CHAPTER IV.

SMEATON IN PRIVATE LIFE--HIS LAST YEARS AND CHARACTER.

While Smeaton was thus reaping the reward of his diligent life and conscientious industry, he continued to make his home and resting-place at Austhorpe, near Leeds, where he had been born. There he carried on the mechanical experiments in which he had ever felt so intense a delight. His father had allowed him the privilege of a workshop in an outhouse, and he occupied it for many years; afterwards, when the house had become his settled residence, he erected an atelier, a study, and an observatory, all in one, for his own use. This building assumed the form of a square tower, four stories high. It stood apart from the house, on the opposite side of the court or green, and on the bank of a pleasant pool. Shrouded in ivy, and embowered among trees, it now forms a picturesque feature in the landscape. The ground-floor was devoted to his forge; the first floor contained his lathe; the second, his models; the third, his study; while the fourth was a sort of lumber-room and attic. From the little turreted staircase on the top a door opened upon the leads. A vane was fixed on the summit, and so arranged that it set in motion the hands of a dial on the ceiling of his drawing-room, and showed at any moment the precise direction in which the wind blew.

[Sidenote: Smeaton in his study.]

As soon as the engineer retired to his study, strict orders were issued that he was not to be disturbed on any account. No person was suffered to ascend the circular staircase which led to his retreat. If he heard a step below, he would immediately raise his voice to know the intruder's business. Even his smith, Waddington, was prohibited from trespassing on the sanctuary, and required, on such occasions, to wait in the lower apartment until Mr. Smeaton came down.

When he was neither evolving plans nor drawing up reports, Smeaton delighted to occupy his leisure with astronomical studies and observations; and this scientific pastime he continued to indulge in even in the flush of his prosperous professional career, when he was the consulting engineer of all England. For many years he regularly contributed papers on astronomical subjects to the Royal Society, of which he was a Fellow. The instruments he used in making his observations were all of his own workmanship, and remarkable for their accuracy and finish.

[Sidenote: Ingenious designs for tools.]

His contrivances of tools, we are told, were endless, and he was constantly employed in inventing and making new ones. Of these interesting relics large quantities are still, says Smiles, in the possession of the son of his blacksmith, who lives in the neighbourhood of Austhorpe. When Mr. Smiles made inquiry after them, they were found lying in a heap in an open shed, begrimed and rusty. One mysterious article, after it had been thoroughly scrubbed and cleansed, proved to be a jack-plane, and the tool which Smeaton himself had handled. His drill was also found, the bow being formed of a thick piece of cane; his brace, his T square, his augers, his gouges, and his engraving tools.

"There was no end of curiously arranged dividers; pulleys in large numbers, and of various sizes; cog-wheels, brass hemispheres, and all manner of measured, drilled, framed, and jointed brass-work. These remains of the great engineer are worthy of preservation. To mechanics, there is a meaning in every one of them. They do not resemble existing tools, but you can see at once that each was made for a reason; and one can almost detect what the contriver was thinking about when he made them so different from those we are accustomed to see. Even in the most trifling matters, such as the kind of wood or metal used, and the direction of the fibre of the wood, each detail has been carefully studied. Much even of the household furniture seems to have been employed in their fabrication, possibly to the occasional amazement of the ladies in Smeaton's house over the way. We are informed that so much 'rubbish,' as it was termed, was found in that square tower at his death, that a fire was kindled in the yard, and a vast quantity of papers, letters, books, plans, tools, and scraps of all kinds, were remorselessly burnt."

[Sidenote: "A born mechanic."]

