Before I went to school it was my good fortune to be placed under the
special care of my eldest sister, Jane. She was twenty years older
than myself, and had acquired much practical experience in the
management of the younger members of the family. I could not have
had a more careful teacher. She initiated me into the difficulties of
A B C, and by learning me to read she gave me a key to the thoughts of
the greatest thinkers who have ever lived.
But all this was accomplished at first in a humdrum and tentative way.
About seventy years ago children's books were very uninteresting.
In the little stories manufactured for children, the good boy ended in
a Coach-and-four, and the bad boy in a ride to Tyburn. The good boys
must have been a set of little snobs and prigs, and I could scarcely
imagine that they could ever have lived as they were represented in
these goody books. If so, they must have been the most tiresome and
uninteresting vermin that can possibly be imagined. After my sister had
done what she could for me, I was sent to school to learn "English."
I was placed under the tuition of a leading teacher called Knight,
whose school-room was in the upper storey of a house in George Street.
Here I learned to read with ease. But my primitive habit of spelling
by ear, in accordance with the simple sound of the letters of the
alphabet (phonetically, so to speak) brought me into collision with my
teacher. I got many a cuff on the side of the head, and many a
"palmy" on my hands with a thick strap of hard leather, which did not
give me very inviting views as to the pleasures of learning.
The master was vicious and vindictive. I think it a cowardly way to
deal with a little boy in so cruel a manner, and to send him home with
his back and fingers tingling and sometimes bleeding, because he cannot
learn so quickly as his fellows.
On one occasion Knight got out of temper with my stupidity or dulness
in not comprehending something about 'a preter-pluperfect tense,' or
some mystery of that sort. He seized me by the ears, and beat my head
against the wall behind me with such savage violence that when he let
me go, stunned and unable to stand, I fell forward on the floor
bleeding violently at the nose, and with a terrific headache.
The wretch might have ruined my brain for life. I was carried home and
put to bed, where I lay helpless for more than a week. My father
threatened to summon the teacher before the magistrates for what might
have been a fatal assault on poor little me; but on making a humble
apology for his brutal usage he was let off. Of course I was not sent
back to his school. I have ever since entertained a hatred against
grammatical rules.
There was at that time an excellent system of teaching young folks the
value of thrift. This consisted in saving for some purpose or another
the Saturdays penny--one penny being our weekly allowance of
pocket-money. The feats we could perform in the way of procuring toys,
picture-books, or the materials for constructing flying kites, would
amaze the youngsters of the present day, who are generally spoiled by
extravagance. And yet we obtained far more pleasure from our
purchases. We had in my time "penny pigs," or thrift boxes.
They were made in a vase form, of brown glazed earthenware, the only
entrance to which was a slit--enough to give entrance to a penny.
When the Saturday's penny was not required for any immediate purposes,
it was dropped through the slit, and remained there until the box was
full. The maximum of pennies it could contain was about forty-eight.
When that was accomplished, the penny pig was broken with a hammer,
and its rich contents flowed forth. The breaking of the pig was quite
an event. The fine fat old George the Third penny pieces looked
thoroughly substantial in our eyes. And then there was the spending of
the money,--for some long-looked-for toy, or pencils, or book,
or painting materials.
One of the ways in which I used my Saturday pennies was in going with
some of my companions into the country to have a picnic. We used to
light a fire behind a hedge or a dyke, or in the corner of some ruin,
and there roast our potatoes, or broil a red herring on an extempore
gridiron we contrived for the purpose. We lit the fire by means of a
flint and steel and a tinder-box, which in those days every boy used to
possess. The bramble-berries gave us our dessert. We thoroughly
enjoyed these glorious Saturday afternoons. It gave us quite a
Robinson Crusoe sort of feeling to be thus secluded from the world.
Then the beauty of the scenery amidst which we took our repast was such
as I cannot attempt to describe. A walk of an hour or so would bring
us into the presence of an old castle, or amongst the rocky furze and
heather-clad hills, amidst clear rapid streams, so that, but for the
distant peeps of the city, one might think that he was far from the
busy haunts of men and boys.
