1 i: z 'fisi ■'! ife'^i' ^f /;^M^ "^ LIVES DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. " Lbt lis learn to regard MANnxt toil as the true discipline of a man. Nol a few of the wisest, grandest Eplrils have toiled at the work-bench and the plow. " Cbannino. PORTLAND: DAVIS & SOUTHWORTH. 1849. Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1849, by DAVIS & SOUTHWORTH, In the Clerk's office of the District Court of Maine. Thuehtom ic. Co., Printers, Portland, Me. PREFACE. CoLEEiDGE has Said, that the Shoemakers' trade has been followed by a greater number of eminent men than any other branch of mechanical employment. It was this remark which led to the preparation of the following sketches, upon which much diligent inquiry has been expended, and not a little labor. Wherever we have found anything to aid us in our undertaking, we have gladly availed ourselves of it, and turned it to the best use we could. We have descended into the labyrinths of bio- graphic lore, and brought up whatever of value to our purpose we could find ; and, of course, acknowledge our deep indebt- edness to the literary world, generally ; but the cutting out, stitching together, and fitting for use, are ours. As this is a work of true narration, and deals in things which have actually existed or happened, it is not expected to be very flowery or poetic in its composition. Imagination is compelled to he fastened, like a horse to a crow-bar, and feed around in a limited circle. Our object has not been to create, but to col- lect what has been widely scattered, and condense what has been greatly expanded, into a compact and available form, for the benefit of readers whose access to extensive libraries, as well as opportunities for reading, are necessarily limited. We have made shoes — we hope to make many more — and are aware that the craft is looked down upon by many, who, did they know the state of the case, would be compelled to look ui). We hope the following pages will disabuse their innocent minds of tliis foolish prejudice, and lead all to judge more as men and brothers — less as artisans — less as inferiors. IV PREFACE. As for the critics, we expect to be made game of by tliem, and have made no provisions against their attacks. We have been " truthful and free, " and said what we intended, without being flattered by hope, or kept back through fear ; — so our anxiety on that score is small. We consider the tribe as a ne- cessary evil. The North has its wolves and foxes — the South has its buzzards and carrion crows — Literature has its critics — all very good in their places. We have written to do good — to elevate the aims and as- pirations of a great and influential class, who have powers, if developed and vnelded aright, for incalculable benefit in their day and generation. Should our endeavors, feeble though they be, induce one individual to form a nobler conception of life — of the greatness of the intellectual gifts conferred upon him, and of the almost infinite capacities of the soul lodged within him ; should they lead but one individual to view himself as something nobler and belter than a " digesting machine" — to feel that the man is superior to the workman — that, to en- large, instruct and develop the mind, to labor for the benefit and advancement of the race, to do something for the future, in order to cancel our debt to the past, is more important than carving leather neatly and making money fast ; — the writer will be abundantly satisfied. We have confined ourselves entirely to such tis have passed from the stage of fife, without attempting to speak of the many distinguished characters, who are now acting in their various spheres of usefulness and honor. With such, poets, philoso- phers and statesmen, who are writing out their lives, from year to year, on the tablets of history, we have nothing to do at present. They, together with others whose history we have been unable fully to arrive at, remain for a succeeding volume, should public patronage indicate the fitness of the present un- dertaking. TO THE SHOEMAKERS or THE UNITED STATES; Whose services are so necessary to the comfort and convenience of all, from the cradle to the grave — a rough, stony, icy, thorny, and often protracted journey ; Whose handiwork ip the " Platform" on which the^ whole Amer- ican People stand and act — which also bears up the enter- prizing Yankee, not only in his own dear Yankeedom, but in his characteristic peregrinations in all lands yet heard-of or discovered ; Which prevents our soles from becoming too deeply involved in EARTHLv MATTER, and keeps them warm ; and which is the favorite alike of kings and of beggars ; — IN A WORD, TO AN HONEST, INDUSTRIOUS, USEFUL AND INTELLIGENT CLASS OF HIS FELLOW-CITIZENS. THEIR FAeSS ARE EESPECTRJLLY INSCRIBED, • T THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. PAOE. SAINT CRISPIN 9 JAMES LACKINGTON, .... 12 TIMOTHV BENNETT, . . . . .40 ROGER SHERMAN, .... 42 WILLIAM CAREY, . . . . .77 ROBERT BLOOMFIELD, .... 105 SIMON ANTOINE, . . . . .137 HANS SACHS, 164 WILLIAM GIFFORD 166 THOMAS HOLCROFT 198 THOMAS HARDY, . . . . .321 CLOUDESLEY SHOVEL 998 GEORGE FOX. .346 JAMES WOODHOUSE, ... 979 JACOB BEUMEN, . . . . .979 NOAH WORCESTER, .... 299 JOHN POUNDS, . . . . . .331 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. ST. CRISPIN. The patron saints of the Shoemakers are certainly entitled to a first notice in a book like this — and they shall have it, though they have left but a scanty re- cord of their deeds in the legends of the church. There appear to have been two of this name, who lived and died at the same time, and were probably brothers. Their birth is pilt down as happening about the year 303 of the Christian Era, at Rome, then the capital of the world. They were, indeed, brought into being in dark and troub- lous times ; for never has there been a period, when persecution raged with more destructive violence and wasting fury. It seemed as though all the powers of dark- ness had consented, for a time, to forget their discordant interests, and leagued together for one united effort to crush the Christian religion at a blow. The Roman Emperor, Galerius, issued his edicts for the utter extirpa- tion of the Christian faith, against which he harbored the most malignant hatred and ferocious opposition. Its professors were forced, either to abjure their belief and sacrifice to the thousand deities of Roman adoration, or submit to undergo the most painful and ignominious death. The Christian writings were burned, wherever found; churches and towns were leveled with the ground ; thousands perished by the severity of infernal tortures ; fO OISTINGUISnED SHaEMAKER5. men, women and children were grasped in the same sweeping edict, and experienced the same terrible doom ; and had not Heaven interposed in mercy to his chosen, the very footprints of Christianity would have been wash- ed from the earth in blood and tears. It was in a time like this, that the young Crispins spent (heir childhood in the streets of Rome ; and, notwith- standing imperial prohibitions,, and dungeons, and cruci- fixes, they became members of the hated sect ; though, perhaps not till after the victorious Constantine had usher- ed in a better and a brighter day — for they were only about ten years of age when that emperor commenced his glorious and benignant reign. Be this as it may, they became converts to Christianity, and set out on a mission of peace and good will, to the remote regions of France, which, under its ancient name of Gaul, had been, for more than three centuries, a Roman province. To the idola- troas inhabitants of this distantcountry,among whom the arts and rices of civilized Hfe had been spread by their conquerors, they went — not as Papal emissaries — for ?he Christian faith had not then been wedded, in unholy alliance, with the senseless forms and superstitious rites of paganism — no Pope raised his mitered head above the prostituted body of the church of God — but they went as the humble advocates and teachers of the pure doctrines of Christianity to their benighted fellow-men. In the dis- charge of their mission, that they might be chargeable to no one, but might freely dispense that gospel whereby Christ makes his children free, they worked at their trade of making shoes ; and in this way obtained a livelihood. This was Christian, and independent, and very far from making merchandise of the Word of Life, as is, perhaps, chargeable upon the clergy of the present day. Our Sav- ST. CRISPIN. 11 ior himself was a carpenter, and doubtless labored at his trade as he went about doing good. But now, in these days of the more perfect division of labor, preaching is erected into a profession — furnishing mouths for other hands to feed, and backs for other hands to clotha. How long these missionar)'-shoemakers continued to teach the natives, and follow their occupation for support, has not come down to us. But finally the spirit of per- secution arose. They were seized as preachers of a new religion, and being condemned by the bloody code of pa- ganism, administered by the cruel hands of pagans, they perished as martyrs to the faith they loved and left kin- dred and home to promulgate. Their festival is celebrat- ed on the 25th of October, which is hence called St. Cris- pin's day. 12 .JAMES LACKINGTON. 1 WAS born at Wellington, in Somersetshire, on the 31st of August, 1746. My father, George Lackington, was a journeyman shoemaker, who had married a maiden in humble life, named Joan Trott, the daughter of a weav- er in Wellington. My grandfather, George Lackington, had been a gentleman-farmer at Langford, a village two miles from Wellington, and acquired a pretty considera- ble property. But my father's mother dying when my father was but about thirteen years of age, my grandfa- ther, who had two daughters, bound my father appren- tice to a Mr. Hordly, a master shoemaker in Wellington, with the intention of setting him up in business at the expiry of his lime. My father worked a year or two as a journeyman, and then having given displeasure by mar- rying, he was left to shift fot himself I was born in my grandmother Trolt's poor cottage ; and that good old woman carried me to church, and had me baptized. My grandfather's resentment at the marriage having worn off, he set my father up in a shop, which soon proved a fail- ure. My father had contracted a fatal habit of tipling, and of course his business was neglected ; so that, after several fruitless attempts to keep him in trade, he was, partly by a large family, but more particularly from his habitual drunkenness, reduced to his old state of a jour- neyman shoemaker. Yet so infatuated was he with the love of liquor, that the endearing ties of husband and fa- ther could not restrain him ; by which baneful habit him- JAMES LACKINGTON. H self and family were involved in extreme misery. I may therefore affirm that neither myself, my brothers, nor sis- ters, are indebted to a father for scarcely anything that can endear his memory, or cause us to reflect on him with pleasure. But to our mother we are indebted for every thing. Never did I know a woman who worked and lived so hard as she did to support eleven children ; and were I to relate the particulars, they would not gain credit. I shall only observe that, for many years togeth- er, she worked nineteen or twenty hours out of every twenty-four. Whenever she was asked to drink a half- pint of ale at any shop where she had been laying out a trifling sum, she always asked leave to take it home to her husband, who was always so mean and selfish as to accept it. Out of love to her family, she totally abstained from every kind of liquor, water excepted ; her food was chief- ly broth (little better than water and oatmeal), turnips, potatoes, cabbage, carrots, &c. Her children fared some- thing better, but not much. When I reflect on the as- tonishing hardships and sufferings of so worthy a woman and her helpless infants, I find myself ready to curse the husband and father that could thus involve them in such a deplorable scene of misery and distress. It is dread- ful to add that his habitual drunkenness shortened his days nearly one-half, and that, about twenty years since, he died unregrelted by his own children. Although dropping a tear over his grave, we felt a degree of thank- fulness that the cause of our poverty and misery was at length taken out of the way. While my father was still a careful, hard-working man, I was put two or three years to a day-school, kept by an old woman, by whom I was taught to read in the New 14 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. Testament. But my career of learning was at an end, when my mother became so poor that she could not afford the sum of twopence per week for my schooling ; besides, I was obliged to supply the place of a nurse to several of my brothers and sisters. The consequence of this was, that I soon forgot what I had been taught, and was ex- posed to mischievous habits among the loose boys of the neighborhood. From this kind of life I was rescued by being employed by a baker to cry and sell pies through the streets. My manner of crying pies, and my activity in selling them, soon made me a favorite of all such as purchased halfpenny apple-pies and plum-puddings, so that in a few weeks an old pie-merchant shut up his shop. I lived with this baker about twelve or fifteen months, in which time I sold such large quantities of pies, puddings, cakes, &,c., that he often declared to his friends that I had been the means of extricating him from embarrassing circumstances which had pressed upon him. I was fourteen years and a half old when I was taken to Taunton to be placed with a shoemaker, George Bow- den, who took me as an apprentice without any premium, and engaged to find me in everything. I was accordingly bound apprentice to George and Mary Bovvden, as hon- est and worthy a couple as ever carried on a trade. They carefully attended to their shop six days in the week, and on the seventh went with their family twice to an Ana- baptist meeting-house, where little attention was paid to speculative doctrines, but where sound morality was con- stantly inculcated. The two sons of Mr. Bowden having joined the Wesleyan Methodists, who were at that time making many converts, I was led to join the same sect. The enthusiastic feelings which I now imbibed, and the desire which I had to talk on religious subjects, many of JABIES LACKINGTON. ^i which were beyond my depth, answered one valuable purpose — it caused me to embrace every opportunity to again learn to read, so that I could soon peruse easy parts of the Bible, and Mr. Wesley's hymns; and every leisure tninute was so employed. In the winter I was obliged to attend my work from six in the morning until ten at night. In the summer half year I only worked as long as we could see without candle ; but notwithstanding the close attention I was obliged to pay to my trade, for a long time I read ten chapters in the Bible every day. I also read and learned many hymns ; and as soon as I could procure some of Mr. Wesley's tracts, sermons, &.c., I read them likewise. I had such good eyes, that I often read by the light of the moon, as my master would never allow me to take a candle into my room. In the fourth year of my apprenticeship my master died, by which event I gained a little more liberty in attending the meetings of the Methodists, who certainly never had a more unscrupulous proselyte. In my excitement, «iy memory became very tenacious, so that every thing I read I made my own. I could have repeated several vol- umes of hymns ; when I heard a sermon, I could have preached it again, and nearly in the same words ; my Bi- ble had hundreds of leaves folded down, and thousands of marks against such texts as I thought favored the doc- trines which I had imbibed. My religious exercises at length suffered interruption. The election for two mem- bers of parliament was strongly contested at Taunton just as I attained my twenty-first year ( 1767), and being now of age, the six or seven months which I had to serve of my apprenticeship were purchased of my mistress by some friends of two of the contending candidates, so that I was at once set free amidst a scene of riot and dissipation. Having a vote, and being possessed of a few ideas above 16 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. those of my rank and situation, my company was court- ed by some who were in a higher sphere ; and in such company I soon forgot my former connexions, and ran into the extreme of intemperance. My condition was de- plorable ; for when the election was over, I had no lon- ger open houses to eat and drink at free cost, and having refused bribes, I was nearly out of cash. However, I did not sink quite so low as I might have done, but in general worked very hard, and did not spend all I earned in dissipation. Wearied with this mode of life, and wishing to see more of the world, I shortly after went to Bristol, where I procured work, and fell into a course of reading, which occupied my leisure hours. In the course of my reading, I learned that there had been various sects of philosophers amongst the Greeks, Romans, &-c., and I well remember- ed the names of the most eminent of them. At an old book-shop I purchased Plato on the Immortality of the Soul, Plutarch's Morals, Seneca's Morals, Epicurus's Mor- als, the Morals of Confucius the Chinese philosopher, and a few others. I now can scarcely help thinking that I received more real benefit from reading and studying them and Epictetus, than from all other books that I had read before, or have ever read since that time. I was only twenty-two years of age when I first began to read those fine moral productions, and they made a very deep and last- ing impression on my mind. By reading them, I was taught to bear the unavoidable evils attending humanity, and to supply all my wants by contracting or restraining my desires — " To mend my virtues, and exalt my thought, What the bright sons of Greece and Rome have wrote O'er day and night I turn ; in them we find A rich repast for the luxurious mind." JAMES LACKINQTON. 