There can be no question that Smeaton was "a born mechanic;" and to the end of his days a mechanic he remained, finding his greatest pleasure in mechanical pursuits. It is told of him that when new gates were erected at the entrances to Temple-Newsham Park, near his house at Austhorpe, he offered to supply the design; and they were accordingly constructed and hung after his plans. In the popular opinion, however, his noblest work, surpassing even the Eddystone lighthouse, is the ingenious hydraulic ram, by means of which the water is still raised in the beautiful grounds of Temple-Newsham. Occasionally he diversified his occupations in his atelier, and at his desk, by visits to his smithy. Here he was wont to experiment upon a boiler, the lower part of copper and the upper of lead, which he had fitted up in an adjacent building, for the purpose of ascertaining the evaporative power of different kinds of fuel, and of settling other questions connected with the all-absorbing subject of steam-power. [Sidenote: File _versus_ hammer.] He was on the best of terms with his smith, and if he thought him not very dexterous in the execution of any particular piece of work, he would take the tools himself, and show him how it ought to be done. He was fond of repeating the maxim, "Never let a file come where a hammer can go."

[Sidenote: "Queer-fangled things."]

When superintending the various works on which he was successively employed, if any workman showed a lack of skill, or seemed unable to proceed, he would at once take his tools and finish the task himself. "You know, sir," said the son of Smeaton's blacksmith to an inquirer, "workmen didn't know much about drawings at that time a-day, and so when Mr. Smeaton wanted any queer-fangled thing making, he'd cut one piece out of wood, and say to my father, 'Now, lad, go make me this,'--and so on for ever so many pieces; and then he'd stick all those pieces o' wood together, and say, 'Now, lad, thou knows how thou made each part, go make it now all in a piece.' And I've heard my father say 'at he's often been cap't to know how he could tell so soon when owt ailed it; for before ever he set his foot at t' bottom of his twisting steps, or before my father could get sight of his face, if t' iron had been wrong, thear'd been an angry word o' some sort, but t' varry next words were, 'Why, my lad, thou o'ud a' made it so and so: now go make another.'"

It is related by his daughter, Mrs. Dickson, that early in life Smeaton attracted the notice of the eccentric Duke and Duchess of Queensberry, owing to the remarkable personal likeness between him and their favourite Gay, the poet.

Their first acquaintance was made under sufficiently singular circumstances.

When the engineer, one night, was walking in Ranelagh Gardens, then a fashionable place of resort, with Mrs. Smeaton, he observed an elderly lady and gentleman fixing their eyes upon him with a persistent gaze. At last they stopped, and the Duchess said, "Sir, I don't know who you are, or what you are, but so strongly do you resemble my poor dear Gay that we _must_ be acquainted; you shall go home and sup with us; and if the minds of the two men accord as do the countenances, you will find two cheerful old folks who can love you well; and I think (or you are a hypocrite), you can as well deserve it."

[Sidenote: A guest at the Duke's.]

The invitation thus frankly given was as frankly accepted, and proved the beginning of a friendship which continued cordial and uninterrupted so long as the Duke and Duchess lived.

During Smeaton's visits a game at cards was sometimes proposed. Smeaton, however, disliked cards, and could never devote his attention to the game. On one occasion the stakes were already high, and it fell to Smeaton's lot to double them, when, neglecting to deal the cards, he appeared to be busily engaged in making some abstruse calculations on paper, which he placed upon the table. The Duchess asked eagerly what they referred to. Smeaton calmly replied, "You will recollect that the field in which my house stands measures about five acres three roods and seven perches, which, at thirty years' purchase, will be just my stake; and if your grace will make a duke of me, I presume the winner will not dislike my mortgage." The jesting lesson had its effect, and they never played again, except for the veriest trifle.

[Sidenote: A benevolent character.]

Smeaton, on one occasion, obtained a public appointment for a clerk in whom he placed the greatest confidence, and, conjointly with a friend, became security for him to a considerable amount. Not long afterwards this man committed the crime of forgery, was detected, and given up to justice. "The same post," says Mrs. Dickson, "brought news of the melancholy transaction, of the man's compunction and danger, of the claim of the bond forfeited, and of the refusal of the other person to pay the moiety. Being present when he read his letters, which arrived at a period of Mrs. Smeaton's declining health, so entirely did the command of himself second his anxious attention to her, that no emotion was visible on their perusal, nor, till all was put into the best train possible, did a word or look betray the exquisite distress it occasioned him. In the interim all which could soothe the remorse of a prisoner, every means which could save (which did, at least, from public execution), were exerted for him, with a characteristic benevolence, active and unobtrusive."

