de Vassignac, who had assumed the com-
mand, advanced towards the ramparts of Sedan,
almost blinded by the snow, which was falling in
thick flakes, and had obliterated the footprints of
the fugitive.

M. de Vassignac also made himself known to
the sentinels, and obtained permission to enter the
town; but the gate by which he entered with the
attendants was not the same which Henry had
passed through, so that when he inquired of the
sentry whether he had seen the son of the Duke
of Bouillon pass, the latter could give him no in-
formation. “We must go to the head-quarters
where the Duke sleeps,” said de Vassignac to the
attendants; ‘‘there we shall perhaps find our
young master, and if he is not there, his father
will aid us in our search.and inquiries.”

The approach of the servants carrying torches
caused a great commotion at the quarters
where the Duke was passing the night. The
vfficers were almost on the point of imagining
some nocturnal attack, and the Duke of Bouillon
himself appeared in arms in the outer court. On
perceiving the Chevalier de Vassignac, he ex-
claimed—“ What has happened? 'The Duchess—
my son !—has any danger befallen them ?”
138 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

The Chevalier told him what was the matter.
“T will wager that this young scapegrace is on
the ramparts, in one of the guard-houses, listening

to some camp story,” said the Duke, who knew
the bent of his son’s mind. ‘Come, my friends,
let us find him.”

So saying, he placed himself at their head,
taking the arm of the preceptor. At the first
watch-fire they came to, and round which several
soldiers of the guard were seated, the officer on
duty said to him—‘ We have seen him, my lord ;
we thought he was either preceding or following
you; he asked us a few questions concerning the
defence of fortified places, armaments, and ord-
nance, and then quitted us, saying—‘I wish to go
the round of the ramparts.” |

The Duke and those who escorted him pro-
ceeded on their way. At the next guard-house,
he was again told: “The young Viscount of Tu-
renne passed about three-yuarters of an hour
ago; he warmed himself at our fire; tasted the
wine from our flasks; then said ‘Forward!’ and
set off at full speed.”

‘We shall overtake him,” said the father,
reassured by these words, and he continued his
round of the ramparts.

At the third guard-house the reply was—<“ It is
not a quarter of an hour since he was here. Our


TURENNE. 139

old sergeant was relating to us some of the san-
guinary conflicts in the time of the League, and
the young Viscount, your son, my lord,—your
gallant son,—stood listening wonder-struck, and
exclaimed, ‘I wish I had been there!”

“ Brave boy !” murmured the Duke.

“He only quitted us when the narrator was
overpowered with fatigue, and fell asleep by the
warm ashes. As he left us, your son said, ‘1
shall now go and see what is going on at the
other guard-house.’”

The father set out again in quest of his son. As
the Duke passed out, he laid his hand caressingly
upon the cannon : “ They sleep now,” said he, “ but
they will awake as soon as the enemy appears.”

All at once something seemed to move in the
shadow of one of them. ‘Is it a soldier leaning
on his gun?” exclaimed the Duke of Bouillon.
The attendants approached with their torches, and
the Duke instantly recognized his son, who was
sleeping on the snow-girt cannon, as peacefully
as he would have done in his own little bed. ;

A proud smile overspread the face of the Duke
of Bouillon as he recognized his son. ‘ Alarm!
alarm! The enemy !” he exclaimed, suddenly ex-
tinguishing the torches, and pulling the young
Henry by the leg.

«The enemy!” repeated young Turenne, only

K


140 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

half awake. ‘Well, let them come,—I am pre-
pared !”

And he placed himself in a martial attitude.
His father threw his arms round him, exclaiming
—‘* Prisoner! prisoner of war!”

“You, father! you!” said the young Viscount,
recognizing the voice.

“Yes, yes! You do not reflect, little runaway,
on the uneasiness of your mother during this fine
frolic of yours; and pray why, and with what
object, have you thus fled from the castle ?”

“‘T wanted, father, by sleeping in the open air
this freezing night, to expose myself to the fatigues
and hardships of war, and to see if I should soon
be able to make my first campaign under your
command.”

The father embraced his son.

‘¢ Come forward, prisoner,” said he, laughingly ;
‘here is my arm for a chain, and I shall not let
you go until your mother imprisons you in her
turn.”

“In her arms, also,” replied the child, kissing
his father’s forehead.

The attendants hastily returned to the castle.
The Duke of Bouillon and his son followed them

at a rapid pace, and behind them came the pre-
ceptor, breathlessly making his way over the

snow. As soon as they were within ear-shot, they


TURENNE 141

shouted—‘‘ Here he is! here he is We have
brought you back the fugitive.”

The Duchess ran to meet them. She threw her-
self into the arms of her husband and son. Tears
choked her voice. She would fain have reproved
the child, but her heart failed her.

‘‘ His vocation is decided,” said the Duke, when
they were alone: ‘‘it would be useless to oppose
it further.”

“But his delicate health!” objected the
mother.

‘‘Nothing so strengthening as the air of the
camp,” replied the Duke: “our son will live,
Duchess ; and IJ foresee that he will be an honour
to our family.”

Henry of Turenne was at that time a weak and
sickly child, with a slight figure, narrow chest, and
pale and delicate features. His dark eyes shone
brightly, and the thick eyebrows that over-
shadowed them, imparted a tinge of thought to
his countenance. His mother always trembled
for his life, and dreaded the profession of arms for
him. It was therefore in order to prove his
strength that he ventured on the frolic I have just
related. :

About the same time an officer, an old friend of
his father, was dining at the castle. Henry had
been spending the day reading the Grecian his-


142 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

tory. His whole mind was full of Alexander, and
he could talk of nothing but his exploits. The
old officer, delighted to hear him, still took a
pleasure in exciting and contradicting him.

“Your Plutarch is only a romance writer,” he
exclaimed ; “there is nothing true in that life of
Alexander.”

“Why?” inquired the child.

“Because all bears the stamp of the marvellous.”

“The great and the heroic always seem fabu-
lous to those who cannot appreciate them,” replied
the child, his eyes flashing; “for my part, I be-
lieve in the life of Alexander.”

The Duchess of Bouillon, wishing to try him
further, took part with the officer. ‘ ‘his gentle-
man is in the right, nevertheless,” said she ; “all
that glorious life is only a tissue of imaginary
adventures.”

“With all respect to you, mother, I cannot
agree with you,” replied the child. “I feel that
Alexander existed; that he performed great actions;
and it even seems to me that I must in some way
be connected with him.”

“By a distant ancestor,” replied his mother, with
a smile,

“Who knows ?”

“My little friend,” interposed the old officer,

“you are sharp at contradiction.”


TURENNE. 143

“‘T am so for what I believe; and neither you
nor my mother have succeeded in convincing me.”
And he quitted the apartment with a haughty and
defiant air, after having said good-night.

‘“«He will be somewhat hard to manage,” mur-
mured the officer to himself.

It was supposed that the offended boy had re-
tired to his own room, but when the old officer,
who slept that night at the castle, withdrew to
his, he found there Henry, who, advancing to meet
him, said with head erect and an air of wounded
dignity—“ You have just now hurt my feelings,
sir, in the person of a hero whom I love : I replied
to you in a manner to let you see that the affair
was serious, and now offer and demand repara-
tion,”

“Tam quite prepared to give it,” replied the
officer, concealing a paternal smile; “but our
meeting must be a secret one on account of your
mother, who would be sure to oppose it,”

“Yes, sir,” replied Henry, “we will meet
secretly! This duel shall take place to-morrow
at daybreak in the park, at the foot of the three
great elms. Will that arrangement suit you?”

“Perfectly ; I will be there.”

They bowed courteously to each other, and
Henry retired to his bed, first informing his pre-
ceptor that he wished to rise at dawn of day, to


144 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

bunt in the park. The preceptor, not daring to
contradict him, went and informed his mother.

At daybreak, Henry, equipped apparently for
the chase, set forth with two swords concealed
beneath his coat.

“Good morning, Chevalier,” said he to M. de
Vassignac, who occupied the same room ; ‘‘ you can
have another hour’s sleep; and by the time you
rejoin me, I shall have sprung the game;” and he
fled without waiting for a reply.

As he proceeded on his way towards the ap-
pointed place, he perceived the old officer repairing
thither by another pathway. They exchanged a
haughty salute, and, arriving at the foot of the tall
elms, they doffed their coats, drew their swords,
and prepared to attack each other.

At this moment a white shadow glided behind
the foliage. ‘‘Some stag who wishes to witness
our passage of arms,” said the officer, jestingly.

“Let us begin!” exclaimed Henry, impatient
for the fight. But as he spoke, he felt a warm
breath on his face, and a light hand checked his
arm.

« You, mother

“J, who am come to be your second,” replied
the Duchess, embracing him. ‘You were right,
my child, Alexander is a real hero; Quintus Cur-
tius says nothing but the truth.”

7

said he, turning round.


TURENNE. 145

“Which is as much as to say, mother, that this
duel is just, and that I ought to continue it.”

And he brandished his sword anew.

‘* Unless,” replied the Duchess, “our friend
confesses he was in the wrong, and makes thus a
double reparation to you and to Alexander.”

“1 prefer the duel,” said Henry, earnestly.

“But why ?” said the Duchess, with a smile.
“To bring an enemy to capitulation is as glorious
as his death !”

“Hum! I am not quite sure of that,” mur-~
mured Henry. ‘“ What think you, sir?” said he,
turning towards his adversary.

“1 think that you will be a brave fellow,” ex-
- claimed the officer, embracing him with much
emotion, “ and that Alexander might well be one
of your ancestors. And in the mean time, until
we have discovered this lost genealogy, come, my
child, and let me conduct you to your father and
tell him all this.”

Henry suffered himself to be led away, but he
could not help murmuring to himself; “For all
that, it would have been very nice to have had a
little fighting.”

Born with these warlike instincts, Turenne was
none the less, during his long and glorious military
career, the most compassionate and generousof men.

He first saw the light in Sedan, the 16th of


146 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

September, 1611, and was the second son of Henry,
Duke of Bouillon, and of Elizabeth of Nassau,
daughter of William I., Prince of Orange.

From his childhood his only taste was for tales
of war and fighting. When he had attained his
thirteenth year, his mother, yielding to his entrea-
ties, sent him to Holland, where her eldest son
already was, to learn the profession of arms under
Maurice of Nassau, his uncle.

Turenne made his first campaign in 1625,
as a simple soldier. After serving five years in
Holland, he entered the service of France, and
was appointed colonel of a regiment of infantry
by Cardinal Richelieu. He afterwards served in
Italy, where he performed many gallant actions,
and both there and in Germany gained several
victories. At the age of twenty-three he became
field-marshal, and at the death of Louis XIII.,
in 1643, was appointed Marshal of France by the
Regent, Anne of Austria: in this year he gained
the battle of Fribourg, in conjunction with the
Duke of Enghein, afterwards the great Condé.
In the civil wars of the Fronde he at first took
vart against the court and the King; but he after-
warun became reconciled to the royal party,
defended the young King, Louis XIV., and de-
feated the great Condé, who commanded the
rebels. He compelled him to quit France, and






TURENNE. 147

conquered the army of the Fronde in all parts of
the kingdom in 1653. He married the daughter
of the Duke de la Force; and in 1654 he gained
several victories over the Spaniards with the
Prince of Condé at their head, and routed them
in several engagements. At length the peace of
1659 allowed him an interval of repose after
thirty years’ incessant warfare, during which he
had never sojourned more than three months in
the same place. MHostilities being renewed, he
was appointed marshal-general of all the armies
at the period of the marriage of Louis XIV.,
whom he had the honour of instructing in the art
of war. In 1671 he made the campaign of Holland,
and afterwards that of Westphalia. He defeated
the celebrated Count of Montecuculi, who was
sent against him, and made himself the master of
all the Palatinate, which, to his lasting disgrace,
he ravaged. His return to Paris and the court
was a veritable triumph. In the campaign of
1675, which was his last, he was again opposed
to the Count of Montecuculi, at Salzbach. He
drew the enemy to a favourable position, and
just as he was saying, “I have them, they can-
not escape me!” a cannon-ball killed him, on
the 27th of July, 1675, the soldiers exclaiming,
“Our father is dead!” The same shot carried
away an arm of General St. Hilary, who had
148 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

Jed Turenne to this fatal spot, and who, seeing
his son shedding tears, exclaimed, “It is not for
me that you should weep, but for that great
man: pointing to the body of Turenne.

‘Turenne was interred in St. Denis, at Paris,
with the Kings of France, and the army raised a
monument to his glory on the very spot where he
fell,




The Courageous Boy. |

ty the month of October, 1811, the sloop ‘‘ Fame,”
of Carron, in Stirlingshire, was captured by a
French privateer off the coast of Northumber-
land. The crew were transferred to the French
vessel, to be carried as prisoners to France, with
the exception of an old man and a boy who were
left on board the sloop with six Frenchmen, to
steer it to a French port.

Soon after the ships had parted, the sloop was
overtaken by a severe storm, which drove her to
the mouth of the Firth of Forth, with the navi-
gation of which the Frenchmen, as well as the old
man, were unacquainted. The night being dark,
and oil and candles being expended or thrown
overboard, the compass was useless.

The men in despair allowed the vessel to go
before the wind. The boy, who was only thirteen
years of age, had made one or two voyages before,
and having observed something of the neighbour-
ing coasts and lights, he recognized the peculiar
beacon-light on the Island of Inchkeith, which
lies in the middle of the Forth.





150 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

He took the helm and steered accordingly
till he got the vessel to St. Margaret's Hope,
where he knew there was a British man-of-war.
On approaching that vessel he called to its crew
to send a party on board, as he had six prisoners
to deliver. The Frenchmen, intimidated and
glad to be saved from the storm, made no effort to
escape. When the party came from the war vessel
they actually found the six Frenchmen already
made prisoners by the boy, who had gathered all
arms beside him, The ship and cargo were thus
saved for their owners, and the boy Martin
was taken notice of by the commander of the
English man-of-war. He entered as a volunteer
into the naval service, and displaying his pre-
sence of mind on several occasions, was made lieu-
tenant, and afterwards rose to the rank of com-
modore to the British fleet in the West Indies.

~S@is>




Boyhood of the Great Colbert.

JEAN Baprisre CoLBEeRT was a most celebrated
French minister of finance. He was born at
- Rheims, in France, in very inferior circumstances,
being the son of a cloth-seller, and some time wine
merchant. He was taken from school at an early
age, and put to the trade of his father, for whom
he acted as traveller, and made journeys from his
native town to various ports of France for the pur-

pose of selling merchandize, and of bringing home
the traders’ outstanding accounts. He commenced
this business when he was only in his fifteenth
year, and, as was the custom in France at that
time, he travelled on horseback, and frequently
carried in his pockets considerable sums of money.

On one occasion he was travelling from Paris back
to his house at Rheims, having collected the debts
due to his father, and being anxious not to be
another day away from his mother, for whom he
had the greatest affection, he determined upon
pushing through the forest D’Abley, although the
day had considerably declined, and the sun was
setting behind the hills. Pushing on his hardy




152 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

horse at the top of his speed, he made rapid way
till he came to a small ford, which he had no
sooner crossed than he beheld a mounted high-
wayman fully armed, riding along the narrow way
that led from the river’s brink to the mountains.
“ Stand!” said the highwayman in a fierce voice.
But instead of stopping, or even replying, young
Colbert put spurs to his horse and passed the thief
at a full gallop. For a moment the fellow was
confounded at the sudden movement, but wheel-
ing round his horse and grasping his pistol, he rode
furiously after the youth. His horse being fresh
and full of spirit, he very soon came up with him,
and exasperated at his defiance, fired at him with-

out further parley. The first shot did not take
effect, but the second struck Colbert’s horse in the
neck, which, after running a few paces further,
‘stumbled, fell—got up again, stumbled a second
time, and fell dead. “Give me your money, or I
will have your life,” roared the highwayman,

drawing a large dagger from his girdle; “give
me your money instantly, or I will kill you.”
Colbert, without hesitation, took from his pocket
a handful of silver and scattered it on the ground,
then a few gold pieces, which he threw in the
roadway. ‘Take all I have, but spare my life!”
he ejaculated, and threw himself on his knees.
The robber, seeing the money scattered on the




and clapping
me to recover

a
1

g upon the robber’s steed
ight before the thief had t:

s out of si

3.

rt spran

y was
5

“Tn a moment Colbe:
1f.’— Page 1

spurs to him.
himse
COLBERT. 153

road, and the youth in a defenceless position, dis-
mounted to gather up the money. In a moment
Colbert sprang upon the robber’s steed, and clap-
ping spurs to him, was out of sight before the
thief had time to recover himself from his astonish-
ment. The youth rode as quickly as his new
horse would carry him, and never broke rein till
he reached his own door. Upon searching the
saddle-bags there were found more than fifty
pieces of gold and three times that number of dol-
lars, besides some notes or paper securities; in all,
more than ten times the amount Colbert had scat-
tered upon the road as a bait to the robber.

Of course the clever deed was soon noised
abroad. Itso happened that Le Tellier, secretary
of state to Louis XTV., was then at Rheims, and
hearing of the feat of the youth, expressed a desire
to see him. When brought into his presence the
minister accosted him by observing that he had
saved his life by a very dexterous and happy
thought. ‘I never thought of my life,” replied
Colbert ; ‘my thoughts were all about my father’s
money. I was considering for a moment how 1
should replace that which I was forced to give up.
There was only one way, and that an easy one;
and so I took it.”

“The boy will make a capital financier,”
thought Le Tellier; and he asked him if he


154 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

would like to go into the service of the state to
study accounts.

Colbert replied, ‘‘ The affairs of the state are
so bad, that to take any account of them would
only make them worse.” This struck Le Tellier
as somewhat sagacious ; for indeed the King’s ex-
chequer was at that time in a deplorable condi-
tion. “The boy knows something,” thought he;
and he did not suffer him to leave the apartment
till he had secured his services.

Le Tellier was right: the youth had prodigious
talents, and bold and clever expedients. His
patron soon made him known to Cardinal Mazarin,
who, when Colbert was only twenty-five years old,
availed himself of his assistance in the financial
affairs of the kingdom, and introduced him to the
King, who immediately made a post for him
under the title of Controleur Général, and set him
to investigate the monetary affairs of the kingdom.
Colbert found fraud, disorder, and corruption pre-
vailing everywhere ; the revenues anticipated for
two years, and the treasury empty. But in a few
years he restored the credit of the kingdom; and,
what was most extraordinary in those days, he in-
creased the revenues of the kingdom, and at the
same time decreased the public burdens. In fact,
he did in the seventeenth century what Sir Robert
Peel and Mr. Gladstone have accomplished in our


COLBERT. 155

own day—improved the revenue of his country by
a fair and moderate system of taxation. To his

talents, activity, and enlarged views, France owed
the rapid progress then made in various branches
of industry and commerce. Placed at the head of
the French exchequer, Colbert replaced disorder
and dearth by order and abundance. He put an
end to depredations, liquidated state debts, re-
stored old manufactures, repaired the public
roads, and in many other ways improved the
civil and criminal legislation of his country.
To him indeed the subsequent honour and glory
of France is mainly due. To detail the various
improvements he inaugurated, and to merely refer
to the numerous public works he caused to be
executed, would occupy a volume. We may, how-
ever, briefly state that he suggested and carried
out the junction of the Mediterranean and the
Atlantic by the famous canal of Languedoc; that
he encouraged the arts and sciences; founded
learned academies; embellished Paris with many
handsome public buildings and gardens—among
which may be mentioned the colonnade of the
Louvre and the gardens of the Tuileries; and in
nutaberless other ways contributed to the true
progress and honour of his native land. In dis-
charging his almost multifarious duties, he amassed
an immense fortune ; but, as if to prove that even
L


156 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

the most patriotic views, and the most useful pub-
lic services may be misunderstood and unappre-
ciated by the people, the rabble, thinking his
wealth had been acquired by unfair means, spoke
ill of him when he died, and insulted his coffin as
it was borne to its last resting-place through the
streets he had striven to embellish and improve.
The great financier Colbert died in 1683, in the
sixty-fifth year of his age; and, so far from the
prejudices that assailed him in his latter years
surviving, his countrymen, as well as all Euro-
pean thinkers and writers, have recognised in him
a great and enlightened statesman.