17 It is now twenty-three years since I first perused them, during which time 1 do not recollect that I have ever felt one anxious painful wish to get money, estates, or any- way to better my condition ; and yet I have never since that time let slip any fair opportunity of doing it. Be contented, says Isocrates, with what you have, and seek at the same time to make the best improvement of it you can. So that all I mean is, that I have not been over- solicitous to obtain anything that I did not possess ; but could at all times say with St, Paul, that I have learned to be contented in all situations, although at times they have been very gloomy indeed. Dryden says — "We to ourselves may all our wishes grant, For nothing coveting, we nothing want." The pleasure of eating and drinking I entirely despis- ed, and for some time carried this disposition to an ex- treme ; and even to the present time I feel a very great indifference about these matters : when in company, I frequently dine off one dish when there are twenty on the table. The account of Epicurus living in his garden at the expense of about a halfpenny per day, and that, when he added a little cheese to his bread on particular occa- Bions, he considered it as a luxury, filled me with rap- tures. From that moment I began to live on bread and tea, and for a considerable time did not partake of any other viands ; but in those I indulged myself three or four times a-day. IVly reasons for living in this abstemious manner were in ordier to save money to purchase books, to wean myself from the gross pleasures of eating and drinking, 6lc., and to purge my mind, and to make it more susceptible of intellectual pleasures ; and here I cannot help remarking that the term Epicure, when ap- 18 DISTING DISHED SHOEMAKERS. plied to one who makes the pleasures of the table his chief good, casts an unjust reflection on Epicurus, and conveys a wrong idea of that contemplative and very ab- stemious philosopher ; for although he asserted that pleas- ure was the chief or supreme good, yet he also as strong- ly asserted that it was the tranquility of the mind, and intellectual pleasure, that he so extolled and recommend- ed. " This pleasure," says he, " that is the very center of our happiness, consists in nothing else than having our mind free from disturbance, and our body free from pain ; drunkenness, excessive eatings niceness in our liquors, and all that seasons good cheer, have nothing in them that can make life happy ; there is nothing but frugality and tranquility of mind that establish this happy state ; it is this calm that facilitates our distinguishing betwixt those things that ought to be our choice, and those we ought to shun ; and it is by the means thereof that we discard those notions that discompose this first mover of our life." St. Evermont, in his vindication of Epicurus, says, '* Ignorant men know not his worth. Wise men have given large and honorable testimonies of his exalted virtue and sublime precepts. They have fully proved his pleasures to be as severe as the Stoic's virtue ; that to be debauched like Epicurus, a man must be as sober as Ze- no. His temperance was so great, that his ordinary diet was nothing but bread and water. The Stoics and alj other philosophers agree with Epicurus in this — that the true felicity of life is to be free from pertubations ; to understand our duty towards God and man, and to enjoy the present without any anxious dependence upon the fu- ture ; not to amuse ourselves either with hopes or fears ; to curb and restrain our unruly appetites ; to rest satis- fied^with what we have, which is abundantly suflBcient ; for he that is content wants nothing." JAMES LACKINGTON. ;j|(9 I continued the above self-denying life until I left Bris- tol, which was on Whitsunday, in 1769. 1 had, for some time before, been pointing out to a young friend, John Jones, some of the pleasures and advantages of traveling, so that I easily prevailed on him to accompany me towards the west of England ; and in the evening we arrived at Bridgewater, where Mr. Jones got work. He was em- ployed by Mr. Cash, with whom he continued near twelve months, and in the end married his daughter, a very pret- ty and amiable little woman, with some fortune. When my friend was offered work by Mr. Cash, I prevailed on him to accept of it, assuring him that I had no doubt of my being able to get work at Taunton : but in that I was disappointed ; nor could I get a constant seat of work until 1 came to Exeter, and of that place I was soon tired ; but being informed that a Mr. John Taylor, of Kings- bridge (forty miles below Exeter), wanted such a hand, I went down, and was gladly received by Mr. Taylor, whose name inspires me with gratitude, as he never treat- ed me as a journeyman, but made me his companion. Nor was any part of my time ever spent in a more agree- able, pleasing manner, than that which I passed in this retired place, or, I believe, more profitable to a master. I was the first man he ever had that was able to make stuff and silk shoes ; and it being also known that I came from Bristol, this had great weight with the country la- dies, and procured my master customers, who generally sent for me to take the measure of their feet ; and I was looked upon by all to be the best workman in the town, although I had not been brought up to stuff-work, nor had ever entirely made one stuff or silk shoe before. Nor should I have presumed to proclaim myself a stuff-man, had there been any such workmen in the place ; but as ■f80 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. there were none, I boldly ventured, and succeeded very well ; nor did any one in the town ever know that it was my first attempt in that branch. During the time that I lived here, I, as usual, was obliged to employ one or other of my acquaintance to write my letters for me. This procured me much praise among the young men as a good inditer of letters. My master said to me one day, he was surprised that I did not learn to write my own letters ; and added, that he was sure I could learn to do it in a very short time. The thought pleased me much, and without any delay I set about it, by taking up any pieces of paper that had writing on them, and imitating the letters as well as I could. I employed my leisure hours in this way for nearly two months, after which time I wrote my own letters, in a bad hand of course, but it was plain, and easy to read, which was all I cared for ; nor, to the present moment, can I write much better, as I never would have any person to teach me ; nor was I ever possessed of patience enough to employ time sufficient to learn to write well ; and yet, as soon as I was able to scribble, I wrote verses on some trifle or other every day for years together. I came to this place in but a weak state of body ; how- ever, the healthy situation of the town, together with bath- ing in the salt water, soon restored me to perfect health. I passed thirteen months here in a very happy manner; but the wages for work being very low, and as I had spent much time in writing hymns to every song tune that I knew, besides a number of love verses, letters, &.c., I was very poor ; and, to complete all, I began to keep a deal of company, in which I gave a loose to my natural gaiety of disposition, much more than was consistent with the grave, sedate ideas which I had formed of a religious JAMES LACKINGTON. 21 character ; all of which made me resolve to leave Kings- bridge, which I did in 1770. I traveled as far as Exeter the first day, where I work- ed about a fortnight, and saved sufficient to carry me to Bridgewater, where I worked two or three weeks more. Before I arrived there, Mr. John Jones had gone back to reside at Bristol ; but as soon as he heard of my being in Bridgewater, he and his brother Richard sent me an in- vitation to come to Bristol again and live with them. Finding that I did not immediately comply, they both came to Bridgewater, and declared their intentions of not returning to Bristol without me ; so that, after a day or two, I yielded to their solicitations, and lived very com- fortably with them, their mother, and sister. When residing at Taunton, I became acquainted with a young woman of good character and charming manners, with whom I afterwards kept up a correspondence ; and I had not been long in Bristol before I wrote to her. I informed her that my attachment to books, together with traveling from place to place, and also my total disregard for money, had prevented me from saving any ; and that, while I remained in a single unsettled state, I was never likely to accumulate it. I also pressed her very much to come to Bristol to be married, which she soon complied with ; and married we were, at St. Peter's church, tow- ards the end of the year 1770. We kept our wedding at the house of my friends the Messrs. Jones, and retired to ready-furnished lodgings, which we had before provided, at half-a-crown per week. Our finances were just suffi- cient to pay the expenses of the day ; for the next morn- ing, in searching our pockets (which we did not do in a careless manner), we discovered that we had but one halfpenny to begin the world with. It is true we had laid 80 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. in eatables sufficient for a day or two, in which time we knew we could by our work procure more, which we very cheerfully set about, singing together the following lines of Dr. Cotton : — " Our portion is not large indeed, But then how little do we need, For nature's calls are few ; In this the art of living lies : To want no more than may suffice, And make that little do." At this time my wages were only nine shillings a-week and my wife could get but very little, as she was learning to bind shoes, and had never been much used to the needle. Being pressed for a debt of forty shillings due to Mr. Jones, I paid it off in two months, which greatly les- sened our comforts. What we had to spend on provisions was not more than four shillings and sixpence a-week. Strong beer we had none, nor any other liquor (the pure element excepted) ; and instead of tea, or rather coffee, we toasted a piece of bread ; at other times we fried some wheat, which, when boiled in water, made a tolerable substitute for coffee ; and as to animal food, we made use of but little, and that little we boiled and made broth of. During the whole of this time we never once wished for anything that we had not got, but were quite content- ed ; and, with a good grace, in reality made a virtue of necessity. In a few days after we had paid the last of the debt claimed by my friend Mr. Jones, we were both together taken so ill as to be confined to bed ; but the good woman of the house, our landlady, came to our room, and did a few trifles for us. She seemed very much alarmed at our situation — or rather for her own, I suppose, as thinking JAMBS LACKINGTON. ^ we might in some measure or other become burdensome to her. We had in cash two shillings and ninepence, half-a-crown of which we had carefully locked up in a box, to be saved as a resource on any extraordinary emergency. This money supported us two or three days, in which time I recovered, without the help of medicine ; but my wife continued ill nearly six months, and was confined to her bed the greater part of the time, which illness may very easily be accounted for. Before she came to Bristol, she had ever been used to a very active life, and had always lived in the country ; so that, in coming to dwell in a populous city, she had exchanged much exercise and good air for a sedentary life and very bad air ; and this, I presume, was the cause of all her illness from time to time, which at length, as unfortunately as effectually, undermined her constitution. During the first six months' illness I lived many days solely on water-gruel. " What nature requires," says Montaigne, " it is so small a matter, that by its littleness it escapes the gripes of fortune ;" for as I could not afford to pay a nurse, much of my time was taken up in attend- ance on her, and most of my money expended in procur- ing medicines, together with such trifles as she could eat and drink. But what added extremely to my calamity, was the being within the hearing of her groans, which were caused by the excruciating pains in her head, which for months together defied the power of medicine. It is impossible for words to describe the keenness of my sens- ations during this long term ; yet as to myself, my pover- ty, and being obliged to live upon water-gruel, gave me not the least uneasiness. At length my wife partially recovered, but yet continu- ed in a very bad state of health ; and her constitution SMt DI8TINOVISBBD SHOBMAKERS. having suffered such a dreadful shock, I thought that no means could be used so likely to restore it as a removal to her native air. Accordingly, I left my seat of work at Bristol, and returned with her to Taunton, which is about seven miles from Petherton, her native place. But in Taunton I could not procure so niuch work as I could do ; so that, as soon as I thought she could bear the air of Bristol, we returned thither, where she soon relapsed, and we again went back to Taunton. This removing to Taunton was repeated about five times in little more than two years and a half. But at last finding that she had long fits of illness at Taunton also, as well as at Bristol, with a view of having a better price for my work, I resolved to visit London ; and as I had not money sufficient to bear the expenses of both to town, I left her all the money I could spare, and took a place on the outside of the stage-coach, and the second day arrived in the metropolis, in August 177^, with two shillings and sixpence in my pocket. Having procured a lodging, I was fortunate in immediately getting work from Mr. Heath in Fore Street. In a month I saved money sufficient to bring up my wife, and she had a tolerable state of health : of my master I obtained some stuff-shoes for her to bind, and nearly as much as she could do. Having now plenty of work, and higher wages, we were tolerably easy in oar circumstances, more so than ever we had been, so that we soon procured a few clothes. My wife had all her life before done very well with a cloth cloak, but I now prevailed on her to have one of silk. Until this winter, I had never found out that I wanted a greatcoat, but now I made that import- ant discovery. This requisite article of attire I purchas- ed at a second-hand cluthes-shop for half a guinea. JAMES LACKINGTON. 25 About the end of November I became heir to the sum of ten pounds, Jeft by my grandfather ; and so totally was I unacquainted with the modes of transacting business, that I undertook a long journey in the heart of winter, and suffered various hardships before my return to town with the cash, one-half of which was consumed in getting it. With the remainder of the money we purchased household goods; but as we then had not sufficient to fur- nish a room, we worked hard, and lived still harder, so that in a short time we had a room furnished with articles of our own ; and I believe that it is not possible for any one to imagine with what pleasure and satisfaction we looked round the room and surveyed our property. I be^ lieve that Alexander the Great never reflected on his im- mense acquisitions with half the heartfelt enjoyment which we experienced on this capital attainment. After our room was furnished, as we still enjoyed a better state of health than we did at Bristol and Taunton, and had also more work, aad higher wages, we often add- ed something or other to our stock of wearing apparel. Nor did I forget the old book-shops, but frequently added an old book to my small collection ; and I really have often purchased books with the money that should have been expended in purchasing something to eat ; a striking instance of which follows. At the time we were purchas- ing household goods, we kept ourselves very short of mo- ney, and on Christmas eve we bad but half-a-crown left to buy a Christmas dinner. My wife desired that I would go to market and purchase this festival dinner, and off I set for that purpose ; but in the way I saw an old book- shop, and I could not resist the temptation of going in, intending only to expend sixpence or ninepence out of my half-crown. But I stumbled upon Young's Night 36 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. Thoughts, forgot my dinner, down went my half-crown, and I hastened home, vastly delighted with the acquisi- tion. When my wife asked me where was our Christ- mas dinner, I told her it was in my pocket. "In your pocket 1" said she ; " that is a strange place ! How could you think of stuffing a joint of meat into your pock- et 1" I assured her that it would take no harm. But as I was in no haste to take it out, she began to be more particular, and inquired what I had got, &c. ; on which I began to harangue on the superiority of intellectual pleasures over sensual gratifications, and observed that the brute creation enjoyed the latter in a much higher degree than man ; and that a man who was not possessed of intellectual enjoyments was but a two-legged brute. I was proceeding in this strain : " And so," said she, " instead of buying a dinner, I suppose you have, as you have done before, been buying books with the money 1" I confessed I had bought Young's Night Thoughts. ** And I think," said I, "that I have acted wisely; for had I bought a dinner, we should have eaten it to-morrow, and the pleasure would have been soon over ; but should we live fifty years longer, we shall have the Night Thoughts to feast upon." This was too powerful an ar- gument to admit of any further debate ; in short, my wife was convinced. Down I sat, and began to read with as much enthusiasm as the good doctor possessed when he wrote it ; and so much did it excite my attention, as well as approbation, that I retained the greatest part of it in my memory. Some time in June 1774, as we sat at work in our room, Mr. Boyd, one of Mr. Wesley's people, called and inform- ed me that a little shop and parlor were to be let in Fea- therstone Street ; adding, that if I were to take them, I JAMES LACKINGTON. 27 might there get some work as a master. I without hesi- tation told him that I liked the idea, and hinted that I would sell books also. Mr. Boyd then asked me how I came to think of selling books ? I informed him that until that moment, it had never once entered into my thoughts ; but that, when he proposed my taking the shop, it instantaneously occurred to my mind that for several months past I had observed a great increase in a certain old book-shop, and that I was persuaded I knew as much of old books as the person who kept it. I fur- ther observed that I loved books, and that if I could but be a bookseller, I should then have plenty of books to read, which was the greatest motive I could conceive to induce me to make the attempt. My friend on this as- sured me that he would get the shop for me, which he did; and to set up in style, he recommended me to a friend, of whom I purchased a bagfull of old books, chiefly divinity, for a guinea. With this stock, and some odd scraps of leather, which together with all my books, were worth about five pounds, I opened shop on Midsummer-day in 1744, in Featherstone Street, in the parish of St. Luke ; and I was as well pleas- ed in surveying my little shop with my name over it, as was Nebuchadnezzar when he said, *' Is not this great Babylon that I have built?" Notwithstanding the obscurity of the street, and the mean appearance of my shop, yet I soon found customers for what few books I had, and I as soon laid out the mo- ney in other old trash which was daily brought for sale. At that time Mr. Wesley's people had a sum of money which was kept on purpose to lend out, for three months, without interest, to such of their society whose charac- ters were good, and who wanted a temporary relief. To S3 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. increase my little stock, I borrowed five pounds out of this fund, which was great service to me. In our new situation we lived in a very frugal manner, often dining on potatoes, and quenching our thirst with water; being absolutely determined, if possible, to make some provision for such dismal times as sickness, short- ness of work, &c., which we had been so frequently in- volved in before, and could scarcely help expecting not to be our fate again. My wife foreboded it much more than I did, being of a more melancholy turn of mind. I lived in this street six months, and in that time increased my stock from five to twenty-five pounds. This immense stock I deemed too valuable to be buried in Featherstone Street ; and a shop and parlor being to let in Chiswell Street, No. 46, I took them. This was at that time, and for fourteen years afterwards, a very dull and obscure situation, as few ever passed through it be- sides Spitalfields weavers on hanging days, and Method- ists on preaching nights ; but still it was much better adapted for business than Featherstone Street. A few weeks after I came into this street I bade a final adieu to the " gentle craft," and converted my little stock of leather, &c., into old books ; and a great sale I had, considering my stock, which was not only extremely small, but contained very little variety, as it principally consist- ed of divinity ; for as I had not much knowledge, so I seldom ventured out of my depth. I went on prosperously until some time in September, 1775, when I was suddenly taken ill of a dreadful fever ; and eight or ten days after, my wife was seized with the same disorder. " Human hopes now mounting high On the swelling surge of joy, Now with unexpected wo Sinking to the depths below." JAMES LACKINGTON. 