To return to my school-days. Shortly after I left the school in
George Street, where the schoolmaster had almost split my skull in
battering it upon the wall behind me, I was entered as a pupil at the
Edinburgh High School, in October 1817. The school was situated near
the old Infirmary. Professor Pillans was the rector, and under him
were four masters. I was set to study Latin under Mr. Irvine. He was
a mere schoolmaster in the narrowest sense of the term. He was not
endowed with the best of tempers, and it was often put to the
breaking strain by the tricks and negligence of the lower-form
portion of his class. It consisted of nearly two hundred boys;
the other three masters had about the same number of scholars.
They each had a separate class-room.
I began to learn the elementary rudiments of Latin grammar. But not
having any natural aptitude for aquiring classic learning so called,
I fear I made but little progress during the three years that I
remained at the High School. Had the master explained to us how
nearly allied many of the Latin and Greek roots were to our familiar
English words, I feel assured that so interesting and valuable a
department of instruction would not have been neglected. But our
memories were strained by being made to say off "by heart," as it was
absurdly called, whole batches of grammatical rules, with all the
botheration of irregular verbs and suchlike. So far as I was
concerned, I derived little benefit from my High School teaching,
except that I derived one lesson which is of great use in after life.
I mean as regards the performance of duty. I did my tasks punctually
and cheerfully, though they were far from agreeable. This is an
exercise in early life that is very useful in later years.
In my walks to and from the High School, the usual way was along the
North and South Bridges,--the first over the Nor' Loch, now the
railway station, and the second over the Cowgate. That was the main
street between the Old Town and the New. But there were numerous
wynds and closes (as the narrow streets are called) which led down
from the High Street and the upper part of the Canongate to the High
School, through which I often preferred to wander. So long as Old
Edinburgh was confined within its walls the nobles lived in those
narrow streets; and the Old houses are full of historical incident.
My father often pointed out these houses to me, and I loved to keep
up my recollections. I must have had a little of the antiquarian
spirit even then. I got to know the most remarkable of those ancient
houses--many of which were distinguished by the inscriptions on the
lintel of the entrance, as well as the arms of the former possessors.
Some had mottoes such as this: "BLESIT BE GOD AND HYS GIFTIS. 1584."
There was often a tower-shaped projection from the main front of the
house, up which a spiral stair proceeded.
This is usually a feature in old Scotch buildings. But in these closes
the entrance to the houses was through a ponderous door, studded with
great broad-headed nails, with loopholes at each side of the door,
as if to present the strongest possible resistance to any attempt at
forcible entrance. Indeed, in the old times before the Union the
nobles were often as strong as the King, and many a time the High Street
was reddened by the blood of the noblest and bravest of the land.
In 1588 there was a cry of "A Naesmyth," "A Scott," in the High Street.
It was followed by a clash of arms, and two of Sir Michael Naesmyth's
sons were killed in that bloody feud. Edinburgh was often the scene of
such disasters. Hence the strengthening of their houses, so as to
resist the inroads of feudal enemies.
[Image] Doorhead, from an old mansion
The mason-work of the doors was executed with great care and dexterity.
It was chamfered at the edges in a bold manner, and ornamented with an
O.G. bordering, which had a fine effect while it rendered the entrance
more pleasant by the absence of sharp angles. The same style of
ornamentation was generally found round the edges of the stone-work of
the windows, most commonly by chamfering off the square angle of the
stone-work. This not only added a grim grace to the appearance of the
windows, but allowed a more free entrance of light into the apartments,
while it permitted the inmates to have a better ranged view up and down
the Close. These gloomy-looking mansions were grim in a terrible
sense, and they reminded one of the fearful transactions of
"the good old times!"
On many occasions, when I was taking a daunder through these historic
houses in the wynds and closes of the Old Town, I have met Sir Walter
Scott showing them to his visitors, and listened to his deep, earnest
voice while narrating to them some terrible incident in regard to their
former inhabitants. On other occasions I have frequently met Sir Walter
sturdily limping along over the North Bridge, while on his way from the
Court of Session (where he acted as Clerk of the Records) to his house
in Castle Street. In the same way I saw most of the public characters
connected with the Law Courts or the University. Sir Waiter was easily
distinguished by his height, as well as his limp or halt in his walk.
My father was intimate with most, if not all, of the remarkable
Edinburgh characters, and when I had the pleasure of accompanying him
in his afternoon walks I could look at them and hear them in the
conversations that took place.