[Sidenote: Not to be bought.]

Smeaton was a man of blameless character; his integrity was as pure as his energy was unresting. Though his opportunities of amassing wealth were numerous, he cared but little for them. Profit was always, with Smeaton, a secondary consideration; his first aim being to execute the task intrusted to him with all the skill at his command. He never slighted his work, but attended to its minutest details. Many lucrative appointments were placed at his disposal. The Empress Catherine of Russia endeavoured, by the most splendid offers, to secure his services for her own country; but Smeaton was too sincere a patriot to be dazzled by any bribe. "The disinterested moderation of his ambition," says his daughter,--and says so truly,--"every transaction in private life evinced; his public ones bore the same stamp; and after his health had withdrawn him from the labours of his profession, many instances may be given by those whose concerns induced them to press importunately for a resumption of it; and when some of them seemed disposed to enforce their entreaties by further prospects of lucrative recompense, his reply was strongly characteristic of his simple manners and moderation. He introduced the old woman who took care of his chambers in Gray's Inn, and showing her, asserted that 'her attendance sufficed for all his wants.' The inference was indisputable, for money could not tempt that man to forego his ease, leisure, or independence, whose requisites of accommodation were compressed within such limits!"

[Sidenote: The value of integrity.]

A very high opinion of his probity and independence was formed by all who had transactions with him. The Princess Daschkaw, on behalf of the Empress of Russia, used every persuasion and offered every inducement to accept the superintendence of the vast projects she had conceived for the development of the resources of her empire. When all her negotiations failed, she remarked: "Sir, you are a great man, and I honour you! You may have an equal in ability, perhaps, but in character you stand alone. The English premier, Sir Robert Walpole, was mistaken, and my sovereign has the misfortune to find one man who has not his price."

In all the social duties of life Smeaton was above praise; and he was quick to recognize and encourage real merit wherever he found it. To strangers his mode of expression might at times appear too warm and harsh; but this may be accounted for, perhaps, as Mr. Holmes accounts for it, by the intense application of his mind, which was always absorbed in the pursuit of truth, or engaged in extending the domains of human knowledge. Hence, if interrupted by anything not in accordance with the general current of his thoughts, he was apt to speak hastily. As a friend, he was sincere, earnest, generous; as a companion, interesting and entertaining, and his conversation was always fresh, happy, and suggestive.

[Sidenote: Smeaton at home.]

In his own home, and by his family and dependants, he was equally beloved and revered. After his wife's death in 1784, his two daughters managed his household until his own departure. The elder has left on record many graphic particulars of his mode of life, and has drawn his character in terms dictated by affection, yet, as unquestionable evidence shows, without undue exaggeration.

Though communicative on most subjects, she says, and stored with ample and liberal observations on others, of himself he never spoke. In nothing does he seem to have stood more single than in being devoid of that egotism which more or less affects the world. It required some address, even in his family, to draw him into conversation directly relating to himself, his pursuits, or his success. Self-opinion, self-interest, and self-indulgence, seemed alike tempered in him by a modesty inseparable from merit; and by a moderation in pecuniary ambition, a habit of intense application, and a rigid temperance, which, however laudable, are certainly uncommon.

[Sidenote: Father and master.]

Devoted to his family with an affection so profound, a manner at once so cheerful and serene, that it is impossible to say whether the charm of conversation, the simplicity of instruction, or the gentleness with which it was conveyed, most endeared his home; a home in which, from their earliest years, his children could not recollect to have seen in him a sign of dissatisfaction, or to have heard a word of asperity. Yet with all this he ruled his household, not his household him. He was the loving and generous father, but he was also the firm and resolved master. But it is for "casuistry, or education, or rule, to explain his authority; it was an authority as impossible to dispute as it is to define."

[Sidenote: Personal characteristics.]