From the anecdote we have related of the youth-
ful heroism of Colbert, my readers will learn that
self-possession and decision are of the greatest im-
portance in many occurrences and on many mo-
mentous epochs of life; and that by self-reliance
and virtue we may be enabled to overcome, or at
any rate to alleviate, various of the evils by which
we are liable to be assailed.

52)


The Heroism of Truth.

GEORGE WASHINGTON.

Tuere is no name in the annals of any country
more revered than that of George Washington.
Ti is a matter of interest to inquire how he became
so good and great, and how he obtained such
a desirable reputation ; how he was able to do so
much good to his country and to mankind; how

he was qualified to leave behind him so excellent

an example; how he acquired that great wisdom
which guided him in life, and prepared him for
death. It is a good plan for every one, whether
young or not, who wishes to be useful, good, and
happy, to study the story of Washington. It is
only by study that we can gain knowledge; and
the best way to find out the path of duty and
success is carefully to read the history of those
who have been successful.

I propose, therefore, to give you a brief outline
of Washington’s life, taking care to present those
points in his career which seem to have been the
most influential in forming his character and
shaping his fortunes.


158 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

George Washington was born in Virginia on
the 22nd of February, 1732. His father was a
wealthy planter; but he died in 1743, when our
hero was eleven years old. He was, therefore,
left to the care of his mother, who was a good and
wise woman.

Now you must remember that when Washington
was a boy, young people had not the advantages
that they have now. In Virginia, there were
no academies, high-schools, or colleges. He had,
therefore, only the privileges of a common school
education, where writing, reading, arithmetic, and
a little of geometry, were taught ; but he applied,
and these were sufficient for him. Now this
shows that the advantages a youth possesses are
of less consequence than the way in which he
improves them. A boy may be sent to a high-
school and go to college, and yet turn out to be an
useless, weak, and ignorant man.

One of the great advantages that followed from
Washington’s making the best of his school privi-
leges was, his adopting good habits. He got into
the habit of doing everything thoroughly.

If a boy gets into the habit of studying in a
half-way, slovenly, slip-shod manner, he is almost

certain to be greatly injured thereby. If he goes to
college, he there continues the same habit; when
he leaves, he still carries it with him; when he


WASHINGTON. 159

enters upon business, it still hangs about him.
He does nothing well or thoroughly ; he is slovenly
and careless in all he undertakes; there is im-
perfectidn and weakness in his career, and finally
he turns out an unsuccessful man. If he be-
comes a merchant he usually fails in business; if
a lawyer, a physician, a clergyman, or pastor, he
is generally at the tail-end of his profession, poor,
useless, and despised. Such is the mighty in-
fluence of our habits; and remember that they
are formed in early life. Another thing that is
remarkable at this early period of Washington’s
life is, that in writing he was careful to
study neatness and precision. Several of his
school manuscripts remain, in which he worked
out questions in mathematics; they are very
neatly executed and are all correct, which is
another beautiful illustration of our hero’s life,

It is not to be wondered at, that the dawn of
such a mind as this should exhibit some bright
lights of promise ; and there are many anecdotes
related of him greatly to his honour. One,
however, which is well authenticated, sets before
us SO energetically the love of truth, that I must
let it find a place in this volume.

When George was about eight years old he was
sent by his father to play in the garden; and there
finding a small hatchet, which had been acciden-


160 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

tally lost or mislaid, he began, childlike, to amuse
himself with it. He had first a chop at one thing,
and then at another, and then at a third, not
thinking of the mischief that he was doing. Many
a chop was bestowed upon the fruit-trees in the

garden, and especially one—a beautiful cherry-
tree—upon which his father had set great store.
When the play fit was over, George threw down
his hatchet, and went off to school.

In the mean time, his father, upon taking a walk
down the garden, observed the ruin that had been

made among the trees and shrubs, and at last
reached his favourite cherry-tree. It had received
so deep a gash with Master George’s hatchet, as to
make its recovery extremely doubtful. Of course
the father was very angry, and exceedingly desir-
ous of finding out the depredator. He could not
suppose that little Geordie could have done so
foolish and wicked a trick, but was rather inclined
to lay the blame upon some idle boys who had
more than once been caught in the garden. Upon
inquiry, however, among the servants, he was in-
formed that George had been seen in the garden,
and seen also with the hatchet in his hand; but
no one would or could say that he was the real
author of the mischief,

At last, however, George came home from
school, and his father upon meeting him at the





1

ail fll
ih Hl a)























“Yes, it was I, father; I know it was wrong to chop the trees, and
you may flog me for doing it; but I cannot tell a lie! "—Page 161.




WASHINGTON. 161

door said, “Oh! Georgy, Georgy; some one has
been into the garden and chopped many of the
trees, and, I fear, has destroyed my beautiful
young cherry-tree. Itmust have been some of those
idle Irish boys. IfI could tell which of them did
it I would have them punished most severely. It
could be nobody but them, I should think, Geordie.”

George blushed very deeply at hearing his
father speak in this manner, and could not utter
a word for some time. At last, almost in tears, he
burst forth, “ It was not the Irish boys, father; do
not lay it to them or to anybody else: it was I
that chopped the trees.”

“You!” said his father, with the greatest as-
tonishment.

“Yes, it was I, father. I know it was wrong
to chop the trees, and you may flog me for doing
it. But I cannot tell a lie!”

“Come to my arms, my dear boy,” said the
father; ‘‘ you are ten times more precious to me
than all the cherry-trees in the world—more
beautiful than they are when in the fullest blossom.
There is nothing so beautiful as truth; and I
would rather lose a thousand trees than that my
son should tell a falsehood.” :

At school he carried out the principles which
endeared him to his parents. The truthful boy
grew up to be a truthful man.
162 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

At the age of thirteen, George adopted a code
of rules of behaviour, which doubtless had great
influence in the formation of his character.

Hardly had King George III. ascended the
throne of England ere disturbances broke out
among the colonists of America, and notably among
those of the New England states. In 1764 the
British Parliament passed an Act to oblige the
Americans to pay a tax on stamps, for the support
of the imperial government. This Act caused a
violent commotion, and the colonists, indignant at
the idea of being taxed, refused to pay any im-
posts passed by the British Legislature. The
Stamp Act was repealed; but the flame of insur-

rection once lighted was not easily extinguished.

Hostile feelings towards the home government
took the place of the friendly relations that had
hitherto subsisted, and fresh discontents broke out
from time to time, as new taxes were sought to be
imposed upon the colonists. The unwise advisers
of King George attempted again and again to com-
pel the people of America to pay taxes to the
Crown; and when, in 1774, a duty on tea was
sought to bé enforced, the fire of rebellion could
no longer be quelled, and between England and
America there arose a cruel and sanguinary war,
which lasted for nearly ten years, and was only
ended in 1783 by a treaty of peace which re-






WASHINGTON. 163

cognized the independence of the American
people.

At the breaking out of the American war,
Washington was appointed liewtenant-colonel of a
regiment and soon after assumed the principal
command of theAmerican forces against the British
troops. By his prudence, caution, self-sacrifices,
well-balanced temper, coolness, and indefatigable
perseverance, he at last succeeded in tiring out or
defeating the troops sent against him, and, on the
conclusion of the war, cheerfully returned to those
domestic scenes, from which nothing but a sense
of duty seems to have had the power to draw him.
But so great were his virtues, his integrity, and
honour, that in 1789 he was called upon to be
First President of the American Union. In this
office he secured the respect and admiration of the
whole world, his former enemies, the Mnglish,
being among the first to recognize his statesman-
like qualities and numerous virtues.

The teaching, then, of Washington’s example is
this: that habitual study, obedience, industry,
thoroughness, and respect to the rights and feel-
ings of others, will lead to eminente. The path
of obedience is the path to glory; the path of
disobedience is the path to failure, and disap-
pointment in the race of life.
Albert,
THE SON OF WILLIAM TELL.

Mosr of my young friends are acquainted with
the heroic exploits of William Tell, the Hero of
Switzerland. There is a little episode in his life
relating to his son so illustrative of Boyish Hero-
ism, that it is entitled to a place in this volume.
At the time William Tell was wandering among
the mountains of Switzerland, in his endeavours to
obtain freedom for his country, it frequently hap-
pened that he was exposed to the most serious
perils. Gessler the Austrian governor had put
a price upon his head, and a detachment of troops
was sent out among the mountains for the express
purpose of his capture. For many months the
noble patriot had to play hide and seek among
rocks and ravines, and many were the almost
miraculous escapes he underwent. In these
wanderings he was at one period attended only by
his son Albert, and both concealed themselves in
"various places, in caves and woods, and hollows of
the rocks, from which they were started and hunted
like wild beasts. At last Tell’s affairs became so
desperate that he and his son were without the


ALBERT, SON OF WILLIAM TELL. 165

slightest means of sustenance. The winter had
set in, and nothing but ice and snow surrounded
them. Their slight store of food began to fail,
and there was no way left to prevent their perishing
of hunger than that of sending Albert across the
mountains to the Ard, to procure provisions.

Loth indeed was Tell to part from a son whom
he loved so well, and who, although only in his
eleventh year, had given so many tokens of his
courage and of his love and duty towards his
father. But there was no alternative; their very
existence depended upon the task; and the boy,
taking nothing with him but his bow and arrow,

and alpenstock to assist him in his mountain
descents, after embracing his father and shedding
boyish tears of sorrow, departed from a place
called the Hagie’s Nest, a small cave situated near
the top of a very high mountain in the canton of
Ure, near the Lake of Lucerne.

The way was desolate and perilous. In many
parts the simple goat track of the mountain, which
was the only guide to the valley, was obliterated
by the snow; while the cracks and crevices were
filled to the depth of several feet. Into these as
the poor Jad journeyed on he frequently fell, and
with much difficulty extricated himself; nothing
daunted, however, he pursued his course with
unabated ardour, feeling that his father’s life







166 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

depended on his exertions, and that he had God
for his friend. In Him he put his trust, and often
did the most fervent and heartfelt prayers arise
to the Giver of all strength, for courage, and
perseverance in his arduous endeavours.

With hope and faith for his guide, therefore, the
poor child proceeded. The days were short, and
the sun soon declined in the horizon. It was but
a very short time visible in the mountains, and
sank at an early hour beneath those gigantic
masses which threw their deep shadows upon the
valleys, and gave them a grand and solemn
gloom.

The eagle screamed above, and the torrents
roared below, and as the shadows deepened and the
night drew in, the fierce how] of the wolf was added
to the horror of the scene. Albert had reached
the bottom of the valley. A mountain torrent
had swelled to unusual dimensions, and in a stream
of foam rushed along like a maniac, hurling devas-
tation in its headlong course. The night was
growing darker and darker, and as the gloom
came on, the sullen growl of thunder was heard in
the distance, and lightning began to play among
the forked tops of the mountains. It was neces-
sary that Albert should pass this mountain stream,
but so rapidly did it hurry along, and so deep were
its waters, that to attempt it seemed only to fly in


ALBERT, SON OF WILLIAM TELL. 167

the face of death. While the youth paused to con-
sider the best course to pursue, he suddenly heard
the howl of wolves, and, at the same instant, the
ery of some person in distress. He immediately
rushed to the spot, and, at a short distance, found
three wolves in fierce attack upon a man, who was
vainly endeavouring to defend himself with his
sword. Albert rushed on, and with one stroke of
his alpenstock stunned the wolf nearest to him, and
attacking the second with the sharp end of it soon
fixed him to the ground. The third wolf had
already been disabled. The combatant was there-
fore relieved by the bold courage of Albert from all
further fear. Then the traveller, almost exhausted
with his battle with the savage wolves, said—

‘Thanks, thanks, whoever thou art; for thou
hast saved me from much trouble, and perhaps
even death. Who art thou ?”

“My name is Albert,” replied the boy. ‘“ Who
art thou ?”

“T am a soldier, and have lost my way among
these inhospitable mountains,” replied the stranger.
“ Canst thou tell where I am?”

“T can,” said Albert. “Thou art seven miles
from the village, if we could cross the stream;
but twenty-seven, if we go by the bridge some
miles lower down.”

“ How is it,” said the stranger, “that a youth


168 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

like thee should be wandering alone in this dis-
mal place? Whence comest thou?”

“T have travelled from Mount Faigel.”

“ And no one with thee ?”

“No one but God.”

“Do you not fear these storms ?”

“ God is in the storm.”

‘And there are torrents, too, that must be
crossed.”

“ God is by the torrent.”

“And the darkness grows thick and deep.”

‘God is my light in the darkness.”

“But you are but a child.”

“‘God will be with a child,” replied Albert,
striking his staff on the ground, and assuming an
attitude of bold reliance.

“Guide me across the stream, and bring me
safely to Steinin, and I will reward you.”

“T have my reward, and require no other,”
replied Albert.

“ How is that ?”

“God rewards those who do their duty.”

“It may not be thy duty, boy,” said the
stranger. “I may be thy enemy, and the enemy
of thy country.”

“Tt is my duty to serve my enemy when in dis-
tress or trouble. And wert thou the wicked
Gessler himself, I would serve thee.”


ALBERT, SON OF WILLIAM TELL. 169

“ Humph!” said the stranger, with a pensive
aspect. “ Why dost thou call Gessler wicked ?”

“ Because,” said the boy, “he acts against his
conscience: he must know that men have a right
to be free, and he kills them because they love
their liberty. But come, follow me higher up the
stream, and I will find a way across the torrent.”

Young Tell and Gessler—for the stranger was
no other than the Austrian governor—now pro-
ceeded on their way up the bank of the stream
till they came to a part of it where two broken
rocks had formed a natural bridge, the existence of
which was known only to Albert, his father, and a
few of their patriot band. Over this the lad and
the Austrian governor passed, and, amid the roar
of the tempest, reached the other side in safety.
They then ascended the mountains and climbed
up through crevices, till at last they stood on a
kind of table-land above. Then all at once they
came upon a picquet of the Austrian army stand-
ing round a large fire. Upon the approach of
Gessler, the officer in command called out,
“The Governor!’ All the soldiers immediately
“dressed,” that is, stood in rank and presented
arms.

Albert at once found out his position, and that
he had been directing the steps of his father’s
worst foe; but, nothing daunted, he determined


170 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

to make the best of the circumstances into which
fortune had thrown him. He did not suppose
that the Austrian could have any knowledge of
him or his mission, but instinct seemed to tell
him that the sooner he was out of the hands of
his enemies the better; and so, buckling up his
girdle, he prepared to depart, saying to Gessler,
with due reverence—

*T have performed my promise, sir, and now I
may be permitted to pass on my way ?”

“Not till we are better acquainted, my young
friend,” replied the governor. “ You have per-
formed for me an essential service, and I must
reward you. Who, and what are you, boy?”

“My uname is Albert,” replied-the lad, “and I
reside, when I am at home, at Altorf.”

“Albert is thy baptismal name—a good name,
worthy a good Austrian, but there are many
Alberts in this wide world. What is thy other
name? Tell me, that I may do thy parents, as
well as thyself, some service.”

“My name would not be pleasing to you, and I
will not reveal it.”

“Ha!” said the governor ; “thou art then some
rebel—some partizan of the miscreant Tell. I
will have thy name, boy.”

“?Tis not in thy power, nor in the power of all
thy hosts, to wrench it from me. It would have




ALBERT, SON OF WILLIAM TELL. 171

been easy for me to have told thee a fictitious
name; but I scorn a lie. Iam not bound to tell
you my name. You found me free, leave me so.”

“Who is thy father?” said the governor, with a
menacing look.

‘““A free man—a companion of the eagle on
the mountain tops, and of the clouds that sail
upon the free-born winds. Would every man in
Switzerland were as free as he!”

“ T will know who thou art. Seize him, guards!
Search him—find out who he is.”

Some of the soldiers immediately stepped for-
ward at the bidding of their chief; and having
seized Albert, began to search him. They took
from him his bow and quiver, his staff, and wallet.
They then searched his clothes, and found a letter
from Tell to his wife, which at once revealed the
name and mission of the heroic boy.

“T told thee I would have thy name,” said
Gessler, with a triumphant smile; ‘and it is
well I did so. Thou art the son of Tell; reveal
the place of thy father’s hiding, or thou shalt
never see father or mother more.”

“T would not reveal my own name, and thinkest
thou that I would give up my father to thee?
Put me to ten thousand cruel deaths, I will brave
them all, and tell thee to the last that this is an ill
requite to one who saved thee from death by the

u


172 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

wolves, and led thee by the torrent and through the
storm in safety.”

“T am not safe, Austria is not safe, while thy
father lives, and he shall starve on the mountain
tops while thou remain with me. Bind him,
guards |”

“Bind me!—never will I be bound. Keep aloof,
soldiers,” uttered the youth with a defying voice,
and stepping some paces apart.

“Seize him!” vociferated the governor. But
the moment the: soldiers advanced to do so,
Albert made a spring towards the edge of the
high rocks he and the governor had mounted
after they had passed the torrent. Standing
there for a moment, he called out, “I defy thee,
Austrian; the son of Tell will not betray his
father.” At the same moment, folding his arms,
and rolling himself up like a ball, he threw himself
down the mountain steep and disappeared.

“Fire at him, shoot him—let him not escape!”
cried the governor, with frantic gestures. He
with the soldiers advanced close to the head of
the ravine, but nothing could be seen and nothing
heard but the rattling of rough stones against
the rock, and one solitary plunge in the torrent
stream below.

Such was the devotedness of Albert, the son of
Tell. And He who was beside him in the tem-


ALBERT, SON OF WILLIAM TELL. 173

pest, and with him in the darkness, was near
him in the torrent, whose waters received him as
a bed of down. Dreadful was the descent and
fearful the plunge, but the youth escaped un-
injured; and before the morning sun appeared,
had fulfilled his mission and returned to his
father with efficient help.

This story is one of many that teach us what
boys can do. The relation of such heroic devo-
tion ought to sink deeply into all hearts which
in this world of peril may be called upon to make
heroic sacrifice and stern devotion to faithfulness
and truth,


Benjamin Franklin,

THE YOUNG PRINTER.

TE spectacle of the sea is so striking and sublime
that it seizes upon the imagination of all—from
the man of the people who feels his soul expand
in presence of this boundless expanse, to the
child who is astonished and wonder-struck at it.
Even commonplace natures are moved by the
grand scenes of nature to something of the sensa-
tions of artists and poets. If the aspect of the
ocean is sublime, the shell-strewn shore of a sea-
port town has its picturesque attractions, espe-
cially for the juvenile population of these lati-
tudes who love to explore their rocky caverns and
grottoes.