I remember, when I was with my father in one of his walks, that a
young English artist accompanied us. He had come across the Border to
be married at Gretna Green, and he brought his bride onward to
Edinburgh. My father wished to show him some of the most remarkable
old buildings of the town. It was about the end of 1817, when one of
the most interesting buildings in Edinburgh was about to be
demolished. This was no less a place than the Old Tolbooth in the
High Street,--a grand but gloomy old building. It had been
originally used as the city palace of the Scottish kings. There they
held their councils and dispensed justice. But in course of time the
King and Court abandoned the place, and it had sunk into a gaol or
prison for the most abandoned of malefactors. After their trial the
prisoners were kept there waiting for execution, and they were hanged
on a flat-roofed portion of the building at its west end.
[Image] The Old Tolbooth, Edinburgh. By Alexander Nasmyth.
From the drawing in the possession of lord Inglis,
Lord Justice-General.
At one of the strongest parts of the building a strong oak chest,
iron-plated, had been built in, held fast by a thick wall of stone and
mortar on each side. The iron chest measured about nine feet square,
and was closed by a strong iron door with heavy bolts and locks. This
was the Heart of Midlothian, the condemned cell of the Tolbooth.*
[footnote...
Long after the condemned cell had been pulled down, an English Chartist
went down to Edinburgh to address a large meeting of his brother
politicians. He began by addressing them as "Men of the Heart of
Midlothian!" There was a loud guffaw throughout the audience.
He addressed them as if they were a body of condemned malefactors.
...]
The iron chest was so heavy that the large body of workmen could not,
with all their might, pull it out. After stripping it of its masonry,
they endeavoured by strong levers to tumble it down into the street.
At last, with a "Yo! heave ho!" it fell down with a mighty crash.
The iron chest was so strong that it held together, and only the narrow
iron door, with its locks, bolts, and bars, was burst open, and jerked
off amongst the bystanders.
It was quite a scene. A large crowd had assembled, and amongst them
was Sir Walter Scott. Recognising my father, he stood by him,
while both awaited the ponderous crash. Sir Walter was still the Great
Unknown. When his Heart of Midlothian was published in the course of
the following year, it was pretty well known that he was the author of
that fascinating novel. Sir Waiter got the door and the key, as
relics, for his house at Abbotsford.
There was a rush of people towards the iron chest to look into the dark
interior of that veritable chamber of horrors. My father's artist
friend went forward with the rest, and endeavoured to pick up some
remnant of the demolished structure. As soon as the clouds of dust had
been dispersed, he observed, under the place where the iron box had
stood, a number of skeletons of rats, as dry as mummies. He selected
one of these,*
[footnote...
I was so much impressed with the events of the day, and also with the
fact of the young artist having taken with him so repulsive a memento
as a rat's skeleton, that I never forgot it. More than half century
later, when I was at a private view of the Royal Academy, I saw sitting
on one of the sofas a remarkable and venerable-looking old gentleman.
On inquiring of my friend Thomas Webster who he was, he answered,
"Why, that's old Linnell!" I then took the liberty of sitting down
beside him, and, apologising for my intrusion on his notice, I said it
was just fifty-seven years since I had last seen him! I mentioned the
circumstance of the rat-skeleton which he had put in his pocket at
Edinburgh. He was pleased and astonished to have the facts so vividly
recalled to his mind. At last he said, "Well, I have that mummy rat,
the relic of the Heart of Midlothian, safe in a cabinet of curiosities
in my house at Redhill to this day."
...]
wrapped it in a newspaper and put it in his pocket as a recollection
of his first day in Edinburgh, and of the final destruction of the
"Heart of Midlothian." This artist was no other than John Linnell,
the afterwards famous landscape painter. He was then a young and
unknown man. He brought a letter of introduction to my father.
He also brought a landscape as a specimen of his young efforts, and it
was so splendidly done that my father augured a brilliant career for
this admirable artist.
I had the pleasure of seeing Sir Waiter Scott on another and, to me, a
very memorable occasion. From an early period of my schoolboy days I
had a great regard for every object that had reference to bygone times.