29 At that time I kept only a boy to help ia ray shop, ao that I fear, while I lay ill, my wife had too much care and anxiety on her mind. I have been told that, before she was confined to her bed, she walked about in a deli- rious state ; in which she did not long continue, but, contrary to all expectation, died on the 9th of November. She was, in reality, one of the best of women; and al- though, for about four years, she was ill the greater part of the time, which involved me in the very depth of poverty and distress, yet I never once repented having married her. My recovery was slow ; and what added to my misfor- tune, I was in the hands of nurses, who robbed ray draw- ers, and kept themselves drunk with gin, while I lay un- able to move in bed. My whole stock in trade would also have gone, had the shop not been prudently locked up by two friends, who took an interest in my affairs. On fully recovering, and resuming business, I found it necessary to resume the married state. Fortune threw in my way Miss Dorcas Turton, an amiable young woman, daughter of Mr. Samuel Turton of Staffordshire, a gen- tleman in reduced circumstances, who was supported by her industry. She cheerfully submitted to keep a school, md worked very hard at plain work, by which means »he kept her father above want. The old gentleman died ibout this time ; and being partly acquainted with this young lady's goodness to her father, I concluded that so amiable a daughter was very likely to make a good wife. I also knew that she was immoderately fond of books, and would frequently read until morning. This turn of mind in her was the greatest of all recommendations to me, who, having acquired a few ideas, was at that time restless to increase them ; so that I was in raptures with 30 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. the bare thoughts of having a woman to read with, and also to read to me. I embraced the first opportunity after my recovery to make her acquainted with my mind ; and as we were no strangers to each other's characters and circumstances, there was no need of a long formal courtship ; so I pre- vailed on her not to defer our union longer than the 30th of January 1776, when, for the second time, I entered in- to the holy .state of matrimony. " Wedded love is founded on esteem, Which the fair merits of the mind engage, For those are charms that never can decay ; But time, which gives new whiteness to the swan. Improves their lustre." I am now, in February 1776, arrived at an important period of my life. Being lately recovered from a very painful, dangerous, and hopeless illness, I found myself once more in a confirmed state of health, surrounded by my little stock in trade, which was but just saved from thieves, and which, to me, was an immense treasure. I had never taken a fair estimate of the world, or looked with a kindly eye on man's condition. My mind now began to expand ; intellectual light and pleasure broke in and dispelled the gloom of fanatical melancholy ; the sour- ness of my natural temper, which had been much increas- ed by superstition (called by Swift "the spleen of the soul"), in part gave* way, and was succeeded by cheer- fulness and some degree of good-nature ; I began to en- joy many innocent pleasures and recreations in life ; and saw, for the first time, that true religion was no way in- compatible with, or an enemy to, rational enjoyments. I now likewise began to read with great pleasure the ra- tional and moderate divines of all denominations ; and a year or two after, I began with metaphysics, in the intri- JAMES LACKINOTON. ^ cate, though pleasing labyrinths of which I have occasion- ally since wandered, nor am I ever likely to find my way out. After this I did not long remain in Mr. Wesley's society. My new wife's attachment to books was a very fortu- nate circumstance for us both, not only as it was a perpet- ual source of rational amusement, but also as it tended to promote my trade. Her extreme love for books made her delight to be in the shop, so that she soon became perfectly acquainted with every part of it, and, as my stock increased, with other rooms where I kept books, and could readily get any article that was asked for. Accord- ingly, when I was out on business, my shop was well at- tended. This constant attention and good usage procur- ed me many customers, and I soon perceived that I could sell double and treble the quantity of books if I had a larger stock. But how to enlarge it I knew not, except by slow degrees, as my profits should enable me ; for as I was almost a stranger in London, I had but few acquaint- ances, and these few were not of the opulent sort. I also saw that the town abounded with cheats, swindlers, &c., who obtained money and other property under false pre- tences, of which the credulous were defrauded, which often prevented me from endeavoring to borrow, lest I should be suspected of having the same bad designs. I was several times so hard put to it for cash to purchase parcels of books which were offered to me, that I more than once pawned my watch and a suit of clothes, and twice I pawned some books for money to purchase others. In 1778 I was relieved from this pinched state of affairs, by entering into partnership with a worthy man, Mr. John Dennis, who was possessed of some capital. This part- nership existed two years, under the firm of J. Lacking- 32 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. ton and Company ; and while it lasted, we issued a cata- Jogue of our books, which included twelve thousand vol- umes. In 1780, the partnership was dissolved ; and as Mr. Dennis had more money in the concern than myself, he took ray notes for what was deficient, which was a great favor done to me. We parted with great friendship, and I was left to pursue trade in my own way. It was some time in the year 1780 when I resolved, from that period, to give no person whatever any credit. I was induced to make this resolution from various mo- tives. I had observed that where credit was given, raost bills were not paid within six months, many not within a twelvemonth, and some not within two years. Indeed many tradesmen have accounts of seven years' standing, and some bills are never paid. The losses sustained by the interest of money in long credits, and by those bills that were not paid at all ; the inconveniences attending not having the ready money to lay out in trade to the best advantage, together with the great loss of time in keeping accounts and collecting debts, convinced nie that, if I could but establish a ready-money business, without any exceptions, I should be enabled to sell every article very cheap — *' Let all the learned say all they can, 'Tis ready money makes the man." When I communicated my ideas on this subject to some of my acquaintances, I was much laughed at and ridiculed ; and it was thought that I might as well attempt to rebuild the tower of Babel, as to establish a large bu- siness without giving credit. But notwitstanding this discouragement, I determined to make the experiment, and began by plainly marking in every book, facing the JAMES LACKINGTON. 753 title, the lowest price that I would take for it ; which be- ing much lower than the common market-prices, I not only retained my former customers, but soon increased their numbers. But it can scarcely be imagined what difficulties I encountered for several years together. I even sometimes thought of relinquishing this my favorite scheme altogether, as by it I was obliged to deny credit to my very acquaintance : I was also under the necessity of refusing it to the most respectable characters, as no exception was or now is made, not even in favor of no- bility ; my porters being strictly enjoined, by one gener- al order, to bring back all books not previously paid for, except they receive the amount on delivery. Again, many in the country found it difficult to remit small sums that were under bankers' notes (which difficulty is done away, as all post-masters receive small sums of money, and give drafts for the same on the post office in liondon) ; and others, to whom I was a stranger, did not like to send the money first, as not knowing how I should treat them, and suspecting, by the price of the articles, there must cer- tainly be some deception. Many, unacquainted with my plan of business, were much offended, until the advanta- ges accruing to them from it were duly explained, when they very readiy acceded to it. As to the anger of such, who, though they were acquainted with it, were still de- termined to deal on credit only, I considered that as of little consequence, from an opinion that some of them would have been as much enraged when their bills were sent in, had credit been given them. I had also difficulties of another nature to encounter. When I first began to sell very cheap, many came to my shop preposessed against my goods, and of course often saw faulty where none existed ; so that the beat editions B 34 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. were, merely from prejudice, deemed very bad editions, and the best bindings said to be inferior workmanship, for no other reason but because I sold them so cheap ; and I often received letters from the country to know if such and such articles were really as I stated them in my catalogues, and if they really were the best editions, if really in calf, and really elegantly bound, with many other reallies. I was afraid, for some years, that I should be really mad with vexation. But these letters of real- lies have for years happily ceased ; and the public are now really and thoroughly convinced that I will not assert in my catalogues what is not really true. But imagine what I must have felt on hearing the very best of goods depre- ciated, on no other account whatever but because they were not charged at a higher price ! It is also worth observing that there were not wanting among the booksellers, some who were mean enough to assert that all my books were bound in sheep ; but many other unmanly artifices were practiced ; all of which, so far from injuring me, as basely intended, turned to my account ; for when gentlemen were brought to my shop by their friends to purchase some trifling article, or were led into it by curiosity, they were often very much sur- prised to see many thousands of volumes in elegant and superb bindings. The natural conclusion was, that if I had not held forth to the public better terms than others, I should not have been so much envied and misrepre- sented. " To Malice, sure, I'm much obliged, On every side by Calumny besieged : Yet, Envy, I could almost call thee friend." So that, whether I am righteous or not, all these afflictions have worked together for my good. But my temporal JAMES LACKINGTON. 35 salvation was not effected without " conditions." As ev- ery envious transaction was to me an additional spur to exertion, I am therefore not a little indebted to Messrs. Envy, Detraction, and Co., for my present prosperity ; though I can safely say this is the only debt I am deter- mined not to pay. In the first three years after I refused to give credit to any person, my business increased much ; and as the whole of my profit, after paying all expenses, was laid ouj in books, my stock was continually enlarged, so that my catalogues in the year 1784 were very much augmented in size. The first contained twelve thousand, and the second thirty thousand volumes. This increase was not merely in numbers, but also in value, as a very great part of these volumes was better ; that is, books of a higher price. When I was first initiated into the various manoeuvres ; practiced by booksellers, I found it customary among them (which practice still continues), that when any books had not gone off so rapidly as expected, or so fast as to pay fur keeping them in store, they would put what re- mained of such articles into private sales, where only booksellers are admitted, and of them only such as were invited by having a catalogue sent them. At one of these sales I have frequently seen seventy or eighty thousand volumes sold after dinner, including books of every des- cription, good, bad, and indifferent : by this means they were distributed through the trade. When first invited to these trade sales, I was very much surprised to learn that it was common for such as pur- chased remainders to destroy one half or three-fourths of such books, and to charge the full publication price, or nearly that, for such as they kept on hand ; and there was 36 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. a kind of standing order amongst the trade, that in case any one was known to sell articles under the publica- tion price, such a person was to be excluded from trade- sales ; so blind were copyright-holders to their own in terest. For a short time I cautiously complied with this cus- tom ; but I soon began to reflect that many of these books so destroyed possessed much merit, and only wanted to be better known ; and that, if others were not worth six shillings, they were worth three, or two, and so in pro- portion, for higher or lower-priced books. From that time I resolved not to destroy any books that were worth saving, but to sell them off at half or a quarter, of the publication prices. By selling them in this cheap manner, I have disposed of many hundred thousand vol- umes, many thousands of which have been intrinsically worth their original prices — greatly of course to the dis- satisfaction of the trade. It may be supposed I could not carry on this large bu- siness, in which I had frequently to write catalogues, without some knowledge of literature. This knowledge I gained by dint of application. I read extensively in all branches of literature , and in order to obtain some ideas in astronomy, geography, electricity, pneumatics, &.C., I attended a few lectures given by the eminent Mr. Fur. guson, the very ingenious Mr. Walker, and others; and for some time several gentlemen spent two or three eve- nings in a week at my house, for the purpose of improve- ment in science. At these meetings we made the best use of our time with globes, telescopes, microscopes, elec- trical machines, air-pumps, air-guns, and other philosoph- ical instruments. My thirst was, and still is, so great for literature, tha ^AMES LACKINGTON. 37 I could almost subscribe to the opinions of Herillus the philosopher, who placed in learning the sovereign good, and maintained that it was alone sufficient to make us wise and happy. Others have said that *' learning is the mother of all virtue, and that vice is produced from ig- norance." Although that is not strictly true, yet I can- not help regretting the disadvantages I labor under by having been deprived of the benefits of an early educa- tion, as it is a loss that can scarcely be repaired in any situation. How much more difficult, then, was it for me to attain any degree of proficiency, when involved in the concerns of a large business ! " Without a genius, learning soars in vain. And without learning, genius sinks again ; Their force united, crowns the sprightly reign." To reading and study I added a gradually increasing knowledge of mankind, for which I know of no school equal to a bookseller's shop. A bookseller who has any taste for literature, may be said to feed his mind as cooks and butchers' wives get fat by the smell of meat. If the master is of an inquisitive and communicative turn, and is in a considerable line of business, his shop will then be a place of resort for persons of various nations, and of various capacities and dispositions. To talk to these dif- ferent inquirers after books has given me much pleasure and instruction, so that I have sometimes compared my shop to a stage. In my progress from penury to wealth I had occasion to make many discoveries. I by and by found that lodging in town is not so healthy as it is in the country. Gay's lines were then repeated — "Long in tlie noisy town I've been immured, Respired in smoke, and all its cares endured." The year after, my country lodging, by regular grada- 96 DrSTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. tion, was transformed into a country-house ; and in an- other year, the inconveniencies attending a stage-coach were remedied by a chariot. •* ■; " My precious wife has ventured to declare, 'Tis vulgar on one's legs to take the air." ' For four years Upper Holloway was to me an elysium ; then Surrey appeared unquestionably the most beautiful county in England, and Upper Merton the most rural village in Surrey ; so now Merton is selected as the seat of occasional philosophical retirement. In these various improvements in my means and position, it was unpleas- ant to find that I was pursued with envy and malevo- lence; but I consoled myself with the observation of Dr. Johnson, that " it is no less a proof of eminence to have many enemies than many friends." All sorts of stories injurious to my reputation were circulated by those who envied me my success. Whatever was said as to my means of attaining opulence, I can affirm that I found the whole of what I am possessed of in — small profits, bound by industry, and clasped by economy. In conducting my business, I have ever kept an exact account of my profits and expenses, and regulated my mode of living accordingly. In 1791, the profits of my shop amounted to four thousand pounds, since which time they have yearly increased. My business being large, and branching into different departments, in 1793 I sold to Mr. Robert Allan, who had been brought up in my shop, a fourth share of the business ; and as the trade is constantly increasing, I suppose I shall be obliged to take another partner very soon ; for we now sell more than one hundred thousand volumes annually. The time also approaches when I must retire, on account of the bad health which both Mrs.Lackington and myself labor under. JAMES LACKINOITON. 39 In these latter years, while still in trade, I have made several professional tours into Scotland and various parts of England. One of ray most amusing excursions has been to Bristol, Exbridge, Bridgewater, Taunton, Wel- lington, and other places, where I called on my former masters, and astonished them by pretending to seek em- ployment as a shoemaker, while sitting in my carriage. On telling them who I was, all appeared to be very hap- py to see me, and they enjoyed the humor of my address. Among a great number of poor relations I distributed means of comfort, Lackington here closes his memoirs, which bring his life down to 1793, when his business, one of the largest in London, was conducted in a shop of very large size, called the ** Temple of the Muses," at the corner of Fins- bury Square. The memoirs abound in severe, and we have no doubt most unjust, remarks on the Methodists, both as to life and doctrine, and these Lackington after- wards repented having written. Uniting himself again to the Wesleyan society, he endeavored to obviate the injustice of his sarcasms by publishing a confession of his errors. Much of what he had stated, he acknowledged to have taken on trust ; and many things he now discovered to have been without a proper foundation. These " Con- fessions," which appeared in 1803, never altogether ac- complished their purpose ; so difficult is it to recall or make reparation for a word lightly spoken. In sincere humiliation of spirit, Lackington retired to Budleigh Sul- terton, in Devonshire, where he built and endowed a chapel, and performed various other acts of munificence, md spent the conclusion of his days. He died on the 22d of November 1815, in the seventieth year of his age. DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. TIMOTHY BENNETT. This enterprising shoemaker resided in the village of Hampton-Wick, near Richmond, in Surry. The first passage from this village to Kingston-upon-Thames, through Bushy Park (a royal demense), had been for many years shut up from the public. This honest Eng- lishman, " unwilling," as he said, *' to leave the world worse than he found it," consulted a lawyer upon the practicability of recovering this road, and the probable expense of a legal process. " I have seven hundred pounds," said this honest patriot, " which I should be willing to bestow upon this attempt. It is all I have, and has been saved through a long course of honest industry." The lawyer informed him that no such sum would be ne- cessary to produce this result ; and Timothy determined accordingly to proceed with vigor in the prosecution of this public claim. In the mean time Lord Halifax, ran- ger of Bushy Park, was made acquainted with his inten- tions, and sent for him. " Who are you. Sir," inquired his lordship, " that have the assurance to meddle in this affair ? " "My name, my lord, is Timothy Bennett, shoe- maker, of Hampton-Wick. I remember, an't please your lordship, when I was a young man, of seeing, while sitting at my work, the people cheerfully pass by to Kingston market ; but now, my lord, they are forced to go round about, through a hot sandy road, ready to faint beneath their burdens, and I am unwilling [it was his favorite ex- TIMOTHY BENNETT. 