In person our engineer was of middle stature, broadly and strongly made, like most Yorkshiremen, and endowed with a constitution of great natural vigour. The expression of his countenance was marked by much gentleness and shrewdness. In his ordinary address he was plain, unpretending, simple, but never rude or awkward. He had the characteristic straightforwardness of speech of the north-countryman, and never hesitated to call a lie a lie, or to stigmatize an act of dishonesty or deception in the plainest possible terms. He spoke in the dialect of his native county, and had the good sense not to be ashamed of it. His incessant avocations prevented him from acquiring that polish and superficial refinement so much valued by little minds;--excellent things in themselves, but dearly purchased at the cost of sterling qualities of head or heart. He was born an engineer, a son of toil; and such he remained to the last.

[Sidenote: Smeaton on literary work.]

Towards the close of his life, Smeaton became an author; not, however, with a view to literary reputation, but in the hope he might do some service to those coming after him by an accurate account of the various important works in which he had been engaged as an engineer. He meditated several compilations of this character, but lived to complete only his "Narrative of the Construction of the Eddystone Lighthouse." He frankly tells us that he found the task of describing this structure far more difficult than that of raising it; and hence, like most unaccustomed writers, he became singularly impressed with a sense of the importance of literary composition.

"I am convinced," he says in his preface, "that to write a book tolerably well is not a light or an easy matter; for, as I have proceeded in this task, I have been less and less satisfied with the execution. In truth, I have found much more difficulty in writing than I did in building, as well as a greater length of time and application of mind to be employed. I am indeed now older by thirty-five years than I was when I first entered on that enterprise, and therefore my faculties are less active and vigorous; but when I consider that I have been employed full seven years, at every opportunity, in forwarding this book, having all the original draughts and materials to go upon, and that the production of these original materials, as well as the building itself, were despatched in half that time, I am almost tempted to subscribe to the sentiment adopted by Mr. Pope, that

'Nature's chief masterpiece is writing well.'

It is true that I have not been bred to literature, but it is equally true that I was no more bred to mechanics: we must therefore conclude that the same mind has in reality a much greater facility in some subjects than in others."

[Sidenote: The great engineer.]

We agree with Mr. Smiles, however, in thinking that Smeaton's story of the Eddystone Lighthouse is very effectively told. It is distinguished by its intense dramatic interest; an interest arising from the contest it depicts between the colossal forces of nature and human resolution, energy, and skill. It has been well observed by the Earl of Ellesmere, in his "Essays on Engineering," that bloody battles have been won, and campaigns conducted to a successful issue, with less of personal exposure to physical danger on the part of the commander-in-chief, than was constantly encountered by Smeaton during the greater part of those years in which the lighthouse was in course of erection. "In all works of danger he himself led the way; was the first to spring upon the rock, and the last to leave it; and by his own example he inspired with courage the humble workmen engaged in carrying out his plans, who, like himself, were unaccustomed to the special terrors of the scene."

[Sidenote: "Suum cuique."]

We have next to speak of Smeaton's intellectual powers. That they were equal to work of the highest character we have already shown. He was abundantly fertile in resources; no difficulties or obstacles ever embarrassed him; his capacious mind seemed stored with an inexhaustible supply of ingenious expedients. He was the first of the great school of English engineers whose triumphs over nature are recorded in every part of the world. No undertaking ever perplexed that prompt, quick, and massive intellect. Hence his fame has gone on increasing. James Watt, who always spoke of him in language of warm admiration, calls him "_father_ Smeaton." In justice to him, he writes, "we should observe that he lived before Rennie, and before there were one-tenth of the artists there are now." _Suum cuique_; his example and precepts have made us all engineers. Robert Stephenson, half a century later, declared him to be the engineer of the highest intellectual eminence that had yet appeared in England. He pronounced him to be "the greatest philosopher in our [the engineering] profession this country has yet produced. He was indeed a great man, possessing a truly Baconian mind, for he was an incessant experimenter. The principles of mechanics were never so clearly exhibited as in his writings, more especially with respect to resistance, gravity, the power of water and wind to turn mills, and so on. His mind was as clear as crystal, and his demonstrations will be found mathematically conclusive. To this day there are no writings so valuable as his in the highest walks of scientific engineering; and when young men ask me, as they frequently do, what they should read, I invariably say, Go to Smeaton's philosophical papers; read them, master them thoroughly, and nothing will be of greater service to you. Smeaton was indeed a very great man."

