Self Help, Samuel Smiles [good romance books to read .txt] 📗

of his life, and nobly and

resolutely he did it.

 

It was a maxim of Dr. Young, the philosopher, that “Any man can do

what any other man has done;” and it is unquestionable that he

himself never recoiled from any trials to which he determined to

subject himself. It is related of him, that the first time he

mounted a horse, he was in company with the grandson of Mr. Barclay

of Ury, the well-known sportsman; when the horseman who preceded

them leapt a high fence. Young wished to imitate him, but fell off

his horse in the attempt. Without saying a word, he remounted,

made a second effort, and was again unsuccessful, but this time he

was not thrown further than on to the horse’s neck, to which he

clung. At the third trial, he succeeded, and cleared the fence.

 

The story of Timour the Tartar learning a lesson of perseverance

under adversity from the spider is well known. Not less

interesting is the anecdote of Audubon, the American ornithologist,

as related by himself: “An accident,” he says, “which happened to

two hundred of my original drawings, nearly put a stop to my

researches in ornithology. I shall relate it, merely to show how

far enthusiasm—for by no other name can I call my perseverance—

may enable the preserver of nature to surmount the most

disheartening difficulties. I left the village of Henderson, in

Kentucky, situated on the banks of the Ohio, where I resided for

several years, to proceed to Philadelphia on business. I looked to

my drawings before my departure, placed them carefully in a wooden

box, and gave them in charge of a relative, with injunctions to see

that no injury should happen to them. My absence was of several

months; and when I returned, after having enjoyed the pleasures of

home for a few days, I inquired after my box, and what I was

pleased to call my treasure. The box was produced and opened; but

reader, feel for me—a pair of Norway rats had taken possession of

the whole, and reared a young family among the gnawed bits of

paper, which, but a month previous, represented nearly a thousand

inhabitants of air! The burning beat which instantly rushed

through my brain was too great to be endured without affecting my

whole nervous system. I slept for several nights, and the days

passed like days of oblivion—until the animal powers being

recalled into action through the strength of my constitution, I

took up my gun, my notebook, and my pencils, and went forth to the

woods as gaily as if nothing had happened. I felt pleased that I

might now make better drawings than before; and, ere a period not

exceeding three years had elapsed, my portfolio was again filled.”

 

The accidental destruction of Sir Isaac Newton’s papers, by his

little dog ‘Diamond’ upsetting a lighted taper upon his desk, by

which the elaborate calculations of many years were in a moment

destroyed, is a well-known anecdote, and need not be repeated: it

is said that the loss caused the philosopher such profound grief

that it seriously injured his health, and impaired his

understanding. An accident of a somewhat similar kind happened to

the MS. of Mr. Carlyle’s first volume of his ‘French Revolution.’

He had lent the MS. to a literary neighbour to peruse. By some

mischance, it had been left lying on the parlour floor, and become

forgotten. Weeks ran on, and the historian sent for his work, the

printers being loud for “copy.” Inquiries were made, and it was

found that the maid-of-all-work, finding what she conceived to be a

bundle of waste paper on the floor, had used it to light the

kitchen and parlour fires with! Such was the answer returned to

Mr. Carlyle; and his feelings may be imagined. There was, however,

no help for him but to set resolutely to work to re-write the book;

and he turned to and did it. He had no draft, and was compelled to

rake up from his memory facts, ideas, and expressions, which had

been long since dismissed. The composition of the book in the

first instance had been a work of pleasure; the re-writing of it a

second time was one of pain and anguish almost beyond belief. That

he persevered and finished the volume under such circumstances,

affords an instance of determination of purpose which has seldom

been surpassed.

 

The lives of eminent inventors are eminently illustrative of the

same quality of perseverance. George Stephenson, when addressing

young men, was accustomed to sum up his best advice to them, in the

words, “Do as I have done—persevere.” He had worked at the

improvement of his locomotive for some fifteen years before

achieving his decisive victory at Rainhill; and Watt was engaged

for some thirty years upon the condensing-engine before he brought

it to perfection. But there are equally striking illustrations of

perseverance to be found in every other branch of science, art, and

industry. Perhaps one of the most interesting is that connected

with the disentombment of the Nineveh marbles, and the discovery of

the long-lost cuneiform or arrow-headed character in which the

inscriptions on them are written—a kind of writing which had been

lost to the world since the period of the Macedonian conquest of

Persia.

 

An intelligent cadet of the East India Company, stationed at

Kermanshah, in Persia, had observed the curious cuneiform

inscriptions on the old monuments in the neighbourhood—so old that

all historical traces of them had been lost,—and amongst the

inscriptions which he copied was that on the celebrated rock of

Behistun—a perpendicular rock rising abruptly some 1700 feet from

the plain, the lower part bearing inscriptions for the space of

about 300 feet in three languages—Persian, Scythian, and Assyrian.