4| pression] to leave the world worse than I found it. This, my lord, I humbly represent, is the reason of my con- duct." '* Begone ; you are an impertinent fellow !" re- plied his lordship. However, upon more mature reflec- tion, being convinced of the equity of the claim, and an- ticipating the ignominy of defeat — " Lord Halifax, the Nobleman, nonsuited by Timothy Bennett, the Shoemak- er," — he desisted from his opposition, and opened the road, which is enjoyed, without molestation, to this day. Timothy died when an old man, in 1756. " Such an instance of disinterested public virtue is highly worthy of being recorded ; and though it may not be in the power of every one to suggest valuable improve- ments, or confer lasting benefits on posterity, yet each may, like the patriotic Bennett, endeavor at least not to leave the world worse than he found it." DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. ROGER SHERMAN. The history of a great man, who has taken part in public affairs, is the history of the times in which he lived. In fact, all history derives its interest and variety from men of superior talents and influence in their respective generations. The multitude, in history, play the part as- signed them by their leaders, whether that part lead them to freedom and its advantages, or to tyranny and its chains. Every thing, therefore, of peculiar interest in the past — every great achievement that has produced commo- tion or change, that has overthrown old systems or estab- lished new ones — every great movement that has arous- ed nations from the slumber of ages, and called forth new energies and awakened new and powerful ideas — all can be learned in the lives and characters of the great men of the past, and no where else ; for they belong to them — they attach themselves to, and go to make up their charac- ters, and cannot be separated from them. The glory of Greece, in arts, eloquence, and arms, is wrapt up in the lives of her Aristides, her Themistocles, her Phocion, Cimon, Sophocles and Demosthenes. Rome, for centuries the mistress of the world — the proud ruler of an hundred and twenty millions, may be studied in all her dazzling splendor, in the characters of her Cincinnatus, her Regulus, Cato, Caesar, Pompey, Cicero, Virgil, and a host of such men. So of all ROGER SHERMAN. 43 countries and all great events, both in ancient and mod- ern times. Is a throne to be overturned ? A Cromwell unites the agitated elements, directs them according to his own will, and by the might of his own mind, compels a nation to acknowledge him sovereign. So when Amer- ica has to be severed from a powerful Monarchy, and stand forth in the grandeur of a free Republic, — the wis- dom that directed and the energy that executed this grand achievement, may be found in Washington, Adams, Jef- ferson, Sherman and their contemporaries in council and in field. It is gratifying to the author, to be able to present to that class of readers for whom this little volume is espe- cially designed, a brief narration of so distinguished, so noble a man as Roger Sherman, one of the first men of his times ; and as a statesman and patrio!, second to to none of his contemporaries but Washington. He was a native of Newton, Massachusetts. His an- cestors came from Dedham, in England, about the year 1635, and settled at Watertown, near the place of his na- tivity. The father of Roger Sherman, was a respectable farmer, but too poor to afford his son a liberal ed- ucation ; he obtained his early education, therefore, at a common parish school, which possessed very limit- ed advantages. At an early age, he was apprenticed to a shoemaker, at which occupation he labored some five or six years. Having an uncommon thirst for knowledge, neither the limited means of his schools, nor the long hours of his daily toil, could prevent him from making valuable acquisitions. What though he had but few books and no experienced teachers ? He had an inquiring mind, and the volume of Nature was spread out before hira, full, and plainly vrritt«n. To one who is de- 44 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. termined to educate himself, every incident, every event, every word, and especially every man, is fraught with in- struction. " Whoever thinks he can, can," is an an- cient proverb, and accords with our more modern one, " Where there is a will, there is a way," and the truth of both is exemplified in young Sherman. Born in pov- erty, with all its attendant evils upon him, he aspired to a higher state, determined to beat down every obstacle in his way, and make himself a man. Nobly did he do his duty, and great was his reward. He was often found with a book open before him when at his work ; and when it permitted him, he would catch a sentence from the page. We may well suppose that a youth of such habits and de- sires, passed no idle hours. His idle hours were his most laborious. His father died in 1741, leaving a numerous and de- pendent family to his care alone, his older brother having previously removed to New Milford, Connecticut. This was a serious and responsible trust to be committed to one only nineteen years of age ; yet the duties of a father and counselor, he performed with great kindness and sa- gacity. Toward his mother, who lived to see her son honored and'^respected, he ever manifested the most filial affection and regard ; he also assisted his two younger brothers in obtaining a liberal education, who were after- wards able ministers in Connecticut. In 1743, he judged it expedient to remove the family to New Milford, where his elder brother resided ; he ac- cordingly disposed of the farm and took up his residence in that town in the same year. Here he commenced bu- siness as a shoemaker, but did not continue in it long — preferring to go into trade in company with his brother. This probably, promised to be more lucrative than shoe- ROGER SHERMAN. 4^ making, which was a great consideration to him, with an expensive family. Another inducement, no doubt, was the prospect of getting more time to read and improve his mind, which was ever a paramount object with him. Mr. Sherman was already distinguished in his county, for his great, and almost (considering his circumstances) incredible attainments. He was particularly fond of the science of Mathematics, and was so skillful in it, that at the early age of twenty-four, he was appointed county surveyor. lie had also made himself quite a master in Astronomy, and in 1748, supplied the astronomical cal- culations for an Almanac published in New York city, and continued to do so for several succeeding years. Knowledge, like virtue, is its own reward. The pecu- liar pleasure experienced in cultivating the mind, the calm and undisturbed peace which brings no pang after it, and the noble aspirations it excites in the soul — these are more than an equivalent for the sacrifices and re- straints which it requires. But there is another reward which by the multitude is thought the only one, and into this reward we see young Sherman early entering. How little did this true lover of learning think of or expect the promotion and patronage which he experien- ced in after life, when he was so industriously pursuing his studies in his youth 1 He sought knowledge for its own sake. In 1749, Sherman was married to Elizabeth Hart- well, of Stoughton, Mass., being about twenty-nine years of age. How often are changes and important results produced by the most trivial causes! A silent thought — oilen how big with future events ! A word — what revolutions 46 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. has it originated ! An occurrence unnoticed by you and me, to another, perhaps, is the herald of a new life — a new destiny. A little incident produced in Sherman's mind a total change of aim and prospect. The result of it was, that he was admitted to the bar as an attorney at the age of thirty-four. While yet a young man and a shoemak- er, he had occasion to visit a neighboring town on busi- ness for himself. A neighbor of his had previously become involved in difficulty, in settling the affairs of a deceased person, and was in need of legal advice. He stated the case to young Sherman, and desired him to consult upon it with a lawyer who resided in the town to which he was going. Sherman perceiving the case to be somewhat difficult, committed it all to paper, which he handed to the lawyer on his arrival at the office. We can imagine that we see the young man in the office of the grave lawyer, explaining the case to him, assisted by a frequent reference to his manuscript. The lawyer no- tices his use of his paper, and requests him to leave it, as it will furnish him with data with which to draw up a petition to court on the subject. The modest shoemak- er blushes at so unexpected a proposal. "The paper," says he, " was only drawn by myself to assist my memo- ry." He complied reluctantly with the request, and the lawyer, upon reading it, was surprised to find it a clear and concise statement of the case. He told Sherman that it would be as good a petition as he himself could frame, with some slight verbal alterations. Upon this the lawyer inquired of him what his occupation was, and being told he was a shoemaker by trade, he advised him to give his attention to ,the profession of law. This must have been an interesting moment to Sherman. He was pleased, no doubt, with even the thought of entering ttrjf ROGER SHERMAN. 4¥ upon a career which would call forth his strongest pow- ers, and at the same time afford him a fair remuneration ; yet that glad day must have appeared distant to him, bur- dened in his youth with the care of a needy family, and engaged as he then was, in a branch of industry which would not support him, without close and continued ap- plication. This suggestion, however, was not lost upon his practical mind. A new object was in view, an;l a new direction given to his thoughts. All his studies were now made to bear upon this one object, and he improved every opportunity to improve himself in whatever related to his chosen profession. So unabated was his persever- ance, and steady his progress, that in 1754 he was quali- fied and admitted to the bar. His practical and sound judgment, combined with that inflexible integrity pecu- liarly his own, soon distinguished him as an able lawyer and judicious counselor, and he was consequently pro- moted to offices of trust and responsibility. In 1755, he was appointed justice of the peace for New Milford, and was also elected a member of the Co- lonial assembly. In 1759, he was appointed judge of the court of com- mon pleas for the county of Litchfield. He discharged the duties of this station with distinguished ability, for two years, and gained himself an excellent reputation. At the expiration of this period, he removed to New Haven. His name and fame went before him, and he was very soon appointed justice of the peace, and sent again to the colonial assembly. In 1765, four years after he removed to New Haven, he was appointed judge of the court of common pleas. About the same time he became treasurer of Yale Col- lege, which institution bestowed upon him the honorary degree of Master of Arts. 48 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. In the following year the colony elected him a mem- ber of the upper house in the general assembly of Con- necticut. The members of the upper house were called assistants, and they held their sittings with closed doors. No doubt he took a high rank among his compeers in that assembly, but little of their proceedings is known. During the same year Mr. Sherman was again remind- ed of the estimation in which he was held, by his appoint- ment to the office of judge of the superior court of Con- necticut. Thus we see this self-made man enjoying a full tide of prosperity and success. He had held the office of judge of the court of common pleas, in two counties ; had rep- resented at different times, his towns. New Milford and New Haven, in the colonial assembly, and was at this time a member of the upper house, treasurer of Yale Col- lege, and judge of the superior court of Connecticut ; and all this in the brief period of twelve years from the time he was admitted to the bar. He continued to hold his seat in the upper house nineteen years ; at the end of this period the membership and judgeship being deemed incompatible, he resigned the former and retain- ed the latter. He continued on the bench of the su- preme court until 1785, when he resigned his seat, being elected to Congress, under the federal constitution. Says one of his biographers : " It is uniformly ac- knowledged by those who witnessed his conduct and abil- ities on the bench, that he discovered, in the application of principles of law and the rules of evidence to the ca- ses before him, the same sagacity that distinguished him as a legislator. His legal opinions were received with great defference by the profession, and their cor- rectness was almost universally acknowledged." During ROGER SHERMAN. 49 the last four years in which he was judge, the late Chief Justice Ellsworth was an associate judge of the same court, and from the period of his appointment in 1785, until the death of Mr. Sherman, a close intimacy subsist- ed between them. The elder President Adams remarks, that "It is praise enough to say that Mr. Ellsworth told me that he had made Mr. Sherman his model in his youth. Indeed, I never knew two men more alike, except that the Chief Justice had the advantage of a liberal education and somewhat more extensive reading." AVe have thus far viewed Mr. Sherman as the self- taught scholar — the distinguished citizen of Connecticut. We are now to follow him into a broader field of action, to the halls of the Continental Congress, as a statesman and patriot of the American Revolution. In order to understand the actual state of things at that eventful period, to know the justice of their cause, and the rectitude of the men who prosecuted it, we must go back to the beginning, and take a view of the history of the colonies up to the revolution, in reference to their relations with the mother country. We shall find in this interesting and instructive period, causes sufficiently numerous and powerful to produce the grand result. We would ask our readers not to turn away from this histori- cal sketch, as if it were dry and uninteresting. It is not so. No period in our history is more interesting to an American, and there is none with which he ought to be more familiar. The alienation of an important branch of a splendid monarchy, its revolution, the birth of a new nation, which, in little more than half a century, stands second to none in power and the extent of its resources, and unrivaled in the general happiness and freedom of its people — a subject so deep and comprehensive is wor- so DISTINGUISffBD SHOEMAKERS. thy the study of Statesmen and philosophers; and yet it is so plain, and the results so natural, that it may be understood by all. It is the general impression, and we presume most of our readers have imbibed it, that the celebrated stamp-act, and tea-tax, and Boston Port Bill, those oppressive meas- ures immediately preceding the revolution, were the sole cause of provoking it. This is entirely erroneous. These unjust measures were merely the last links in a chain extending back into the pasta hundred years. The affection of the colonies for their native country resem- bled that of the child for its parent. They left there the graves of their fathers and the scenes of their ancestral glory. The name and fame of Old England they enthu- siastically loved, and all the endearments of one's own native country bound their hearts to her altars. Though born in America, they were Englishmen ; England's king was their king, and her glory theirs. Neglected, they murmured not, but struggled on ; injured, they suppli- cated ; oppressed, they remonstrated like men, yet loved like children! Attachment like this could not be destroyed by a single act of injustice. Natural affec- tions are not so easily radicated from the human breast. This is not the place to give a minute history of the rise, progress, sufferings and calamities of the colonies. This would require volumes. All I shall attempt is, to state the more prominent facts in relation to their inter- course with England, thus showing in a continued narra- tive, her jealousy, injustice and oppression of the colo- nies. The thirteen colonies were planted between the years 1607 and 1732, with three distinct forms of government — the charter, proprietary, and royal. In New Englandi ROGER SHERMAN. 6t the charter governments were adopted. Under this form the people made their own laws, and were their own rul- ers. In the proprietary governments, the proprietor ruled with the advice, assent and approbation of the majority. The royal governments were composed of a governor and council appointed by the crown, and a legislature chosen by the people. Under these respective forms of govern- ment our fathers came out and settled the colonies. Here they found an unbroken wilderness, ravenous beasts, and a savage foe. Like men they labored, and like he- roes they fought. They had strong hearts and strong arms. Neither the tomahawk of the savage, the wither- inc (Tripe of famine, nor the blasting breath of pestilence could overcome them. In a few years their fields smiled with abundant crops — the reward of their industry. Nor were the energies of the colonies confined entirely to ag- riculture. From the diversity of wants and products, commerce and manufactures began to be early engaged in. This excited the jealousy of the merchants and man- ufacturers of England. They complained loudly that their business would be injured, and called upon the gov- ernment to stop it. "The colonists," said they "are be- ginning to carry on trade, they vvill soon be our formida- ble rivals. They are already setting up manufactures — they will soon set up for independence. Accordingly, acts were early passed restricting the trade with the col- onies, as well as with the other parts of the world, to Eng- lish-built ships. This had to do only with the export trade. With this they were not long content ; but in 16G3, applied the same restriction to the import trade. Notwithstanding these acts, the trade between the colo- nies was free and briskly prosecuted. This was too great a privilege to be permitted by the selfish politicians and 52 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. monopolies of the parent country, for any length of time In 1672, the following products transported from one col- ony to another were subject to the following duties ; viz : white sugars, five shillings, and brown sugars one shil- ling and sixpence per hundred ; tobacco and indigo, one penny, and cotton a half-penny per pound. These duties were not imposed for the purpose of raising rev- enue, but to render the trade between the colonies un- profitable, and to act as a prohibition. So the colonies understood it. Massachusetts entirely disregarded them for a long time, because they were a violation of her charter, and all the colonies declared them to be uncon- stitutional and unjust. Their disregard of these enact- ments called forth severe measures for their enforcement. Conscious of their rights as Englishmen under the Eng- lish constitution, and that they had not forfeited them by their labors and hardships in founding their colonies and enlarging the dominion of the kingdom, they felt most keenly the gross injustice of these measures for crippling their rising commerce and trade. At length the infant manufactures of the colonies began to excite the solicitude of England in a very special manner. In 1699, Parliament began its system of restriction upon colonial manufac- tures, by an enactment " that no wool, yarn or woolen manufactures of their American plantations should be shipped there, or even laden in order to be transported thence to any other place whatever." In 1719, the House of Commons declared " that the erecting of man- ufactories in the colonies tended to lessen their depend- ence upon Great Britain." In 1731, the board of trade reported to the House of Commons, " that there are more trades carried on and manufactures set up on the conti- nent of America northward of Virginia, prejudicial to ROGER SHERMAN. 