[Sidenote: "Clear as crystal."]

We have said enough to prove that Smeaton was gifted with the most earnest industry, and we have dwelt at some length on his patience, resolution, and perseverance. He was a hard worker throughout his life, from six years old to sixty. And like all hard workers, like all men who have won renown or accomplished great things, he knew how to economize his time; how to utilize every moment; how to employ it in such a manner as to obtain from its use the most advantageous results. When at home, his forenoons were occupied in writing reports, and in the various transactions connected with his professional engagements; while his afternoons were devoted to the mechanical and scientific pursuits which formed his principal relaxation, working at his forge or in his workshop, making mechanical experiments, or preparing papers on scientific subjects for the Royal Society.

[Sidenote: Numbering the hours.]

He was endowed by nature with a strong constitution and a robust frame, but there is reason to apprehend that he tasked his mental powers too laboriously by his intense and continuous application to study during his long periods of seclusion at Austhorpe. As he advanced in years his sturdy strength of limb departed, and his physical powers gave way, while he was yet in his mature manhood. They were further impaired by the abstemious regimen which he was subsequently compelled to adopt. [Sidenote: The dreaded enemy.] Cerebral disease, moreover, was hereditary in his family, and he long dreaded the attack of paralysis, which eventually terminated his life. But, as Mr. Smiles says, this only made him the more eager to employ to the greatest advantage the time which it might yet be permitted him to live: and he dreaded above all things the blight of his mental powers--to use his own words, "lingering over the dregs after the spirit had evaporated"--chiefly as depriving him of the means of doing further good.

The last public measure on which he was professionally engaged in London was the passing of a Bill through Parliament for the construction of the Birmingham and Worcester Canal. The opposition to it was fierce and protracted, and his support of the measure in committee entailed upon him great application, anxiety, and thought, His friends saw with much concern that the labour was too great for him, and were in constant alarm lest the powers of his vigorous mind should suddenly give way. The Bill, however, passed by a small majority, and Smeaton retired to his house at Austhorpe to enjoy the rest he so greatly needed.

[Sidenote: Smeaton's last days.]

On the 16th of September the blow fell. He was seized with an attack of paralysis while walking in the garden. Happily he regained the use of his mental faculties, and was able to thank the Almighty that his intellect was spared.

During his illness he dictated several letters to his old friend, Mr. Holmes, in which he minutely described his health and feelings. In one of them he says pathetically, "I conclude myself nine-tenths dead, and the greatest favour the Almighty can do (as I think), will be to complete the other part; but as it is likely to be a lingering illness, it is only in his power to say when that is likely to happen."

Smeaton bore his trial, however, with the equanimity of a Christian, and was very cheerful and resigned. Sometimes he would complain that he had lost his old quickness of apprehension; but recovering himself quickly, he would excuse the momentary impatience, and remark, with a smile, "It could not be otherwise; the shadow must lengthen as the sun goes down." He expressed particular pleasure in seeing the customary occupations of his family resumed, and took the same interest as ever in reading, drawing, music, and conversation. Nor were his remarks less apt or instructive or entertaining than when he was in the flush of health. One evening he was asked to explain some phenomena respecting the moon, which, from the window of his apartment, could be seen shining in full-orbed splendour. He replied to the questions addressed to him very fully and clearly. Then, fixing his gaze on the beautiful sphere, he contemplated it steadfastly for some time, observing, "How often have I looked up to it with inquiry and wonder; and how often have I looked forward to the period when I shall have the vast and privileged views of an hereafter, and all will be comprehension and pleasure!" Smeaton was thus consoled in his last days by the only consolation which, under such circumstances, ever proves effectual,--that which flows from a reverent trust in the constant presence of a Divine Father. Though not ostentatious in his religious professions, he had learned the value of religious truth, and he knew that in passing through the valley of the shadow his sole help and support was the mercy of a Redeemer. And hence he listened with delight to the promises of Holy Writ, and joined with fervour in the ministrations of religion.