One fine autumn season, in the year 1715, a
child of eight or nine years of age was accus-
tomed to go and swim every evening in Boston
Roads. This town did not at that period possess
the importance which it has since acquired. It
was only a great centre of the population of the
English colonies in America. Industry and com-
merce developed themselves there with that.




























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































“As soon as he found himself alone between the
noisy joy.”—Page 175.



sky and the water, he abandoned himself to a sort of
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 175

regular and incessant activity which characterizes
the genius of the English.

The child, who every evening was to be seen
swimming off from the shore, or making use of a
barge temporarily abandoned by its owners, to
practise steering it himself, was generally dressed
in the humble garb of an artisan; but his well-
formed figure, expressive countenance, blue and
intelligent eye, elevated him so far above his
fellows, that it was impossible to pass without
noticing him; and he was consequently well known
to all the inhabitants of the port.

Not an old sailor who did not love the little
Benjamin, and who did not hail him by his name
when he was seen gliding through the labyrinth
of boats and barges.

To swim in the open sea, or to guide thither
a boat into which he had leaped unperceived
by any one—but which he always brought hon-
estly back to the place whence he had taken it
—such was the exercise to which the child with
the robust stature and intelligent countenance
ardently devoted himself daily. As soon as he
found himself alone between the sky and the
water, he abandoned himself to a sort of noisy joy,
which displayed itself sometimes by prolonged
inhalations of the pure sea-breeze and wholesome
marine odours, and at others by violent gestures,


176 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

by means of which he seemed to stretch and
fortify himself. Occasionally, half in the boat
and half swimming, he would manage to steer
towards a rock that raised its barren head from
out the middle of the waves, and climbing to its
highest summit, would spread out his clothes. to
dry, and then sit naked and thoughtful, contem-
plating the measureless horizon; before him the
shore, the port, the wide landscape; behind him
the illimitable waste of waters.

That which caused the little Benjamin to ex-
perience so keen a delight in the motion of the
sea, and the immediate contact with nature, was
the contrast which these hours of liberty of an
evening formed with the semi-slavery that was
imposed on him during the day. The poor child
was compelled as soon as he rose in the morning
to work at a trade that was extremely repugnant
to him. His father was a tallow-chandler, and
when only ten years of age the little Benjamin was
employed in cutting candle-wicks, filling moulds
with grease, and other necessary but disagreeable
duties. The child, endowed with delicate senses,
and a refined imagination, submitted with great
repugnance to this occupation. Sent to school from
five to eight years of age, he learned with great
facility to read and write; he was passionately
fond of books, and devoured those that formed the






BENJAMIN FRANKIIN. 177

small library of his father, who was an intelligent
workman. Among those books was “Plutarch’s
Lives,” and when he had finished reading, his
delight was to go and muse and dream in the open
air, or on the open sea. It was only these hours
of delicious solitude that enabled him to endure
patiently the disgust inspired by his hours of labour
at the manufactory ; the odour which exhaled from
the caldrons of boiling fat sickened him; and
when he was obliged to touch with his little white
and delicate hands the still smoking candles, it re-
volted him extremely. But he submitted to the
labour which was that of his father, thinking that
it would be to fail in his respect to him to testify
the disgust with which it inspired him; only im-
mediately that the period of his disagreeable
duties was over, he hastened to efface from his
hair, his skin, and his clothes, that smell of rancid
fat which pursued him like the stigma of his re-
pugnant labour. He had no sooner bathed and
found himself alone with nature, than he felt
as if he had become again a child endowed by
the Almighty with those rare and exceptional
qualities which sooner or later could not fail
to develop themselves, and which would make
him great in spite of all the obstacles of his social
position.

The reading of “ Plutarch’s Lives” prepared




178 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

him for struggles and obstacles, and gave him a
glimpse of future fame.

When he used to re-enter his father’s dwelling,
on his return from these invigorating expeditions,
it would be with a cheerful brow and renovated
frame. After the evening repast, and when the
household prayers were over, he would return to
the little. chamber where he slept, read his
favourite authors, and exercise himself in the
art of composition. Although he often passed
part of the night in this kind of occupation, which
to him was only a pleasure, in the morning, at
break of day, he was none the less on foot and
hastening to the workshop to help his father in
the manufacture of his candles. His father,
touched by so much docility and zeal, and wishing
to encourage his child’s inclination for learning,
said to him one day: “I see plainly that you will
never take kindly to my business; your little
brother 1s growing up, and can help me now, and
you, you can go and work at the printing-office
with your eldest brother ; that will suit you better
since you are so fond of books. There you can
easily have them from all the libraries in the town.”

The child’s heart leapt for joy at these words;
he had long envied the profession of his elder
brother, but he never dared to hope that his father
would one day allow him to follow it.


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 179

To follow the trade of a printer has never been
distasteful to philosophers, poets, or moralists.
To produce the finest works in English litera-
ture, seizing some precious fragments even while
setting up the type; to breathe the atmosphere of
the printing-office instead of the sickly and repul-
sive odour of candles, seemed a paradise to our
little Benjamin; so much so that he forgot on
what hard conditions his brother had consented to
receive him as an apprentice. This elder brother,
whose name was James, was as calculating, and
determined, as the imaginative child was deficient
in these qualities; he only consented to take little
Benjamin into his house on condition that he

should give him his services as an ordinary work-

man until he was twenty-one, without receiving
any wages until the last year.

The first few years of this apprenticeship passed
peaceably enough for little Benjamin, who still
took the greatest delight in study, and in ex-
cursions on the water. His brother, provided his
time in the workshop was fully occupied by day,
gave himself little concern that the child was
absent from his meals, and often deprived himself
of his natural rest, in order to indulge his great
and unconquerable instincts..

A rich and learned English merchant, who fre-
quented the printing-office, interested himself


180 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

greatly in the young apprentice, whose intelli-
gence he discovered: he gave him free access to
his fine library, one of the most considerable in
Boston: he did more, he directed his course of
reading and study, and taught him to classify each
subject in order in his memory : he made him read
first the series of all the historians, ancient and

modern; adding to the history of the peoples

known to antiquity, the history of the discovery
of new countries and people ; then the chronicles
and memoirs relating to general facts, details, and
lives: he then made him read also all the most
celebrated works on religion, morality, science,
politics, and philosophy ; and, finally, the great
poets, who form, as it were, the radiant crown to
this marvellous edifice of the human mind, reared
patiently from century to century by the chosen
intelligences of every country. Inthe great poets
he found the essence, and, as it were, the condensa-
tion of all other geniuses. Homer and Shakspeare
combine in themselves all knowledge and all in-
spiration.

Poetry now took forcible possession of his brain.
in his early childhood he had composed some
incorrect and straggling verses; he wished to
write some, correet, and irreproachable, according
to the rules which Pope had just laid down in his
translation of Homer, Horace, and Boileau: but


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 181

in poetry the will is not sufficient. To be a poet
it is necessary to have been touched with the
sacred fire.

Benjamin had not yet discerned his true voca-
tion. Feeling himself profoundly moved in the
presence of nature, he believed himself a poet.
He no longer improvised his verses, as formerly
to old airs; he wrote them carefully, and only
sang them when satisfied with their form. It was
in this manner that he composed two ballads on
sailors’ adventures. He sang them to some of his
old seafaring friends. They were enchanted with
them, repeated them in chorus, and thus assured
to them a sort of popular success. The brother
of Benjamin, knowing that it would be to his own
profit, printed the two ballads, and sent the boy
to sell them of an evening in the town. Benjamin,
arrayed in his working garb, set off, therefore,
pushing before him a small barrow filled with the
damp sheets, and drawing the attention of the
passers-by to his ballads, which he sang as he went
along. They had an enormous sale in the streets,
in the public squares, and principally on the quay,
and in the harbour, where every sailor, down to
the smallest cabin-boy, wanted to have a copy of
their little friend’s songs. He brought back to
his brother every penny that the sale of his
songs produced, and thought himself remunerated




182 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

with the fame he considered he derived from
them.

His father, a man of sound sense, endowed with
a naturally good understanding, interposed his
authority between the asperity of the brother, and
the growing vanity of the youthful poet; he
forbade Benjamin to continue this public sale of his
songs, and declared plainly that his verses were
rubbish.

“You must,” said his father, “‘ practise writing
in prose on different subjects, and know your
vocation well, before proclaiming yourself to the
public. You may, perhaps, become a moral philo-
sopher, the editor of a journal, or, perhaps, an
orator; but do not be in a hurry to be talked of;
wait till fame comes to seek you: believe me,
lasting fame and fortune come but slowly.”

Benjamin, who, like all youths destined to be-
come great, was modest and unassuming, received
his father’s teaching with submission; it was even
engraved so deeply in his mind that it seemed to
control every action of his life. Following his
father’s advice, he exercised himself in writing on
various subjects, and took for his models the best
authors of England. He read Addison’s ‘“ Spec-
tator” (at that period the best English magazine),
and began to write articles for that journal. The
idea of their appearing in its pages had not yet


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 1838

occurred to him; but it was very shortly to be
suggested to him.

He dreamed of nothing but the means of culti
vating and enlarging his mind. Having read in
some book that vegetable diet kept the body
healthy, and the mental faculties clear and active,
he confined himself to rice, potatoes, bread, raisins,
and water. This frugal fare-afforded him also the
means of economising to buy more books. Ina
little time, however, he gave up his Pythagorean
system, induced thereto by the following ad-
venture. He was accustomed to go occasionally
to fish for his father or his brother; he used to
bring them back the produce of his sport, but
never tasted it himself. One day they pointed
out to him in the inside of one of the fish which
he had caught, another very small fish, “Oh!
oh!” said he, “since you eat each other, I do not
see why we should scruple to eat you.”

Boston, which is at the present time one of
the most enlightened and literary towns in
North America, was comparatively so even at that
period. Several journals were published there ;
one by the brother of Benjamin, called the “ New
England Courier.” The literary department was
very feebly conducted, and the young dreamer
felt persuaded that he should henceforth be
capable of producing much better articles than


184 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

those he saw boasted of around him, But he
dreaded his brother’s common and envious mind,
and he well knew that if he sent the MSS. in his
own handwriting they would be refused. He
pondered a long time as to how he could contrive
for some of his articles on politics and science to
reach him anonymously, and at length resolved to
disgnise his handwriting, and to slip every evening
under the closed door of the printing-office those
pages destined for the ‘New England Courier.”
All the articles which he thus successfully trans-
mitted to his brother were printed in the journal,
and in a short time nothing was talked of but the

anonymous writer who so far surpassed all the
well-known scribes.

Emboldened by success, Benjamin made himself
known, and was loaded with praises by all except
his brother, whose jealousy was redoubled. The
latier’s vanity suffered such severe mortification

from a sense of his inferiority, that even his self-
interest failed to overcome. An article in his
journal having given offence, he was forbidden by
the authorities to continue the publication. James,
with whom money was the supreme consideration,
had recourse to a stratagem to avoid suspending
a paper from which he derived considerable profit ;
he brought it out under the name of his brother;
and to give a colour to this fiction, he gave Ben-






BENJAMIN FRANKIIN. 185

jamin up his indentures which bound him to him
till he was one-and-twenty ; but he took the pre-
caution of making him secretly sign a fresh
engagement, which, if not binding, would, he well
knew, be considered so by the conscientious youth.

The latter consented to everything for the sake
of insuring the continuous appearance of his
works, and also in the hope that his brother,
touched by the profit accruing to him from his
journal, would relax something of his rigour
towards him. There are some persons possessed
of such narrow and envious minds, that they cannot
brook the presence of the good and gifted: to
harass and humiliate them seems the incessant
aim of their jealousy. James, lowered in his own
esteem by the striking superiority of his brother,
took a mean delight in overwhelming him with
the hardest labour, in hope of weakening that
superiority. From morning to night he com-
pelled him to toil in the printing-office, although
he saw him pale and worn-out when he had spent
the night in writing for his journal.

One day, Benjamin, weary of this constant
struggle and restraint, declared to his brother
that he must have his liberty.

James instantly loaded him with the most -
abusive epithets, calling him a traitor and a per
jurer
186 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

“I know I am breaking my word,” replied
the poor boy, ‘but do not you also break all the
laws of justice and kindness?” And he quitted
his brother’s house never to re-enter it.

James, furious, went and complained loudly to
his father. He brought the most odious accusa-
tions against Benjamin; he abused and maligned
him to all the printers in Boston, and to such
good purpose that the accused dared not show his
face among them. In a short time necessity
began to press him, How was he to support
himself? Where seek shelter? Sustained by a
strength of mind far superior to his age, he re-
solved to make some fresh attempts, and applied
at several printing-offices. They were all closed
to him,

Desperate, and his resources having dwindled
down to about five shillings, he went and seated
himself by the sea-shore, and in spite of himself,
tears rolled slowly down his cheeks: this evening
he had no thought or inclination either for
swimming or rowing. As he sat thus disconso-
lately bewailing his hard fate, the captain of a
brig, one of his old friends, happened to pass.

“What, Benjamin sitting idle! Benjamin not
swimming! Benjamin not singing!” said he,
clapping him on the shoulder; then he added,
“Will Benjamin amuse himself by coming on




BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 187

board my brig, which sails to-morrow for New
York ?”

Touched by the kindness of the old seaman,
Benjamin told him all his troubles.

“Well,” said the captain, after listening to his
narrative, “if you will be advised by me, you
will not make two words about it, but go off with
me to-morrow to New York ; you will perhaps be
able to find some work there: if not, you can go
on to Philadelphia, where I have a relative who
will receive you as a son.”

Benjamin was of an adventurous turn: he joy-
fully accepted the captain’s proposition, and went
on board that very evening.

Favoured by fine weather, they soon arrived at
New York; but not succeeding in finding work
there, Benjamin set out again immediately for
Philadelphia, furnished with a letter from the
good captain to his relation, the printer Keirmer.
There he found a hospitable house, an intelligent
and kind master, who discerned the worth of the
noble youth, and treated him as his own child.
Benjamin worked diligently to prove his grati-
tude, and in a short time became foreman of the
printing-office. But work of a more elevated -
character—politics, science, attracted him still;
when evening came, and he took his solitary
walks in the country, he would often sorrowfully

N
188 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

ask himself if a way would ever be opened to
him to accomplish his destiny.

One evening, seated on a height overlooking
- the town, he remained rapt in contemplation till
it was nearly night. Suddenly he was overtaken
by a violent storm, such as is scarcely ever seen
in Europe. A thunderbolt burst over an edifice,
and set it on fire; the flames spread rapidly and
destroyed the building. Benjamin ran to the
spot, guided by the lurid light; several persons
had perished; it was a heart-rending spectacle.
The young student returned overwhelmed with
grief, and passed the night in meditation, his head
buried in his hands. He had some time since
ascertained the power which objects with sharp
points possess of controlling, lessening, and
diverting the discharge of the electric fluid, he
asked himself if it would not be possible to apply
these objects to a useful purpose; he felt a con-
viction that if thunder and lightning were the
effects of electricity, it would be possible to direct
them, and prevent them from destroying and
ravaging. It is to the reflections of this night of
sorrowful vigil that we are indebted for the light-
ning conductor, of which Benjamin Franklin was
the inventor.

The renown of so precocious a genius was not

long in spreading through Philadelphia. Sir ©


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 189

William Keith, governor of the province, who
was a remarkable man, desired to see and ques-
tion him; he foresaw what this young and aspir-
ing genius would become in the future. He
wished to attach him to the mother-country by
the double ties of gratitude and fame.

“Will you go to London?” said he: “you shall
sail in a government vessel; your expenses shall
be defrayed by me; you will make the acquaint-
ance of literary and learned men; you will be-
come one of them, my young friend, and then
you will return to Philadelphia, and spread the
treasures of your mind in the New World.”

Benjamin accepted the offer.

From that day he felt himself emancipated.
From a youth he became a man! But his earliest
benefactor, when he spoke to him thus, little
thought that his protégé would one day be the
famous Benjamin Franklin, one of the founders
of the republic of the United States! His patron
not having furnished him with money sufficient to
live in London, he was obliged to work as a
journeyman in a printing-office; but he there
acquired a reputation for industry and talent,
which rendered him a pattern to all his fellow-
workmen; and, being able in a short time to pro-
cure a small quantity of materials, he returned to
Philadelphia, where he entered into partnership


190 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

with a person of the name of Meredith, and
together they established a printing-office.
Franklin’s partner supplied the funds; he fur-
nished his assiduous labour and tried experience:
he worked day and night, his only relaxation
being the conversation of the distinguished and
literary characters of the province, with whom he
delighted. to hold dissertations on politics and
physic.

A short ‘time after, Franklin’s partner left him
sole master of the business; his fortune rapidly
increased, and in 1730 he was united in marriage
to a widow lady, whom, as Miss Read, he had
courted before her first marriage. Franklin
established a journal, contributed to the forming
of a public library at Philadelphia, and founded
an insurance office, and other useful institutions in
the same town. In 1732 he published his “Poor
Richard@’s Almanack,” which became noted for the
wisdom and pithiness of its maxims, and the ease
with which they were imprinted on the mind.
In 1736 Franklin was appointed clerk to the
General Assembly at Pennsylvania, and the year
following he became postmaster. He was exceed-
ingly useful to this community and province; he
armed a sort of national guard of ten thousand
men to defend it against the Indians, who were
threatening it. He founded learned societies, and


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 191

about this time seriously commenced his studies
and experiments on electricity, the result of
which was the invention of the lightning con-
ductor. He founded a large establishment of
public instruction, known now as the College of
Philadelphia, which he supported with his credit,
his fortune, and even his personal tuition and
superintendence. He aided in the foundation of
hospitals and asylums for the poor. In 1757 he
was sent to England on a diplomatic mission for
Pennsylvania: whilst in this country he was
elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, and honoured
with the decree of Doctor of Laws by the univer-
sities of Oxford, Edinburgh, and St. Andrews.
When the War of Independence broke out,
Franklin took a prominent and active part in the
declarations and resolutions. Whilst Washington
was commanding the patriots, Franklin was, in
1776, despatched as envoy to France, to demand
the help of that country against the mother-
country. He was received at Paris by the Duke
of Rochefoucauld, who had known him in London,
and who introduced him to the first society, and
the court. Franklin, by his great talent, his
simple ard dignified manners, his noble counte-
nance and pleasing address, succeeded in rousing
the French nobility to the utmost enthusiasm for
the Americans. M. de Lafayette put himself at


192 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD,

the head of the volunteers; King Louis XVI.,
led by public opinion, concluded, in 1778, the
Treaty of Alliance with the United States,
recognized as an independent power; Sweden and
Prussia also joined in this act of recognition.
Having achieved this object, which assured the
independence of his country, Franklin still re-
mained several years in France, as minister
plenipotentiary, and settled at Passy, where one
of the streets bears his name to this day. It was
there that he wrote several of his works, and made
fresh experiments in physics; he had the good
fortune to meet Voltaire at the Academy of
Sciences, to wliiom he presented his grandson, and

asked his blessing for him. Voltaire laid his lean
and trembling hands on the child’s head, and
exclaimed, ‘“‘‘ God and Liberty!’ That,” he
added, “is a suitable motto for a grandson of
Franklin.” ,

But Franklin, feeling the approaches of old age,
quitted France to visit his beloved country. When
he arrived at Philadelphia, all the inhabitants for
miles round came to meet him, and saluted him
as the saviour and liberator of his country. He
was twice elected President of the Supreme
Council, but in 1788 the infirmities of age com-
pelled him to withdraw entirely from public life.
He still, however, found strength sufficient for






BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 1938

several valuable purposes; he wrote against the
slave trade and arranged his memoirs, through
which his honest and unstained life flows like a
peaceful river. In the midst of useful labours he
was attacked by fever, which terminated his ex-
istence on the 17th of April, 1790, at the age of
eighty-four. His will, which included several
legacies to institutions of public utility, ended with
this sentence: “I bequeath to my friend, the
friend of the human race, General Washington,
my walking-stick; and if it were a sceptre, it
would become him equally well.” What an elo-
quent eulogium! and what great and admirable
men were Washington and Franklin !