1^ the trade and manufactures of Great Britain, particularly in New England, than in any other of the British colo- nies." About this time New England had entratred in the manufacture of hats, so extensively, it seems, as to be able to supply themselves and export considerable quan- tities to Spain and Portugal. This called forth loud complaints from the London Company of Hatters, which had, of course, the exclusive right to supply the whole world with hats. The consequence of their outcry was, that the exportation of hats from the colonies to for- eign countries, and even to their neighbor colonies, was prohibited. In 1732, it was enacted, that hats should neither be shipped nor even laden upon a horse, cart or other carriage with a view to transportation to any place whatever, and that no hatter should employ more than two apprentices at once, nor make hats, unless he had served as an apprentice to the trade for seven years. Not content with cutting off their trade in this article with foreign countries, and with prohibiting even the colonies that manufactured from supplying their sister colonies that did not, with hats; the Government, by limiting the number of apprentices and restricting the manufacture to those who had served seven years, intended that the man- ufacturers should not be able to supply their own home market. Parental legislation Ihis! The manufacture of iron must be suppressed also, for the benefit of the iron interest in England. They most graciously permitted the colonies to reduce the iron ore into pig and bars ; but the working up of this iron into the thousand useful implements and machines which they needed at home and could sell abroad, they were not per- mitted in the least to engage in. This must be done by the pampered and selfish monopolies in the kingdom. 54 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. See the wise laws of Great Britain's wise legislators. In the year 1750, Parliament prohibited the erection or con- tinnance of any mill or e7igine for slitting or rolling iron, or any plating forge to work with, or tilt-hammer, or any furnace for making steel, in the colonies, under the pen- alty of two hundred pounds." Moreover every such mill or engine or plating forge was declared a tommon nui- sance, and the governors of the colonies, on the informa- tion of two witnesses on oath, were directed to cause the same to be abated within thirty days, or forfeit the sum of five hundred pounds. This was the beginning of vexations. The very basis of their youthful institutions was to be overturned or set aside. The charier or New England governments were unrestricted in their authority, with the exception that none of their laws should be repugnant to the laws of England. The crown viewed these charters as consti- tuting corporations for the time being, to be annulled whenever it was its will. But to the colonists, their charters were their bonds of existence, and to lay violent hands on them was like touching the apple of their eye. Under them they had suffered and toiled, and grown and prospered. They were the warrant of their privileges, and contained the solemn guarantee of their rights, seal- ed with the broad seal of the kingdom. But the king and his ministers were jealous of the growing power and prosperity of the colonies, and so they were to be op- pressed. Their charters were set at nought, and Sir Ed- mund Andros was appointed governor-general of New England. This man was a cruel and unscrupulous tyrant. No act within his power was too mean or oppressive for him to perform. So general was the abhorrence of his (idministration, that, says a distinguished writer, " a deep ROGER SHERMAN. 5& gloom spread over the whole territory of New England." One of the first acts of his despotism was, to place the press under censorship. The lovely character of the man is also seen in the following regulations: " Magistrates alone were permitted to solemnize marriages, and no mar- riages were allowed until bonds with sureties were given to the governor, to be forfeited if any lawful impediment should afterwards appear. No man could remove from the country without the consent of the governor." " Fees of office, particularly in matters of probate, were exorbitant. Towns were not permitted to hold meetings but once a year, and then for the sole purpose of electing officers. All former grants of lands were considered in- valid, either because they were rendered void by the de- struction of their charter, or were destitute of the formal- ity of a seal. The people were therefore obliged to take out new patents for their lands and pay enormous patent fees, or suffer them to be granted to others, and they themselves be ejected from their hard-earned posses- sions." " In addition to this, taxes were imposed at the will of the governor-general and a few of his council, nor had the poor New Englanders the privilege of complaining, and claiming the rights of Englishmen, without being liable to fine and imprisonment. These taxes the gover- nor and council, by their act, assessed upon the several towns and directed each town to appoint a commissioner, who, with the selectmen, was ordered to assess the same on the individual inhabitants." These are but an outline of the acts of that relentless tyrant, and, as might be expected, they produced trouble and collisions. But the day of his power at length closed, a dark day for the oppressor, but joyous to the oppressed. 56 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. When his besotted master fled from his exasperated coun- try, this distinguished governor-general of all New Etig- and, his excellency, Sir Edmund Andros, was promptly placed in close confinement, so that his excellency might be in safe keeping to await the orders of his government. This Sir Edmund forgot that there was a possibility that he would out-live his worthy master on the throne, under whose protection he exercised his lordly sway over the hardy New Englanders, and that in that event he would meet a righteous retribution. The possibility became an event — the tyrant was crushed. Thus may it ever be with tyrants. The accession of William, Prince of Orange, to the throne, brought some relief to the colonies, but it was slight and of short duration. The same old dispute arose respecting the powers conferred by the charters, A vio- lent and protracted controversy was occasioned by a re- quisition from the king that a fixed and permanent sala- ry should be provided for the officers appointed by the crown. Massachusetts disputed this proposition for thir- ty years. The assembly were willing to vote, from year to year, money for the support of the governor ; but neither menaces, threats nor promises could induce them to establish a permanent salary. At lengtn the king yielded the point. The colonies were also treated most wrongfully by Great Britain, by sending her prison convicts to our shores, and making the colonies a rendezvous for felons. Against this the colonies loudly complained. The Government's justification of itself in this nefarious business was, " that in many of his majesty's colonies and plantations, there was a great want of servants, who by their labor and in- dustry, might be the means odmproving and making the ROGER SHERMAN. ^ co'onies more useful to his majesty." What an insult to the common and moral sense of our fathers ! Such were some of the grievances suffered by the colonists in their iinmease labors in their new and rugged home. Yet they were firmly attached to the parent country, despite all ihis oppression, and these plans for keeping them in hum- ble subjection. Even their treasure and their blood were often sacri. iced for the benefit and glory of England. Of their firm allegiance and heroic devotion to the mother country, no bett?r testimony can be adduced than the following: Said a distinguished member of parliament, a few years previous to the revolution, " Whenever Great Britain has declared war, the colonies have taken their part. They were engaged in king William's war, and queen Anne's war, even in their infancy. They con- quered Arcadia in the last century for us ; and we then gave it up. Again in queen Anne's war, they conquered Nova Scotia, which from that time has belonged to Great Britain. They have been engaged in more than one ex- pedition to Canada, ever foremost to partake of honor and danger with the mother country. " Well, sir, what have we done for them ? Have we conquered the country for them from the Indians? Have we cleared it? Have we drained it? Have we made it habitable? What have we done for them? I believe precisely nothing at all, but just fcee/)tng" watch and ward over their trade that they should receive nothing but from ourselves and at our own price. I will not positively say that we have spent nothing, though I don't know of any such article upon our journals; I mean any national ex- pense in setting them out as colonists. The royal mili- tary government of Nova Scotia cost indeed not a little sum ; above .£500,000 for its plantations and its first year c 53 DISTINGUISH KD SHOEMAKERS. Hid your colonies cost any thing similar, either in their outset or support, there would be something to say on that side ; but instead of that, they have been left to themselves for one hundred or one hundred and fifty years, upon the fortune and capital of private adventurers, to encounter every difficulty and danger. What towns have we built for them ? What forests have we cleared ? What country have we conquered for them from the In- dians. Name the officers — name the troops — the expe- ditions — their dates — where are they found ? Not on the journals of this kingdom. They are no where to be found. " In all the wars which have been common to us and them, they have taken their full share. But in all their dangers, in the difficulties belonging separately to their situation, in all the Indian wars which did not immedi- ately concern us, we left them to themselves to struggle through. For the whim of a minister you can bestow half a million to build a town, and to plant a royal colo- ny of Nova Scotia, a greater sum than you have bestow- ed upon every other colony together. "And notwithstanding all these which are the real facts, now that they have struggled through their difficul- ties, and begin to hold up their heads, and to show an empire which promises to be foremost in the world, we claim them and theirs as implicitly belonging to us, with- out any consideration of their own rights. We charge them with ingratitude, without the least regard to truth, just as if this kingdom for a century and a half had at- tended to no other subject ; as if all our revenue, all our power, all our thought had been bestowed upon them, and all our national debt had been contracted in the In- dian wars of America ; totally forgetting the subordina- ROGER SHERMAN. 59 tion in commerce and manufactures in which we have bound and for which at least we owe them help towards their protection." The testimony of Mr. Pownal, one of the royal gov- ernors, is of a similarly honorable character. In 1765 he said, " I profess an affection for the colo- nies, because having lived amongst those people, in a private as well as public character, I know them ; I know that in their private, social relations, there is not a more friendly, and in their political ones, a more zealously loyal people in all his majesty's dominions. When fairly and openly dealt with, there is not a people who have a truer sense of the necessary powers of government. They would sacrifice their dearest interests, for the honor and prosperity of their mother country. I have a right to say this, because experience has given me a practical knowledge and this impression of them." " The duty of a colony is affection for the mother country. Here I may affirm that in whatever frame and temper this affection can lie in the human breast, in that form by the deepest and most permanent affection it ever did lie in the breast of the American people. They have no other idea of this country than as their home ; they have no other word by which to express it; and till of late it has constantly been expressed by the name of home. That powerful affection, that love for our na(ive country, which operates in every breast, operates in this people towards England, which they consider as their native country ; nor is this a mere passive impression, a mere opinion in speculation — it has been wrought in them to a vigilant and active zeal for the service of this country." Such was the character of our fathers — their earnest and constant patriotism — in return for which we have seen aad shall see what they received. 00 DISTINSniSHBD SHOEMAKER!). During the administration of Sir Robert Walpole and Mr. Pilt, it was first proposed to tax the colonies for the purpose of drawing a revenue from them. This proposi- tion, when known to be a government measure, aroused the whole country to a sense of their rights. The shrewd Walpole and the noble and eloquent Pitt were not al- ways to be at the helm of the British government. Said Walpole, "I will leave the taxation o( the Americans for my successors, who may have more courage than I have, and are less fri 'ndly to commerce than I am." His suc- cessors undertook what that great statesman feared to do, an undertaking which cost them hundreds of millions of dollars, besides their darling colonies. Lord Grenville was the man to lead off in this un- natural measure — and he was an unnatural man — haugh- ty, self-willed and overbearing. This minister announced to Dr. Franklin, and the other agents of the colonies then residing in London in 1764, that he proposed to raise a revenue from the colonies, and should, at the ensuing ses- sion, recommend a duty on stamps. The colonial assemblies took the earliest opportunity to express their indignation. They declared the act " in- iquitous, oppressive, and without precedent in the annals of British legislation." Petitions from all quarters were sent to the agents in London, accompanied with instruc- tions to have them laid before the king and parliament. The proceedings of the people at large, were marked with less order and decorum. They were particular to manifest the abhorrence of the stamp distributors. By ri- ots, mobs and threats they compelled the stam|> officers to resign their office. They would not have manifested more resentment, had the paper been poisoned paper, in» stead of stamped paper. It Was at length driven, like ROGER SHERMAN. ^ leaves before the autumnal winds, from the land,on board armed vessels, and finally, after passing through many dangers, found its way back safely to England. Such was the fate of the stamps, but the indignation it raised among the American people cooled only into set- tled distrust, and opened between them and the British government an irreparable breach. A volume would not give a full account of the proceedings on both sides of the Atlantic concerning this measure. We will confine ourselves to one or two of the most interesting transac- tions. The American cause had some noble champions on the floor of the house of commons. Among these Gen. Conway, Alderman Beckford, Col. Barre, Mr. Jackson, and Sir William Merredith were conspicuous. A( the close of a speech in support of the stamp-bill, Charles Townshend, one of the ministers, exclaimed, " And now will these Americans, planted by our care, nourished by our indulgence until they have grown to a degree of strength and importance, and protected by our arms, will they now grudge to contribute their mite to relieve us from the burden we lie under ? " The minister had no sooner taken his seat than Col. Barre rose and replied : "They planted by your care ! No, your oppression plant- ed them in America. They fled from your tyranny to a then uncultivated and inhospitable country, where they were exposed to almost all the hardships to which human nature is liable; and among others to the cruelties of a savage foe ; the most subtile, and I will take it upon me say . the most formidable 138 DISTINGDISHE© SHOEMAKERS. the philosopher, the historian, the political astrologer. Sound heads will labor and be broken then, long years hence, when ancient, torn and moldering manuscripts shall be dug from ruined vaults and beneath old crumb- ling domes, whose foundation stone has not yet been laid. Even now the life of man is far too short to read the libraries that have been already written to show its history, its causes and effects ; and still they come. Among all these works, perhaps Biography has had its share of literary labor. The story of the men who acted in that soul-stiring tragedy of revolution — whose throes convulsed the world — whose shout summoned the na- tions of civilized Europe to the field of battle, where for twenty years the sulphureous dragon bathed his greedy jaws in blood, and quenched the life of millions, and the murderous steel devoured over all the hills and valleys of that pleasant continent, as though living, intelligent, soul-gifted men were prairie grass — has been, told, and told again, till their names are as familiar as our own house-hold words. The great ones, I mean — those whom common consent calls heroes. There's JVlirabeau, Robespierre, Danton, and Marat, — what child has not heard of them ? And there's Napoleon too, and his sat- ellites ; who, coming to the stage, drove to death that beast of revolution, to make room for another. But it is nonsense to suppose that these, and others like them, whom history loves to talk about, are the only heroes who lived and acted in those evil days, when deeds that outraged humanity and insulted Heaven fell so thick, that they trod upon each other, so crowded was the press. These are the men, who, standing boldly out before the world, exhibited in themselves the deeper pulsations of the great popular heart. But there were other men standing SIMON ANTOINE. 