[Sidenote: The engineer's death.]

The great engineer's illness was not of long duration. He passed away on the 28th of October 1792, in the sixty-eighth year of his age. He was interred with his forefathers in the old parish church of Whitkirk, where a tablet was erected to his memory, bearing the following quaint inscription:--

[Sidenote: Smeaton's monument.]

Sacred to the Memory

of

JOHN SMEATON, F.R.S.

A man whom God had endowed with the most extraordinary abilities, which he indefatigably exerted for the benefit of mankind in works of

SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHICAL RESEARCH;

More especially as an Engineer and Mechanic. His principal work, the Eddystone Lighthouse, erected on a rock in the open sea (where one had been washed away by the violence of a storm, and another had been consumed by the rage of fire), secure in its own stability, and the wise precautions for its safety, seems not unlikely to convey to distant ages, as it does to every nation of the Globe, the name of its constructor.

_He was born at Austhorpe, June 8, 1724; And departed this life, October 28, 1792._

------------

Also Sacred to the Memory of

ANN,

THE WIFE OF THE SAID JOHN SMEATON, F.R.S.,

Who died January 17, 1784.

THEIR TWO SURVIVING DAUGHTERS,

Duly impressed with sentiments of Love and Respect for the kindest and tenderest of Parents, Pay this Tribute to their Memory.

Genius, or originality, is, for the most part, says Hazlitt, some strong quality in the mind, answering to and bringing out some new and striking quality in nature.

According to this definition, Smeaton must be considered a man of genius. But Hazlitt goes on to say that capacity is not the same thing as genius. And he describes capacity as relating to the _quantity_ of knowledge, however acquired; while genius relates to its _quality_, and the mode of acquiring it. Capacity is the power over given ideas or combinations of ideas; genius is the power over those which are not given, and for which no obvious or precise rule can be laid down.

[Sidenote: A man of capacity.]

Smeaton, then, we should prefer to call a man of _capacity_; a man with a great power over given ideas or combinations of ideas. And along with this capacity he possessed a remarkable steadfastness of purpose, a determined will, an unconquerable perseverance. Without these adjuncts, indeed, capacity will avail but little. The only motto which it can take up and act upon is that expressed so pithily by the old poet:--

"See first that the design is wise and just; That ascertained, pursue it resolutely. Do not for one repulse forego the purpose That you resolved to effect."

Smeaton, in his childhood, making turning-lathes and designing pumps; Ferguson, the boy-astronomer, learning the positions of the stars with the help of a string of beads; Murray, afterwards the eminent Orientalist, teaching himself to write with a blackened brand on the whitewashed wall,--these are examples the youthful student should ever set before him. They are examples of what can be done by capacity, directing and controlling diligence, and zeal, and application.

[Sidenote: What diligence can do.]

A distinguished Italian author has put forward the theory that all men may become great men, may become poets, painters, and orators;--as if the sole difference between genius and mediocrity were the power of application. We think it impossible for any calm and sober judgment to accept such a hypothesis. We do not believe that any amount of diligence or perseverance, however continuous and well-directed, could convert a versifier into a Milton, or a blacksmith into a Smeaton. But then we may all take to ourselves the consolation that it is neither desirable nor necessary that we should all be Smeatons and Miltons; that what we have mainly to consider is this,--the doing our best in whatever position the will of Providence may have assigned to us, since, by so doing, we may reasonably hope to swell the sum of human happiness and human good. And the benefit we may derive from a study of the career and character of Smeaton is to be found in the encouragement it gives us to lead a life of patient and assiduous labour. For the reader, as for Smeaton, God has provided a vocation, if he will but earnestly seek to discover it; and when he once sees the path of duty before him, he will assuredly gain his reward if he perseveres in it with singleness of aim and loftiness of purpose.

[Sidenote: Lessons from great lives.]