Several years before his death Franklin com-
posed his own epitaph, which ran as follows:—

HERE LIES,
GIVEN OVER TO THE WORMS,
THE BODY OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, PRINTER,
LIKE THE COVER OF AN OLD BOOK
WHOSE LEAVES ARE ALL TORN OUT,
AND THE GILDING AND TITLE EFFACED.
BUT FOR ALL THAT, THE WORK WILL NOT BE LOST *
FOR IT WILL REAPPEAR,
ACCORDING TO HIS BELIEF,
IN A NEW AND BETTER EDITION,
REVISED AND CORRECTED
BY

THE AUTHOR.
Joseph Hume, the Fisherman’s Son.

JosrrH Hume, one of the most prominent members
of Parliament in the important and stirring times
which immediately preceded and followed the
passing of the Reform Bill, sprang from the very
midst of the people. He was born in 1777, in
Ferry Street, Montrose, and from his very birth
exhibited those qualities of perseverance and
right doing which, if they do not take rank alto-
gether as heroism, at least raised him into a very
prominent position among the legislators of Eng-
land. His father, a most sober, industrious, per-
severing man, began the world with no capital, and
roughed its thorny paths with few friends. At
length, by dint of hard labour and economy, he
saved wherewithal to purchase a sloop. As master
of this vessel he traded to London, where he died,
when his son Joseph Hume was only five years
old. Such was, indeed, the very humble origin of
atoan with whose name is now associated many
great qualities.

Joseph was brought up by his mother, one of
the very best and most prudent of worien; and at


JOSEPH HUME. 195

the public grammar-school of Montrose he dis-
tinguished himself greatly. He had some thoughts
of following his father’s calling; but by the advice
of some friends he was apprenticed to Dr. John
Bale, physician and surgeon, of Montrose. Atthis
early age he conceived the idea of becoming a
great man, and engaged in the discharge of the
duties of this apprenticeship with good-will and
with a laudable spirit of perseverance. arly
and late he toiled in the attic of his mother’s
house,—a poor but comfortably-furnished old-
fashioned edifice at the north port of Montrose ;
and, in a few years, he was one of the best-in-

formed and most elevated disciples of Esculapius

of which the north of Scotland could boast.

After a while Joseph repaired to Edinburgh, to
qualify himself for the degree of a ‘ Surgecn.”
At the age of eighteen he had obtained his
diploma, and came to London to seek his fortune,
and made several voyages to India and China in
the old Hast India Company’s ships, and in 1799
obtained an appointment to the Bengal presidency
as a surgeon in the army.

In afew years he was employed in the various
offices of surgeon, Persian interpreter to the army
during the Mahratta war in Bundelted, from 1802
to 1808, paymaster, postmaster, &c., discharging the
duties attached to them in a way to call forth the


196 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

public thanks of Lord Lake and other influential
functionaries. From one post to another, in his
influence with the merchant princes of the Hast,

he plodded upwards, and onwards, now making a
trading visit to England, and anon returning to
Bombay, until he accumulated a handsome compe-
tency, on which, at the close of the war, he retired
from the active commerce of desultory life, and
returned to his native country in 1808.

He spent the year 1810, and part of 1811, in
travelling in Spain, Egypt, Turkey, Greece, &c.,
and again returned to England. Towards the close
of the latter year he was returned member for
Weymouth. Seizing a favourable opportunity of
presenting himself to a Scotch constituency, he
was returned as the representative in Parliament
of Montrose in 1818, for which borough he con-
tinued to sit till 1830, when he succeeded Mr.
Whitbread in Middlesex, and represented that
county till the general election in 1837, when he
was returned for Kilkenny. He was not returned
to Parliament at the general election in 1841, but
was elected for Montrose in 1842,on Mr. Chalmers
accepting the Chiltern Hundreds. For a period
of more than forty years this fisherman’s boy en-
joyed the honourable position of a seat in St,
Stephen’s.

As a member of Parliament Mr. Hume ex-


JOSEPH HUME. 197

hibited an earnest desire to benefit society; and
sincerely deploring the corruption prevalent in
the administration of public affairs, he brought
his talents and experience to bear in furtherance
of the common good.

Mr. Hume’s history, as a politician, is a singu-
lar one. Without political connexions, powers of
oratory, or large pretensions to any science, ex-
cept arithmetic, he rapidly succeeded in obtaining
a conspicuous place among his fellow-legislators.
From the position of a popular declaimer, he
raised himself to that of a member of great weight
in the House; to be an object of respect and sup-
port to the Liberals, and of awe to the ministerial
benches. Mr. Hume was the first member of Par-
liament who thoroughly popularised the question
of finance, and made the people understand the
relations which taxation and expenditure bore
to each other; and he did so by bringing forward
a series of motions the most definite and minute
that had ever been submitted to the notice of Par-
liament. The invariable principle upon which he
acted was, that wrong can be found in everything,
provided one can get at it. Upon this principle
he began a series of tentative charges, trusting
that some at least would come out more or less
well founded. In this career he had to encounter
many very triumphant refutations, which would


198 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

have dismayed an ordinary assailant; but to all
this he presented a hard, determined, and im
mutable front, and proceeded directly onward.
The ground he took was favourable.

The times in which he lived were such as to
make urgent and almost feverish calls for economy ;
so that whenever he chanced to hit at all fair, the
arrow went deep. A strong party soon mustered
round him, and gave him a decided consideration
in the eyes of the public. He compelled ministers
to lay public accounts before the House more dis-
tinctly and in greater detail; he dissipated that
darkness under whose care a certain easiness and
slovenliness can scarcely fail to insinuate itself.
He worked hard for the public good, and in his
manhood kept the promise of his youth.


Heroic Devotion of Two Mexican
Youths.

Arter the death of Montezuma, the Mexicans took
possession of a high tower in the great temple
which overlooked the Spanish quarters, and
placing there a garrison of their principal warriors,
nota Spaniard could stir without being exposed
to their missiles. From this point it was neces-
sary to dislodge them at any risk. Juan de Esco
bor thrice made the attempt, but was eacn time
repulsed. Ferdinando Cortez, sensible that not
only the reputation but the safety of his army de-
pended on the success of this assault, ordered a
buckler to be tied to his arm, as he could not
manage it with his wounded hand, and rushed
with his drawn sword on to the thickest of the
combatants. Encouraged by the presence of their
General, the Spaniards returned to the charge with
such vigour that they gradually forced their way
up the steps, and drove the Mexicans to the plat-
form at the top of the tower. Therea dreadful
carnage began: when two young Mexicans, of
high rank, observing Cortez, as he animated his

soldiers by his voice and example, resolved to sacri-


200 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

fice their own lives in order to cut off the author
of all the calamities which desolated their country.
They approached in a suppliant posture, as if
they had intended to lay down their arms, and
seizing him, in a moment hurried him towards the
walls, over which they threw themselves head-
long, in hopes of dragging him along to be dashed
to pieces by the same fall. But Cortez, by his
strength and ability, broke loose from their grasp,
and the gallant youths perished in their generous,
though unsuccessful, attempt to save their country.
History is full of instances of valour; but sel-
dom do we read of such heroic devotion as this.


The Boyhood of Linneeus.

Tere are few places more dismal than a poor
Swedish village when November makes its ap-
pearance: as soon as the short day is ended, a
thick smoke rising from every thatched roof pro-
claims that every family is warming itself round
its own particular hearth. Coldness and dulness
cover the earth, and the sky presents an unbroken
horizon of dull grey, except where the aurora
borealis suddenly illuminates it with transitory
brightness.

One winter’s evening, in the year 1719, the
chimney of the presbytery of Roeshult, a poor
habitation, scarcely distinguishable from the cot-
tages that surrounded it, threw a column of thick
black smoke upwards. A large turf fire was
burning in the interior.

The pastor and his family—which consisted ot
his wife, an excellent manager, two little girls
aged respectively seven and eight, and a boy who

might be about twelve—were ranged round the
table for the evening: on this table burned a
three-niched lamp; at the foot of the lamp lay a


202 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

heap of large balls of brown worsted with which
the mother was busily employed in knitting
stockings with wooden knitting-needles; and the
two little girls were emulating each other in their
attempts to imitate their mother’s work, in which
they succeeded tolerably well; while the pastor,
with his elbow on the table, and his head bent
over a large Bible, read from time to time some
passages, on which he commented as he read. All
the attention of the little fair-haired boy appeared
absorbed by a copy-book, in the leaves of which
he was arranging some plants and flowers. His
sisters occasionally looked at him askance, but
without interrupting him in his occupation. As
for the mother, she from time to time cast on him
a kind look and a smile, all the while keeping a
watch on her husband, who continued his learned
and pious reading and commentaries without ever

raising his eyes to his audience.
But suddenly the latter lifted up his large head,
thereby revealing a countenance in which might

be read a strong and determined will, and having
looked at his son, said, angrily—

“ Still busied with those eternal books and those
useless plants! I am resolved to put an end to
your idleness and disobedience by throwing the
whole into the fire.”

And as he made a gesture as if about to execute






































“All the attention of the little fair-haired boy appeared absorbed by a copy-bock, in the leaves of which he
was arranging some plants and flowers.’—Page. 202.
LINNZUS. 203

his threat, the child forcibly pressed his copy-book
to his breast, and crossed his arms resolutely over
it, while his mother stopped her husband, and said
to him—

“A little patience, my good Nicholas; he only
wanted to arrange the plants he has collected
during the day, and now he will attend diligently
to his Latin studies.” And she hastened to secure
the threatened copy-book, and substitute one of
Latin themes and verses.

“Wife, in attempting to excuse him, you accuse
yourself,” exclaimed the pastor, whose anger was
not appeased. ‘You speak of the plants which he

has gathered to-day. Yes, I know well, instead
of remaining here writing his exercises, or follow-
ing me in my visits to the sick and dying, he has
been rummaging in the snow, and rambling about
like a little vagabond, in the defiles of the moun-
tains, to seek what, I ask you?—herbs without
name and without use.”

«“ Without name, may be,
ignorant as her husband of botany, ‘but as for
being useful and salutary, there are some that are
so; for only the other day, when our little Chris-
tina cut her finger, some leaves of one of those
plants sufficed to heal the wound, and when our
old cousin Bertha burnt herself so badly, some
time ago, it was also with some plants selected by

0

”

replied the wife, as


204 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

our little Charles that she was cured. The village
doctor, whom she sent for, declared that the dress-
ing of leaves which had been applied was good, that
it must be continued, and that whoever recommended
it knew what he was about.”

“ At all events,” rejoined the father, “as I do
not desire to make my son a doctor of medicine,
but a doctor of theology, a minister of the church,
like myself, he will have to make up his mind to
renounce this foolish botanizing, and to give up
in future all his time under my direction to the
study of the Holy Scriptures and Latin: other-
wise I promise him that, before a week is over his
head, I will send him to the boarding-school in the
town, where he will be made to work, whether he
likes it or not.”

The mother would have replied, but the father
imposed silence on her by his gravity, and bending
again over his Bible, continued his reading in an
undertone.

Nothing further was heard in the smoky apart-
ment, which served at once for kitchen, parlour,
and dining-room to the poor pastor’s family, but
the sound of the knitting-needles made by the
good housewife and the two little girls, and the
still less distinct sound produced by the pen of
the little boy who was writing his Latin exer-
cises.


LINNZUS. 205

He set about this fresh work with almost fever-
ish absorption and haste. It seemed as if he
wanted to do well, and quickly, a task that was dis-
tasteful to him. When he had finished he uttered
a sigh of relief, which interrupted the general
silence.

“Well?” said the pastor, as he raised his head,
heavy with reading, meditation, and perhaps drow-
siness.

“There, father !” said the child, laying his pages
of writing beside the Bible.

The father immediately looked them over, and
when he had finished, he murmured : “ Well—very
well! I know, Charles, that you can do whatever
you set your mind on, and for that reason I con-
sider you so much the more to blame when you do
not obey me.”

‘I wish to obey you,” replied the child, regard-
ing his father with a glance of mingled tenderness
and entreaty; ‘“‘but could you not allow me to
divide my time into two parts, one for the study
of the Holy Scriptures and Latin, the other for the
study of those plants and flowers which are to me
as so many psalms and hymns singing the praises
of God ?”

“You are mad!” exclaimed the father. “I have
already told you that this childish study would
lead. to nothing, save to fetter you in your theolo-


206 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

gical career; if you persist, you know my resolu-
tion in regard to you, and IJ shall not deviate from
it.”

With these words he rose and began the prayer
in which the family were accustomed to unite
every evening. The children then embraced their
father and mother, and retired to bed. Little
Charles slept in a dark closet, the sole furniture of
which consisted of a bed, a chair, and a deal shelf,
on which were some books and his beloved her-
bals. He was no sooner in bed than he began to
cry, and to reflect on the means of following his
vocation, without disobeying his father. While
he was still in tears, his mother quietly entered ;
she embraced and consoled him. Mothers always
seem instinctively to know the thoughts of their
children, and to be, as it were, a part of them-
selves. It is on that account that they rule by
the heart, while fathers often rule by decision and
severity.

“Come, tell me, my dear little boy,” said his
kind mother, putting her arms affectionately round
him, “does it then grieve you so much that you
can no longer go out in the snow, and in the
crevices of the rocks, to hunt for wild plants ?”

“Oh, mother, if you only knew what a pleasure

it is when I discover a new species—to admire
and to count the roots, the stalks, the leaves, the


LINN AUS. © 207

flowers, the petals, every feature, in short, of these
treasures of God! In the spring, the new-blown
flowers are to me a whole world. Plants speak
to me, and I understand them: I assure you,
mother, that they have instincts, habits, and differ-
ences, in the same species, just as the faces of my
sisters and myself differ, in spite of our resem-
blance!” ;

“You dream, you dream, my dear child!” ex-
claimed the mother, half laughing and half
touched ; ‘“ but anyhow, in this bitter cold weather,
and with the earth all frozen up, your pleasure
must be greatly lessened. You give yourself a
great deal of trouble and fatigue for very little
profit.”

“See, mother,” he replied, opening one of his |
herbals; “what would not one risk to possess
one of these beautiful flowers! Hvery day I dis-
cover some new species in the lichens; and my

father would have me renounce these researches !
It is as if he should ask me not to eat—not to live!”

“You shall eat, and you shall live! Only you
shall eat your breakfast an hour sooner,” gaily
replied the mother; “and every morning, before
your father awakes, you shall go out on your
beloved discoveries. Only be careful not to exceed
the time, but return atthe appointed hour to study
your Latin.”


208 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

“Oh! thanks! thanks!” exclaimed the boy,
throwing his arms round his mother’s neck.

‘¢ To-morrow you shall begin,” said the mother,
embracing him. “ And now, good-night !”

The child went happy to sleep, and had a
beautiful dream of an immense valley surrounded
by mountains, and he sitting near a beautiful clear
stream which ran murmuring among plants and
flowers of all kinds; some new and strange, and
some familiar as those of his native land.

It was not alone the large and magnificent
flowers of the tropics—cactuses, azaleas, magnolias;
it was not alone the queens of our garden—the
rose, the tuberose, the lily, the pink, which he saw;
for about him were all the wild flowers of the
fields—buttercups, daisies, violets, thyme, mosses,
and lichens growing on the rocks, or by the water's
edge. Every plant, every stalk, every chalice had,
as it were, a distinct voice, and all those united
accents formed a soft and flattering concert, which
plunged little Charles in an ecstasy of bliss.

All at once he felt a warm breath on his cheek,
followed by a kiss. The blissful sensation was so
real that it awoke him. He saw his mother
standing beside him, in the first faint light of
dawn. The kiss came from her lips.

“Tt is time,” said she; “ day is breaking. Dress
yourself, say your prayers, breakfast, and be off


LINNAUS. 209

into the fields before your father awakes. You
have barely an hour to devote to your plants; go
then, my son, since it is your passion and your
happiness.”

The child gratefully thanked his mother ; and
while she was assisting him to dress, he related
to her his delightful dream.

The mother fondly fancied: she saw in it an omen
of fame and happiness for her son, and resolved to
aid him in his vocation. As soon as he was
dressed, she supplied him with a basin of smoking
porridge, which the child ate with a good appetite.
She then wrapped him up in a little overcoat of
thick cloth, pulling the collar up to the ears, till
the child’s fresh and blooming face was almost
hidden. He set off joyfully, a stick in his hand.
The good mother had deprived herself of at least
two hours of her accustomed rest to bestow this
care on her son, and to gratify his wish.

Search your memories, children, who read these
pages, and you, too, will find that your mothers
have exercised this hopeful tenderness and self-
denial for you!

For some days little Charles was able to herbal-
ize in peace in the mountains, and discover in their
clefts a few stray flowers, and some frail mosses
which the winter’s snow had spared. But one
morning the father, happening to rise sooner than


210 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

usual, flew into a great rage at not finding his
son at home. In vain the mother alleged some
pretext; the severe minister was not to be
deceived, and vowed that the very next day the
child should be sent to school. The poor mother
sobbed and cried; but the father said her tears
were of noavail; and when little Charles returned
to the house he learnt that dissensions and sorrow
had entered it through his fault. He endeavoured
to excuse himself, and promised his father
obedience for the future. The father remained in-

exorable, He went out giving orders to the mother
to prepare her son’s clothes, for that he should

take him himself the next day to school at Wixio.

What heart-rending grief to both mother and
child was the prospect of this sudden separation !
The mother especially could not endure the idea
of parting with her beloved boy, from whom she
had never been separated a single day since the
hour of his birth.

“No, no, it is impossible!” she kept repeating,
covering with her hands her face bathed in
tears.

At sight of his mother’s sorrow, Charles stifled
his own grief, and endeavoured to console her.
He said—

“The town is close by; we shall see each
other often; and I will work well and hard to




LINNZUS. 211

please my father, so that he may let me come
home.”

The mother, knowing that her husband’s will
was inflexible, began to pack up her son’s clothes _
in a little trunk. She put at the bottom the
beloved and unfortunate herbal; then a little
supply of pocket-money, and some preserves and
dried fruits—little delicacies which mothers
delight in bestowing upon their children.

When the minister returned, the trunk was
ready; and finding that his orders had been
obeyed, his anger was appeased.