139 between the people and these great leaders, who were ex- ponents of the people to them, as they in turn were to the world — a second rank of leaders — full of zeal, full of animal courage, and base, low-running shrewdness. They possessed the key to the affections of the people. They were from them, and of them. Every herd of wild cattle has its leader ; so has every flock of sheep ; to which all the rest pay due deference and respect; chosen on account of greater age, keener observation, more shrewdness, better eye-sight, or superior strength and conrage. Indeed, higher qualifications, of the practical, motive kind will always lead, whether called or not — they can't help it. Such a leader of the second class was Simon Antoine, in that stormy period of the French Revolution, which ended with the "Reign of Terror," too familiar to history. He was born, as before shown, in 1736, and played away his childhood, like other boys, on the green banks of the Seine, in all the independence and privilege of dirty, ragged poverty. But we are not to infer from his connec- tion in the bloody tragedies of Iiis later years, when he seemed the very embodiment of cruelty and every atrocious sentiment and passion, that his boyhood shad- owed forth a life of more than ordinary wickedness, or less than common goodness. Far from it. There is nothing in the nature of man to call for such a judgment. We know it is very natural to suppose that the child who spends his infantile years in cruelizing flies, unlegging crickets and grasshoppers, boring out the eyes of young birds, and tormenting the cat, will by necessity make a vicious, brutal man ; and the reverse, that a cruel man must have been such a boy, appears to follow of course. Now this may not be at all true. Circumstances have much to do with the formation of human character. 140 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. Though we may not fully coincide with the idea, how- ever beautiful, that likens the child to an unsoiied sheet of white paper, upon which you may write just as and what you please, still we believe the character of a human being may be greatly modified and strangely altered. We should rather say he is like the brief (or the heads of ar- gument) which the orator takes with him to the assembly. It contains the substance of what may be a very good or a very bad oration, according as its various parts are brought out and laid open. Or, rather, like a young fruit tree in the nursery ; which has in miniature or in embryo all the pans of a fully-grown, branching tree, loaded with fruit. If it lives, it must be a fruit-tree, and in all prob- ability bear fruit. It may be cultivated and pruned into a lofty, spreading tree, or it may be dwarfed into a little, scragly shrub. It may grow erect and trim, or crooked and deformed. Its fruit may be fair, sweet and healthful, or it may be blighted, sour, withered and worm-eaten ; and though it be thus bad and bitter, its top may be cut off and ingrafted with the most beautiful of fruits. So with the child ; his qualities, passions and propensities exist, part in miniature, part in embryo, waiting to be developed into the state of perlect manhood. In education, by cir- cumstances, some may be restrained ; some may be un- duly developed ; some part of the mind may be cramped and fettered, while its strength goes to nourish and invig- orate organs more free to grow. Thus it comes to be deformed, erratic in its movements, and ugly. Or should it be left to grow and expand, in concord with Nature's best provisions, till the shade of years is on the brow, even then the force of circumstances, strong in coercive pow- er, may head down the tree, and ingraft it almost through- out with a different, viler kind of fruit. Who thought SIMON ANTOINK. 141 that the generation which was playing away its childhood and youth during the middle of the eighteenth century, would come to be leaders in a career of iniquity, when all the basest passions and propensities of the human mind, in its most savage state, seemed sublimated into fury, and driven with a demoniac power, and impious, blasphemous zeal, bidding defiance to Jehovah and to man, to the most desperate lengths of cruelty, and the most frightful ex- cesses of impiety, sacrilege and beastly obscenity ? Cer- tainly, no one, not gifted with prophetic vision that can bore into the night of coming time, and read the destiny of men. It was not, then, the peculiar and strange characteris- tics of the men, but the unusual and peculiar circum- stances of the times and the nation, which caused that tremendous outburst, that kindling up of human pas- sions and depravity. And here we may, perhaps, as well speak briefly of some of those causes, before we proceed further with the life of our subject, who, in process of time, and after variety of fortune, came to be a shoemak- er, by way of compromise with hunger; who condition- ed with him, that he might live if he would build shoes. This covenant being made, we cannot tell exactly when, he faithfully performed his part, and thereby lived. This was certainly honest, and boded nothing bad for future life, but quite the reverse ; for, as far as we have examin- ed yet, we are inclined to the opinion, that to be a shoe- maker is a pretty sure passport to honor and virtue. We certainly expected to find, among so many distin- guished characters, more than one rascal. But after a time, circumstances induced him to go to Paris, then rap- idly increasing in population, and, of course, (if they were all in the habit of wearing shoes, as doubtless they 14^ DISTINeUISHED SHOEMAKERS. were not,) holding out large inducements to the sons of leather. Be that as it may, Simon went to Paris — poor, but from all that can be gathered, honest and respectable. But to the causes which made bad men of those, who otherwise might have descended with virtuous reputation to honored graves. Not loving to go alone into this dark labyrinth, we are gl.id to let others lead us. Macauley lights us along after this manner : " It would be impossible even to glance at all the caus- es of the French Revolution within the limits to which we must confine ourselves. One thing is clear. The government, the aristocracy, and the church, were re- w arded after their works. They reaped that which they had sown. They found the nation such as they had made it. That the people had become possessed of irresistible power, before they had attained the slightest knowledge of the art of government ; that practical questions of vast moment were left to be solved by men to whom politics had been only matter of theory; that a legislature was composed of persons who were scarcely fit to compose a debating society ; that the whole nation was ready to lend an ear to any flatterer who appealed to its cupidity, to its fears, or to its thirst for vengeance — all this was the effect of misrule, obstinately continued, in defiance of solemn warnings, and the visible signs of an approaching retribution. " Even while the monarchy seemed in its highest and most palmy state, the causes of that great destruction had already begun to operate. They may be distinctly traced even under the reign of Louis the Fourteenth. That reign is the time to which the ultra Royalists refer as the Golden Age of France. It was in truth one of those periods which shine with an unnatural and delusive SIMON AXTOINE. 143 splendor, and which are rapidly followed by gloom and decay. " His person and his government have had the same fate. He had the art of making both appear grand and august, in spite of the clearest evidence that both were below the ordinary standard. Death and time have exposed both the deceptions. The body of the great king has been measured more justly than it was measured by the courtiers who were afraid to look above his shoe- tie. His public character has been scrutinized by men free from the hopes and fears of Boileau and Moliere. In the grave, the most majestic of princes is only five feet eight. In history, the hero and the politician dwin- dles into a vain and feeble tyrant, the slave of priests and won'.en, little in war, little in government, little in every thing but the art of simulating greatness. " He left to his infant successor a famished and miser- able people, a beaten and humbled army, provinces turned into deserts by misgovernment and persecution, factions dividing the court, a schism raging in the church, an im- mense debt, an empty treasury, immeasurable palaces, an innumerable household, inestimable jewels and furni- ture. All the sap and nutriment of the state seemed to have been drawn to feed one bloated and unwholesome excrescence. The nation was withered. The court was morbidly flourishing. Yet it does not appear that the associations which attached the people to the monarchy had lost strength during the reign. He had neglected or sacrificed their dearest interests ; he had struck their imaginations. The very things which ought to have made him most unpopular — the prodigies of luxury and mag- nificence with which his person was surrounded, while, beyond the enclosure of his parks, nothing was to be seen 144 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKEKS. but Starvation and despair — seemed to increase the re- spectful attachment which his subjects felt for him. That governments exist only for the good of the people, ap- pears to be the most simple and obvious of all truths. Yet history proves it to be the most recondite. We can scarcely wonder that it should be so seldom present to the minds of rulers, when we see how slowly, and through how much suffering, nations arrive at the knowledge of it. " During two generations, France was ruled by men,, who, with the vices of Louis the Fourteenth, had none of the art by which that magnificent passed off" his vices for virtues. The people had now to see tyranny naked.; That foul Duessa was stripped of her gorgeous orna- ments. She had always been hideous ; but a strange en- chantment had made her seem fair and glorious in the eyes of willing slaves. The spell was now broken; the deformity was made manifest ; and the lovers, lately so happy and so proud, turned away loathing and horror- struck. " The administration of the Regent was scarcely less pernicious, and infinitely more scandalous, than that of the deceased monarch. It was by magnificent public works, and by wars conducted on a gigantic scale, that Louis had brought distress on his people. The Regent aggravated that distress by frauds, of which a lame duck on the stock exchange, would have been ashamed. France, even while suffering under the most severe ca- lamities, had reverenced the conquerer. She despised the swindler. It seemed to be decreed that every branch of the royal family should successively incur ihe abhor- rence and contempt of the Nation. " Between the fall of the Diike of Bourbon and the death of Fleury, a few years of frugal and moderate gov- SIMON ANTOINE. 145 ernment intervened. Then recommenced the downward progress of the. monarchy. Profligacy in the court, ex- travagance in the finances, schism in the church, faction in the parliaments, unjust war terminated by ignominious peace — all that indicates, and all that produces, the ruin of great empires, make up the history of that miserable period. Abroad, the French were beaten and humbled, everywhere, by land and by sea, on the Elbe and on the Rliine, in Asia and in America. At home, they were turned over from vizier to vizier, and from sultan to sul- tan, till they had reached that point beneath which there was no lower abyss of infamy. " But unpopular as the monarchy had become, the ar- istocracy was more unpopular still ; and not without rea- son. The tyranny of an individual is far more supporta- ble than the tyranny of a caste. The old privileges were galling and hateful to the new wealth and the new knowl- edge. Every thing indicated the approach of no common revolution ; of a revolution destined to change not merely the form of government, but the distribution of properly and the whole social system ; of a revolution the effects of which were to be felt at every fire-side in France. In the van of the movement were the moneyed men, and the men of letters — the wounded pride of wealth and the wounded pride of intellect. An immense multitude, made ignorant and cruel by oppression, was raging in the rear. " We greatly doubt whether any course which could have been pursued by Louis the Sixteenth could have averted a great convulsion. The church and the aristoc- racy, with that blindness to danger, that incapacity of believing that any thing can be except what has been, which the long possession of power seldom fails togener- 146 UISTINQUISHED SHOEMAKERS. ate, mocked at the counsel which might have savfd them. They- would not have reform; and they had revolution. They would not pay a small contribution in place of the odious corvees ; and they lived to see their castles de- molished and their lands sold to strangers. " Then the rulers of France, as if smitten with judi- cial blindness, plunged headlong into the American war. They thus committed, at once, two great errors. They encouraged the spirit of revolution. They augmented at the same time those public burdens, the pressure of which is generally the immediate cause of revolutions. The event of the war carried to the height the enthusiasm of speculative democrats. The financial difficulties pro- duced by the war carried to the height the discontent of that larger body of people who cared little about theories, and much about taxes. " The meeting of the States-General was the signal for the explosion of all the hoarded passions of a century- In that assembly there were undoubtedly very able men. But they had no practical knowledge of the art of gov- ernment. They did not understand how to regulate the order of their own debates ; and they thought themselves able to legislate for the whole world. All the past was loathsome to them. All their agreeable associations were connected with the future. Hopes were to them all that recollections are to us. In the institutions of their coun- try they found nothing to love or to admire. As far back as they could look, they saw only the tyranny of one class and the degradation of another. They hated the monar- chy, the church and the nobility. They cared nothing for the states or the parliament. It was long the fashion to ascribe all the follies which they committed to the writings of the philosophers. We believe that it was misrule, and nothing but misrule, that put the sting into SIMON ANTCWNE. - 147 those writings. It is not true that the French abandoned experience for theories. They took up with theories be- cause they had no experience of good government. They had experienced so much evil from the sovereignty of kings, that they might be excused for lending a ready ear to those who preached, iq an exaggerated form, the doc- trine of the sovereignty of the people. " The glory of the National Assembly is this, that they were in truth, what Mr. Burke called them in austere irony, the ablest architects of ruin the world ever saw. They were utterly incompetent to perform any work which required a discriminating eye and a skillful hand. But the work which was then to be done was a work of devastation. They had to deal with abuses so horrible, and so deeply rooted, that the highest political wisdom could scarcely have produced greater good to mankind, than was produced by their fierce and senseless temerity. Demolition is undoubtedly a vulgar task ; the highest glory of the statesman is to construct. But there is a time for every thing ; a lime to set up and a time to pull down. The talents of the revolutionary leaders, and those of the legislator, have equally their use and their season. It is the natural, the almost universal law, that the age of in- surrections and prescriptions shall precede the age of good government, of temperate liberty, and liberal order. " And how should it be otherwise ? It is not in swad- dling bands that we learn to walk. It is not in the dark that we distinguish colors. It is not under oppression that we learn how to use freedom. The ordinary sophism by which misrule is defended is, when truly stated, this ; The people must continue in slavery, because slavery has generated in them all the vices of slaves. Because they are ignorant, they must remain under a power that has 148 " DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. made anrJ keeps them ignorant. Because they have been made ferocious by misgovernment, they must be misgov- erned forever. If the system under which the^ live was so mild and liberal, that under its operation they had be- come humane and enlightened, it would be safe to ven- ture on a change. But as this system has destroyed mo- rality, and prevented the development of the intellect : as it has turned men who might, under different training, have formed a virtuous and happy community, into savage and stupid wild beasts, therefore it ought to last forever The English Revolution, it is said, was truly a glorious revolution. Practical evils were redressed ; no excesses were committed ; no sweeping confiscations took place ; the authority of the laws was scarcely for a moment sus- pended ; the fullest and freest discussion was tolerated in parliament ; the nation showed by the calm and temperate manner in which it asserted its liberty, that it was fit to enjoy liberty. The French Revolution was, on the other hand, the most horrible recorded in history; all madness and wickedness, absurdity in theory and atrocity in practice. What folly and injustice in the revolutionary laws ! What grotesque affectation in the revolutionary ceremonies ! What fanaticism ! What licentiousness i What cruelty ! Anacharsis Clootz and Marat, feasts of the Supreme Being, and marriages of the Loire, trees of liberty, and heads dancing on pikes — the whole forms a kind of infernal farce, made up of every thing ridicu- lous and every thing frightful. This is to give freedom to those who have neither wisdom nor virtue. It is not only by bad men interested in the defence of abuses, that auguments like these have been urged against all schemes of political improvement. Some of the highest and purest of human beings have conceived such scorn SIMON ANTOINE. 149 and aversioa for the follies and crimes of the French Revolution, that they recanted, in the moment of tri- umph, those liberal opinions to which they had clung in defiance of persecution. And if we inquire why it was hat they began to doubt whether liberty were a blessing, we shall find that it was only because events had proved in the clearest manner, that liberty is the parent of virtue and order. They ceased to abhor tyranny, merely be- cause it had been signally shown, that the effect of tyran- ny on the hearts and understandings of men is more de- moralizing and more stupefying than had ever been imagined by the most zealous friend of popular rights. We believe it to be a rule without an exception, that the violence of a revolution corresponds to the degree of misgovernment which has produced that revolution. Why was the French Revolution so bloody and destruc- tive ? Why was our Revolution of 1641 comparatively mild ? Why was our Revolution of 1688 milder still ? Why was the American Revolution, considered as an in- ternal movement, the mildest of all ? There is an obvi- ous and complete solution of the problem. " The English under James the First and Charles the First were less oppressed than the French under Louis the Fifteenth and Louis the Sixteenth. The English were less oppressed after the restoration than before the great rebellion. And America under George the Third, was less oppressed than England under the Stuarts. The re- action was exactly proportioned to the pressure — the vengeance to the provocation. "The difference between Washington and Robespierre, the difference between Franklin and Barrere, the differ- ence between the destruction of a few barrels of tea, and the confisdation of thousands of square miles, the differ- 150 DISTINCUISHBO SHOEMAKERS. ence between the tarring and feathering a tax-gatherer, and the massacres of September, measure the difference between the government of America under the rule of England, and the government of France under the rule of the Bourbons." We might go a great way further, and not find half so much clear and sound philosophy. It is difficult to gain an adequate conception of the miseries and corruption, in which the French people, particularly of Paris, were merged. All the accumulated evils of long centuries of tyranny, were concentrated upon one generation, and that generation had toiled on with the fatal burden to the very verge of a frightful chasm. The idea thai the whole great people of France were made for the good of one man, named king, seemed to possess the entire soul of court and sovereign. It was, indeed, the first, last, and only article of their political creed. On it they built their faith and practice. Under it their people suffered. War succeeded war, tax suc- ceeded tax, till the land was drained of laborers to till the soil, and the soil without laborers refused to yield her increase. The provinces were in a fair way to become a depopulated waste. Nor had the morals of the people escaped unimpaired. Corruption, such as had scarce visited the earth since the days of Nero and Caligula, enveloped cou'rt, capital and country. Vice, in every nameless form, had left its cav- erns and hiding-places, and stalked abroad in open sun- light. The court, like a deep flowing fountain, poured out its thousand streams of black pollution upon Paris, whose deadly taint rose up like pestilential vapor, and hovered around the provincial cities — a loathsome, de- vouring curse. ^Il SIMON ANTOINE. 