Comparison of the known with the unknown, of the language which

survived with the language that had been lost, enabled this cadet

to acquire some knowledge of the cuneiform character, and even to

form an alphabet. Mr. (afterwards Sir Henry) Rawlinson sent his

tracings home for examination. No professors in colleges as yet

knew anything of the cuneiform character; but there was a ci-devant

clerk of the East India House—a modest unknown man of the name of

Norris—who had made this little-understood subject his study, to

whom the tracings were submitted; and so accurate was his

knowledge, that, though he had never seen the Behistun rock, he

pronounced that the cadet had not copied the puzzling inscription

with proper exactness. Rawlinson, who was still in the

neighbourhood of the rock, compared his copy with the original, and

found that Norris was right; and by further comparison and careful

study the knowledge of the cuneiform writing was thus greatly

advanced.

 

But to make the learning of these two self-taught men of avail, a

third labourer was necessary in order to supply them with material

for the exercise of their skill. Such a labourer presented himself

in the person of Austen Layard, originally an articled clerk in the

office of a London solicitor. One would scarcely have expected to

find in these three men, a cadet, an India-House clerk, and a

lawyer’s clerk, the discoverers of a forgotten language, and of the

buried history of Babylon; yet it was so. Layard was a youth of

only twenty-two, travelling in the East, when he was possessed with

a desire to penetrate the regions beyond the Euphrates.

Accompanied by a single companion, trusting to his arms for

protection, and, what was better, to his cheerfulness, politeness,

and chivalrous bearing, he passed safely amidst tribes at deadly

war with each other; and, after the lapse of many years, with

comparatively slender means at his command, but aided by

application and perseverance, resolute will and purpose, and almost

sublime patience,—borne up throughout by his passionate enthusiasm

for discovery and research,—he succeeded in laying bare and

digging up an amount of historical treasures, the like of which has

probably never before been collected by the industry of any one

man. Not less than two miles of bas-reliefs were thus brought to

light by Mr. Layard. The selection of these valuable antiquities,

now placed in the British Museum, was found so curiously

corroborative of the scriptural records of events which occurred

some three thousand years ago, that they burst upon the world

almost like a new revelation. And the story of the disentombment

of these remarkable works, as told by Mr. Layard himself in his

‘Monuments of Nineveh,’ will always be regarded as one of the most

charming and unaffected records which we possess of individual

enterprise, industry, and energy.

 

The career of the Comte de Buffon presents another remarkable

illustration of the power of patient industry as well as of his own

saying, that “Genius is patience.” Notwithstanding the great

results achieved by him in natural history, Buffon, when a youth,

was regarded as of mediocre talents. His mind was slow in forming

itself, and slow in reproducing what it had acquired. He was also

constitutionally indolent; and being born to good estate, it might

be supposed that he would indulge his liking for ease and luxury.

Instead of which, he early formed the resolution of denying himself

pleasure, and devoting himself to study and self-culture.

Regarding time as a treasure that was limited, and finding that he

was losing many hours by lying a-bed in the mornings, he determined

to break himself of the habit. He struggled hard against it for

some time, but failed in being able to rise at the hour he had

fixed. He then called his servant, Joseph, to his help, and

promised him the reward of a crown every time that he succeeded in

getting him up before six. At first, when called, Buffon declined

to rise—pleaded that he was ill, or pretended anger at being

disturbed; and on the Count at length getting up, Joseph found that

he had earned nothing but reproaches for having permitted his

master to lie a-bed contrary to his express orders. At length the

valet determined to earn his crown; and again and again he forced

Buffon to rise, notwithstanding his entreaties, expostulations, and

threats of immediate discharge from his service. One morning

Buffon was unusually obstinate, and Joseph found it necessary to

resort to the extreme measure of dashing a basin of ice-cold water

under the bed-clothes, the effect of which was instantaneous. By

the persistent use of such means, Buffon at length conquered his

habit; and he was accustomed to say that he owed to Joseph three or

four volumes of his Natural History.

 

For forty years of his life, Buffon worked every morning at his

desk from nine till two, and again in the evening from five till

nine. His diligence was so continuous and so regular that it

became habitual. His biographer has said of him, “Work was his

necessity; his studies were the charm of his life; and towards the

last term of his glorious career he frequently said that he still

hoped to be able to consecrate to them a few more years.” He was a

most conscientious worker, always studying to give the reader his

best thoughts, expressed in the very best manner. He was never

wearied with touching and retouching his compositions, so that his

style may be pronounced almost perfect. He wrote the ‘Epoques de

la Nature’ not fewer than eleven times before he was satisfied with

it; although he had thought over the work about fifty years. He

was a thorough man of business, most orderly in everything; and he

was accustomed to say that genius without order lost three-fourths

of its power. His great success as a writer was the result mainly

of his painstaking labour and diligent application. “Buffon,”

observed Madame Necker, “strongly persuaded that genius is the

result of a profound attention directed to a particular subject,

said that he was thoroughly wearied out when composing his