projects as innocent, and as friendly to the best interests of mankind, as ours." He concludes his farewell to his friends by committing them all, though in religious persuasion differing from himself, "to the protection and blessing of that Great Being whose we are, and whom, I trust, we all serve, and who established that course of nature which is the object of our common investigation;" and then he prays, "with the greatest esteem and affection, for a happy reunion with them all in another state of being." Would to God that the fervent pursuit of science had in all cases the effect of producing a temper of mind equally calm, equally devout, and therefore equally happy! (says the author of Watt's life). In 1786 Mr. Watt and Mr. Boulton went to Paris, by invitation of the French government, in order to erect steam engines in that country. They were cordially greeted by many eminent men of science, and Watt gaily described himself as having been on this occasion "drunk from morning till night with Burgundy and undeserved praise;" although no one could be more temperate with one, or modest under the other. The skilful partners had soon to suffer from encroachments on their patents, and in four years they had to pay, for daw expenses in defending their rights, between £5,000 and £6,000. At the expiration of the original patent, in 1800, the two fathers having advanced far upon the toilsome journey of life, they determined to resign the cares and fatigues of business to their sons. Other inventors arose; and, as Watt said, "I do not think that we are safe a day to an end in this enterprising age. One's thoughts seem to be stolen before one speaks them. It looks as if nature had taken an aversion to monopolies, and put the same thing into several people's heads at once, to prevent them; and I begin to fear that she has given over inspiring me, as it is with the utmost difficulty I can hatch anything new." It is right to record, amongst other advantages, that Mr. Watt possessed a valuable assistant-a Mr. Murdock-who had always followed his master's fortunes, and who at last received a salary of £1,000 a year. From 1830 he lived in retirement, and in 1839 his remains were placed near his friends, Messrs. Boulton and Watt, in Handsworth Church. Amongst the minor inventions of the ingenious Watt, we must not omit to name his machine for drawing in perspective, one for copying letters, another for measuring the weight of fluids, a regulator lamp, a plan for heating buildings by steam, an arithmetical machine, one for drying linen, and a steam carriage for use on common roads. As a mark of gratitude to the University of Glasgow, Watt left money in trust to award an annual prize to a successful student for an essay on mechanics, chemistry, and other branches of natural philosophy; and he established a library for the youth of Greenock, his native town. Manifold were his gifts to console the poor and relieve the suffering, but those were given with an injunction to conceal his name. He made many foreign friends too, especially amongst men of science. In a simple and touching letter from a German lady, we see the kind of impression he produced by his benevolent manner. She writes, in her imperfect English, "I was happy to behold you with a new conviction, that the very great man is a very good man to. I admire you for the first and bless you for the second. May your sons partake of your spirit and character." When he became a landowner and a wealthy man, he was twice requested to become sheriff of the county, but he refused the honour, as, he said, the powers of his mind and body were nearly worn out, being then seventy. He very justly remarked, "I have laboured very hard for the public during the greater part of my life, and hope that I have been of some use.' "He had retired from business," he added, "with a very moderate fortune, in order to enjoy that quiet for which he was then alone fitted." His last favourite occupation was that of completing a diminishing machine for copying busts and statues. His custom was to rise early, to answer letters requiring attention, then, after breakfast, to proceed to a workshop adjoining his bedroom, attired in a woollen surtout, his leathern apron, and rustic hat, which he had worn some forty years, and there go on with his machine. He succeeded with it so far as to produce specimens, which he gave to his friends, as the " production of a young artist just entering his eighty-third year." The machine was never completed-his only unfinished work. He passed away quietly from the world on the 19th of August, 1819. He had said to his mourning friends, with devout resignation, "I am very sensible of the attachment you show me, and I hasten to thank you for it, as I have come to my last illness." A statue of him, by Chantrey, is placed in Handsworth Churchyard, where he lies buried. When it was first uncovered, before his old servants at the factory, it so powerfully reminded them of their former master that they lifted up their voices and wept. The daughter of Mr. Galton, one of the Lunar Society, describes Watt as being "tall, of a noble appearance, with manners eminently open and cordial; he took the lead in conversation, with a social heart, and a manner like that arising from position, wealth, and habitual command. When he entered a room, men of letters, men of science-nay, military men, artists, ladies, even little children, thronged around him. "I remember" (she says) "a celebrated Swedish artist having been instructed by him that rats' whiskers make the most pliant paint-brushes. Ladies would appeal to him on the best means of devising grates, curing smoky chimneys, warming their houses, and obtaining fast colours. I can speak, from experience, of his teaching me how to make a dulcimer, and improve a Jew's harp." When he visited Edinburgh, in his eighty-second year, Sir Walter Scott said of him, "The alert, kind, benevolent old man had his attention alive to everyone's questions, his information at everyone's command. His talent and fancy overflowed on every subject." At the same time Lord Jeffrey wrote of him, That it seemed as if every subject that was started had been that which he had been occupied in studying." It may be said that the lives of such men as Watt are not examples that can be followed, as he was endowed by nature with inventive genius, which no man can make for himself. But we can copy his industry, self-reliance, modesty, patience, perseverance, and benevolence. His fortune, and the peaceful close of his well-spent life, seem to have been earned by his youthful energy and self-denial, and his perseverance and moderation in the prime of his life. He who could live upon eight shillings a week as a young man, to save his father's money, well deserved the luxuries which his talent and labour procured for his advanced years. The government had offered to him a baronetcy, which, on consulting with his son, was respectfully declined, as unsuited to their retired and simple tastes. Soon after the death of James Watt, a public meeting was called, in order to erect a monument in Westminster Abbey to his memory. The Prime Minister took the chair, and announced that he was commanded by the king (George IV.) to say that he was most deeply sensible of the merits of Mr. Watt, and begged that his name should be put down for £500; and, with the nobles of the land who subscribed, were men whose talents ennobled their names. As a memorial of him, also, the room in which he worked at his own place, Heathfield Hall, is still locked up, and has not been opened since he left it in 1819. Curious eyes peep through the keyhole to obtain a glimpse of the good man's works, and they reverence the very walls, as if they were haunted by his spirit. The poet truly says— "All houses wherein men have lived and died H. I. W. There is not one sacred hour of the heart's intercourse with others, in which we are not looking to, and living upon, the unseen. The eye that looks on us is but the material organ of an unseen spirit's love; the familiar voice that speaks to us draws its tones from an unsearchable heart whose life is hid with God; the very band that is clasped in ours has a pressure of tenderness that belongs not to flesh and blood, and is an impress from the unseen soul.-J. H. Thom. THE LAMENT OF THE LAME WORKMAN 'Tis Sunday now-sweet day of rest, No mower's scythe, no cuckoo's note, The breath of violet or rose, The scent of new-mown hay, No sunbeam falls upon my roof; I cannot watch the ripening corn To view the rising of the lark, And feel I am of earth. I've dreamed of hills and valleys fair, With freedom, and with power to roam But the vain beauties of this world I'll read the book that bids us hope Which this world hides from me. Though maimed, and toil-worn is my life, Let me then choose the "better part;" H. J. W. |