151 Literature was abased. The press, which should yield forth living streams of purity, for the cleansing and invig- orating of the popular mind, had become a spring of mor- bid, licentious impurity. So great was the tendency to literary corruption, that the writings of such sober Phi- losophers as Montesquieu and Rousseau, did not entirely escape its influence ; while the great, the talented, the vigorous Madam Roland, herself by no means free, prais- ed the works deeply stained with its blackening fumes. What shall we say, then, of the thousand and one wri- ters of the lighter sort — of what may be called the yeWow-co»ercc? literature of those times? Oh, horrors! what a slimy reservoir of filth, with vulgarity and beastly obscenity oozing out at every pore ! Religion, too, that foundation-rock of civil liberty, had suffered in the general wreck. The priesthood held the oracles of God. But they treated them as though they were but the fabulous records of a former age. The people, from long habit of generations, and from teaching, were inclined to look to the clergy for spiritual and moral guidance. Looking there, they often heard the truth ; and then saw him who taught it, practice it into a lie. But oftener, the priest, having never learned the import of the oracles he held, instead of throwing more light into the window of the soul, drew a veil of deeper, thicker darkness. He hedged in the way, and showed the peo- ple crooked roads, which reason, without looking for the right, could see were wrong. Most, preach as they might, acted as if they believed there was no way, no God, no hereafter. There is a certain idea of consistency in the human mind, which cannot be yielded up, while the last spark of that Heaven-infused principle of reason is left. That 169 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. ;^- there was something wrong and inconsistent in the re- ligious establishment, could not escape the observation of a people of far less intelligence than the French of the last century. An intellectual day was breaking upon France, such as had never yet arisen there. Great phi- losophic minds were peering up here and there, and full of an inspiration that stirred the depths of thought, they hove up to the view of the great masses, new and hidden ideas. These great minds, having caught none of the true celestial fire from off the altar of the church, which like a cold northern iceberg, had no principle of vitality in it, or if any, it was smothered in the fumes of priestly debauchery, proclaimed all religion false — a humbug, designed by worthless quacks to cheat mankind. The command is " search and see ;" but Rome had nullified that law of Heaven ; and France was a province of Rome. They did not search ; but declared the Bible — " the only star, By which the bark of man could navigate The sea of life, and gain the coast of bliss Securely ; only star which rose on time, And, on its dark and troubled billows, still, As generation, drifting swiftly by, Succeeded generation, threw a ray Of Heaven's own light" — to be a fable of the past — a rope of superstition where- with to bind and enslave the ignorant ; and though " it contained Heaven's code of laws to men, entire," they pronounced it a baseless, delusive falsehood. Thus in words the philosopher endorsed the actions of the priest, and said, there is no way, no God, no hereafter. The people heard and believed it; and thus slipped from their moorings, they drifted out upon a broad, bottomless ocean, broken-helmed, compass and chronometer ashore. SIMON ANTOINE. 153 With this faint outline of the political, moral and re- ligious condition of France, we may, perhaps, be able to form some slight idea, however inadequate, of the state of the popular mind. It also sheds some light on the habits and modes of thinking of our obscure shoemak- er, plying the implements of trade on a dark street in the suburbs of Paris. Revolutions, and the French Revolution more than any other, find their men in the lower classes — in what, in peaceful times, would be called the under-current of so- ciety. When conservative characters are out of use, and destruction has become the order of the day, the talented of those orders in the state not accustomed to rule, are called out and put in requisition. Just so when the Revolution burst upon France in 1789 ; when every thing was reversed, and the under-current of society ran uppermost, Simon Antoine stood forward as the natural leader of his rebellious section, and early became a mem- ber or instrument of the Commune of Paris, which ob- tained such a detestable preeminence among the sanguin- ary conclaves of that era of atrocity. At first the actions and demands of the people, when viewed as revolutionists, may be called moderate. They only asked for that which a community deprived of should be ashamed not to seek. They asked for freedom from unjust taxation, and freedom of political representation. They were hungry ! and their children cried for the bread which the tax gatherer tore from their pale lips to put in the coffers of the king, to be squandered in utijust and unproductive wars, and lavished on a proud, con- temptuous and worthless nobility. And when they saw their just demands, which no people possessing the faint- est shadow of liberty could live without making, resisted o 164 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. by a tyrannical abuse of the royal prerogative, they could endure it no longer. They saw the parliament of Paris forced to register a decree of taxation, which was to im- merse them in a debt of 500,000,000 francs. They saw the assembly of the States-General, the first time for near two centuries, called together to deliberate for the public good, driven from their hall, that it might be fitted up for a display of royal pomp and power ; and beheld those representatives of the people record their oath in solemn earnestness, amid a concussion of the warring elements which rent the clouds above them, that they would never retire from their post till they had established the gov- ernment on a different and freer basis. They heard the royal mandate which denounced and dissolved that as- sembly in which their hopes were centered, and saw ^it fall harmless at their feet. Conscious of great wrongs, they were determined on a great revenge. Mutual suf- fering had made the people mutual sympathizers in a common cause. And however liable the higher classes of the state were to the charge of apathy, the people showed no slumberous disposition. Now came the dark side of the terrible reality ; one whose every feature is black, whose every recollection is bitter. Robbery, murder and confiscation became the order of the day. Crime followed crime. Blood trod on the heels of bloo'l. Every passion of the human heart seemed goaded into frenzy. Under the workings of this dire enthusiasm, men were transmuted into monsters. The body seemed emptied of the natural soul of man, and filled to bursting with the lusts of demons fresh from the vaults of perdition. Murder became a trade, cruelty a pastime; envy became a gnawing, insatiable rage. Ah, they wanted a controlling belief in the Christian religion ! SniON ANTOINE. 165 Cut loose from all restraint, and left to their own guid- ance on the raging sea of their infuriate passions, they needed faith in that God whom they declared was net; they needed that Bible they had cast aside as worthless raffs, for a sheet anchor in the storm. Had the people of France been governed by the high principles which guided our revolutionary fathers, how different would have been the progress and result of the French Revolution. In the smooth current of life, a man's principles will be scarcely perceived in his actions;' but let a general uprising come that rouses the mind and passions to their utmost intensity, and then the con- victions and principles, the teachings of earlier days, become strangely visible. How different was Simon An- toine from Roger Sherman ! The difference between the moral and religious principles and notions of the two, will very nearly measure the difference in their charac- ters and actions. The one was famous for his wisdom and moderation, the other for his folly and madness ; the cue was known as the friend and exemplar of every virtue, the other as the embodiment of every vice; the one led the counsels of patriotic statesmen to works of durable goodness, the other led the ragged pikemen of Paris to riot, robbery and murder. Roger Sherman stood up for peace and public order in the American Conjiress, Simon Antoine raved for blood, terror and conscription in the community of Paris. Let this example teach us to guard well the sacred character of our moral and religious institutions. They are the bulwark, sign, seal, pledge and covenant of our national ssifety. Our dearest interests, the interests of generations yet to come, are bound up in the love, rev- erence and conscientious regard with which we cherish 156 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. the Bible, and study and practically exemplify the duties it enjoins. The results of those causes of the French Revolution which occasioned such a change of popular character, should sink, like a warning voice from the tomb of time, deep into our hearts. They should make us hug, with more than filial affection, this richest legacy of Heaven to man. We may cast it aside, and enshrine Reason and Na- ture in its place, and find our principles of morality in the social wants and interests of men ; while all goes peacefully around us, our loss of sound principles, the fact that we are off from the only moral anchoring-ground of life, may not be strongly obvious. Like a gallant ship on some rocky, reef-girt coast, in a calm, we may float safely and pleasantly along without dreaming of un- safe anchorage. But let some jarring commotion agitate the social state, and call up all the sleeping passions of the soul in their collected, resistless might, like the same ship, tempest-driven on that fearful shore, we must go down amid the rush of discordant elements, or, surviv- ing the storm, be towed back, a dismantled wreck, to that moral anchoring-ground we unsafely ventured to con- temn. Reader, as you love yourself, as you love your country and the world, I beseech you be watchful, be jealous of every thing that may impairthose institutions which have been so long the highest honor, the brightest ornament, the firmest security of this pilgrim-land. They are com- mitted to our keeping. Let us prove ourselves worthy of that high trust — faithful guardians. Let no enemy lay sacrilegious hands on this Palladium of our nation's hopes. Let the example, the doom and the punishment of the French people write our warning. They spurned SIMON ANTOINE. I^ the Bible and its God, and listened to the insidious teach- inffs of an unsound philosophy — and terrible was their suffering. But let us proceed with our subject. In the strangely inverted state of society to which we have referred, when ignorance and baseness were the sure passports to promo- tion, and the road to preferment was down-hill, Antoine became a bright and shining ornament in the powerful jacobin fraternity. A Sans-Cullolte by birth and acquir- ed endowments, it needed no painful abjuration on his part to entitle him to the fraternal hug of those grisly professors of " the rights of man." It was a most sym- pathetic affiliation. Others might come down, and make great relinquishment of virtue, of honor, of politeness, and something like humanity and natural affection, to at- test their devotion to the cause of glorious democracy ; — Simon, never. A walking diploma of qualifications, all he had to do was to put on the red cap, carry a pike, and roar applause to the eloquence of Robespierre, Dan- ton, Marat, Barrere and their grim associates, to show himself an accredited son of liberty — a worthy recipient of the baptismal sacrament in this graceless church of assassins. Here, watching and stirring the great Jacobinical seeth- ing-pot of revolution, our shoemaking Simon received the finishing stroke of his education. And why should he not reach the climax of perfection in a school where he heard such masters as Robespierre cant in whining adulation about the wrongs and rights of the " poor peo- ple, the sublime people, the virtuous people;'' and Marat, who cried for blood I ke a thirsty jackal of the des- ert — who talked of murder and cruelty as an Eng- lishman talks of his dinner, or an American of mak- ing money? "Give rae," says Marat, " Give roe two 168 DISTINOUISHED SHOEMAKERS. hundred Neapolitans — a dagger in their riglit hand — in their left a muff to serve fur a target — with them I will traverse France and complete the revolution." Then he entered into an elaborate disquisition, to show how 260,000 men could be slaughtered at one day's work. That number, varying upwards to 300,000, was a peculiar favorite with that infuriated monster. These jacobin societies branched out into all the de- partments of France, each adding a new link to the chain of tyranny which netted the empire, and bound the stu- pefied people to the great moving influence of Paris. The parent society at Paris, to which Simon belonged, held complete control over the entire machinery of revo- lut'ion. Secretly and openly, they exerted a tremendous influence over the lower orders of the people. With one word, the community of Paris, the supreme head and most efficient exponent of the jacobin faction, could raise a forest of pikes, cartloads of which they had distributed in every section ; and nnsheath ten thousand daggers with another. With these instruments of terror, follow- ed by the deadly guillotine, that brought up the rear, they overawed the National Assembly, and made it a convenient mouth-piece. The various schemes of insurrection and massacre in which this black saint of ruin was engaged, would defy our description, and transcend our limits. When the deadly tocsin was pealed forth from every stee|)le in Paris, at noonday or at midnight, to call the rabble to their work of iiestruction, we can imagine, as the multitude were gathering from every quarter, with what zeal the enthusiastic Simon siezed his oft-reddened pike from the leather loops where it hung over his work-bench, for or- nament and ready convenience ; we can see him put SIMON ANTOINK. 159 himself at the head of his obedient suburb, and lead them to the onset. We can figure in our minds the piirt he acted when that old prison-house of despotism, the Bastile, fell, on the night of the 14lh July, 1791, amid the triumphant shouts of an exulting people ; the part he played in the terrible massacre of September, of the same year ; and, on the eventful tenth of August, 1792, when the terrorists triumphed over the king. During these thrilling scenes, which followed each other in rapid suc- cession, Simon Antoine gained a not unenvied preem- inence among his guilty associates. His hands were dyed to the arm-pits in the blood of his brethren. He had the unbounded confidence of the community of Paris , and received the high approval of his master, Robespierre — and the friendship, if such a thing could be said to possess such a sentiment. Being employed as an agent of the Commune in the prison of the Temple, he was one of the chief among those who tormented the unfortunate Louis the Sixteenth, when on the eleventh of July, 1792, he was committed to that gloomy castle. Under this barbarous jailor, and his kindred spirits, what cruel insults, and studied, mali- cious contempt did not that misguided monarch and his refined and noble family endure ? But they suffered with all the heroism of martyrs, with all the patience of Chris- tians. One of the men commissioned to guard the royal cap- tive, whom we conclude from the reply must have been- Antoine, not being relieved at the proper hour, the king kindly expressed his hopes that he would suffer no in- convenience from the delay. " I came here," answered the ruffian, " to watch your conduct, not for you to trou- ble your&eif. wUb.oiij9y|* ^Nooe^'^Jbe, added, fixing his hat 160 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. firmly on his brow, " least of all, you, have any business to concern themselves with it." On another occasion, Simon seemed to exhibit the remnant of a feeling, which might, with a liberal degree of charity, be called human- ity ; for it is asserted, that seeing joy testified by the queen and Madame Elizabeth, at being allowed to dine with the king, he exclaimed, " I believe these confound- ed women will make me cry." Whether the creature actually did weep, deponent saith not. If he did, croco- dile tears must have flowed like large warts dovni his dry, unwashed and hairy cheeks. But we are confident that he was not troubled with the above named feeling afterwards — it went out then. When the king was brought before the Convention to undergo an examination, on the 11th of December, 1792, his little son, whose promising talents had been early de- veloped by careful instruction, and whose society had greatly solaced the rigors of confinement, was forcibly taken from him. They never met each other afterwards. The father exhibited more intense affliction at this wan- ton cruelty than at any other indignity he had suffered from his steel-hearted jailers. What then must have been the feelings of the Dauphin, yet a child ! Just be- fore being separated, the royal prisoners were playing at a game called Siam ; and in no way could the young prince get beyond the number sixteen. " That is a very unlucky number," exclaimed the boy. " True, indeed, my child," answered the king ; " I have long had reason to think so." But the child, heir of the royal line of Louises, now obnoxious to the fierce hatred of the triumphant factions, being separated from his father, must have a keeper. The Community of Paris, well acquainted where faithful SIMON ANTOINE. 