They influenced my imagination, and conjured up in my mind dreamy
visions of the people of olden days. It did not matter whether it was
an old coin or an old castle. took pleasure in rambling about the old
castles near Edinburgh, many of them connected with the times of Mary
Queen of Scots. Craigmillar Castle was within a few miles of the city;
there was also Crighton Castle, and above all Borthwick Castle.
This grand massive old ruin left a deep impression on my mind.
The sight of its gloomy interior, with the great hall lighted up only
by stray glints of sunshine, as if struggling for access through the
small deep-seated windows in its massive walls, together with its
connection with the life and times of Queen Mary, had a far greater
influence upon my mind than I experienced while standing amidst the
Coliseum at Rome.
Like many earnest-minded boys, I had a severe attack at the right time
of life, say from 12 to 15, of what I would call "the collecting period."
This consisted, in my case, of accumulating old coins, perhaps one of
the most salutary forms of this youthful passion. I made exchanges
with my school companions. Sometimes my father's friends, seeing my
anxiety to improve my collection gave me choice specimens of bronze and
other coins of the Roman emperors, usually duplicates from their own
collection.
These coins had the effect of promoting my knowledge of Roman history.
I read up in order to find out the acts and deeds of the old rulers of
the civilised world. Besides collecting the coins, I used to make
careful drawings of the obverse and reverse faces of each in an
illustrated catalogue which I kept in my little coin cabinet.
I remember one day, when sitting beside my father making a very careful
drawing of a fine bronze coin of Augustus, that Sir Walter Scott
entered the room. He frequently called upon my father in order to
consult him with respect to his architectural arrangements. Sir Walter
caught sight of me, and came forward to look over the work I was
engaged in. At his request I had the pleasure of showing him my little
store of coin treasures, after which he took out of his waistcoat
pocket a beautiful silver coin of the reign of Mary Queen of Scots,
and gave it to me as being his "young brother antiquarian." I shall
never forget the kind fatherly way in which he presented it.
I considered it a great honour to be spoken to in so friendly a way by
such a man; besides, it vastly enriched my little collection of coins
and medals.
It was in the year 1817 that I had the pleasure, never to be forgotten,
of seeing the great engineer, James Watt. He was then close upon his
eighty-second year. His visit to Edinburgh was welcomed by the most
distinguished scientific and literary men of the city. My father had
the honour of meeting him at a dinner given by the Earl of Buchan,
at his residence in George Street. There were present, Sir James Hall,
President of the Royal Society; Francis Jeffrey, Editor of the
Edinburgh Review; Walter Scott, still the Great Unknown; and many other
distinguished notabilities. The cheerful old man delighted them with
his kindly talk, as well as astonished them with the extent and
profundity of his information.
On the following day Mr. Watt paid my father a visit he carefully
examined his artistic and other works. Having inspected with great
pleasure some landscape paintings of various scenes in Scotland
executed by my sisters, who were then highly efficient artists,
he purchased a specimen of each, as well as three landscapes painted by
my father, as a record of his pleasant visit to the capital of his
native country. I well remember the sight I then got of the Great
Engineer. I had just returned from the High School when he was leaving
my father's house. It was but a glimpse I had of him. But his
benevolent countenance and his tall but bent figure made an impression
on my mind that I can never forget. It was even something to have seen
for a few seconds so truly great and noble a man.
I did not long continue my passion for the collection of coins, I felt
a greater interest in mechanical pursuits. I have a most cherished and
grateful remembrance of the happy hours and days that I spent in my
father's workroom. When the weather was cold or wet ,he took refuge
with his lathe and tools, and there I followed and watched him.
He took the greatest pleasure in instructing me. Even in the most
humble mechanical job he was sure to direct my attention to the action
of the tools and to the construction of the work he had in hand,
and pointed out the manipulative processes requisite for its being
effectually carried out. My hearty zeal in assisting him was well
rewarded by his implanting in my mind the great fundamental principles
on which the practice of engineering in its grandest forms is based.
But I did not learn this all at once. It came only gradually, and by
dint of constant repetition and inculcation. In the meantime I made a
beginning by doing some little mechanical work on my own account.
While attending the High School, from 1817 to 1820, there was the usual
rage amongst boys for spinning-tops, "peeries," and "young cannon."