The rest of the day and the evening passed very
sorrowfully. The father read his Bible as usual;
the little girls knitted by the side of their mother,
and scarcely anything was heard but smothered
sighs and broken words. As for Charles, he was
resigned, and sat with his head bent over his Latin
exercises.

The hour of rest having arrived, the household
prayers were said as usual. Then the son having
wished his father good-night, the latter said—

_ “Good-night, my son; to-morrow we will de-
part for Wexio.”

The child bowed in silence and withdrew, re-
straining his tears.

As soon as her husband was asleep, the mother
gently glided to the bedside of her son, on whom


212 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

she lavished kisses and caresses, mingled with
earnest entreaties to him to be careful of his
health. This was their farewell.

As it was bitter cold, and the roads were covered
with ice, our travellers set out in a sleigh early on
the morrow. This exercise and the country they
passed through diverted Charles’s mind. But when
he found himself in the town, which looked so
black and dismal, and above all when the high
walls of the school closed upon him, the poor
child felt his heart sink within him.

His father briefly recommended him rather to
the severity than to the care of his friend, the
principal of the school, and then returned to his
village, having accomplished, as he thought, his
duty.

Little Charles felt himself at first as it were lost
and abandoned, but by degrees the friendship and
sympathy of some of the boys of his own age
restored him to courage and cheerfulness. He
resolved to work to satisfy his father, and as long
as the winter lasted he applied himself diligently
to his Latin and theological studies. But when
spring appeared, he felt as it were a stormy and
all-powerful impulse within him which carried

him far beyond the walls of the school, through
valleys and mountains, which were just begin-
ning to be covered with budding vegetation. The


LINNZUS. 213

air he breathed was redolent of the perfume of
flowers and herbs; he felt himself irresistibly at-
tracted towards them ; his beautiful dream recurred
to him ; he fancied he beheld in it an emblem ot
his destiny, and a promise of hope in his present
misery. “God,” he said to himself, “has not made
me to bea Protestant minister. It is in another
manner that I must serve Him and proclaim His
greatness |”

He at first resisted the temptations of his uncon-
querable tastes. But one day, when the whole
school was taking a walk in the country, he with-
drew from his companions and lost himself among
the rocks in a gorge tapestried with creeping plants
and flowers. There, captivated by nature, embrac-
ing and caressing her as he would have embraced
and caressed his mother, he forgot everything in
the contemplation of the treasures offered to his
sight. Evening surprised him filling his pockets
and hat with the plants he had collected. Checked
in his ardent search by the approaching darkness,
he suddenly remembered school, and his anticipated
punishment. Terrified at his breach of discipline,
he dared not retrace his steps and ask pardon of
the principal. Night was fully come: frightened,
shivering, and overpowered with fatigue, he went
to sleep in the cavity of a rock all overgrown with
moss. The next day he was discovered by one of








214 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

the servants of the school sent in quest of him,
and brought back as a truant.

The director wrote and informed his father of
this outbreak on the part of his son; the father,
thinking him incorrigible and perverse, replied
to the principal that his son would never make
anything but a bad minister of God, but that in
order to punish him for his rebellion against his
will, he would humiliate him by making a work-
man of him.. And he gave orders for him to be
put apprentice to a shoemaker.

’ Little Charles was of a gentle and yielding
nature; he made no resistance, and even found at
first a sort of semi-satisfaction in the semi-liberty
allowed him by his strange and novel occupation.
Before his daily labour began, he could wander in
the fields, and on Sundays he enjoyed a whole
day’s freedom. Of an evening, and even during the
night, he used to classify the plants and flowers
which he had gathered, and wrote dissertations
upon each of them. But insensibly this double
and incessant labour of mind and body preyed
upon his health. Moreover, to pass the day with
ignorant and coarse companions was a severe trial
tohim. They mocked and jeered at him when he
remained silent, reproached him with pride, and
at times would even try to fasten some silly
quarrel on him,


LINNZEUS. 215

This struggle at last overcame him; he fell
suddenly ill, and his master, the shoemaker, who
had a liking for him, sent for the most skilful doc-
tor in the country.

The physician-was a very learned man, of the
name of Rothman. When he arrived, Charles was
in a high fever and slightly delirious. The doc-
tor, unwilling to awaken him from his uneasy
sleep, began silently to study the symptoms of the
disorder. He discovered great excitement of the
brain, and was confirmed in his observation by
seeing on the apprentice’s little table his herbals
and manuscripts lying open by the bedside. He
read some pages of these, and then fell immedi-
ately into a long reverie, all the while holding the
invalid’s pulse, which beat rapidly.

Charles continued to sleep, but his breathing
was heavy and oppressed, as if he were labouring
under a nightmare. He had, notwithstanding,
another beautiful dream. He beheld himself sur-
rounded by four men holding sceptres, and with
crowns on their heads: by those crowns, and by
the arms and decorations which they wore, he

recognized in these men the King of Sweden, the
King of England, the King of France, and the
King of Spain. These monarchs smiled on hin,
laid treasures at his feet, and placed on his head
the crown of nobility.


216 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

His dream was prophetic, for these kings subse
quently loaded. Linneeus with honours.

The good doctor, filled with anxiety, followed
all the phases of this disturbed sleep ; he at length
managed to convey a little soothing drink down
the throat of the patient, whose breathing from that
moment grew gradually calmer. Shortly after-
wards he quietly awoke. The fever ceased, thanks
to the assiduous care of the worthy doctor, who
had conceived a strong regard for his patient.
As soon as the lad was convalescent the doctor
gave him the opportunity of studying the works of
Journefort, one of the most celebrated French
naturalists; and as Charles was loud in his admi-
ration when speaking of them— ;

“You will one day surpass him in renown,” ex-
claimed the doctor.

“Ah! what is it you are saying to me?” he
replied. s

“T say, my young friend, that I have read your
herbals and manuscripts, and that you will one
day be the first naturalist in the world.”

Charles regarded him with an air of doubt and
sadness, :

“Are you not mocking me” said he.

“JT!” warmly replied the worthy doctor; “how
can you think so? I will take you away with
me; you shall go and finish your studies at the


LINNAUS. 217

university of Lund, and in a little time, I am
certain, you will be a professor yourself.”

The good doctor’s prediction was verified. A
few years afterwards, the University of Upsal
resounded with the fame of the young professor,
Charles Linneeus.

From that time, having no longer to struggle
against poverty, the genius of Linneus was able
to take its flight. He travelled in pursuit of his
favourite subject into Norwegian Lapland, visited
the Gulf of Bothnia, and returned to Upsal by
Finland and the Isles of Aland. He also visited
Hamburg, and thence proceeded to Holland. It
was there that the illustrious physician, Boerhaave,
discovered the extent of his genius, and laid the
foundation of his future fame and fortune. Lin-
neus studied for three years in Holland, at the
same time collecting materials for his great works,
the principal of which are: “The System of
Nature,” “The Philosophy of Botany,” ‘“ Flora
Lapponica,” “ Materia Medica,” &e., &c.

These different treatises spread with rapidity,
and extended the fame of Linneus throughout the
world. From Holland he went to Paris, where
he formed a lifelong friendship with the celebrated
naturalist, Bernard de Jussieu. At length he
settled himself in Sweden, where he obtained
great and deserved honours. He taught botany




218 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

in the capital, and was appointed Physician to the
King. He married, in 1740, Mlle. More, a young
Swedish lady, to whom he had long been tenderly
attached, and by whom he had four daughters and
ason. His son succeeded him in his professor's
chair, and one of his daughters distinguished her-
self by her works on botany. He died the 10th
of January, 1778, at the age of seventy-one. He
was interred in the cathedral of Upsal. Gustavus
the Third himself proclaimed the regrets of the
Swedes, in a discourse which he delivered before
the States-General. This prince also composed
the funeral oration of Linnesus, which was read in
public. A temple containing some of the choicest
productions of nature was erected to his memory
in the gardens of the University of Upsal, and two
medals were also struck in his honour.

Sg sm




The Heroism of Trust.

NOTES OF THE EARLY LIFE OF SIR HUMPHRY DAVY.

In this world, my young friends, much must be
taken on “trust.” We must, somehow or other,
bad as the world is, have “faith” in-those around .
us. As in the Gospel it is said that without faith
it is impossible to please God, so in the transac-
tions of this world it is impossible to get on without
“trust” or confidence. Young persons who have
generally true friends in their parents, who cannot
wish them anything but good, should be especially
careful to have confidence in them, and to trust
them in the assurance that they have their true
interests at heart, however strange may be their
prohibition.

An instance of this occurs in the life—the early
life—of Sir Humphry Davy, one of the most cele-
brated chemists that ever lived, and who in early
years exhibited the most ardent love of knowledge
and desire of investigation. Davy had, however,
learned, doubtless through his own sagacity, that
it was necessary to have faith in many things.

Davy went to a boarding-school at an early age.

ie


220 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

His schoclmaster, a clergyman of the Church of
England, was a man of the utmost benevolence,
not only as regards his pupils, but he carried his
kindness out in acts of the most disinterested
character, It happened on one occasion that the
old clergyman found at the gate of the mansion in _
which the school was carried on, a poor ragged
man burning with fever, almost bare of clothes,
and destitute of food. The clergyman questioned
him, and found that he was a person who had seen
“better days,” and had even been educated at
the same college with himself. Prompted by
the benevolent spirit within him, he determined
to offer the poor creature an asylum till such time
as his health was restored. Butas he was in a most
deplorable condition, the clergyman did not like
to take him into his house; and there being a small
room adjoining the garden, which some of the boys
occasionally used as a play-room, a bed was put
up in it,and the poor man was located therein,
The doctor was sent for, and he declared the man
to be sickening with the small-pox. Now the old
clergyman did not wish to tell his own children
or any of the schoolboys that a man was there
sick with the small-~pox, lest it should make them
and their friends afraid; but he called them to-
gether, and told them that he had reasons for their
not going into the small play-room for some time,


SIR HUMPHRY DAVY. 221

and strictly enjoined them not to do so till he gave
them leave.

The boys were extremely mortified at this, for
although they had a play-room large enough for
twice their number, yet they had a great partiality
for the little play-room, and thought it an invasion

of their rights and privileges to have this taken
from them. They thought ita piece of unkindness
in their tutor, and nothing but a whim on his part ;
and they grumbled and growled day after day at
the supposed wrong inflicted upon them,—the
more as they saw, every day, the clergyman and
his wife going in and out of the room. They
determined, therefore, among themselves to go
into this room and see what was in it, at any
hazard, and laid a plan for doing so on the following
evening. Young Davy, however, who had listened
to the pros and cons of the case, warmly opposed
their resolutions of the injunction put upon the
play-room, arguing that as their master had ever
been kind and indulgent, they ought to have
“trust” in him. ‘Depend upon it,” said Davy,
“he has some good reason for keeping us out of
the room, and one day or other we shall find it out,
if we go the right way about it.”

“Why not find it out at once?” argued one of
the boys, Dick Curran; “what's the use of waiting
for other people’s good time when we can come


222 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

at the secret ourselves? We have nothing to do
but to lift up the latch and take a peep: it is
done in a minute, and nobody is the wiser.”

“Tf nobody is to be the wiser,” said little
Humphry, “we had better not break the law; and
if we were all to be ever so much the wiser, I
should not consent to our doing so.”

“You consent !” said Curran: ‘who wants your
consent? Weshan’task your leave. It’s our play-
room, I tell you; it has been taken from us without
a reason, and we have a right to go and see what
it means. Socomealong, boys; let us go and have
a peep at once. We can only get a caning if we
are found out, and I don’t mind that a bit.”

“ But you shall not go into the room,” replied
little Humphry.

“ And what is to prevent us?” inquired Curran,
with a determined look.

“Twill prevent it,” said Humphry; “you know
I am curator of the pluy-room, and it is my duty
not to let any one go into it against orders.”

‘Stand out of the way,” said Curran, and made
a tush at Davy; but ina moment the latter put
out his foot, and the former came down with a
great fall.

This so intimidated the other boys, that they
fell back, and knowing they were in the wrong,
they began to feel frightened.


SIR HUMPHRY DAVY. 223

‘No one shall pass this line,” said Davy, scraping
one with his toe on the ground, “ while I can prevent
it;” and he put himself in an attitude of defence.

The aggressor finding himself opposed, and that
successfully, was to a great extent cowed by the
event, and made no further attempt to force a passage.
Davy observing them to hesitate, took the opportu-
nity to expostulate with them. ©

‘“‘Boys,” said he, “what is the use of our
desiring to do what we are forbidden? De-
pend upon it, there is good reason for our being
shut out of this room. Take my advice, and wait
patiently for a day or two, and it is very likely we
shall know the reason for our expulsion, Our
master has never been unreasonable, but always
kind to us, as all of you know. Let us therefore
show a sense of gratitude-on our part for doing
what he wishes.”

This straightforward appeal was not without its
effect, and the boys ceased their efforts towards
the play-room, and went to their studies and_
sports as usual. After a few days, they observed
their schoolmaster bringing from the play-room -
a poor sick man, whose face bore visible marks of
the ravage of that cruel disease, the small-pox, and
then the whole truth rushed upon their minds.
They had been prevented coming into contact
with the disease by the heroism of young Hum-


224 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

phry, and felt at once thankful to him. The old
clergyman informed them of the whole particulars
of the case, and that all danger was past; and
complimented them (he did not know what had
taken place among them) upon their strict regard
for his orders, and promised them a whole day’s
holiday as their reward; and the whole were
delighted not more with their tutor’s liberality
than with the resolute conduct of little Humphry,
whom they ever afterwards looked up to as their
friend, leader, and adviser.

And thus it is, my young friends, that we should
trust those who give us evidence of their “goodness.”
It is in the same way that we must learn to trust
in God, who from apparent evil brings forth good.
When sorrow, or affliction, or misfortune oppress
us, we should have faith and trust in His pro-
vidence, in His mercy, and in His love, for He will
never deceive us, and will sustain and support all
those that put their trust in Him.

Humphry Davy was born at Penzance, in Corn-
wall, in 1778. His father was a carver and
gilder ; and even in his earliest years the future
chemist showed great aptitude in all sorts of
learning, more especially in those studies con-
nected with chemistry, philosophy, and natural
science. He was a famous teller of tradi-
tionary, romantic, and exciting stories, and






sik HUMPHKY DAVY. 225

among his schoolfellows was esteemed as highly
accomplished. He was also fond of angling, a
pursuit he followed in manhood with much
assiduity. Showing great taste for natural
history, his employer, a surgeon and apothecary
at Penzance, supplied him with various books,
and the young Humphry entered on a course of
study in mathematics, metaphysics, physiology
and the allied sciences. He then commenced
a series of experiments in chemistry, and by the
time he reached manhood, made himself a name,
which was soon after known throughout the
civilized world. “Such,” says his biographer,
“was the commencement of Humphry Davy’s
career of original research, which, in a few years,
by a succession of discoveries, accomplished more
in relation to change of theory and extension of
science than, in the most ardent and ambitious
moments of youth, he could either have hoped to
effect or imagined possible.”

Had Humphry Davy not made a name in
science by the publication of his first treatise—
“Hissays on Light and Heat,” 1799—he could hardly
have escaped being famous as a poet, for he wrote
verse with ease and perspicuity. From a poem
descriptive of St. Michael’s Mount, Cornwall, we
extract a passage descriptive of its traditionary
history, which tells us that it was once the centre
226 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

of a forest, instead of being, as now, a lovely hill
upon the seashore :—
« By the orient gleam
Whitening the foam of the blue waves that break
Around her granite feet, but dimly seen,
Majestic Michael rises! He whose brow
Is crowned with castles, and whose rocky sides
Are clad with dusky ivy. He whose base,
Beat, with the storm of ages, stands unmoved
Amidst the wreck of things—the change of time.
That base, encircled by the azure waves,
‘Was once with verdure clad, the lowering oaks,
Whose awful shades among the Druids strayed,
To cut the hallowed mistletoe, and hold
High converse with their gods.”

The great discovery made by Humphry Davy
of the Safety Lamp, by whose light the workers
in deep mines may toil without fear of the dread-
ful gases known as choke-damp and fire-damp,
has rendered the name of the philosopher familiar
to the world. Avery curious memorandum given
to the public by his brother, shows us how the
young chemist disposed of his time long before
he became famous.

The earliest of his note-books bears date 1798,
and is on many accounts a literary curiosity. It
is a small quarto, with parchment covers. On
the outside of one of them is a figure of an ancient
lyre drawn with a pen; and on the other, an


SIR HUMPHRY DAVY. 227

olive-leaf, encircling a lamp, as if in anticipation
of confining flame in the Safety Lamp. At the
commencement of the book is the following plan
of study :—

1, Theology or Religion. Taught by nature.
Ethics or moral virtues. } By revelation.

2. Geography.

8. My Profession: I. Botany; II. Pharmacy; III. Noso-
logy; IV. Anatomy; V. Surgery: VI. Chemistry.

4, Logic.

5. Languages: I. English; 1. French; ID. Latin;
IV. Greek; V. Italian; VI. Spanish; VI. Hebrew.

6. Physics: I. The doctrines and properties of natural
bodies; II. Of the operations of nature; III. Of the doc-
trines of fluids; IV. Of the properties of organized matter ;
V. Simple astronomy,

7. Mechanics,

8. Rhetoric and oratory.

9, History and chronology.

10. Mathematics,

Davy was essentially a selfmade man. Of
himself he has said, ‘‘I envy no quality of the

mind or intellect in others; not genius, power,
wit, nor fancy; but if I could choose what would
be most delightful, and I believe most useful to
me, I should prefer a firm religious belief to every
other blessing ; for it makes life a discipline of
goodness—creates new hopes, when all earthly
hopes vanish; and throws over the decay, the


928 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

destruction of existence, the most gorgeous of all
lights; awakens life even in death, and from
corruption and decay calls up beauty and divi-
nity; makes an instrument of torture and of
shame the ladder of ascent to paradise ; and far
above all combination of earthly hopes, calls up
the most delightful visions of plains and amaranths,
the gardens of the blest, the security of ever-
lasting joys, where the sensualist and the
sceptic view only gloom, decay, annihilation,
and despair.”


Winckelmann,

THE LEARNED COBBLER.

WE know of few things whose aspect and interior
present a more dreary appearance than a country
cobbler’s stall. It is usually a little queer build
ing leaning against the wall of some garden,
church, or enclosure. In the interior is the cob-
bler’s bench, covered with work begun, materials
for making or repairing shoes, and the cobbler’s
tools; two or three wooden stools are round the
bench ; at the farthest end is a little stove and the
humble bed of the household, if household there
be; from the walls are suspended a few poor little
engravings and a small shaving-glass.

It was in such a stall that there lived, in 1729,
a poor cobbler of the little town of Steindall, in
Germany. This stall stood against the black and
moss-grown wall of the college garden, and very
often the schoolboys used to amuse themselves by

throwing fruit and nuts into the poor shoemaker’s
dwelling, calling out, ‘ Good-morrow, cobbler.”
At another time, it would be their shoes that
wanted mending that they would throw, at the
risk of being severely reprimanded by their


230 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD,

teachers. A sort of acquaintanceship was thus
formed between the inmates of the college and the
honest shoemaker, who always faithfully brought
back the shoes which reached him in so unusual a
manner. Insensibly.he had obtained the custom
of all these wild but good-hearted youths, and
it was not to be despised, for the turbulent move-
ments of childhood are the destruction of shoes.