If it is not necessary for every man to become a Watt or a Smeaton, and if it is not given to every man to win the success which a Watt or a Smeaton achieved, yet it is possible for each one of us to attain to a certain standard of character and capacity, and to acquire a reasonable measure of prosperity. As we have elsewhere written, biography is full of examples of what may be accomplished by a resolute will; what may be done by the industry that never wearies and the energy that never flags. Long and brilliant is the record of men who have attained greatness under the most unfavourable conditions. The great voyager who opened up a New World to the enterprise of the West was in early life a weaver. The able German historian of the Roman Republic began as a peasant. Sextus V., one of the most capable of the many capable men who have sat in the chair of St. Peter, commenced his career as a swine-herd. Every school-boy knows that Æsop, the most successful of all fabulists, was a slave; Homer,

"The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle,"

a beggar; and Demosthenes, the orator, whose eloquence controlled the fierce democracy of Athens, the son of a sword-maker. What was Daniel Defoe, the author of the enchanting story of the Solitary in the far-off desert isle, but a hosier's apprentice? Or Gay, the poet and wit, but the drudge of a silk-mercer? James Watt sold spectacles, and invented the present steam-engine; George Stephenson, who began life as a miner's-boy at two shillings per week, founded the railway system of Great Britain; "Rare Ben Jonson," as his epitaph aptly designates him, second among our British dramatists to none but Shakspeare, handled the bricklayer's trowel; and Prideaux, the divine and scholar and critic, was employed to sweep the halls and galleries of Exeter College. Telford, the architect of the Menai Bridge, was a stone-mason's labourer; Rennie, the designer of London Bridge and the Bell-Rock Lighthouse, the son of a small farmer; Burns, the poet, who walked

"In glory and in joy, Behind his plough upon the mountain-side,"

was a poor cotter's son; Sir Richard Arkwright, the inventor of the power-loom, started in life as a barber; Gifford, the reviewer and critic, as a cobbler. [Sidenote: The moral of our book.] We see, then, that neither poverty, nor obscure birth, nor unfavourable circumstances in early life, nor lack of friends, nor all the obstacles and difficulties which seem so formidable in the eyes of an ease-loving world, can hold out against the steadfast purpose, against the presence of a clear brain and a courageous heart, determined to work and live and succeed. This is the lesson the preceding pages are intended to enforce; this is the encouragement the story of Smeaton's life should convey to the reader; this is the moral of all Biography, and one which the young should never forget,--a moral full

"Of courage, hope, and faith!"

The Lighthouse

The rocky ledge runs far into the sea, And on its outer point, some miles away, The lighthouse lifts its massive masonry,-- A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day.

Even at this distance I can see the tides, Upheaving, break unheard along its base;-- A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides In the white lip and tremor of the face.

And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright, Through the deep purple of the twilight air, Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light, With strange, unearthly splendour in its glare.

Not one alone;--from each projecting cape And perilous reef along the ocean's verge, Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape, Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge.

Like the great giant Christopher, it stands Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave, Wading far out among the rocks and sands, The night-o'ertaken mariner to save.

And the great ships sail outward and return, Bending and bowing o'er the billowy swells; And ever joyful, as they see it burn, They wave their silent welcomes and farewells.

They come forth from the darkness, and their sails Gleam for a moment only on the blaze; And eager faces, as the light unveils, Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze.

The mariner remembers when a child, On his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink; And, when returning from adventures wild, He saw it rise again o'er ocean's brink.

Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same Year after year, through all the silent night, Burns on for evermore that quenchless flame, Shines on that unextinguishable light!

It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of peace;-- It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp, And hold it up, and shake it like a fleece.

The startled waves leap over it; the storm Smites it with all the scourges of the rain; And steadily against its solid form Press the great shoulders of the hurricane.

The sea-bird wheeling round it, with the din Of wings and winds and solitary cries, Blinded and maddened by the light within, Dashes himself against the glare, and dies.

A new Prometheus, chained upon the rock, Still grasping in his hand the fire of Jove, It does not hear the cry, nor heed the shock, But hails the mariner with words of love.

"Sail on!" it says, "sail on, ye stately ships! And with your floating bridge the ocean span; Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse,-- Be yours to bring man nearer unto man!"

LONGFELLOW