By means of my father's excellent foot-lathe I turned out the
spinning-tops in capital style, so much so that I be came quite noted
amongst my school companions. They all wanted to have specimens of my
productions. They would give any price for them. The peeries were
turned with perfect accuracy, and the steel shod, or spinning pivot,
was centred so as to correspond exactly with the axis of the top.
They could spin twice as long as the bought peeries. When at full
speed they would "sleep," that is, revolve without the slightest
waving. This was considered high art as regarded top-spinning.
Flying-kites and tissue paper balloons were articles that I was
somewhat famed for producing. There was a good deal of special skill
required for the production of a flying-kite. It must be perfectly
still and steady when at its highest flight in the air.
Paper messengers were sent up to it along the string which held it to
the ground. The top of the Calton Hill was the most favourite place
for enjoying this pleasant amusement.
Another article for which I became equally famous was the manufacture
of small brass cannon. These I cast and bored, and mounted on their
appropriate gun-carriages. They proved very effective, especially in
the loudness of the report when fired. I also converted large
cellar-keys into a sort of hand-cannon. A touch-hole was bored into
the barrel of the key, with a sliding brass collar that allowed the
key-guns to be loaded and primed and ready for firing. The principal
occasion on which the brass cannon and hand-guns were used was on the
4th of June--King George the Thirds birthday. This was always
celebrated with exuberant and noisy loyalty. The guns of the Castle
were fired at noon, and the number of shots corresponded with the
number of years that the king had reigned. The grand old Castle was
enveloped in smoke, and the discharges reverberated along the streets
and among the surrounding hills. Everything was in holiday order.
The coaches were hung with garlands, the shops were ornamented,
the troops were reviewed on Bruntsfield Links, and the citizens drank
the king's health at the Gross, throwing the glasses over their
shoulders. The boys fired off gunpowder, or threw squibs or crackers
from morning till night. It was one of the greatest schoolboy events
of the year. My little brass cannon and hand-guns were very busy
during that day. They were fired until they became quite hot.
These were the pre-lucifer days. The fire to light the powder at the
touch-hole was obtained by the use of a flint, a steel, and a tinder-box.
The flint was struck sharply on the steel; a spark of fire fell into
the tinderbox, and the match of hemp string, soaked in saltpetre,
was readily lit, and fired off the little guns.
I carried on quite a trade in forging beautiful little steels.
I forged them out of old files, which proved excellent material for the
purpose. I filed them up into neat and correct forms, and then
hardened and tempered them, secundum artem, at the little furnace stove
in my father's workroom, where of course there were also a suitable
anvil, hammer, and tongs. I often made potent use of these steels in
escaping from the ordeal of some severe task imposed upon me at school.
The schoolmaster often deputed his authority to the monitors to hear us
say our lessons. But when I slyly exhibited a beautiful steel the
monitor could not maintain his grim sense of duty, and he often let me
escape the ordeal of repeating some passage from a Latin school-book by
obtaining possession of the article. I thus bought myself off.
This system of bribery and corruption was no doubt shockingly improper,
but as I was not naturally endowed with the taste for learning Latin
and Greek, I continued my little diplomatic tricks until I left school.
As I have said, I did not learn much at the High School. My mind was
never opened up by what was taught me there. It was a mere matter of
rote and cram. I learnt by heart a number of Latin rules and phrases,
but what I learnt soon slipped from my memory. My young mind was
tormented by the tasks set before me. At the same time my hungry mind
thirsted for knowledge of another kind.
There was one thing, however, that I did learn at the High School. That
was the blessings and advantages of friendship. There were several of
my schoolfellows of a like disposition with myself, with whom I formed
attachments which ended only with life. I may mention two of them in
particular--Jemmy Patterson and Tom Smith. The former was the son of
one of the largest iron founders in Edinburgh. He was kind, good, and
intelligent. He and I were great cronies. He took me to his father's
workshops. Nothing could have been more agreeable to my tastes.
For there I saw how iron castings were made. Mill-work and
steam-engines were repaired there, and I could see the way in which
power was produced and communicated. To me it was a most instructive
school of practical mechanics. Although I was only about thirteen at
the time, I used to "lend a hand," in which hearty zeal made up for
want of strength. I look back to these days, especially to the
Saturday afternoons spent in the workshops of this admirably conducted
iron foundry, as a most important part of my education as a mechanical
engineer. I did not read about such things; for words were of little
use. But I saw and handled, and thus all the ideas in connection with
them became permanently rooted in my mind.