Bending ‘over his bench, the poor cobbler
worked from morning till night, in spite of his
racking rheumatism, which sometimes wrung
groans from him. His lean and attenuated frame
made him appear very old, though he was scarcely

fifty: poverty and sickness double years. A few
scattered locks of grey hair, falling over his
sunken temples, contrasted powerfully with his
piercing eyes and black eyebrows. A widower,
and poverty-stricken for many years, the poor
man was never seen to smile except of an evening
when his son returned from school, and threw his
arms round his neck with a kiss. Then work
_was put by; the cobbler quitted his bench, laid
down his tools and took off his leathern apron,
washed his hands in a bowl of water, renewed
the fire in the stove, and sat himself cheerfully to
work to prepare the evening meal like any care-
ful housewife. The rough wooden shutters were
fastened inside; the father and the child felt
























































ay, PANNEMAKE



“Supper over, the father would resume his work, and the child would read to him out of the books which he
received as prizes.”—Page 231,
WINCKELMANN. 231

themselves at home, and as they supped, they
related to each other the events of the day.
The child, a delicate but pretty boy, with an
expressive countenance and fair curly hair, would
tell his father how he every day learned some-
thing new, and how his masters, delighted with
his progress, spoke of sending him to college as a
pattern scholar. The father, radiant with joy,
would then embrace the child, regard him with
pride almost, as we regard something superior
to ourselves, and exclaim in a tone of deep
emotion,—

“Oh! my dear Joachim, why am I not rich
that I might make a learned and happy man
of you ?”

“‘T should like to begin by being learned,”
little Joachim would reply; “we can then be
happy afterwards.”

And as he spoke, he helped his father to dis-
charge his household duties, and questioned the
good man as to what he had seen and what he had
done in the course of the day. Supper over, the
father would resume his work, and the child
would read to him out of the books which he
received as prizes.

The father would sometimes persuade him to
read in his old Bible, his wife’s last parting gift.
But little Joachim preferred reading a German


232 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

translation of Homer, which had been his last
prize at school. At each stanza the child would
stop to express his surprise and delight. ‘‘ What
a world! Whata country! Whatasky! What
landscapes! What beauty must those gods and

heroes have possessed!” he would exclaim ; and

by degrees the poor cobbler insensibly grew to
take an interest in these heroic strains which
so enchanted his son.

One day-the latter exclaimed,—‘‘ But there
is something wanting in this book.”

“ What is that?” inquired the father.

“The beautiful images and statues which make
all those gods and goddesses of whom Homer
sings live before our eyes. Oh, father, if we were
only rich, we would buy Jupiter, Juno, Mars, and
Venus, Venus above all, whom I see always sur-
rounded by a mist, and bathing in the Algean sea !”

The poor cobbler listened to his son without
exactly understanding him, but what he did un-
derstand by heart was that his son had desires
which his poverty prevented him from gratifying.
And he fretted over this discovery more and more
every day. He also felt his infirmities increase,
and he reflected that with them poverty must
also increase in their humble abode. To avoid
grieving his son, he concealed his own distress;
but when he was alone during the day, big tears


WINCKELMANN. 233

would at times roll down his withered cheeks,
Now there is no more pitiful sight than the tears
of a man, and especially of an old man; there
must be something very bitter in his grief when
it displays itself thus. The poor father had no
other joy in his painful and laborious life than to
see his child smiling and happy when he returned
from school of an evening ; on which account he
racked his brain every day to procure some little
surprise, which made the child’s eyes sparkle with
joy. Sometimes it was some little delicacy added
to their frugal supper, just as a mother would have
done; sometimes a book which he bought of a
hawker, depriving himself for two or three days
of his pipe (that companion so dear to a German),
to bestow this pleasure on his dear little Joachim.
From the evening when the boy had wished for
some of the pictures out of Homer’s book, the
good cobbler had dreamed of nothing but grati
fying his wish. But where to find a Jupiter, a
Juno, and above all, a Venus? There was no
museum at Steindall, and the good old man had
never beheld a statue of the goddess of beauty in
his life.
One morning, when he had to take back to the
college the mended shoes belonging to some of
the pupils, the porter requested him to wait in a
little parlour whilst he went to fetch him his


234 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

money, and some other shoes to repair. The
cobbler attentively regarded the walls of this
apartment, decorated with little framed drawings,
the performances of the pupils ; these were copies
of the Greek gods and heroes, and among them
two of the goddess Venus: on seeing this magic
name of Venus inscribed at the bottom of two
drawings of the beautiful goddess, the old man,
bowed by age and infirmities, stood erect with
pleasure. The porter found him standing motion-
less and spell-bound before those very common-
place drawings.

“What are you looking at there, old fellow?”
said he in an accent of surprise; ‘‘does the sight
of those two beautiful women delight you ?”

“Oh, yes! and I will willingly return you the

money you were going to give me, if you will

allow me to carry them away with me.”

The porter burst out laughing.

“Oh, do not langh at me!” replied the honest
cobbler; ‘it is to gratify a wish of my child,
who dreams of nothing but the goddesses of an-
tiquity.”

“And how old may this little lad be?’ in-
quired the porter.

“ He is ten years old,” replied the father.

“Well, he must be very precocious, at all
events,” replied the other, still laughing.


WINCKELMANN. 235

“Oh! he is precocious, I warrant you; he is
always first in the free school; he already knows
as much as the masters, and if he could only gain
admission into your college, I will answer for it
he would soon become one of your best pupils.

Oh! my good sir,” continued the old man, seeing
that the porter no longer laughed, but was listen
ing attentively to him, “do something for him;
speak of him to your principal, and.in the mean
time suffer me to take away those pictures, if you
do not set too great a value on them.”

‘Stay, stay a little,” replied the porter, flat-
tered by this appeal to his protection ; “there are
three of those who learn drawing, playing at ball
in the playground at this moment; they are the
same who gave me these pictures, as you call them ;
I dare say they have some others which they will
give you willingly, for they are good little
fellows.”

The porter called the three schoolboys, whe
came running and leaping towards him, and as
soon as they were informed of the object of the
cobbler’s ambition,—

“Certainly we will oblige you,” they all ex-
claimed at once; and flying to their rooms, they
soon returned bringing armfuls of studies and
sketches. ‘There,’ said they, scattering the
drawings at the cobbler’s feet; “there are Venuses,

Q


236 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

Nymphs, and Cupids too; take all those for your
child, since he has a fancy for these things;
he may perhaps be destined to become one day
a great painter! Bring him here; we will get
our drawing-master to examine him.”

The happy old man stammered out his thanks,
and knew not how to express his gratitude. Ashe
was collecting and arranging the precious draw-
ings, he said to the porter and the children,—

‘¢ Make what use you please of my poor ser-
vices; I shall take no more of your money; you
have paid me for the rest of your life.”

The pupils began to laugh at this idea. ‘‘ Never
mind, good man,” said they; ‘think only of
enjoying yourself and being happy; and to-mor-
row bring your little boy here ;” and, tossing their
balls, they started off to the playground to resume
their interrupted. sports.

The porter reconducted the happy old man to
the outer door.

“Come to-morrow,” said he; “I promise you
to speak to the principal about your boy this very
day.”

The well-pleased cobbler regained his stall,
humming an old German air. He had not sung
since the death of his beloved wife, and his con
tentment must have been very great for it to break
out in the burden, which the poor deceased used


WINCKELMANN. 237

to croon herself, beside the cradle of their
child.

When he regained his humble dwelling he
thought no more of setting to work; he gave
himself a holiday for the rest of the day; he shut
himself up in his stall, and began to arrange and
hang on the wall all the drawings that had been
given to him: he wished his child to have the
pleasing surprise of perceiving them suddenly on
his return from school. The Venuses were placed
in the midst, the Cupids and secondary personages
on each side. When this labour was ended, he
went out to purchase his supper, and as he had
received a little money from the college, and as
his heart was light with joy, he brought back a
number of good things, in order to have a feast.

It was many years since the poor cobbler had sat
down to the like. He spread a nice white cloth
upon the little table, covered it with the repast,
hid in a corner the old shoes and the tools, lit the
stove and the little iron lamp, and impatiently
awaited the return of Joachim.

The child entered, bringing his father a handful
of wallflowers, which the schoolmaster’s wife, who
was very fond of him, had given him. It seemed
as if she had anticipated this little family festival,
and had wished to add something to grace it.

“What is it ?” said he, entering the stall, with-


288 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD:

out noticing the drawings hanging on the wall;
“what a capital supper! Are you expecting that
old cousin from Sechausen, who has been coming
to pay us a visit for a month past?”

“Lam expecting no one but you, and it is in
honour of you that this grand supper is prepared,”
replied the father, throwing his arms round his
beloved child. “But look round a little,” he
added; “opposite you, beside the funnel of the
stove.” :

Joachim raised his head and perceived the
drawings. He first uttered a cry, and then stood
mute with surprise. He took down two, and laid
them on the table, and supporting his head in his
hands, began to consider the drawings with a
strange fixity of look. At the bottom of one was
written, ‘‘ Copied from the Marble Venus at Florence ;”
at the bottom of the other, ‘Designed from a fresco
in the Parthenon at Athens.” One of these crayon
sketches was a very imperfect drawing of the
Venus de Medicis; the other, one of those magni-
ficent caryatides, with floating draperies, which
seem to live and move in the frescoes of the Par-
thenon, and may be seen at the present day in the
British Museum.

True, these schoolboy sketches gave Joachim
but a very imperfect idea of those divine sculp-
tures; the relief, the colouring, and the propor-


WINCKELMANN. 239

tions of the original work were wanting: wanting

especially was that warm colour which at times
imparts to marble the animation of life. No mat-
ter; those rude sketches still preserved something
of the ideal beauty of those marvellous creations
of art. Young Joachim contemplated them in a
state of bewildering intoxication. For the first
time they rendered palpable to him the beauty of
form of which he had so constantly dreamed while
reading the “Iliad.” But those two works of
art, of which he caught only the faint reflection,
existed in all their beauty in Greece and Italy.
Henceforth those two classic grounds of the beau-
tiful in art became the world of his day-dreams.

The following day, the old cobbler donned his
Sunday garb, dressed his son in his best clothes,
and conducted him to the college. The porter
received them in the manner of a confident
patron.

“Come in, come in, my little friend,” said he,
with a smile of triumph, and taking Joachim by
the hand; “I have spoken of you to our excellent
vicar,.M. Toppert; he is expecting you.” And
turning towards the cobbler he added: “ Follow
us, my worthy man; you will see that I do not
promise what I cannot perform.”

They traversed several outer courts till they
arrived at the private apartments of the vicar


240 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

He was a noble-looking old man, with silver hair,
and a serene and expressive countenance; he
called the child kindly towards him, and began to
question him about his studies. Little Joachim
replied frankly, distinctly, and in an intelligent
manner to all these questions; he astonished the

vicar; occasionally he even went beyond his
questions. It was thus that, when questioned on
the subject of Greek literature, he demonstrated
how, in that admirable period of civilisation,
poetry and art had flowed from religion; and
uttered, on the subject of the exquisite sculpture of
antiquity, things that he could as yet have known
by intuition only.

When the good vicar asked him if he had a
taste for drawing, Joachim replied that he had,
and that to learn to draw would be always of
the greatest use to him, were it only to describe
the lines and outlines of the master-pieces of
statuary that struck him,—as we make notes on a
literary subject.

The vicar was struck with the justice of this
reply, and promised him that he should enter the
drawing-class the very next day.

“Can it be?” exclaimed the cobbler, who had
hitherto maintained a strict silence; “can it be
possible that you are going to admit my poor boy
into your college ?”






_ WINCKELMANN. 241

“Yes, you can bring what few things he has,
this evening, if you like: consider the matter as
settled.”

The cobbler was profuse in his heartfelt thanks
and acknowledgments.

The child bowed respectfully to the good vicar,
who took an affectionate farewell of him, saying,
“To-morrow, then, or this evening if you like, my
little friend.”

The father and child departed joyfully, bestow-
ing a thousand thanks upon the kind porter.

In the first flush of joy, the cobbler only re-
garded the education which his son was going to
receive, and the latter thought of nothing but his
beloved studies. But when they found themselves
once more alone in the poor stall, where their
mutual affection had caused them to pass so many
happy hours, even the very evening before, little
Joachim, while his father was making a parcel of
his books, shirts, and humble clothing, began to
cry, while the latter strove in vain to restrain his
own tears. Tears make no more ravages in youth
than does the dew that waters the flowers; but
the tears of old men are bitter and destructive ;
they resemble those storms which shatter, uproot,
and devastate nature. The poor cobbler was so pale
while aiding his son to prepare for his departure,
that he seemed as if stricken with sudden illness.


242 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

“Not to come home every night to sup and
sleep with you, will be very sorrowful,” said the
child, his tears continuing to flow.

“Tt must be so,” replied the father, endeavour-
ing to conceal his own weakness; “you can bid
me good-night over the wall by throwing over a
branch of a tree or a little pebble.”

The child smiled at this idea, and promised not
total «—

They consoled each other as well as they could,
and towards night they knocked at the college
gate; it closed quickly upon little Joachim; they
were forced to shorten their farewell.

It was the hour for evening recreation; the
child’s mind was soon diverted from his grief by
the eager attentions of his schoolfellows, who re-
ceived him kindly and cordially. It was not the
same with the father, who was left alone after the
separation. On quitting the college he had not
courage to return immediately to his poor stall; he
wandered solitary and disconsolate round the walls

which now contained his belovedson; and although
the night was very cold, he made the round of
them several times. It seemed indeed as if the
child would appear to him somewhere through
those envied stones. He did not make up his
mind to return until the tinkling of the college
bell announced the hour for the pupils to retire to


WINCKELMANN. 243

the dormitories ; he lit his little iron lamp, but he
had not the heart to light the fire to prepare his sup-
per and to warm himself; he went to bed quite frozen
with cold, and overpowered with grief and sadness,
and when he went to stretch his poor limbs on his
pallet, he felt his rheumatism returning more
sharply and acutely than it had done for years.
He passed the night in the most excruciating pain,
and when he would have risen the next morning,
he found it impossible, he was as one paralysed ;
he heard some customers knock at his door,
without being able to go and open it to them;
soon after he heard the little pebble, which
was his son’s good-morrow, fall upon his roof
without being able to reply, as agreed on, by
singing the verse of a song. ‘Three times the
child renewed the signal, and still the stall re-
mained dumb, for the poor old man’s tongue was
almost tied, and he could only articulate a few
faint words.

But to return to our little Joachim : he had gone
to sleep the evening before, consoled and quite
joyful at the prospect of the studies which were
to commence on the morrow. The good vicar,
M. Toppert, had introduced him to the fine library
of the college, and had shown him the beautiful
engravings, which rendered, much better than the
drawings he had at first admired, the magnificent


244 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

statues of antiquity. His master had permitted
him to come and read and study in the library,
and to give to his instincts for the great and
beautiful their full development. He felt himself
intoxicated with joy, in presence of this world of
science whose threshold he had just crossed. But
when he had given the signal agreed on, by throw-
ing the little pebble on to his father’s roof, and
the old man’s voice was not raised in reply, he felt
all at once apresentiment of some misfortune. He
unburthened his mind to the good porter, and the
latter promised him to go and inquire after the
cobbler. A little time after he went and knocked
at the door of the stall, which was shut from
within.

“Shake it hard,” said a feeble voice from the in-
terior, ‘‘and it will yield.”

The porter gave a violent push, and the door
opened.

“ Have me taken to the hospital, my good man,”
said the shoemaker on perceiving him ; “it is the
last service I implore of your charity. I have lost
the use of my limbs, and am incapable of
work.”

The other, when he looked at him, saw that
what he said was true.

“A little patience,” he replied. “I will bring
the college physician to see you.”




WINCKELMANN. 245

“Oh! above all things do not say a word of this
to my Joachim.”

“Make your mind easy.”

The porter, on his return to the college, avoided
the child, who was, besides, in school: he in-
formed the vicar of the condition in which the
poor old man was. The latter sent to summon
the physician, and they both repaired to the stall.
After examining the old man, the physician de-
cided that it would be best to have him taken at
once to the hospital of Steindall, where, thanks to
his recommendation, he would be well taken
care of, and provided with all necessaries.

“J will undertake to inform and console your
son,” said the vicar, to calm the father’s uneasi-
ness; “and every Sunday, after service, he shall .
come and see you.”

The first interview between the two was heart-
rending in the extreme. This time it was the
father who had to soothe his son’s grief; for it
seemed to the son that it was unkind, and ungrate-
ful, of him to leave in this asylum of poverty, the
father who had lavished such tender care upon his
childhood.

“You can do nothing,” replied the good old
man. “You can only work, grow, and obtain a
situation when you are learned enough, and then
you will be able to be a help to me.”







246 HEROISM. OF BOYHOOD.

“Oh! I shall not wait so long,” replied the
child, who had taken a sudden and inward reso-
lution.

Strong in his will, he quitted his father, saying,
“ On Sunday,” with a smile which signified ‘you
shall be satisfied with me.”

The Sunday following the child brought his
father a little money which he had earned himself.
The invalid, greatly moved, inquired how he had
become possessed of it.

‘« By doing what I have for so long seen you do
yourself: by mending, in play-hours, my compa-
nions’ shoes. I went to the old stall; I took your
leather and your tools, and I set cheerfully to
work. I gained also a little money by giving
some lessons to the younger boys in the college. I
shall continue this every week, and on Sunday I
will bring you what I have earned. That will
procure you many little comforts; you can have
sugar and tea, and occasionally that good sour krout
which you are so fond of.”

The old man smiled through his tears, and held
his affectionate child a long time pressed to his
heart.

A good and generous sentiment lends greatness
even to the most commonplace things ; hence the
mind of little Joachim rose superior to the coarse
labour which occupied his hours of recreation.


WINCKELMANN. 247

Whilst he was putting in nails, or patching a pair
of old shoes, his thoughts would wander to the
Olympus of Homer, or else it was Demosthenes
who filled his imagination and transported it to
that Athens he loved so much. He had begun the
study of Greek, and made rapid progress in it.
Guided and directed in his studies by excellent
masters who divined his tastes, he soon acquired a
very just and extended acquaintance with the arts
and sciences of antiquity. He had heard that
there was in the neighbourhood of Steindall a plot
of ground in which were buried Greek and Roman
antiquities ; and during his walks with the school
outside the town he was constantly endeavouring
to entice his companions towards this precious
field. He had gained by his amiable disposition
and his intelligence, and above all by what was
known of his conduct to his father, an irresistible
ascendancy over his schoolfellows. When he spoke
to them of his intense desire to search this old
Roman field, every one applauded and promised
him his assistance. The richest among the pupils
undertook to procure the necessary implements—
shovels, spades, plummets ; and at length, one fine
spring morning during one of their walks, they
commenced operations in earnest. It was a plea-
sant sigat to see all those young arms actively en:
gaged in digging and turning up the ground; al)


248 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

those young faces bathed in perspiration, and
anxiously watching to see if anything turned up
beneath the rapid stroke of the pickaxe. The first
day they found nothing but some small medals and
some fragments of earthenware ; still, this was an
encouragement; and M. Toppert, to whom they
carried the medals, authorized them to continue
their researches, a permission of which all the
pupils, with Joachim at their head, joyfully availed
themselves. .