161 ministers of their will were to be found, looked among their trusty band of jacobins for an instrument of their hatred to the unhappy child. Simon Antoine, as the most ignorant and wicked of that infamous crew, was se- lected for his well-earned preeminence in deeds of fiend- ish atrocity. He asked of his employers, "What was to be done with the young wolf-whelp ; was he to be slain 1" "No." "Poisoned?" "No." "Starved to death?" " No." " What then ?" " He was to be got rid of" Antoine comprehended his terrible commission. A few months before, he had met with three thousand shoemak- ers at the Place Louis Quinze, to deliberate on the price of shoes ; now he was to deliberate on the capacity for misery and suffering, and the price of cruelty. And, " in the gloomy recesses of a mind capacious of such things," he contrived to ruin mind and body both, of the helpless youth entrusted to his charge. With an invent- ive refinement of cruelty unknown to ordinary demons, he feasted his ravenous appetite upon the tender sensi- bilities of innocent childhood. And while his masters were sending their daily sacrifice of victims to the guil- lotine, (that sovereign ruler of France,) which every morning made the sewers of the Place de Revolution run crimson with the blood of innocence, which stood in pools around the scaffold where from fifty to an hundred severed heads, with fixed and glazing eyes, were staring in the last mortal agony ; — while the plow was passed over the grimmed and blackened squares of once pros* perous Lyons, where Jacobinical rage and vengeance had been wreaked upon the inhabitants, and a monument erected, inscribed, " Lyons resisted the Republic ; Ly- ons is no more !" — when La Vendee was lefl a blacken- ed memorial of hatred and revenge, by ruin and deyaat 162 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. tation, with scarce an inhabitant ; — when Nantes and Marseilles were decimated for the slaughter, and the deadly guillotine — too moderate in the work of death, though its reeking steel rose and fell, from sunrise to- twilight, and severed heads were heaped in pyramids like cannon balls in an armory — was aided by bringing whole crowds of prisoners together and pouring among them the grape and canister of loaded batteries, ranged and filled for the .work of devastation, and boats and gal- leys filled with their living freight of old and young, . male and female, young girls of sixteen and boys of twelve, were scuttled and went down in the dark waters of the Loire, and children were tost from pike to pike along the ranks of soldiers whom lust and unlicensed anarchy had turned to demons ; — Simon Antoine exer- cised his skill in a more secret, silent way, and with a horrid zest that made him grin with triumphant exulta- tion. •" To take a child at the tender age of seven, in the midst of childhood dreams and playfulness and inno- cence, from the fond embrace of parental love, and con- fide him to the tender mercies of such a guardian, will make angels weep — should makehumanity sick at heart. Compared to it, the doom of a prisoner in the hands of American savages is mercy ; the tortures of the Spanish Inquisition were the benevolent effusions of essential love. True to his infernal trust, and his own base in- stincts, Antoine quenched the vital energy, emaciated the body, and broke the free spirit of his victim, by beat- ings, and fasts, and, vigils, the recital of which chills the blood. And then, to dry up the deep, pure fountains of the soul, he taught his boyish lips to curse his father and mother, and blaspheme the name of his Maker, whom iie U ( SIMON ANTOINE. 163 had learned to reverence and adore. He compelled him, on pain of long hunger and suspended sleep, to sing the hateful " Carmagnole," and cry " Long live the Sans- Cullottes.'' And yet a lower deep — more bitter still than death, more cruel than the grave — he poured down his throat the destroying, damning draught of intoxica- tion, which consumes the heaven-infused principles and God-like attributes of the immortal mind, and blots out the last lineaments of humanity. Thus, from his merciless rage and insatiable crueUy — the poor child died a living death of years — long years of bitter, nameless wo. But why dwell longer on this dark type of human character. His day came at last. Robes- pierre, that black Sun of the Revolution, with all his gloomy satellites, was cast down like Lucifer, from the culminating point of his dark, terrible dominion. On the 28th of July, 1794, Simon Antoine, with master and protector, was carried to the guillotine, where mercy, bathed in tears, stood pleading for his execution. 164 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. HANS SACHS. This eminent man, whose poetry has gained him a high place in the esteem of his countrymen, was born in the first part of the sixteenth century, and was a resident of Nuremberg ; where he followed his calling, as shoemaker, with commendable diligence. He wrote abundance of poetry during the intervals of leisure, which his severe industry enabled him to obtain. He was a man of deep thought, and quick perception, and remarkably endowed with the gift of expressing his ideas for the benefit and amusement of others — and he certainly had the merit of being one of the first poets of Germany. Hans Sachs was a coteinporary and warm friend of Luther, and cheer- ed and aided that great reformer on his way in no stinted measure. Himself a reformer, in his own quiet way, he wrote the songs of the people — and some writer has most justly remarked, " Let me make the songs of the people, and I don't care who makes their laws." " His poem entitled the ' Morning Star,' " says Coler- idge, " was the first production that appeared in praise and support of Luther ; and an excellent hymn of Hans Sachs', which has been deservedly translated into almost all the European languages, was commonly sung in the Protestant churches, whenever the heroic reformer visit- ed them. " Of this man's genius, five folio volumes, with double •oIuEnnSy art txtant in print, and ntariy an tqual number HANS SACHS. 165 in manuscript ; yet the indefatigable bard takes care to inform his readers, that he never made a shoe the less, but had virtuously reared a large family, by the labor of his hands." He died in 1576, leaving a numerous circle of friends to mourn his departure, and a grateful people to cherish and embalm his memory, 166 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. WILLIAM GIFFORD. No stronger argument against aristocractic and mon- archical forms of government is necessary, tlian the pover- ty and degradation which prevail so universally among the masses, over whom such governments are established. As long as this state of things is so notorious, the fine- spun theories of tory logicians and econonnsts, the illib- eral and inconclusive reasoning of learned aristocrats, are all in vain. In England — the proudest and mightiest power in the world — we find the people degraded to such an extreme, that one-seventh of the whole population are paupers, and two-thirds of the remainder are but little better off! They arc neglected in respect to both body and mind ; and if they can by hard, constant labor, get enough of something to eat, to protract life, their rulers feel safe from riots and insurrections. Without any system of education, without schools, libraries, or apparatus for the instruction of the youth, without leisure to attend to them in case these were provided, when mere children they are put to work ^br life, to get their bread. What a spec- tacle does their laboring population present — struggling with all their energies to escape starvation ! It is not surprising, therefore, that we hear of so few of the lower classes of England becoming distinguished for learning and great talents. On the contrary, it is the more surprising that we hear of so many who have dis- tinguished themselves. WILLIAM GIFFORD. Id?' The pampered sons of fortune are pushed forward in- to every place of honor and emolument, and are alone destined to occupy all stations requiring genius and learn- ing. Influential and wealthy friends secure the high position for them, and they have nothing to do, but pre- pare themselves for the place of iheir ambition, with ev- ery possible facility to aid them. Few, then, must they be, who, from the toil-doomed ranks of the people, can break the spell, and rise to em- inence. But some there are who have ascended the rug- ged steep, beating down every obstacle by the force of their genius, and linked their names and fame with the learning, arts and literature of their native land. Conspicuous among these heroes from humble life, is the name of William Gifford. lie was born in Ashbur- ton, Devonshire, England, in KST. His father, a dissi- pated n)an, was a seaman, and was once second in com- mand of an armed transport. lie attempted to excite a riot in a melhodist chapel, and fled from his country to escape punishment. William's mother possessed three or four small fields, and with these scanty means, assist- ed him to attend school where he learned to read. Says Gifford, " I cannot boast much of my acquisitions at this school ; they consisted mostly of the contents of the * child's spelling,' but from my mother, who had stored up the literature of a country town — which about a half cen- tury ago, amounted to little more than what was dissem- inated by itinerent ballad singers, or ratlier readers — I had acquired much curious knowledge of Catskin, and the Golden Bull, and the Bloody Gardener, and mr.ny other histeriea equally instructive and amusing." When he was seven jearsold, his father returned from sea, possessed of considerable property ; but he soou 168 DTSTINeUISHED SHOEMAKERS. squandered the most of it away, and died about four years afterwards, a victim of intemperance. About a year after the death of his father, William lost his best, and as it seemed afterwards, his only friend — his mother. She left nothing to her children but the evidence of her love and anxiety for them, and the example of her pa- tience and forbearance towards her dissolute husband. He was not quite thirteen when his mother died, and his little brother, the only child besides himself, was two years old. This brother was sent to the work-house, while he went to live with his god-father, named Carlile. This man sent him to school at first, but just as he began to make good progress in arithmetic, his favorite study, Carlile, unwilling to incur the expense, took him from school after he had attended only three months, intend- ing to employ him at home as a plow-boy. His strength, however, was not sufficient for this kind of service, and his master next determined that he should be sent out to Newfoundland, to go into a store-house. But when Wil- liam was presented to the man who was to fit him out, he was declared to be too small. Determined, however, to rid himself of his charge, Carlile then proposed to send him out a fishing in one of the Torkay fishing boats. Young Gifford remonstrated against this, and escaped this wretched business by consenting to go on board a coaster. At Brixham a coaster was found, and at the age of thirteen, he entered this toilsome service. " It will be easily conceived," says Gifford, " that my life was a life of hardships. I was not only a ship-boy on the high and giddy n^ast, but also in the cabin, where every menial office fell to my lot ; yet if I was restless and discontented, it was not so much on account of this, as my being precluded from all possibility of reading; WILLIAM GIFFORD. 169 as my master did not possess, nor do I recollect of seeing, during the whole time of my abode with him, a single book of any description, except the ' Coasting Pilot.'" Life, doubtless, presented a gloomy prospect to the little sailor, as he ran about the beach bare-footed and ragged, at Brixham. He thought himself forgotten by all, an outcast in the world. But the severest and bitter- est of all was, to be deprived the privilege of studying arithmetic, and having books to read. But he was re- memi)ered and pitied ; for he was an object of commis- seration. The women of Brixharn, carrying fish to Ash- burton, his native town, to market, represented his suf- fering condition to the people there, in such a manner that it excited their indignation, so that Carlile thought it prudent to send and take him home. In a few days he returned to his " darling pursuit." as he calls arithmetic, and in a short time, he was the best scholar in school — so rapid was his progress. He assisted his master on extraordinary occasions, and re- ceived a trifle for his services. This appears to- have suggested the thought to him, that he might engage with him as a regular assistant, and thereby be enabled to support himself. But he had another more important object in view. His former teacher was quite old and infirm, and he flattered himself that he might possibly succeed him. '* I was," says he, " in my fifteenth year when I built these castles; a storm, however, was collecting which unexpectedly burst upon me, and swept them all away. On mentioningmy liitle plan to Carlile, he treated it with the utmost contempt ; and told me in his turn, that as I had learned enou;jh, and more than enough at school, he must be considered as having fairly discharged bis duty 170 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. (so indeed, he had); he added that he had been negocia- ting with .1 shoemaker of respectability, who had liberal- ly agreed to take me, without fee, as an apprentice. I was so shocked at this inieiligence, that I did not retnon- strate, but went in sullcnness and silence to my new master, to whom, on the first of January, 1772, I was bound till I should attain the age of twenty-one." At this time, the Bible, a black-letter romance, a f^ew old magazines, and the Imitation of Thomas k Kempis, were the only books he had read. The deep dislike he felt for his new occupation, pre- vented him from making much progress in it, and conse- quently he became the common drudge of the family in which he resided. He had not yet even given up all hope of succeeding Mr. Smerdon as teacher, and continued to prosecute his favorite study whenever he had an ojpor- tunity. When it became known to his master, in what manner GifFord spent his few leisure moments, fewer still were allowed him. The motive for this brutal treatment was apparent, when Gilford learned that his master de- signed that his son should have the same situaticm as teacher, which he hi r.self desired. A treatise on algebra, given to him by a young lady, was the only book which he possessed at this time. But this was of little use to him, as it supposed the reader to understand simple equations, and he knew nothing about it. But the treasure was at length unlocked in the fol- lowing manner, given in his own words. " My master's son had purchased ' Fenning's Introduction ;' this was precisely what I wanted — but he carefully concealed it from me, and I was indebted to chance alone for stumb- ling upon his hiding-place. I sat up the greater part of several nights successively, and before he suspected that WILLIAM GIPFORD. 171 his treatise was discovered, had completely mastered it; I could now enter upon my own, and that carried me pretty far into the science. This was not done without difficulty. I had not a farthing on earth, nor a friend to give me one ; pen, ink and paper, therefore, (in despite of the flippant remark of Lord Oxford,) were for the most part as completely out of my reach, as a crown and scep- ter. There wus indeed a resource ; but the utmost cau- tion and secrecy were necessary in applying it. I beat out pieces of leather as smooth as possible, and wrought my problems on them with a blunted awl; for the rest, my memory was tenacious, and I could multiply and di- vide to a great extent." What an example of determined, persevering effort is here given, for the benefit of his craft, who, lack what else they may, certainly cannot lack pen, ink and paper. Come, reader, let this be a lesson to teach us, that pov- erty, the want of the privileges of education, books, teachers, &.C., are no apology for our not trying to edu- ucate ourselves. We are always and every where bound to try; to be successful is another thing — yet how cer- tain the one to follow the other ! Gifford was now fastapproaching better days. When he scarcely knew the name of poetry, some verses were compf)sed by one of his acquaintances ; this induced him to try his hand at verse-making, and he succeeded in composing about a dozen pieces of rhymes. These he recited to his associates, who were greatly delighted, and spread bi!< fame to such a degree, that GifFt)rd was in- vited to repeat them in other circles. Here he also gain- ed gre It applause, and what was of more importance to him, a little money. Sometimes he received sixpence in an evening. " To me," he remarks, " who had lived ITS DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. in the absolute want of money, such a resource seemed a Peruvian mine. I furnished myself, by degrees, with pa- per, &c., and what was of more importance, with books of geometry and of the higher branches of algebra, which I cautiously concealed." His master soon heard of his verse-making, and was enraged at the idleness and uselessness of such perform- ances ; but especially at the ludicrous references to him- self and his workmen, which his youthful productions contained. He seized his books and papers, and posi- tively forbade his ever again repeating his compositions. To add to his misfortunes, the master whom he was still, hoping to succeed, died, and another filled his place. This was too much for him to bear ; his hopes blasted, his spirits broken — even the resources of his own mind were denied him for the purpose of self-improvement ! He says he sank by degrees into a sort of corporeal tor- por ; or if roused into activity by the spirit of youth, he wasted the exertion in splenetic and vexatious tricks, which alienated the few friends which compassion had left him. The term of his service was now drawing toward an, end, and he began to hope again, as he beheld in the distance the dawning of the day of his deliverance. Al- most six long years had he toiled at a trade which he says " he hated with a perfect hatred;" about one re- mained, as he thought, for him to serve; but Providence had ordered otherwise. The friendless was to find a friend — a benefactor indeed I He was found in this humble situation, in his twenti- eth year, by Mr. William Cookesley, " a name," says Gidbrd, " never to he pronounced by riiC without venera-, tion." The report that was circulated among the people. WILLIAM GIFFORD. 173 of Gifford's poetry, had reached Mr. Cookesley, and excited his curiosity to see him and ascertain the correctness of the reports. The interview awakened a deep interest in behalf of the poor shoemaker, and he resolved to help him out of his miserable condition. Miserable, indeed ! a spirit longing for room and means, in and by which to enlarge itself; eager to burst its confines and dwell in the infinity of knowledge ; crushed and degraded to the capacity of a menial, by unfeeling tyrants, jealous of his genius ! Happy youth ! the day of jubilee has come! Thou has found a benefactor worthy of thee, and hereafter thou shalt be a man ! This gentleman did not pity the shoemaker without corresponding effort for his rescue. This was not that passive sympathy, which exists but during a breath, and that breath spent in wishing well. He went to work. Having procured a few of Gifford's verses, he circulated them among his friends and acquaintances, and when they had become. familiar with his name, he started a subscription for him. It ran thus ; " A subscription for purchasing the remainder of the time of William Gifford, and for enabling him to improve himself in writing and English grammar." Enough was subscribed to pay his master six pounds for the remainder of his time, and to maintain him at school a few months. His patrons were pleased with his progress, and renewed their subscription, so that he was provided with schooling another year. In two years and two months from the day of his emancipation, his teach- er pronounced him prepared for the University. His kind-hearted and zealous patron established him at col- lege, and pledged himself ft)r the means necessary lo support him until he should be graduated. But the good 1T4 DISTINGUISHED SHOEMAKERS. man died, before he could safely anticipate the future celebrity of the object of his charities,