Each department of the iron foundry was superintended by an able and
intelligent man, who was distinguished not only by his ability but
for his steadiness and sobriety. The men were for the most part
promoted to their fore-manship from the ranks, and had been brought
up in the workshop from their boyhood. They possessed a strong
individuality of character, and served their employer faithfully and
loyally. One of these excellent men, with whom I was frequently
brought into contact, was William Watson. He took special charge of
all that related to the construction and repairs of steam-engines,
water-wheels, and mill-work generally. He was a skilful designer and
draughtsman, and an excellent pattern maker. His designs were drawn
in a bold and distinct style, on large deal boards, and were passed
into the hands of the mechanics to be translated by them into actual
work. It was no small privilege to me to stand by, and now and then
hold the end of the long straight edge, or by some humble but zealous
genuine help of mine contribute to the progress of these substantial
and most effective mechanical drawings. Watson explained to me,
in the most common-sense manner, his reasons for the various forms,
arrangements, and proportions of the details of his designs. He was
an enthusiast on the subject of Euclid; and to see the beautiful
problems applied by him in working out his excellent drawings was to me
a lesson beyond all price.
Watson was effectively assisted by his two sons, who carried out their
father's designs in constructing the wood patterns after which the
foundry-men or moulders reproduced their forms in cast iron, while the
smiths by their craft realised the wrought-iron portions. Those sons of
Mr. Watson were of that special class of workmen called millwrights--
a class now almost extinct, though many of the best known engineers
originally belonged to them. They could work with equal effectiveness
in wood or iron.
Another foreman in Mr. Patterson's foundry was called Lewis. He had
special charge of the iron castings designed for architectural and
ornamental purposes. He was a man of great taste and artistic
feeling, and I was able even at that time to appreciate the beauty of
his designs. One of the most original characters about the foundry,
however, was Johnie Syme. He took charge of the old Boulton and Watt
steam-engine, which gave motion to the machinery of the works.
It also produced the blast for the Cupolas, in which the pig and cast
iron scrap was daily melted and cast into the various objects produced
in the foundry. Johnie was a complete incarnation of technical
knowledge. He was the Jack-of-all-trades of the establishment;
and the standing counsel in every out-of-the-way case of managing and
overcoming mechanical difficulties. He was the superintendent of the
boring machines. In those days the boring of a steam-engine cylinder
was considered high art in excelsis! Patterson's firm was celebrated
for the accuracy of its boring.
I owe Johnie Syme a special debt of gratitude, as it was he who first
initiated me into that most important of all technical processes in
practical mechanism--the art of hardening and temperinq steel.
It is, perhaps, not saying too much to assert that the successful
practice of the mechanical arts, by means of which man rises from the
savage to the civilised state, is due to that wonderful change.
Man began with wood, and stone, and bone; he proceeded to bronze and
iron; but it was only by means of hardened steel that he could
accomplish anything in arms, in agriculture, or in architecture.
The instant hardening which occurs on plunging a red-hot piece of steel
into cold water may well be described as mysterious. Even in these
days, when science has defined the causes of so many phenomena,
the reason of steel becoming hard on suddenly cooling it down from a
red-heat, is a fact that no one has yet explained. The steel may be
tempered by modifying the degree of heat to which it is afterwards
subjected. It may thus be toughened by slightly reheating the hardened
steel; the resoftening course is indicated by certain prismatic tints,
which appear in a peculiar order of succession on its surface.
The skilful artisan thus knows by experience the exact point at which
it is necessary again to plunge it into cold water in order to secure
the requisite combination of toughness and hardness to the steel
required for his purposes.
In all these matters, my early instructor, Johnie Syme, gave me such
information as proved of the greatest use to me in the after progress
of my mechanical career. Johnie Syme was also the very incarnation of
quaint sly humour; and when communicating some of his most valued
arcana of practical mechanical knowledge he always reminded me of some
of Ostade's Dutchmen, by an almost indescribable sly humorous twinkle
of the eye, which in that droll way stamped his information on my
memory.