The second day’s work was attended with great
success. A charming bronze lamp of perfect form
and design, such as antiquity alone knew how to
fashion, rewarded their toil, and was carried in
triumph to the good rector.

On the third occasion, Joachim directed all the
operations himself; he had reflected that this lamp
must have been suspended at the entrance of a
tomb, and that this tomb must exist since the lamp
had been found. He therefore dug deeply in the
same direction, and had soon the satisfaction of
hearing his spade strike against something hard
which felt like stone. Again was their zeal re-
warded; a tomb was discovered ; it had an inscrip-
tion, but no sculpture. Joachim cleared the open-
ing with his hands and arms, and drew forth
triumphantly two beautiful funereal urns covered
with bas-reliefs.


WINCKELMANN. 249

The young collegians made a litter of foliage
and flowers to bear in triumph to the college this
magnificent discovery. Joachim marched at the
head of the procession, like the general of an army
returning after a victory. He felt that at this
moment his comrades were his subjects, and that
he might ask anything of them.

“Qh! my friends,” said he,. “if we could first
just stop for a moment at the hospital, I could em-
brace my poor father, who would be so happy t in
my happiness.”

“Yes! yes! to the hospital!” was echoed by
every voice ; and the procession changed its route.
It stopped for a moment in the outer court of the
hospital, then ascended a steep staircase, and
entered the very clean and whitewashed apartment
occupied by the poor infirm patient. Thanks to
the assistance which his son had brought him
every Sunday, he had been enabled to have aroom
separate from the other patients, and to enjoy
many little additional comforts.

The old man’s pallid countenance beanied with
delight as he lay in his bed when he beheld this
joyous troop enter, marshalled by his son, and
bearing in triumph the two antique urns.

When he had listened to the recital of this dis-
covery, the good cobbler exclaimed :—“ My dear
son, you are then become celebrated already |”


250 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

This was, indeed, the commencement of the
future renown of young Joachim. ‘Toppert, and
the other authorities of the town, decided that
these two beautiful antique urns should be pre-
sented to the library of Sechausen, and that on
the pedestal that supported them should be in-
scribed :—‘‘Discovered near Steindall, in 1730, by
Joachim Winckelmann.”

The subject of the foregoing tale, Jean
Joachim Winckelmann, one of the most illustrious
antiquaries of modern times, was the son of a
poor shoemaker of Steindall, in Brandenburg.
At avery early age the child displayed the most
decided taste and fondness for every thing relating
to the fine arts: architecture, sculpture, painting,
music, the euphony of tongues, possessed an irre-
sistible attraction for him: he exchanged his
Christian names of Jean Joachim for that of
Giovanni, as more harmonious, and it was thus
that he always signed his works. His father
appreciated the intelligent turn of his son’s mind,
without, at the same time, being able to divine its
particular bent, and notwithstanding his extreme
poverty, imposed upon himself privations of all
sorts to enable him to meet the necessary expenses
of his son’s elementary education. Unfortunately
he became infirm, and was compelled to enter a
hospital.


WINCKELMANN. 251

In this state of utter destitution, young Winckel-
mann would have been reduced to the necessity of
following his father’s trade, had it not been for the
assistance rendered him by the old vicar of Stein-
dall. This good old man’s name was Toppert;
he soon remarked his pupil’s wonderful aptitude
for study, and in a short time he saw him explain
and comment on, with the same accuracy which
he himself would have done, the classic authors
of Greece and Rome. Greece especially had an
irresistible attraction for him. He raved of
Homer and Herodotus: the descriptions which he
found in them showed him all the beauty of
Grecian art, whose image possessed him even
before he had been able to admire its master-
pieces: he dreamed of nothing but Greek and
Roman antiquities, and would often lead his
schoolmates to a field near Steindall, where a
discovery had been made of some lamps and
Etruscan vases; and there, under the direction of
young Winckelmann, the schoolboys made some
little investigations. One day Winckelmann
brought back in triumph two antique urns, which
are still in the library at Sechausen.

At the age of sixteen, his benefactor, Toppert,
permitted Winckelmann to go to Berlin to com-
mence what is called in Germany academic courses.
Soon after, the rector of the college of Baaken

R


252 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD,

intrusted him with the superintendence of his
children, and afforded him in return lodging and
board at his table. Winckelmann was thus enabled
to put by little sums which he sent to his father,
who was languishing in the hospital of Steindall.
At the end of a year, Toppert recalled him to
that town, and gave him the situation of leader
of the choristers. Of an evening he joined,
according to the custom in Germany, the poor
scholars, who sang canticles and motetts in the
streets. He succeeded by this means in augment-
ing the little sums which he carried regularly to
his father.

The moment for choosing finally a career, at
length arrived for him. He was advised to become
a minister, but he shrank from the mere ides.
To dwell in cold, barren Germany as a Protestant
pastor, seemed to him as perpetual imprisonment
to his youth and mind. One bright image, that
of ancient Greece, had taken sole possession of his
imagination; the sun and the art of that favoured
land dazzled him with their lustre ; it grew a fixed
idea, which allowed him no more repose. In
default of Greece, might he not visit Italy, which
had inherited a portion of the wonders of
Athens?

This dream took possession of his mind: to
realize it he would have sacrificed everything.


WINCKELMANN. 253

He quitted Steindall, and passed two years in
the University of Halle, pursuing his dream in a
state of poverty closely bordering on want: his
usual diet was nothing but bread and water. At
times he imagined that he was prosecuting his
researches among the pyramids of Egypt; at others,
that he was disturbing the soil at the foot of
Olympus, and bringing to light the buried master-
pieces of Phidias or Lysippus. His only consola
tion during those years of a crossed vocation was
in visiting the museum at Dresden, where he was
at length able to enjoy the sight of some fine
antique marbles. For several years to come he
was by turns preceptor in private houses, and

professor in public institutions. Weary at length
of this life of constraint, he determined to write
to Count Bunaw, a very rich German nobleman,
very learned, and a friend of art. Winckelmann
solicited him to place him in a corner of his
library: the Count immediately gave him an
asylum in the castle which contained this magniti-

cent library, and was a kind and liberal patron
to Winckelmann. It was then that the young an-
tiquary began to exclaim, ‘The Christian reli-
gion and the Muses have disputed for victory, and
the latter have at length gained it |!”

Whilst Winckelmann was residing in this casile,
devoting himself exclusively to his beloved stu-


254 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

dies, and already laying the foundation of his
magnificent ‘History of the Arts among the

Ancients,” the papal nuncio at Dresden came to
visit the Count de Bunaw’s library, and struck
with the artistic erudition of Winckelmann, said to
him: ‘ Youshould come to Rome!” This was the
electric spark that set fire to his dream. To go to
Rome, to obtain a place in the Vatican library,
seemed happiness too great for belief.

At length he saw Italy, he resided at Rome, and
assisted in the researches of Herculaneum. It
was at Rome that he wrote all his works. He
lived there happy, appreciated, and was elected
member of all the academies of Italy, as well as
those of Germany and London.

His countrymen, proud of his renown, entreated
him to return to Germany. Frederick the Great
wished to attach him to his court. Winckelmann
resisted all these entreaties. Italy, with its light,
its sky, and its golden mountains, being henceforth
his adopted mother, he would not consent to quit
her for ever, unless Greece had summoned him.
He promised his friends, however, that he would
go and pay them a visit. He quitted Rome with
great reluctance, and as if haunted with a pre-
sentiment that this journey to Germany would
turn out ill forhim. By degrees, as he approached
the Alps, and the gorges of the Tyrol, bis melan-


WINCKELMANN. 255

choly increased. The honours which he received
at Munich, at Vienna, and in all the courts of
Germany, could not restore his cheerfulness; he
had lost his sun and his gods. The Prime Minister
of Austria did all in his power to attach him to
his court. His friends almost insisted; “but,”
said one of them, ‘‘ we remarked that he had the eyes
of a dead man, and we refrained from tormenting
him further.” Life to him was the light and the
art which from Greece had taken refuge in Italy ;
death was cold and didactic Germany. At length
he departed, loaded with the honours and presents
which sovereigns had vied with each other in
lavishing upon him. On his return to his adopted
country, he determined, from what motive is not
known, to pass through Trieste, to embark thence
for Ancona. He encountered on his journey a
wretch, named Francis Archangeli, an escaped
vonvict, who managed to insinuate himself into
the confidence of Winckelmann, who showed him
the magnificent gold medals he had received from
the princes of Germany. Arrived at Trieste,
Archangeli took up his abode in the same inn
with Winckelmann. One day, when the latter was
‘sitting reading his favourite Homer, he saw enter

his room his travelling companion, who begged

to be allowed to admire once more his medals.
Winckelmann, to oblige him, hastened to his


256 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

trunk, and knelt down to open it. In an instant,
Archangeli slipped a running knot round his neck
and attempted to strangle him. Winckelmann
resisted with all his strength; but the assassin
stabbed him in five places. A child happened at
this moment to knock at the door. The murderer,
equally alarmed, took flight, leaving behind him
the medals which were to be the fruits of his crime.
He was afterwards taken and executed.
Winckelmann’s wounds were mortal. He ex-
pired, after seven hours’ suffering, on the 8th of
June, 1768, a remarkable example of what boys
may do, by untiring energy and perseverance.






Horatio Nelson.

Tue great Lord Nelson was from his infancy re-
markable for his disinterestedness and intrepi-
dity. When at school at North Walsham, the ~
master, the Rev. Mr. Jones, had some remarkably
fine pears, which his scholars had often wished
for, but the attempt to gather them was in their
opinion so hazardous that no one would undertake
it. Horatio, then, seeing all his companions
lagged, came forward and offered to brave the
danger. He was accordingly lowered down from
the dormitory by means of sheets tied together,
and thus, at a considerable risk, secured the prize ;
but the boldness of the act was all the young ad
venturer regarded ; for, on being hauled up again,
he shared the pears among his schoolfellows, with-
out reserving any for himself; and added, “Ionly .
took them because every other boy was afraid.”

It is also related of him that at an early period,
and when he was quite a child, he strayed from his
grandmother’s house at Hilborough after birds-
nests, with a cow-boy. The dinner hour arrived
without his appearance; the alarm of the family
258 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

became very great, for they apprehended that he
had been carried off by the gipsies. Search was
instantly made in various directions, and at length
he was discovered, without his companion, sitting
with the utmost confidence by the side of a stream,
which he had been unable to pass. “I wonder,
child,” said the old lady, on seeing him, “ that
hunger and fear did not drive you home.” “Fear
never came near me, grandmamma,” replied the
infant hero; ‘‘ what és fear ?”

Another anecdote is related strikingly character-
istie of that inflexible honour which marked the

subsequent actions of his life. When the brothers

William and Horatio were once going to school on
their ponies, William, who did not likethe journey,
having advanced a short distance from his father’s
gate, and found that a great deal of snow had
fallen, returned with his brother to the parsonage,
and informed Mr. Nelson that the snow was too
deep to venture. “If that be the case,” replied the
father, “you certainly shall not go; but make
another attempt, and I will leave it to your
honour. If the road should be found dangerous,
you may return ; yet remember, boys, I leave it to
your honour.” They accordingly proceeded, and,
although various difficulties presented themselves
which offered a plausible reason for their return
home, Horatio was proof against them all, ex-


LORD NELSON. 259

claiming, “We have no excuse; remember,
brother, it was left to our honour.”

When Nelson was only fourteen years of age,
he accompanied the expedition for discovering a
north-west passage, commanded by the Hon. Cap-
tain Phipps, afterwards Lord Mulgrave. Horatio
went on board the Carcass as captain’s coxswain,
In this perilous enterprise young Nelson particu-
larly distinguished himself. Speaking of it in his
Memoirs, written many years after, he says:—
‘When the boats were fitted out to quit the two
ships blocked up in the ice, I exerted myself to
have the command of a four-oared cutter, which
was given me with twelve men, and I prided
myself on fancying I could navigate her better
than any other boat in the ship.”

Another anecdote, which occurred while the
vessels were in the Polar Sea, though well known,
ought not to be omitted in the “Heroism oF
Boynoop.” Among the gentlemen on the quar-
ter-deck of the Carcass, who were not rated mid-
shipmen, there was besides young Nelson a daring
shipmate to whom he had become attached. One
night, during the mid-watch, it was concerted. be-
tween them that they should go together from the
ship, and endeavour to obtain a bear’s skin.
Nelson, in high spirits, led the way over the
frightful chasms on the ice, armed with a rusty


260 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

musket. It was not, however, long before the
adventurers were missed by those on board; and
as the fog had come on very thick, the anxiety of
the captain and his officers was very great. Be-
tween three and four in the morning the mist
somewhat dispersed, and the hunters were dis-
covered at a considerable distance, attacking a
large bear. The signal was constantly made for
their return; but it was in vain that Nelson’s
companion urged him to obey it. He was divided
by a chasm in the ice from his shaggy antagonist,
which circumstance probably saved his life, for the
musket had flashed in the pan, and their ammuni-
tion was expended. “Never mind,” said Nelson ;
“do but let me get a blow at the fellow with the
butt-end of my musket, and we shall have him.”
His companion, finding that entreaty was vain, re-
gained the ship. The captain, seeing the youth’s
danger, ordered a gun to be fired to terrify the en-
raged animal. This had the desired effect, but
Nelson was obliged to return without his bear.
On reaching the ship he was reprimanded by
Captain Lutwidge, who desired to know what
motive he could have for hunting a bear. “‘ Sir,”
replied Nelson, “I wished to kill the bear that I
might carry his skin to my father.”

The high spirit and intrepidity displayed by
Nelson was as evident in his school days as in after


LORD NELSON. 261

life. He was first sent to a small school at Down-
ham, in Norfolk; and during the intervals of study
he was often seen in the market-place, working
away, with his schoolfellows and the boys of the
place, at the pump, to get enough water collected
in a hollow of the ground to swim a little ship
in. It was in this place too that he showed the
kind and compassionate disposition for which he
was ever afterwards known.
pet lamb, and Nelson, in leaving his shop one
day, had the misfortune to jam the little animal in
the doorway. Nelson was so concerned at the
accident, that he would not leave the shop till he

was assured the poor creature was not seriously
injured; and for several days he called on the
shoemaker to inquire about the pet and to make
offers of remuneration to the master.

Nelson gives a brief but graphic account of his
own birth and early life. ‘I was born,” says he,
“on the 29th of September, 1758, in the par-
sonage-house ; was sent to the High School at
Norwich, and afterwards removed to Northway,
from whence, on the disturbance with Spain rela-
tive to the Falkland Isiands, I went to sea with
my uncle, Captain Maurice Suckling, in the Rai-
sonnable, of 64 guns; but the business with Spain
being accommodated, I was sent in a West India
ship belonging to the house of Hibbert Parrier


262 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

Horton, with Mr. John Rathbone, who had for-
merly been in the navy, in the Dreadnought, with
Captain Suckling. From this voyage I returned
to the Triumph, at Chatham, in July, 1772; and if
I did not improve in my education, I returned a ©
practical seaman, with a horror of the royal navy,
and with a saying then common with the seamen,
‘ Aft the most honour, forward the better man.’ ”
From such a beginning—for Nelson was but a
weak, puny boy—arose the greatest sea-captain
England ever knew. He passed, by regular grada-
tion, to the highest position in the profession, was
loaded with honours, and created a peer of Great
Britain, with a pension of 2000/1. a year for three
lives. His praises were on all lips, and he was
literally covered with glory. Russia, Denmark,
and Sweden having entered into a confederacy
with France against the maritime rights of Great
Britain, Nelson was sent, in the spring of 1801, to
the Baltic. On the 29th of March he attacked the
Danish fleet, and destroyed it, which action was

immediately followed by a peace with Denmark.
On the renewal of hostilities after the peace of
Amiens, Nelson was sent to the West Indies in
search of the French fleet, which had escaped
from Toulon; but he was unsuccessful; and on
the 29th of September, 1805, he arrived off Cadiz,
with a fleet under his command of twenty-seven


LORD NELSON. 263

sail of the line and four frigates. On the 21st of
October, he came up with the enemy, off Cape
Trafalgar. Their fleet consisted of thirty-three
sail of the line, and seven large frigates. Their
vessels were superior, both in size and in weight
of metal, to ours.

Nelson, already calculating on victory, asked one
of his captains how many he thought he should
take. “Fourteen,” he said, ‘‘he should consider
a very handsome number.” “TI shall not be satis-
fied,” exclaimed Nelson, ‘‘ with less than twenty !”
Soon after he made his celebrated and well-known
signal,— ENGLAND EXPECTS EVERY MAN TO DO HIS
puty !”—and the whole fleet received it with a
shout of acclamation. About twelve o’clock, the
French began firing; and Admiral Collingwood
cut through the centre of the enemy’s line astern
of the Santa Anna, a three-decked vessel, and en-
gaged her on the starboard side, at the muzzle of
her guns. Nelson commanded the Victory to be
steered to the bow of the Spanish ship, Santissima
Trinidad. Before this could be effected, a raking
fire was kept up on Nelson’s ship, which cut off
fifty of her men, with her booms, and sails, and

maintop-mast. In order to break the enemy’s line,
the Victory ran on board the Redoubtable, which
received her with a broadside, and then closed her
lower-deck ports, lest she should be boarded


264 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

through them. She never afterwards fired a
shot.

Nelson gave orders twice, that, as this vessel
was silent, they should cease firing on her. It
was from this ship that his death-shot came.
Bearing on his breast the four stars of the different
Orders which had been conferred on him, he was
readily distinguished, and shot from the mizen-
mast of the Redoubtable. ‘They have done for
me at last,” said he to Captain Hardy, as three '
men raised him from the floor on which he had
fallen. “I hope not!” replied Captain Hardy.
“Yes,” said he, ‘my backbone is shot through.”

On a very slight examination it was evident
that the wound was mortal. But, though dying,
he was very anxious to know the state of the con-
flict. “‘ Well, Hardy,” said he, ‘ how goes the day
with us?” “Very well,” replied Hardy; ‘ten
ships have struck.”. ‘‘I am adead man, Hardy;
Tam going fast ; it will be all over with me soon.”

_ Afterwards, when Captain Hardy told him that
fourteen or fifteen ships, at least, had struck,—
“ That’s well,” exclaimed Nelson,—* but I bar-

gamed for twenty.’ Then, in a more powerful

voice, he said, “Anchor, Hardy, anchor!” He
also added, in a low tone, a few minutes after,
‘Don’t throw me overboard,—bury me by my
parents,—unless the King orders otherwise Kiss




LORD NELSON. ~ 265

me, Hardy.” Hardy knelt down and kissed his
cheek ; and the dying hero said, “ Now I am satis-
fied; thank God, I have done my duty!” He re-
peated this sentiment, and expired.

Nearly 1600 of our sailors and officers perished
in this memorable engagement. Twenty sail of
the combined fleet struck their flags; but some
of them were destroyed—others were buried in the
ocean; one got into the harbour of Cadiz; and
only four, by the greatest efforts, could be brought
home. The Spanish Admiral, Alava, died of hig
wounds; and the French Admiral, Villeneuve,
was brought a prisoner to England, but allowed to
return to France, where he died soon after.

Nelson’s honours were well deserved. His
gallant deeds have been made the theme of scores
of eloquent pens, and his death, at a comparatively
early age—at the point of duty, which is ever the
post of honour—and in the midst of devoted fol-
lowers, filled all Hurope with consternation, and
threw a gloom over his native country. ‘And
yet,” says his most renowned biographer, the poet
Southey, ‘he cannot be said to have fallen prema-
turely whose work was done, nor ought he to be
lamented who died so full of honours, and at the
height of human fame |”
George Stephenson. -

THE HEROISM OF FERSEVERANCE.

Ir has been well and truly said that in England,
public appreciation and national gratitude are
never entirely. withheld from true merit. Recog-
nition may be long in coming; honours may be
delayed till they are almost useless to their posses-
sor; wealth may be hard to win, and fame may be
slow of foot and weak of voice—but, nevertheless,
honour and riches and fame are almost certain, in
the end, to reward the efforts of the really original
and persevering.

He who life’s battles firm doth stand,

Shall bear Hope’s tender blossoms

Into the silent land.

The life and career of George Stephenson fully
exemplify this fact; forming as they do a brilliant
example of the triumphs achieved by perseverance,
integrity, and singleness of purpose. Born amid
poverty, and surrounded by all that would tend to
depress aspiration, this man rose to high honour.
His career is, indeed, an example to all boys. It
is not given to us all to be generals among men,


GEORGE STEPHENSON. 267

but we know that a steady persevering towards
any good. object is almost certain to result in fame
and honour. So it was with him who is the sub-
ject of this memoir. He chose a path to fame
which had not, indeed, been untrodden, but which
was unusual and comparatively unknown. “‘ Peace
hath her victories no less renowned than war,”
and George Stephenson was one of those bloodless
conquerors whose names live on the public mind
when the achievements of “great captains” are
well-nigh forgotten. Watt, Davy, Trevethick,
Smeaton, Arkwright, Brunel, and the two Ste-
phensons, George and Robert, father and son—these
are the men who, of all others, have made our dear
Old England famous for engineering. The steam-
engine is our great reformer and civilizer. Steam
and Iron are, to modern times and British enter-
prise, what the mines of Golconda and Potosi were
to the lions in the old times.
“These England’s arms of conquest are
The trophies of her bloodless war—
Brave weapons these :
With these she weaves, she spins, she tills,

Pierces the everlasting hills,
And spans the seas.”

It is not necessary to tell the story of the steain-
engine—how, from very rude and simple begin-
nings, the great idea of making a worker of a tea-

kettle—for the steam-boiler is only an enlargement
8


268 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

of this notion—how, from the year 1602, when Mr.
Beaumont laid down wooden rails on which to run
waggons from his coal-pits to the river-side, to
that in which George Stephenson saw the realiza-
tion of his plans for a locomotive, which should
drag loaded carriages across iron rails—how the
“idea” has been gradually expanded and im-
proved upon until the railway is now almost uni-
versal as a means of locomotion all over the civil-
ized world. We intend, rather, to tell of the boy
Stephenson, and what he did as a boy.

To begin, then. George Stephenson, who may
be said to be the father of the railway system, was
the son of a fireman employed in a coal-mine, at
Wylam, about eight miles from Newcastle.
Wylam was a poor village, in 1781, the year in
which little Geordie was born: it is a poor village
still, The father had only about eight or nine
shillings a week, and though “a rale canny body,”
as the Northumbrians say, possessed no peculiar
ability or ambition ; but the mother of Geordie was
a good, thoughtful, pious woman, who determined
to bring up her children in the right way. George
was one of a large family; but, being a sharp, ac-
tive little fellow, he soon proved useful to his
parents. By his eighth year he was employed in
nursing his younger brother, running errands in
the village, and doing other useful little jobs in a


GEORGE STEPHENSON. 269

handy way. He had small advantages in the way
of school education, for, by the time he was nine,
he was sent out to mind the cows in the fields at
twopence a day! But he had seen the steam-
engine at the coal-mine, and was curious to know
all about it. Before the cottage door in which he
was born, there ran a tram-road, on which the coal
waggons were then drawn by horses from the pit
to the loading quay. At this early period of his
life he divided his time between bird-nesting,
making whistles out of reeds and scrannel straws,
and erecting Lilliputian mills in the little water
streams that ran into Dewley Bog, to which place
the family had removed. There can be no doubt

that thus early he indicated that which is termed
a mechanical genius. His favourite amusement—
and this deserves to be noted—was the erection of

clay engines, in conjunction with a certain Tom
Tholoway. The boys found the clay for their engines
in an adjoining bog, and the hemlock that grew
about supplied them in abundance with imaginary
steam pipes. The place is still pointed out, “ just
above the cut end,” as the people of the hamlet
describe it, where the future engineer made his
first essays in modelling.

But a rise in life came, with which these occu-
pations were hardly compatible, for George passed
from a pastcral into an agricultural sphere, doubling


270 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

his wages by undertaking to hoe turnips. Then
he was taken on at the colliery as “ picker” at six-
pence a-day, whence he was advanced to be driver
of the gin-horse at eightpence; and there are some
old people who even now remember him in that
capacity as a “ grit barelegged laddie,” very quick-
witted, and full of fun and tricks. He himself had
some misgivings as to his physical dimensions, and
was wont to hide himself when the owner of the
colliery went round, lest he should be thought too
small a boy to earn his small wages. His soul,
like Hogarth’s volunteer, was higher than his
inches, but his fixed ambition was to be an engine-
man. Great, therefore, was his exultation when, at
about fourteen years of age, he was appointed fire-
man at the wage of one shilling a-day.

From this point his fortunes took him from one
pit to another, and procured him rising wages with
his rising stature. At Throckley Bridge, when ad-
vanced to twelve shillings a-week, “I am now,”
said he, ‘‘a made man for life.” At seventeen he
shot ahead of old Bob himself, being made an
engineman or plugman, while his father remained
a fireman. He soon studied and mastered the
working of his engine, which soon becamea pet with
him. Some readers will recall Dickens’ descrip-
tion of the man in his “ Old Curiosity Shop,” wha
made a companion of the fire he tended, when they


GEORGE STEPHENSON. 271

read that the engine Stephenson watched, exerted
over him a species of fascination. His greatest
privilege was to find some one who could read to
him, by the engine fire, out of any book or stray
newspaper which found its way into the colliery.
Thus he heard that the Egyptians hatched birds’
egos by artificial heat, and he endeavoured to do
the same in his engine-house. . He also learnt that
the wonderful engines of Watt and Boulton were
to be found described in books; and with the object
of mastering these books, though a grown man, he
went to a night school at threepence a week to
learn his letters. For fourpence a week he included
“figuring,” while at the pit he learned the art of
braking an engine, though not without opposition

from a fellow-workman. Braking an engine was
one of the highest departments of colliery labour,
and when Stephenson was appointed brakesman at
the Dolly Pit, and earned nearly twenty shillings
per week, he made overtures to one Fanny Hen-
derson, a pretty farm-servant, to share it. At this

time, during his leisure hours, he added to his
income by making and mending the shoes of his
fellow-workmen; and on one occasion he was
favoured with the shoes of his sweetheart to sole.
Here his heart was in the stitches, and he lingered
over his task, carrying the shoes about with him,
looking at them from time to time, and exclaiming,


272 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

‘«« What a capital job he had made of them!” And
a capital job it proved, for he was shortly married
to the fair owner, who made him an excellent wife,
and brought comfort as her dowry to the cottage
which he took for her on Willington Quay. Here
his only son, Robert, was born, on the 16th of
December, 1803.

Perhaps it might be thought that we have now
got rid of the boy George Stephenson. Well, not
altogether ; for the simple, earnest, faithful, in-
quiring spirit of the boy never left him, even when
he became a rich man—the foremost engineer of
his day, and the greatest railway promMer in the
world.

But he was simultaneously preparing for his life-
battle in a different fashion, by modelling experi-
mental machines on winter evenings by the side of
his wife ; and at the same time he even occupied
himself a good deal, as so many other inventors
have occupied themselves before him, with attempts
to discover perpetual motion. He did not, in-
deed, neglect labours more practical and immedi-
ately profitable. From mending shoes he proceeded
to making them, and thence to making shoe lasts,
in which business he was very expert, and drove a
good trade. From cleaning and repairing his own
clock, he also became one of the most famous clock
doctors in the neighbourhood. In 1804, he went


GEORGE STEPHENSON. 273

to Killingworth, seven miles from Newcastle, and

improved in experience and worldly means. Here,

however, he had the misfortune to lose his sweet

young wife, and his grief nearly drove him to dis-

* traction. But faith in God prevailed, and he
bowed to the stroke. Soon afterwards he removed
to Scotland, on the invitation of the owners of a
colliery, to superintend an engine that they were
erecting. On his return, he found his father re-
duced to blindness by an accident, and consequently
to poverty. So he paid his father’s debts, cheer-
fully undertook the support of him and his mother,
and discharged this filial duty towards them until
their death.

He was now earning about one hundred pounds
a-year, and had saved nearly one hundred guineas :
the guinea was then the current gold coin as the
sovereign isnow. About 1812 or 1813 he men-
tioned his grand ‘idea ” of the locomotive, and got
laughed at. People do laugh at what they do not
understand. But one man, a noble gentleman,
named Lord Ravensworth, did not laugh or sneer.

_ He saw what the world was too wise to see—that
George Stephenson’s “idea” was one that must

prevail. So this good nobleman supplied our hero
with money to work out his plans, and lived to see
them more than realized.

Stephenson, says the clever author of “ Bio-


HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

2

graphical Gems,” invented a safety-lamp to be
used in coal-pits, about the same time that Sir
Humphry Davy produced his, and it is very im-
material to which of these great minds the original
discovery belongs, for it is pretty certain that the

plan of each was unknown to the other. But the
friends of George Stephenson were so sensible of
the value cf his discovery that he was presented
at a public dinner with a tankard containing one
thousand guineas.

About 1816, the locomotive engine was receiving
attention from various quarters, and several were
made, but of very indifferent qualities. George
Stephenson made several for conveying coal, which
were the best that had yet been seen, and he was
employed to construct the Stockton and Darlington
Railway, about 1823. This may be called the
commencement of the career in which he became
so celebrated, and which inseparably connects the
name of Stephenson with railways and railway
enterprise.

In 1826, what may be termed the great event of
his life—the Liverpool and Manchester Railway
was projected, and Stephenson was applied to by
the promoters of that important undertaking. Now
that railways are established in every part of the
country, and we wonder howit is possible to man-
age without them, it is almost impossible to con-







GEORGE STEPHENSON. 275

ceive the difficulties and prejudices that assailed
the projectors of the first great undertaking of this
kind. We call the Liverpool and Manchester the
first, because the Stockton and Darlington, and
other small railways, had not attracted the notice
of the public as conveyances for passengers, and
were not known to many persons beyond the dis-
tricts to which they traversed. So little, indeed,
were the advantages of the steam-engine on rail-
roads, or locomotives as they are called, under-
stood at this time, that the most eminent engineers
were sent into the north to examine those in use,
and to report to the directors of the railway about
to be formed, whether it would be better to use
the locomotive engines, or to have stationary en
gines fixed on different parts of the line to pull the
carriages along by ropes; and these eminent men,
from the best information they could get at that
time, recommended thatthe fixed engines and ropes
should be used.

Stephenson was convinced that the locomotive
engine was best, and that it was capable of greater
excellence than it had yet attained; but he
thought it prudent not to mention the extent of
his expectations respecting it, for even his friends
would probably have been discouraged instead of
cheered by his bright hopes, deeming them the
delusion of his fancy; and therefore he confined


276 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

his promises to the rate of éen miles an hour, which
he insisted could be accomplished. The greatest
opposition was manifested; but among the direc-
tors he had one or two firm friends, and it was
at length determined that a prize of £500 should
be offered to the owner of the best carriage that
would travel ten miles an hour, drawing its own
weight, and not costing above £550. The railway
was ready for the experiment in October, 1829,
when three engines started for the prize, all made
by first-rate engineers; but two of them broke
soon after starting; and the “‘ Rocket,” which was
made by George Stephenson’s son and Mr. Booth,
a gentleman connected with the railway, carried
off the prize, and, what was of much greater im-
portance, established the system of railways, not
in this country only, but in the world! Here
must have been a gratification for Stephenson, not
merely that his plan was proved to be successful,
but that his son, the boy for whom he had toiled
after his regular day’s work was done, that he
might become possessed of advantages which he
himself had never enjoyed—-that his son had
requited his love by showing that he valued the
privileges his excellent parent had made such
struggles to obtain for him, and had made the
most excellent use of the knowledge thus acquired,
by the success of this first engine. When the


GEORGE STEPHENSON. 277

locomotive engine was once established, there was
no need to make it slow in its movements, to con-
ciliate prejudices; it was found to travel with
ease and safety between twenty and thirty miles
an hour, and people began to think it would be
very pleasant and convenient to have them in
other parts of the country, as well as between.
Liverpool and Manchester. This line was opened
in 1830, and from that time they have rapidly ex-
tended throughout England, Scotland, Ireland,
America, France, Germany, Holland, Russia, and
the West Indies.

The success of the Liverpool and Manchester
Railroad soon stimulated other enterprises of a like
nature; and it was natural that the parties en-

gaging in them should be anxious to secure the
engineer who had so successfully overcome the
formidable difficulties which beset the first under-

taking. There was one part of the road which
perplexed them not a little, and this was a district
of waste land, called Chat Moss, the ground being
so loose that it seemed to resemble the Slough of
_ Despond, in Bunyan’s “ Pilgrim’s Progress.”

My young readers who live in parts where they
can have, indeed, no opportunity of seeing such
places, can form a better idea of its nature from
the Slough of Despond than from any description.
Tike that, too, many waggon-loads of good stones







278 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

were thrown into it to make it a good firm road,
but all to no purpose; they gradually sank beneath
the surface, and Chat Moss seemed as if it would
so remain. At length a happy thought occurred
to the engineers, that if bundles of fagots were
thrown down, they would not be dispersed like
stones, and would ultimately form a foundation
firm enough for a road to be laid on the top. This
plan was found to answer the purpose; and rail
way trains now travel over Chat Moss as safely as
over any other part of the line.

Stephenson was now associated with his son in
all his undertakings. They laid down, or were
otherwise concerned in, most of the principal lines
in the kingdom, and were consulted by foreign
kings and governments about their railways.
They had also a large manufacturing establish-
ment at Neweastle-on-Tyne, where they made
locomotive engines and other machines for all
parts of the world.

On one occasion, in his later life, George Ste-
phenson met with a gentleman and his wife, who
did not know him. They were very much de-
lighted with his company, for he was exceedingly
playful in his conversation, though it was full
of sound sense. In fact, he never lost his boyish
frankness and good-nature. At length the lady
became anxious to know the name of the sensible


GEORGE STEPHENSON, 279

and unassuming stranger who had entertained
them so pleasantly. ‘Why, madam,” replied he,
“they used to call me Geordie Stephenson; I am
now called George Stephenson, Esquire, of Tapton
House, near Chesterfield. And further let me
say, that I have dined with princes, and peers,
and commoners—with persons of all classes, from
the highest to the humblest; I have dined off a
red herring, when seated in a hedge bottom,
and have gone through the meanest drudgery;
I have seen mankind in all its phases: and the
conclusion I have arrived at is this—that if we
were all stripped, there is not much difference.”
It is pleasing to notice the frequent and touch-
ing allusions made by Stephenson to his early
struggles. At a public entertainment at New-
castle, he related some of his early history :—
“The first locomotive that I made was at
Killingworth Colliery, and with Lord Ravens-
worth’s money. Yes, Lord Ravensworth and Co.
were the first parties that would intrust me with
money to make a locomotive engine. That engine
- ‘was made years ago, and we called it ‘My Lord.’
I told my friends that there was no limit to the
speed of such an engine, provided the works could
be made to stand. In this respect great perfection
has been reached, and in consequence a very high
velocity has been attained. In what has been


280 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

done under my management, the merit is only in
part my own; I have been most ably seconded
and assisted by my son. In the earlier period of
my career, and when he was a little boy, I saw
how deficient I was in education, and made up my
mind that he should not labour under the same
defect, but that I would put him to a good school
and give him a liberal training. I was, however,
a poor man, and how do you think I managed? I
betook myself to mending my neighbours’ clocks
and watches at night, after my labour was done,
and thus I procured the means of educating my
son. He became my assistant and companion.
He got an appointment as under-viewer, and at
nights we worked together at our engineering.
I got leave to go from Killingworth to lay down a
railway at Hetton, and next to Darlington; and
after that I went to Liverpool, to plan a line to
Manchester. -I there pledged myself to attain
a speed of ten miles an hour. I said I had no
doubt the locomotive might be made to go much
faster, but we had better be moderate at the
beginning. The directors said I was quite right;
for if, when they went to Parliament, I talked of
going at a greater rate than ten miles an hour,
I should put a cross on the concern. It was not
an easy task for me to keep the engine down to
ten miles an hour, but it must be done, and I did


GEORGE STEPHENSON. 28)

my best. I had to place myself in that most
unpleasant of all places, the witness-box of a
parliamentary committee. I was not long in it, I
assure you, before I wished for a hole to creep out.

“ T could not find words to satisfy either the
committee or myself. Some one inquired if I were
a foreigner, and another hinted that I was mad.
But I put up with every’rebuff, and went on with
my plans, determined not to be put down.

“ Assistance gradually increased, improvements
were made every day; and to-day a train, which
started from London in the morning, has brought
me in the afternoon to my native soil, and enabled
me to take my place in this room, and to see
around me many faces which I have great
pleasure in looking upon.”

During the latter years of his life, Stephenson
retired as much as possible from the active pursuit
of his profession, and devoted himself, at his
beautiful country-seat, near Chesterfield, to rural
pursuits. His tastes were of the simplest kind;
he liked as well as any boy to go a-nutting and

bird-nesting, not for the cruel purpose of robbing
the birds, but to watch them; and he carefully
guarded those in his own grounds. He engaged

himself amongst his cows, and horses, and dogs, his
rabbits, and birds; the same energy which had
characterized him in overcoming difficulties in


282 HEROISM OF BOYHOOD.

machinery and on railroads, was equally con-
spicuous in his garden and greenhouse; and he
laughingly told his friends that he intended to
grow pineapples as thick as pumpkins; and there
is no doubt but that to a considerable extent he
would have succeeded, for it is seldom that un-
tiring energy and perseverance fail to meet with
their reward. But while thus engaged, he was not
unmindful of the mental improvement and the
comfort of the many people employed in his
various works, and was always anxious to promote
every plan that would tend to their benefit.

In the midst of these pursuits, and when per-
haps he yet calculated on many years of enjoy-
ment, it pleased God to remove him, after a short
illness, in the sixty-eighth year of his age. The
funeral of the once colliery-boy showed the estima-
tion in which he was held by his neighbours
and friends. The business of the town was
suspended ; the shops were closed for some hours
while his remains were being conveyed to their
last resting-place ; the corporation and the prin-
cipal inhabitants of the town formed in procession,
and hundreds of the neighbouring gentry at-
tended on the occasion.

Thus died George Stephenson, in the year 1849;
a brilliant example of the “ Hmroism or BoyHoop,
AND wHaT Boys HAVE Dont.”