Tom Smith was another of my attached cronies. Our friendship began at
the High School in 1818. Our similarity of disposition bound us
together. Smith was the son of an enterprising general merchant at
Leith. His father had a special genius for practical chemistry.
He had established an extensive colour manufactory at Portobello, near
Edinburgh, where he produced white lead, red lead, and a great variety
of colours--in the preparation of which he required a thorough
knowledge of chemistry.Tom Smith inherited his father's tastes, and
admitted me to share in his experiments, which were carried on in a
chemical laboratory situated behind his father's house at the bottom of
Leith Walk.
We had a special means of communication. When anything particular was
going on at the laboratory, Tom hoisted a white flag on the top of a
high pole in his father's garden. Though I was more than a mile apart,
I kept a look-out in the direction of the laboratory with a spy-glass.
My father's house was at the top of Leith Walk, and Smith's house was
at the bottom of it. When the flag was hoisted I could clearly see the
invitation to me to "come down." I was only too glad to run down the
Walk and join my chum, and take part with him in some interesting
chemical process. Mr. Smith, the father, made me heartily welcome.
He was pleased to see his son so much attached to me, and he perhaps
believed that I was worthy of his friendship. We took zealous part in
all the chemical proceedings, and in that way Tom was fitting himself
for the business of his life.
Mr. Smith was a most genial tempered man. He was shrewd and
quick-witted, like a native of York, as he was. I received the
greatest kindness from him as well as from his family. His house was
like a museum. It was full of cabinets, in which were placed choice
and interesting objects in natural history, geology, mineralogy, and
metallurgy. All were represented. Many of these specimens had been
brought to him from abroad by his ship captains who transported his
colour manufactures and other commodities to foreign parts.
My friend Tom Smith and I made it a rule--and in this we were
encouraged by his father--that, so far as was possible, we ourselves
should actually make the acids and other substances used in our
experiments. We were not to buy them ready made, as this would have
taken the zest out of our enjoyment. We should have lost the pleasure
and instruction of producing them by aid of our own wits and energies.
To encounter and overcome a difficulty is the most interesting of all
things. Hence, though often baffled, we eventually produced perfect
specimens of nitrous, nitric, and muriatic acids. We distilled alcohol
from duly fermented sugar and water, and rectified the resultant spirit
from fusel oil by passing the alcoholic vapour through animal charcoal
before it entered the worm of the still. We converted part of the
alcohol into sulphuric ether. We produced phosphorus from bones,
and elaborated many of the mysteries of chemistry.
The amount of practical information which we obtained by this system of
making our own chemical agents was such as to reward us, in many
respects, for the labour we underwent. To outsiders it might appear a
very troublesome and roundabout way of getting at the finally desired
result. But I feel certain that there is no better method of rooting
chemical or any other instruction, deeply in our minds. Indeed, I
regret that the same system is not pursued by young men of the present
day. They are seldom, if ever, called upon to exert their own wits and
industry to obtain the requisites for their instruction. A great deal
is now said about "technical education"; but how little there is of
technical handiness or head work! Everything is bought ready made to
their hands; and hence there is no call for individual ingenuity.
I often observe, in shop-windows, every detail of model ships and model
steam-engines, supplied ready made for those who are "said to be" of an
ingenious and mechanical turn. Thus the vital uses of resourcefulness
are done away with, and a sham exhibition of mechanical genius is
paraded before you by the young impostors--the result, for the most
part, of too free a supply of pocket money. I have known too many
instances of parents, led by such false evidence of constructive skill,
apprenticing their sons to some engineering firm; and, after paying
vast sums, finding out that the pretender comes out of the engineering
shop with no other practical accomplishment than that of cigar-smoking!
The truth is that the eyes and the fingers--the bare fingers--are
the two principal inlets to sound practical instruction. They are the
chief sources of trustworthy knowledge as to all the materials and
operations which the engineer has to deal with, No book knowledge can
avail for that purpose. The nature and properties of the materials
must come in through the finger ends. Hence, I have no faith in young
engineers who are addicted to wearing gloves. Gloves, especially kid
gloves, are perfect non-conductors of technical knowledge.
This has really more to do with the efficiency of young aspirants for
engineering success than most people are aware of!